"Nowhere else are women such as you held in so much honor," Zeno assured them. "And the learned ladies of Alexandria are free to come and go as they will, to have their own houses and schools, to found their own salons and control all their own properties. Even husbands cannot forbid this, and no woman of learning and property needs the protection of husband or master. So long as they attend at court upon the queen's pleasure, the rest of their time is entirely their own."
"It does sound more attractive than these rough soldiers' camps," Roxana admitted, "or the crude palaces of Judea, with their throngs of ignorant, uneducated women of the great families."
"You would not believe the sort of petty intrigue that prevails there should we tell you of it," said Glaphyra.
"I think we can imagine it," Izates assured her.
"We must consider what you have told us," Roxana said. "These are weighty matters, and not to be taken lightly. Will you be here for long?"
"We sail in a day or two, bearing General Norbanus's correspondence," Zeno said. "But now that the new sea-courier service is under way, the Roman establishment of Egypt and that of the peripatetic General Norbanus will keep in close touch. It may well be that we shall have occasion to call upon you ladies again, soon should that be your pleasure."
"Be sure to inform us upon your arrival," Glaphyra said.
"It may be that we shall have much to speak of." She gestured toward the table full of astrological paraphernalia. "We have not begun to disclose to you our deepest knowledge."
That night the two Greeks lounged in the fine tent Norbanus had put at their disposal.
"Well, our first roll of the bones came up Venus, as the Romans would say," Zeno commented.
"Thus far, we have succeeded beyond our expectations," Izates agreed, sipping at his wine. It was very fine wine, and he found that he was growing accustomed to fine things. This was unworthy of a philosopher, he knew. He also knew that he didn't care.
"We must be very careful with those two," Zeno said.
"It goes without saying."
"You noticed how they spoke in turn?"
Izates nodded. "It's meant to baffle people; confuse them and throw them off guard."
"That's what I thought. Even after a lapse in conversation, one would speak forthrightly while the other kept silence. Never once did both try to speak at once. I wonder how they arrange that. Some secret signal, do you think?"
"Twins share a bond that others lack. Perhaps no signal is needed, so sensitive is each to the other's thoughts and will. In some ways they are uncanny, but in most ways they are just common women. Better born, more learned than most, but ordinary, mortal women for all that."
"Ordinary?" Zeno said. "But how? I found them most extraordinary."
"No matter how high they started and how much higher they have risen, they have the same fears that haunt other women. Men, too, if truth were known. They fear loss of all they have. They fear old age and mortality."
"They fear being supplanted by other women," Zeno said, nodding. "And now we know what they want that Norbanus cannot give them: a secure future."
"And that is the weakness we will exploit," Izates said. "We have come a long way from our studies, my friend. We have gone from contemplation of the ideal and the ineffable to the manipulation of human beings for our own purposes."
"Then it behooves us to do this well. Power is more dangerous than wisdom."
In his own tent, Norbanus was contemplating his own future. The acquisition of Massilia was a great coup. It would cause outrage in the Senate, but so what? Every great Roman sought to increase his clientele. If he used his army to do it, he would not be the first. Others before him had placed tribes and nations in clientage to their families. He had merely done it better. Jonathan of Judea and the city of Massilia were now his. More would be his soon. Always assuming, of course, that he remained victorious.
Now he looked at the scroll before him. It held his future in a way that the predictions of the Judean women could not. Another boat had put in that day, this one from far west. It had sailed from Cartago Nova, and it carried a messenger: a taciturn man who had refused to speak to anyone but the general. The man had shown him a seal, and it had given Norbanus a little thrill that told him the gods had something exceptional in store for him. It was the seal of Princess Zarabel of Carthage.
Great Proconsul Norbanus, the message began. The time has come for us to make common cause, as we did while you were my guest in Carthage. Your countryman Scipio and his Egyptian queen are preparing to make the Middle Sea their own, while my foolish brother tries to emulate Alexander. With what I send you, you canmake yourself master of the world. Make good use of this, and you and I can rule that world together.
This was bald enough, he thought, though why she thought he would need her, having destroyed Hamilcar, he could not guess. Desperation, he supposed. But what she had sent him was invaluable. It was nothing less than Hamilcar's campaign route and schedule and his order of battle, complete with numbers and units.
Hamilcar had departed Carthage with his army and was marching west. That meant he was heading for the Pillars of Hercules and Spain. Then he would turn east and march for Rome. But first he would meet Titus Norbanus.
He, Norbanus, would be first to crush Hamilcar. Not his father, not Scipio or any other Roman. The glory would go to Titus Norbanus the younger. He might have to share the glory of taking Carthage itself, but this would be his alone. It was destiny. It was the will of the gods.
He began to pore feverishly over his maps. Hamilcar would be moving slowly. Norbanus had seen the army of Carthage on the march, and it could not move at anything like the speed of the Roman legions. Hamilcar would plan to link with Mastanabal, to add that victorious general's army to his own.
But he could not do that if Norbanus found Mastanabal first. It was always good to destroy the enemy's forces in detail, before they had a chance to mass against the Romans. It was one of the oldest dicta taught in Roman military schools: Bring your greatest strength against the enemy's weakness. This was far better than challenging strength with strength. He studied his maps.
Where was Mastanabal?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The march was proceeding altogether gloriously. The massive Carthaginian Army trailed out behind him so far that should he halt, the last elements would not arrive in his camp for two or three days. Size alone did not dictate this attenuation. So vast a host would devastate any country through which it passed. Friendly territory would suffer nearly as sorely as that of the enemy. Not that Hamilcar worried overmuch for the welfare and happiness of his subjects, but his Libyan and Numidian allies could quickly become enemies and their raids might slow and distract his troops. He needed his allied cavalry and dared not offend even their flea-bitten, barbarous chieftains.
Thinking of cavalry, he admired the horsemen who rode as his escort. They were Queen Teuta's Illyrians, and they provided not only his immediate guard, but rode as flankers and forward scouts as well. Their bizarre appearance had the locals gaping wherever they rode. The tattooed men were as fair as Gauls, but they wore tight-fitting trousers and soft boots with pointed, upturned toes. They had long-sleeved jackets and tall, pointed caps with dangling ear-flaps, and every bit of their clothing was stitched with colorful embroidery in fanciful designs: flowers and twining vines and elongated animals writhing into poses of knotted complexity. In their hands were long lances from which streamed banners, and at their belts they carried cased bows and quivers of arrows. Across their backs they carried short sabers in sheaths of figured leather and tucked into their sashes were curved daggers. They did not wear armor and regarded it as unmanly.