Imilce took the scroll and held it awkwardly. Her fingers caressed the string that bound it. A moment passed in silence until finally she thanked Sapanibal and seemed on the verge of taking her leave.
But Sapanibal said casually, “I'll read it for you, if you like.”
This stopped Imilce. She began by shaking her head, but turned the gesture into a one-shoulder shrug instead. “I would not want to trouble you,” she said.
Sapanibal opened her palm. “It's no trouble. A small thing that I am happy to do for you.”
Imilce handed back the scroll and waited as Sapanibal removed the string, unrolled it, and pressed it flat with her fingers. “‘Dearest Imilce,'” she read. “‘May this find you as when I last saw you, the model of health and beauty. I pray the summer has not been too oppressive in New Carthage. I heard early reports of a fever in the region, but later I was told this was not so. Please speak of this when you next write me. This business here is slow. Our adversary is a more tenacious one than I expected, as you warned me. You know these people better than I. Perhaps next time you will remind me of this occasion and force your counsel upon me. But the siege will be concluded before the warring season ends. I assure you of that, and then you will find me in your presence once more.'”
Sapanibal paused and cleared her throat and brushed away a fly that had settled on her arm.
“‘How is young Hamilcar? It is one of my sorest trials that I cannot see him daily growing. I hope you are whispering to him as we spoke of in the spring, speaking close so that his tiny ears might hear of his father and recognize me upon my return. I was told recently that since I departed you have daily offered sacrifice on my behalf. I thank you for this. May the gods smile on you and pass your wisdom on to our son. Imilce, you may also have heard that I've been injured. There is nothing in this rumor; I am in fine health, as ever. From your husband, who loves you. Hannibal.'”
Imilce was silent for a long moment, and then said, “He's lying, isn't he? He's been hurt. I should go to him.”
“You should not,” Sapanibal said. “If my brother says he's in fine health, then you must believe him. And if he was injured, then it's a matter for a surgeon, not a wife.”
“So you, too, think he is hurt?”
Sapanibal ignored this. “He must know that you are here and well and lovingly unconcerned. Even this letter is too much of an indulgence. He is the commander of an army, Imilce. His mind should be at ease and focused solely on his goal. The lives of many people and the fate of our nation depend on it. If you like, I can help you write a response, a cheery letter that reminds him his son is healthy and his wife loving. That is what he needs. Do you understand?”
Imilce lifted her gaze and watched the zebras in the distance. “You make it quite clear, sister.”
“Good,” Sapanibal said. “The best hope Hannibal has for recovery is full focus on it.”
Imilce snapped her head around and stared at Sapanibal, exasperated. “So you do believe he's been injured! Or do you know it from another source? Tell me, please. You have spies everywhere, don't you? Nothing passes Sapanibal. Only I am kept ignorant.”
“You slight us both and in neither case do you speak truly. Nobody would ever suggest Imilce is ignorant, or that I've any power whatsoever. I only offer you my counsel as one who has been a soldier's wife. You know as well as I that Hannibal has been provoking Rome. If he engages with the Romans fully it will be a war like none the world has yet seen. It'll be no summer campaign but a far longer struggle. You should consider how best to aid our cause in this.”
“Perhaps I will accompany him,” Imilce offered.
Sapanibal pursed her lips—at the world at large, for Imilce had lowered her gaze to her lap. “Some wives have done that, yes,” she said. “And there are always women among the camp followers. But you know as well as I that is a foolish notion for you, with the baby certainly. On the contrary, I believe you should return with me to Carthage and wait out the war there.”
“You would have me leave Iberia?”
“It would be for the best. You are married to Carthage, after all. You might as well see it, learn the language properly, meet my mother, Didobal, and my sister, Sophonisba.”
“I will ask my husband.”
“You can do that, but know that I've already spoken with him on this matter, and he agrees with me.”
Imilce looked askance at Sapanibal as she considered this news. “I will ask him myself.” She rose and patted bits of debris from her gown. “I will sacrifice to Baal this evening and I will have a letter composed, cheerful as you say. Thank you, sister, for your counsel.”
Sapanibal watched Imilce move away. Despite the young beauty's deferential words, Sapanibal did not trust her, was not yet confident that she would not somehow corrupt the course of events to come, intentionally or otherwise. She was, after all, the daughter of a conquered chieftain. Though others did not yet realize this, Sapanibal knew that Imilce formed her own opinions. This much, at least, she could see behind the elegant façade.
Just as Hannibal hoped, the Carthaginian Council had time to consider his letter before the Roman envoy called on them. They turned him away casually, citing the arguments elucidated to them in the letter. Unfortunately, the same messenger who brought this news back to Hannibal also brought word of a rebellion among the Carpetani, in central Iberia. The commander left Saguntum to deal with it personally. He might have delegated this task to a trusted general, but he deemed it grave enough to require his personal attention. If left unchecked, these unruly tribes might inspire more discontent with Carthaginian authority. This was impermissible.
In his absence he left Hanno at the helm, with instructions to bring the siege to a conclusion if it all possible. But almost before Hannibal's silhouette disappeared over the Saguntine hills, the men's enthusiasm drained from their weary bodies. Hanno saw this. Perhaps even more significantly, he felt it as well. He had no inspired speeches to energize his sweat-soaked, reeking, insect-plagued men, but he believed that no city could stand forever against dogged persistence. He had the men build ever larger siege engines, towers taller than the walls, that could be pushed forward on the level areas. From these they hurled volleys of arrows and spears and darts as cover for those working beneath them. In other areas, they built sheltered pathways so that workers could go forward in safety and chip away at the foundation of the city in relative safety. Adherbal, the chief engineer, reported that the blocks at the base of the walls were fitted and sealed with clay. These blocks he had pulled away in great numbers, weakening the fortress at its very base. Occasionally the massive walls shifted and adjusted to the intrusion, groaned against it as if calling out for help.
This was normal enough—to be expected as the battering rams shook the barriers deep down into their foundations—but Hanno woke one stiflingly hot late-summer morning, feeling something in the air, something amiss. When a messenger brought him news of a strange occurrence he almost felt like he had been expecting it. A corner section of the city's sloping northern bulwark had shifted suddenly, crushing the corps of workers undermining it, burying them in an instant mass grave, one great noise and then complete silence, no cries or moaning or calls for help. As the dust slowly cleared it revealed the strangest of architectural adjustments. The wall had not collapsed at all but simply sunk about ten feet, completely intact, no weaker for the change, no more easily breached.
Inspecting the sight, Hanno felt a sudden, gnawing doubt wrap around his gut. What force had lifted its massive boot and pressed it down upon those fifty men, blotting them from the earth without a trace? It was too odd an occurrence to go unconsidered. There might well be a portent in it of things to come. Perhaps the Saguntines had called upon the power of a god whose devotion to them outweighed Baal's commitment to the Carthaginians. If that were so, not even Hannibal's skills could hope to further their cause. Hanno ordered a halt to similar work and called upon the chief priest for guidance.