Only when the lictors who preceded the consuls stepped onto the carpeted ground did Norbanus make his appearance, striding from within the tent, smiling. At the sight of him, jaws dropped and eyes bugged. He wore his golden armor, patterned on Alexander's, and he carried his lion-mask helmet. The hilt of his sword was of ivory carved with an eagle's head. His belt was made of plates of solid gold. Instead of soldiers' hobnailed caligae, he wore Greek hunting boots that laced to the knee and were topped with lynx skin.
What raised their outrage, though, was his cloak. It was voluminous and trailed behind him in graceful folds. It was also dyed with Tyrian purple. Someone made a strangled sound, but the consuls made calming gestures.
"Welcome to Rome, Titus Norbanus," said the Consul Hermanicus.
"I greet the noble Senate," Norbanus said.
"We can hardly help noting," said the other consul, "that you are wearing a triumphator's robe. By what right do you assume this?"
Norbanus stroked the incredible garment. "This was a gift from King Jonathan of Judea. It was not voted by the Senate."
"Take it off!" shouted several senators.
"One day I will enter Rome in triumph, and then I shall wear it as part of my regalia. In the meantime, I am outside the walls and can wear anything I want." He savored the fuming for a few moments, then: "But let's not bicker, honored senators. Please come into my tent. I have something within that you will wish to see."
Baffled by such presumption, they went within. Light of many colors shone through the cloth of the roof, revealing that spectacular hangings encircled the walls. A set of bleachers had been erected within, shaped like a horseshoe and rising to five tiers of seats, but no wood could be seen. All was covered with carpeting, rich cloth and animal skins. At one end stood a dais for the consuls, with twin curule chairs made of carved ivory, the seats draped with the striped skins of Indian tigers.
But what drew the amazed eyes of the senators was not the tent, or the incredible seating arrangements, but what lay within the horseshoe of seats. Upon the carpeted ground was a map, but such a map as none of them had ever seen. It was not drawn, but modeled in three dimensions. It showed the western half of the Middle Sea, from Italy in the north and Carthage in the south, westward all the way to the Pillars of Hercules. The mainland and islands were subtly carved from fragrant woods; the cities modeled in gold and silver and carved amber inlaid with jewels. The principal roads were inlaid in silver, as was the lettering that identified every feature. Most intriguing of all was the sea itself: It was made of some shiny, rippling blue cloth.
"Pollux!" someone croaked at last. "That sea is made of silk!" It was the most precious substance on earth, and here were hundreds of yards of it used to make a map!
"Gentlemen," Norbanus said, "if you will take your seats, I will make a proposal that I believe you will all find to be of greatest interest."
Silently, the senators filed into the bleachers as the consuls took their curule chairs and the lictors ranged themselves before the serving magistrates. Gabinius took his own place without comment. He knew the boy had them now, as surely as a man who has thoroughly seduced a woman—not by the glory of his arms, or the greatness of his accomplishments. No, he had won them more subtly, using a great national weakness: the Romans' childlike love of spectacle. He was putting on a presentation worthy of the funeral games for a great leader.
Now young Norbanus was joined by the previous year's consul, his father. The elder Norbanus wore military uniform, ready to take up a proconsular command voted by the Senate. He looked upon his son and beamed with pride. At precisely the right moment, young Norbanus stepped out onto the sea and walked across it as if he were able to stride upon water. The spectators gasped. A man dared to walk on silk!
"Noble senators, revered consuls," young Norbanus began, "I return to you with a vast treasure, more wealth than Rome ever saw in her most glorious days before Hannibal. Even now, my slaves prepare to carry the bulk of it to the Temple of Saturn." From ancient times, the crypts beneath that temple had served as Rome's principal treasury.
"I bring four legions, experienced as no legions have ever before been, accompanied by auxilia who have volunteered themselves to Rome's service. All these fighting men, the finest in the world, await the orders of the noble Senate." He paused and looked over his map, half turning to take it all in, like Jupiter himself surveying his kingdom. "And yet this treasure is not safe. Rome is not safe. Because, senators and consuls, Carthage still stands!" On the last three words his voice rose to a thrilling shout. He held them spellbound, experienced orators though they were.