"And these wars," he went on pitilessly, "will not be over soon. These early victories have come easily because nobody expected our arrival and they underestimated our strength. That will not last. Soon there will be alliances against us. Already we are looking at danger from Spain. Young Norbanus is stirring up a hornet's nest in Judea. Macedonia is watching us with alarm. We'll never be safe until we've conquered all the lands that border the sea, and that will be the work of many years. We are raising a generation of men who have no trade save war. In time they will be a great danger to the state."
"I take it you have some sort of suggestion," Norbanus grumbled.
"Exactly. Senatorial families already claimed most of Italy and there has been no little strife over conflicting claims. The new lands we are taking have no ancestral claims on them. Let's set aside some of them right now as reward for the soldiers when they are demobilized. Otherwise, the soldiers will not want to leave the profession of arms, since it will be their only source of livelihood. But with the prospects of rich farms and slaves to work their land, they'll be eager to trade the rigors of continuous campaigning for the life of gentlemen planters."
"That won't be easy," Scipio said. "Look at them." He gestured to the ebullient house. "Some of them are already in ecstasies of greed at the prospect of these Sicilian lands. They won't want to see them pass into the hands of common soldiers." He rapped his knuckles on the armrest of his curule chair. "I'll speak with the tribunes of the people. They can start groundwork for passing a new agrarian law. Maybe at first it will be best to declare the new conquests public land to keep it out of the hands of the major aristocrats. Later they can agitate for its distribution to veterans."
"That will do for a start," Gabinius said.
"You enjoy croaking of doom in the midst of celebration, don't you?" Norbaniis said.
Gabinius gave them a lipless smile. "Ironic, isn't it? All this success may yet prove to be the ruin of us."
The huge legionary camp stood upon the plain of Megiddo, site of the recent battle. It was greatly expanded, for the Romans had acquired many horses and no small accumulation of loot. Near the Romans, King Jonathan's men were encamped in less orderly fashion. They had the task of guarding the prisoners.
Near the center of the Roman camp stood the praetorium. It had been the royal tent of the late King Manasseh, but Norbanus had appropriated it for his own use. Far more sumptuous than his previous campaigning tent, it had room for the twin princesses who had become a part of his following. For three successive nights since the battle, it had been the scene of a victory banquet.
Manasseh had been defeated rather handily, the Roman discipline and superiority of small unit commanders being crucial in conditions that discouraged close overall command. After long and brave resistance, Manasseh's men had finally cracked, dismayed by the iron fortitude of the Romans. Once their lines lost cohesion and men began to break away and run in panic, the slaughter was fearful. Those not caught by the legionaries or the light-armed pursuers were ridden down and lanced by Jonathan's, cavalry.
Manasseh was killed trying to rally his soldiers, and with their king dead, his whole cavalry force had surrendered en masse and pledged themselves to Jonathan, before the Romans could reach them. As these were all wellborn young men, Jonathan had accepted their oath and put them under his protection, unlike the common foot soldiers of Manasseh's army, who died in droves.
At the first night's banquet, the king of the newly united kingdom of Judea and Israel had been ebullient, flushed with success. The general hilarity and good fellowship was only marred when Norbanus had Manasseh's head delivered to him on a platter between courses. This violated some rule of local decorum, and Jonathan had insisted that his defeated rival be buried with the proper rites. He explained that he could incur divine displeasure by neglecting this duty. Norbanus complied cheerfully. It cost him nothing. Manasseh's was. not the head he longed to see on a platter before him.
The second night, the king had been cheerful. Now, on the third night of banqueting, he was thoughtful, even apprehensive.
"Titus, my friend," he said, "I am sole king now, and for this I shall always be grateful for your invaluable assistance. However, it is time that I see to the ordering of my country."
"And so you shall," Norbanus assured him. "I think what is in order first is a progress through your newly acquired northern province of Israel. Your people must see you and grow used to the idea that you are now their sole king. Since we must march northward as well, it is fitting that you accompany us, so that anyone of a seditious disposition can see just what they face should they ever have subversive thoughts."