The walls of Carthage were broad enough to race chariots along the top, and tunneled through with barracks, storehouses for supplies, magazines for arms and stables for horses, oxen and elephants. It overlooked the Great Harbor from an immense height, and the circular Naval Harbor, with its artificial admiralty island, lay within the wall's protection.
Now the water and the ship sheds of the Naval Harbor were jammed with the triremes assembled for the war, and the commercial harbor was almost full with the spillover. There were warships and transports of all kinds. Some ships had been lost at Alexandria, victims of the outlandish defensive works envisioned by the School of Archimedes, and carried out under the direction of the Roman, Marcus Scipio. But these losses had been trifling. Carthage could build more ships in a day than had been lost in the Egyptian war.
But the contrary winds kept them penned here. Zarabel wrinkled her shapely nose at the stench of their refuse, dumped into the water to linger there until winds from the south should blow once again, allowing the ships to leave and the waters to refresh themselves in the accustomed fashion.
"What would happen," she wondered, "if a fire should break out on one of those ships? They are packed together like wooden tenements of the poor. A fire could sweep them all and spread to the Naval Harbor. The sea power of Carthage could be more than halved in a single hour."
"One supposes," Echaz piped dryly, "that our shofet has made all necessary sacrifices to secure us from such a disaster."
"Even so," she murmured. "Yet, as you have observed, the gods are no longer pleased with our sacrifices."
The priest lowered his gaze. "That is very true, Princess."
"Let us implore Tanit," she said, "that no such evil befell us."
"I shall pray and sacrifice daily, Princess."
"But," she amended, "the decision lies with the goddess. Should she desire to humble Baal-Hammon by striking a blow at his overweening devotee, the shofet, we can only acquiesce to her will."
"That is also true, Princess," said the priest.
The next evening, after a seasonal banquet in honor of Patechus, the god of terror and guardian of naval vessels, Zarabel spoke to her brother more sharply than was her usual custom.
"Brother," she said, speaking down a table lined with courtiers, now replete with food and wine, "you know that the people call for a Topbet to win back the will of our gods." Instantly the convivial hubbub quieted.
"I have heard no such thing from the people," Hamicar said. "Only from certain priests, who would do well to hold their tongues if they wish to keep them." He wondered what his sister was up to. She had been meek for some time, itself a suspicious circumstance.
"The baalim are angry with us," she asserted.
"How so? I was forced to retire from Alexandria, but we suffered no military disaster in Egypt. These Romans have come to plague us with their outrageous aggression and their lying alliances, but that is because our ancestor Hannibal the Great neglected to destroy them when he had the opportunity. I will finish the task and will not be moved to clemency, as he was." The courtiers made sounds of agreement and tapped the table with their flywhisks in applause.
"Yet your great host stays here eating up the substance of Carthage because you cannot get a favorable wind. This alone is proof of the gods' displeasure."
"Winds favorable or unfavorable are a matter of luck at any time. They obey laws of nature that we do not understand and will blow northward when it is time for them to blow that way."
"That is Greek philosophy, not the wisdom of Carthage," she answered with the hint of a sneer in her voice.
His face darkened. "Then let us be instructed by another Greek example, one from a time before the Greeks took up philosophy. The Greek king Agamemnon assembled a great fleet, very much like mine, to sail against Troy, which had insulted him much as these Romans have insulted me. But the winds were unfavorable. To secure a good wind for Troy, the gods demanded the sacrifice of his daughter, Iphigenia. The sacrifice was duly performed and Agamemnon got his wind, but the sacrifice caused him much trouble later."
In the ensuing silence he took a sip from his jeweled cup. "Nevertheless, I might be persuaded to risk his sad fate for the good of Carthage. But, as you know, sister, I have no daughter. In fact, I have only one close kinswoman." He glared at her until she lowered her eyes.
Later, when the guests were gone and Zarabel had retired to her quarters, far from his, Hamilcar stood on his great terrace and brooded upon the evening's disturbing turn. He was tall, handsome, with the pale complexion and black hair shared by all highborn Carthaginians. His hair and beard were dressed in the Greek fashion, and his robes were Greek in design, although embroidered with gold in Carthaginian figures and befitting his lofty rank.
He wondered what his sister's outspokenness portended. She had obviously wanted to be heard by others. Why else wait until a banquet? It had not escaped his notice that she had paid more than proper attention to the Roman delegation when they visited Carthage. He was all but sure that she had been more than intimate with the one named Norbanus. Norbanus and Scipio had been the ranking men of the mission. His sister had identified Norbanus as the weaker and more corruptible of the two and had set out to exploit him. Hamilcar could only approve of her strategy, if not of her motives. Might his sister be contemplating treachery, even treason? If so, he would not be totally displeased.
For some time after returning to Carthage he had kept an eye on his sister's waistline. If she was with child by a foreigner, he could put her aside without incurring censure. But she was too clever for that and had a vast knowledge of medicines and every sort of abortifacient. Much as she provoked him, her position as royal princess, direct descendant of Hannibal and high priestess of Tanit, made her invulnerable, lacking proof of the most egregious crime.
His gaze was drawn north, past the twin lighthouses that flanked the harbor entrance. What were the Romans doing up there, to the north? The Romans he had taken to Egypt had shown themselves to be terribly effective in battle, but they were cut off from Italy, last reported somewhere in Judea. Surely, he thought, they would all die or desert long before they could reach Italy to reinforce the usurping Romans there.
But the rich and strategic island of Sicily, long a Carthaginian possession, now swarmed with Romans, more of them than he had dreamed existed. Incredibly, the sheer number of legions seemed to surpass those faced by Hannibal. Where had they all come from? Could the ragtag, beaten nation that chose exile north of the Alps have bred so many sons in a mere four or five generations? It did not seem possible, unless they had the reproductive capacity of hares.
In truth, he was not entirely displeased with his new challenge. Once, he had thought that conquering Egypt would win him undying fame. Now he knew that it would have made him merely one conqueror among many. But he would beat the Romans, annihilating them utterly, as his ancestor Hannibal had failed to do. Then he would march on and finish Egypt and, with his empire restored and the wealth of Egypt added to that of Carthage, the world was his. He would go on to swallow up the Seleucid kingdom and drive the Parthians back to their steppes, crush Macedonia and Greece, and then the sea would be his own personal lake. He would be master of the world, greater than Hannibal, greater than Alexander.