"We know that such things are not to be depended upon. The favor of the gods must be purchased with continuous sacrifice. Men must be paid well and regularly. The supplies required by a marching army and a sailing navy must be arranged for down to the last detail before the first trumpet is sounded. Only thus does one gain an empire, and sustain it through generations."
"I shall remember that," she said.
At the Pillars, the fleet was waiting to ferry the army across. Triremes, cargo vessels and great, wallowing barges, many of them built since the fire in the harbor, were ready to take them across the narrow waters. The operation took more than ten days, with ships plying back and forth, carrying men and animals and supplies. Hamilcar found his confidence waning, his nerves assailing him.
"What troubles you?" Teuta asked. They watched the crossing from the tower erected on his personal warship: a huge vessel made of two ordinary triremes With a single deck spanning both.
"We are vulnerable here," he told her, an admission he would have made to no man. "If the Romans arrive, they could catch me with half my army on one side of the strait, half on the other. Even their contemptible navy could give us great trouble, with most of my fleet overloaded and dedicated to transport."
"Still, your might is sufficient to deal with them."
"True, though it would be a great bother. But what I truly dread is a change in the weather. At this time of year great storms can appear on the horizon and be upon us before we can seek shelter. Entire fleets have been lost to such storms, and there would be no way to rebuild here. I would have to march such of my army as I could salvage back to Carthage, and then I could not resume the war for at least a year, perhaps two. And that would mean waiting for a Roman army to cross from Sicily and besiege us."
"Worry does no good," she assured him. "You must trust your destiny."
Somehow, her words did not inspire him as usual. It was not her empire in the balance here, imperiled by every puff of wind and the whim of the gods. What if Zarabel was right and the gods were angry because he had not dedicated them a Tophet?
Norbanus found the army of Mastanabal in a valley south of the Pyrenees. His outriding Gallic cavalry located a foraging party and returned with prisoners to confirm what lay ahead. These men were local Gauls, of a breed heavily interbred with the old Spanish natives, impressed into the Carthaginian forces to make up for the heavy losses inflicted by Rome. They said that Mastanabal was drilling his new army just miles away, near the confluence of the rivers Iberis and Secoris.
Immediately, Norbanus gave two orders. First, the land forces were to redouble their marching speed. Second, his warships were to speed westward and catch any naval force supporting Mastanabal's army. Not a single craft was to be allowed to escape.
He wanted to achieve complete surprise, but knew that this was unlikely with an army the size of the one he led. Sooner or later a patrol of Mastanabal's cavalry must detect them and speed back with warning. No help for that. But he could be assured that the Carthaginian would have as little time as possible to prepare.
The land was hilly and wooded, very different from the lands of the East his men had seen on the long march. But the Romans felt at home here. It was not greatly different from the country where they had been fighting for generations, since the Exile.
He was tense but exultant. At last, he would be tested in a real battle, against a formidable army led by a general of proven experience and skill. Not that he had any doubt of the outcome. Clearly, Mastanabal could not be accounted a general of the first rank. He had allowed himself to be badly mauled by an inferior Roman army, indifferently led. This was no Hannibal. The situation was ideal. Norbanus's army could be blooded here, at no great risk. Victorious, they would believe themselves to be invincible always. And he knew that true victory lay not just in arms and skill, but in the minds of men.
With a small band of his officers, he rode ahead of his army. They rode cloaked to cover the gleam of their armor, keeping away from the skyline. It was risky, but Norbanus wanted to examine the ground personally before committing his troops. Reconnaissance was an art that a commander neglected at his greatest peril.
The smoke from hundreds of campfires told them they were near the main army, and from this point they proceeded with caution. Eventually they found a spot of high ground and rode just short of the crest. Then they dismounted and went on foot to peer over the ridge at the huge camp below. It spread along the river for a great distance, behind an earthen rampart set with stakes and patrolled by sentries.
"It's a pretty well-ordered camp, for barbarians," noted Niger.