"We've been sitting here amid incredible luxury, playing with our toys, while real Roman soldiers have been dying by the thousands," Marcus said glumly.
"You don't sound like yourself. You've told everyone else that it's going to be a long war and everyone will have a chance at winning glory. Why all of a sudden do you not believe it yourself?"
"Glory? I don't care about glory!" He shrugged. "Not much, anyway. No more than most Romans. But I've been a soldier all my life, from a long line of soldiers, and it galls me to be sitting here in Alexandria wearing gilded armor and a helmet with ram's horns while Roman armies are being defeated and Sicily is being overrun and Hamilcar is preparing to strike back. And Norbanus!" He threw a handful of papyri toward the ceiling and watched them drift back down.
This was more like it. "Ah, our old friend and colleague Titus Norbanus, now bruited about as the greatest thing since Alexander. That bothers you, does it?"
"Do you think I'm jealous of the likes of Titus Norbanus?" He slammed a hard palm onto his desk. "Did you hear that they're thinking of allowing him to stand for consul? At his age and without having held an aedileship, much less a praetorship?"
"I heard. I read the same dispatches that you do. In order to do that he has to get back to Rome first. Last we heard he was preparing to cross over from Ephesus to Greece."
Marcus made a rude noise. "Greeks! What are they going to do about someone like Norbanus and his four legions? Can you imagine what those soldiers must be like by now? They were first-rate when they were here in Egypt. Now they've made a march like something from an ancient hero tale, fighting much of the way. Those have to be the toughest, saltiest legionaries Rome has ever fielded by now, and they clearly worship Norbanus."
"Envy ill becomes you, Marcus. But up to now they've faced only the disorganized Judeans and the tottering, decadent Seleucids and primitive pirates and tribesmen, the sort of trash a Roman legion brushes from its path. Forget the Greeks. When he enters Greece, he's in Macedonian territory, and they're a different proposition entirely, as you well know."
"I don't mean that I want to see another Roman army defeated!" Marcus protested.
"But it would be nice to see Titus Norbanus humbled just a little, wouldn't it?"
"He needs some taking down. A proconsular command, a whole army and now even a navy! Plus he's making his own foreign policy in the East, building up a clientage among foreign kings; it's outrageous!"
"Marcus, Marcus," Flaccus said crooningly, "there are people back in Rome who say exactly the same thing about you, and you know it. They say you are making yourself de facto king of Egypt, that Selene never makes a move that you don't direct, that you have imperial ambitions."
"I wish Selene was that biddable. The woman has been getting damned independent lately. She forgets who put her shapely backside on that throne." He glowered at the gaudy helmet on its stand upon his desk. "She's the one who manipulates me, if truth were known. Dressing me up like one of her strutting guardsmen, making me a centerpiece at her endless banquets."
"And you are complaining? Oh, come now, Marcus. She's making everyone grant you divine honors, and your presence at her banquets tells all those foreign dignitaries where her power lies." He spread his hands expansively. "You are the greatest man in Egypt, and here you are feeling sorry for yourself because you've missed a couple of brawls."
"Brawls! Aulus, you are not a military man!"
Flaccus grinned. "I admit it freely."
Scipio leaned back in his chair, musing. "Hamilcar must have his fleet restored and reprovisioned by now. Why is he waiting?"
Flaccus nodded. This was better. His friend was thinking strategically again. "Does it occur to you, as it does to me, that perhaps Hamilcar has a new advisor?"
"Selene's spies in Carthage say that the shofet spends a lot of time with a foreign queen, an Illyrian named Teuta. Is it conceivable that Hamilcar is actually listening to a woman? When we saw him, he would scarcely listen to any of his own generals. He was not a man inclined to taking advice."
"Since we last saw him, he has been defeated before the walls of Alexandria, forced to retreat, had Italy and Sicily taken from beneath his nose, and had much of his fleet and most of his invasion materiel destroyed by fire. It's enough to make most men change their ways." He paused. "And this Teuta may be an extraordinary woman. What do we know about her?"
"Nothing. Illyria is just across the Adriatic from Italy, but we know more about Spain. It's as remote as Britannia and Hibernia."