The Seven Hills(54)

"Eh?" King Jonathan said. "Covered what?" His face was drawn and concerned. His future, his very life were the issues being contested on the field before them.

"Dust. I don't recall that our instructors ever mentioned it."

"You don't have dust where you come from?" Jonathan said, astonished.

"I suppose it rains too much."

The two stood atop Norbanus's command tower, overseeing the combat. The battle had been joined about an hour earlier, beginning with an exchange of arrows, javelins and sling-stones. These preliminaries had caused casualties only among the light-armed native troops. Roman shields and armor were proof against all such trifles.

They had found Manasseh and his army toward the southern edge of the plain called Megiddo: a natural battlefield where countless engagements had been fought. Besides the Jews, it had seen the armies of Egypt, the Hittites, Persians and Greeks clash and fall. Manasseh's army was larger, but it held no Romans. Most important, his Parthian allies had not arrived yet. When he deemed the time propitious, Norbanus had committed his legions, and the cohorts strode forth to hurl their murderous pila and draw their short, razor-edged swords. The cavalry of both sides were quickly engaged on the flanks and the dust rose.

"How can we control an army we can't see?" Jonathan asked plaintively.

"We can't. In a fight like this, the general's task is done in making his dispositions and giving his commands. Now it is a soldier's battle. The junior officers and the centurions will handle their own individual parts of the fight. This is where Roman training and drill pay off. Our legionaries can win a battle with all their commanders dead."

"I see," Jonathan said without conviction.

From the cloud before them, above the sounds of clashing metal and wood and the meaty smack of weapons against unprotected flesh, they could hear the blare and snarl of Roman trumpets. Unable to see, Norbanus could follow the progress of the fight as officers closer to the action directed their trumpeters, calling some cohorts back, sending others forward, closing up lines or putting them in extended order to take advantage of momentary weaknesses in the enemy formations.

"That's a bit risky," Norbanus noted.

"What?"

"Niger just wheeled his second cohort to catch the left flanking corner of Manasseh's formation. He must see an opportunity there. I hope he knows what he's doing. It wasn't in the battle plan."

"You can tell all that from the tooting of a trumpet?"

"It's as plain as speech once your ear is accustomed to it."

"You allow your subordinates such license?"

"Of course. Rigid adherence to a battle plan in spite of changing conditions is folly. He may have won the battle for us, in which case I'll decorate him. If it's a blunder, I'll have his hide for a shield cover."

Jonathan sweated. "This is maddening. We can do nothing, know nothing."

"We still have them," Norbanus said, jerking a thumb back over his shoulder. Behind the command tower an entire legion sat on the ground, resting, ready for battle at an instant's-notice.

"Why do you keep so many out of the fight when we are outnumbered to begin with?"

Norbanus hid his impatience. He hated dealing with amateurs. "They are my reserve. At any given time, only the front-line soldiers do any actual fighting. To commit everyone at once merely tires them out without accomplishing anything. They might as well stay to the rear and husband their strength. Should I see an opportunity or a great danger, I have them ready to meet the situation without having to disengage them from the battle first. It's the best way."

"Of course," Jonathan muttered. "It is just—Manasseh has so many men."

"And they are all out there, most of them able to do nothing except wave their arms and shout. They are getting very tired, I assure you." He was not as sanguine as he pretended. It was indeed wearing on the nerves to hear a battle without being able to see it clearly. He took great comfort from the presence of that legion behind him. Should the situation prove disastrous, they would extricate him and the bulk of his Romans from the fight.

He was not pessimistic, but anything could happen. He knew the story of Xenophon, who had been in a situation very much like this. His Greeks had won their part of the battle, but their Persian ally lost his part and the Greeks were forced to make their epic march to the sea. Norbanus's confidence in his legions was absolute. His confidence in Jonathan's forces was slight.

And, he thought, where were the Parthians? They could appear at any time, and there were few more disastrous occurrences than the sudden advent of enemy reinforcements after Roman forces were already committed to battle. But then, he thought further, the whole Manasseh-Parthian alliance might be nothing more than a rumor.