Norbanus found this an excellent show, one calculated to
give an impression of safety. He also noticed that not a single man unstrung his bow. These men could be in the saddle, charging and shooting in moments. Those bows bothered him. They were great, multiple-curved weapons and
looked far more powerful than any bows he had ever seen.
"I see that something else has changed," Surenas went
on, still eyeing the Romans. "Who are these men whose sol
dierly bearing is so formidable? I can see how you value
them as allies, since they hold the center of your battle line."
"These are the soldiers of my new ally, Rome."
The accented eyebrows rose fractionally. "Rome? I have
never heard of this place."
"I assure you, you will be hearing a great deal more of us.
I am the Proconsul Titus Norbanus, commander of the le
gions you see before you, envoy of the Senate of the Republic of Rome." He rode a little forward. "My republic wishes
only the friendliest relations with the other nations of the world."
"The late King Manasseh seems to have learned differ
ently," Surenas noted.
"The usurper was in rebellion against our ally, King Jonathan. Alliances are a sacred matter to us Romans. We never leave an ally without support."
"Admirable. I shall report all this to King Phraates." He was perplexed, but clearly knew that he was in no position to take action. Then, to Jonathan: "I must confer with my
officers. The day advances and we would like to pitch camp
here and make our preparations for departure."
Now Jonathan allowed himself to unbend. The foreigners
had asked his permission to camp. Hostilities were off, for
the moment. "Of course. As long as you offer no violence to my people, you are welcome to my grass, wood and water."
"With King Jonathan's permission," Norbanus said, "I would like to send some of my officers to your camp this evening. Now would be an excellent time for us to make preparations for an exchange of envoys to open diplomatic relations between our nations."
Surenas nodded curtly. "Very well. I am empowered to arrange such negotiations, pending my lord's approval."
Jonathan smiled. He knew these Romans now. Those of
ficers would spy out every detail of the Parthian camp.
The Parthians rode back to their lines and Norbanus turned to Jonathan. "Will there be an exchange of gifts?"
"It's customary. I will give them cloaks and jewelry, that
sort of thing. They will probably give me horses, saddles and so forth. Why?"
"See if you can get a few of their bows."
"Why do you want bows?" Jonathan asked.
"I've never seen their like. I want to send them to the Senate for study. It's our usual practice."
The other Roman officers nodded. They had noticed the
bows, as well.
That night Norbanus took his ease beneath the awning
of his new praetorium. He knew that some of his officers thought the royal tent far too luxurious for a Roman officer,
and he did not care. He had been watching his fellow Romans from the time they had departed the austere northlands, and the signs of change were unmistakable.
Before crossing the Alps, Roman soldiers could make
Spartans look decadent. Now, after many months in the
South, having seen the rich farmlands of Italy, having experienced the incredible luxury of Carthage, the vast wealth of Egypt, they were changing. Troopers and officers often wore
gold now. When they eyed a foreign city, they did not just
apprehend danger, they assessed its potential in terms of loot.
They hadn't softened, and he would see to it that they didn't, but they had changed. From now on, they would
fight not just for the glory and safety of Rome, but for their
own enrichment. A man who would command legions henceforth could not depend upon his men's patriotism and
discipline to assure their loyalty. He would have to appeal to
their greed.
Titus Norbanus foresaw no problem with that.
He smelled the approaching women before he saw them.
Their fragrance was wonderful. In the North, he had never
understood the allure of perfume. It was what drew bees to flowers, no more. The closest Romans had come to an appreciation of scent was in the form of incense, imported at great cost to burn before the altars of the gods. Even women never
anointed their bodies with fragrance. In the South and East, though, perfume was as important as color and jewels and
fine food and wine. These people studied the sensual arts as Romans studied those of war. Norbanus had discovered that
war would win you those luxuries, and the women and slaves to go with them. It was a simple equation.
"You see?" said Glaphyra or Roxana, he was not sure which. "All is falling into your hands, just as we foretold. The stars are never wrong."
"Do their seeresses ever make mistakes?" he asked, tak
ing a hand and drawing her before him. It was Roxana, but he knew her twin was nearby.
"Not about the stars," she said, smiling as she slid into his lap. Immediately, he felt another pair of hands on his shoulders, another cloud of perfume.
He ran a hard palm up and down Roxana's spine. She
arched, bringing her breasts closer to his face. "It would be
best that you never make a mistake about me."
She stiffened slightly. "What do you mean, my lord?"
His hand went to the back of her neck and tightened. He grasped one of her sister's wrists and drew that one before
him. He slid Roxana off his lap and forced both women to
their knees before him. With a slender neck in each hand he
drew both faces close to his own. His face was set in the mask of ferocity that was as much a part of a highborn Roman as skill with weapons. Their doelike eyes went wide with terror and an acrid odor drifted from beneath their clothing, overwhelming the perfume. This was a smell he truly savored.
"I mean that you two bitches are now part of my inner circle, closer to me than my soldiers and my officers. You will be with me in intimate moments. Never think that I am
vulnerable. Never try to manipulate me or take advantage of me. Never speak a word of what I have said to other people, or of anything you have seen or heard in my company."
"Never, my lord!" both bleated.
"I have a short way with traitors. The princess of
Carthage taught me ways to make people suffer that we Romans never dreamed of. Give me reason to suspect you, and
your death will not be swift." Through his palms he felt them shudder, felt the thunder of their hearts. In a hard
world, Carthage was a byword for extreme cruelty. Torture was an art form in that land, and execution was never swift.
He loosened his grip and let them rise. The point had been made. "Undress," he said. As their clothing fell away
layer by layer, their fear receded and their confidence re
turned. This was an area where they still had power. Naked except for their jewelry, they were as alike as matched pearls.
"Now," he said, "show me some of your Babylonian de
pravities."
The twins smiled and did as they were bidden.
Queen Teuta's face twisted, making the tattoos writhe. Her breath wheezed between teeth clenched in a rictus of near-grotesque intensity. Her un
bound hair flew wildly, her breasts swung, her hips churned and every part of her body was in abandoned motion. Then she shuddered, stopped as if suddenly stunned and cried out hoarsely as her fingers dug into his shoulders, before she col
lapsed upon Hamilcar in a sweaty heap.
The shofet, drained by his own, less demonstrative release, stroked her back as his thundering heartbeat slowly returned to normal. He knew that this passionate woman might well be the death of him, but no one else had ever made him feel more kingly. She seemed perfectly unconcerned about possible impregnation, and he gathered that
she believed the two of them were above such petty consid
erations. That, too, gave him satisfaction.
Of course, she had some annoying peculiarities. For instance, she insisted on riding him, holding that as a queen of matchless horsemen, this was her right. He longed to
mount her as a lion mounts a lioness, but this she had so far refused to permit. He resolved to enjoy her this way before
consenting to a royal marriage. The woman would have to learn to make concessions.
At last she arose from the bed and called for her serving
women. As they attended to their mistress with damp cloths and warm towels, he admired her superb body with its covering of tattoos. He had learned that, indeed, not a
square inch of her flesh had been spared the needle save her eyelids and lips. A lifetime in Carthage made one a connoisseur of the bizarre, and this was as outré as anything he had
ever seen. What made it even more stirring was that the woman was a queen.
Later, dressed and seated on a terrace in the light of a full
moon, they spoke of their plans. From the distance they could
hear the constant work of hammers and saws. The building of new ships went on day and night now, as Carthage sought to make up the losses from the tremendous fire. The work went
swiftly, but harder to replace were the cargoes that had turned to ashes and smoke. The shofet had sent out to his provinces and to neighbor kings for the supplies his armies
would need so desperately. He had called in favors going back
many years, spending royal capital with abandon. No matter. With the success of this war he would be master of them all.
"Syracuse has fallen," Teuta said in her customarily blunt
fashion. "When do we begin?"
"Begin? You mean counterattack?"
"What else could I mean?" she said impatiently. "So far,
Rome has had all the advantage in aggression. Let them win
any more, and they will think themselves invincible."
"They already think themselves invincible," he pointed out.
"So did the Spartans. Then came the battle of Leuctra. Epimanondas and the Thebans smashed the Spartans and
never again did the Spartans or anyone else believe that they were invincible. Once a myth is broken it is never again recovered." She took a generous swallow of unwatered Chian
wine.
The woman was a constant amazement. She ate and
drank like a Gallic mercenary and could be as crude as a clay
pot, but she displayed a fine knowledge of history and was an astute judge of men as individuals and in their masses and nations. But she was trying to rush him and he could not allow her to think she was in charge.
"When the time is right, I shall destroy Rome and its myth together. But one should never go to war without the
fullest preparation. Grain and oil, nails, tents, lumber and a
thousand other things are as important to a campaign as fighting men, horses and weapons."
"It is possible to be too cautious. Sometimes it is better to hit hard and fast with what you have, than to wait until
you have everything you think you must have. Many campaigns have failed because a king has always needed just one more allied contingent, one more wing of cavalry, one more
ship. They are usually struck by someone more aggressive and less concerned with preparation. I am not saying that
you should go off foolishly unprepared, just that these Ro
mans don't seem to hesitate to attack and you must hit back quickly. Deal them a major setback and they will stop to figure out what went wrong. Then you will have leisure to
assemble your fullest force down to the last tent peg in order
to fight a war of annihilation."
This was tempting. "I see. You are not, then, suggesting that I send my main army?"
"No."
Hamilcar clapped his hands and a slave stepped forward from the shadows. "Bring my war map and more lamps."
In the light of the new lamps they studied the large parchment. Upon it were drawn all the lands bordering the
Middle Sea. Carthaginian possessions were gilt, and fortifi
cations marked, with their garrisons enumerated. Ports and their naval facilities and fleets were likewise depicted. Hamilcar stabbed a finger at a spur jutting from the southern coast of Spain.
"New Carthage. I've assembled an army there, mostly Iberian allies and mercenaries. I had intended to send them into northern Italy as a feint, to distract the Romans and draw away some of their power while I launched the main blow at Sicily and southern Italy."
"Very good," Teuta said. "But why wait until the main
invasion? The Romans will know enough to concentrate on
the main thrust and leave your Spanish army for a later ac
tion. Launch them now. The main Roman force is now en
gaged in Sicily and they've lost the four legions they left in Egypt. They'll send a minor force northward, thinking they are dealing with a minor incursion. Smash that Roman army and the effect will be demoralizing."
"Just what I was thinking," Hamilcar said, believing indeed that it had been his idea. "They will pass through the southern edge of Gaul, where we have old allies. And they
can pick up the garrison of Massilia as they pass."