Hannibal's Children (30 page)

"But Roman soldiers never went into battle looking
ugly!"
Rufus protested.

A month later he was in the valley of the Rhenus, looking over the new swords. Cut off from the wonderful iron deposits of Spain, the Romans had established their sword works here, where the tough local iron was excellent for swords and the heavy forests provided abundant charcoal for forging.

He walked down a long table, picking up and hefting some of the new weapons. As with the helmets, these swords had been simplified for mass production. The pommels were simple balls of hardwood, the grips of bone variously stepped, grooved or checkered for a firm grip. The blades were the sort the Romans favored: no more than twenty inches long, pointed and double-edged, but here some changes had been made. These looked like shortened versions of the cavalry longsword. Instead of the graceful curved edges that produced the traditional wasp waist, their edges were perfectly straight and parallel. Instead of the usual long, tapering point, these were short and acutely angled.

He had to admit that they balanced just as well in the hand as the old style. In fact, they felt somewhat better. A little experimenting on animal carcasses in a butcher's stall satisfied him that the odd-looking point penetrated just as efficiently as the old style and, as the swordmaker pointed out, it was stronger and less likely to bend against shield or armor. Rufus sighed. It was hard to turn loose of traditional things, but concessions would have to be made if they were to take back the Seven Hills. He pronounced himself and the Senate satisfied.

The Consuls inspected the new legions at a grand review on the Field of Mars. The older, established legions were already encamped at the foot of the mountains except for the four destined for Carthage and the war with Egypt. Those had already crossed into Italy.

"We are being watched," Consul Norbanus said.

"Naturally," said Consul Scipio. "Romans seldom get a spectacle like this."

"I mean we are being watched by those Greek merchants."

Quintus Scipio turned around. They stood atop the great reviewing platform from which the consuls and other magistrates traditionally inspected the massed legions. He saw the little knot of Greeks watching from the fringes of the crowd, their expressions intent and calculating.

"Yes. Well, they aren't very effective spies. Everyone knows them for inveterate liars. Do you think Hamilcar or anybody else would believe them were they to report what they see here?"

"Safer to kill them," said his father, Scipio Cyclops. As one who had held all the highest offices, he rated a place on the stand.

"Safer, perhaps, but would it be wise?" the younger Scipio remarked.

"What do you mean?" Norbanus wanted to know.

"If the merchants fail to return home, suspicions may be roused. They do not act entirely as individuals. They belong to syndicates. Inquiries will be made."

"There is that to consider," his father admitted.

"They're Greeks and they're merchants," Norbanus said. "Let's just bribe them."

"With what?" Quintus Scipio asked. "We've bankrupted the treasury preparing for this war."

Norbanus chuckled. "How innocent you are. A one-time cash payment is not how you bribe these people. They would just go to Hamilcar and demand a bigger bribe to tell what they know. He would be more likely to believe them if he has to pay for the information. No, the way to bribe them is with something that will continue paying them in the future. We are going to reestablish Rome in Italy. That will mean a whole new market for them. Promise them long-term contracts, monopolies and so forth. It's what they value."

"Excellent idea," Quintus Scipio said. "You can take care of the matter since it's your idea." He knew that part of each contract would stick to the ringers of his colleague, but that was only to be expected.

Three new legions stood on the Field of Mars, fully equipped. The rest would be ready in the next few months. These were mainly new recruits, with a leavening of veterans drawn from the established legions. All of the centurions and decurions were veterans, naturally. The raising of ten new legions had brought about an unprecedented rash of promotions. Men who mere months previously could not have expected to wear decurion's plumes for another ten years now gloried in the crest, vinestock and greaves of a centurion.

The military tribunes and senior staff were drawn from the senatorial class, and some of these glittered with bronze finery, colorful plumes and weapons decorated with precious metals. Others were as unadorned as the commonest legionary. There had been special elections to appoint the junior officers, special meetings of the Senate to approve the commanders and legati. As always where the Senate was concerned, there was maneuvering and shifting of alliances and voting blocs. The men lucky enough to hold high rank during the reconquest could look forward to glittering political careers. They would be the favorites at future elections; their names would appear on monuments. Prominent senators indebted themselves for years to come in order to secure these commissions for their sons.

The priests of Bellona went forward dressed in their ritual regalia to pronounce the blessing of the goddess upon the legions. The soldier's oath had been taken at the formation of the new legions, but the necessary ceremonies remained to be accomplished.

Because of the unprecedented military situation there had been an extraordinary election of censors, an election that ordinarily would not have taken place for another three years. The legions had to be purified, and only censors could perform this ceremony, the lustrum.

The two distinguished senators, both of whom had held all the highest offices, came forward and pronounced the prayers in a language so ancient as to be unintelligible. Then commenced the suovetaurilia: the great sacrifice to Mars. The three victims were brought forward: a spotless white bull, an enormous ram and an equally huge boar. All had been scrubbed and their horns and tusks gilded. Drugged to keep them quiet, bound and draped with garlands of flowers, they were raised on ornate litters and carried by temple slaves in solemn procession amid clouds of incense smoke from censers swung on long chains by white-clad boys.

Three times the beasts were carried around the assembled legions. The procession halted at the great altar of Mars and the creatures were unbound and led before the altar where the Flamen Martialis waited, wearing his white coif surmounted by the wooden disk and spike. He drew his curved sacrificial knife and cut the throat of each animal. Slaves caught the gushing blood in golden bowls and poured it over the altar. Then the priests of Mars roared out the ritual laugh three times and all was silent while the augurs scanned the skies for omens. In time a flock of raven was observed alighting in a tree on the south end of the field and the Flamen Martialis pronounced the god satisfied.

The Senior Consul, his red sagum draped in the manner of a commander delivering the adlocutio, now spoke.

"Soldiers of Rome! You have taken your oath and you have been purified. Now you go forth to accomplish the greatest task ever entrusted to the legions. Yes, what you are about to do will be remembered as greater than the war with Hannibal, for this time we shall prevail! Greater than the wars against the Gauls and the Germans that brought us our empire of Noricum, for this time we do not fight a campaign here and there against this tribe or that league, and we do not fight primitive warriors.

"Soldiers! You are about to begin the reconquest of our sacred homeland! You will meet, fight and destroy utterly the greatest empire in the world! You will humble Hannibal's children and make them pass beneath the Roman yoke! This generation, with you leading the way, will accomplish the sacred act of vengeance vouchsafed to us by our ancestors.

"Generations to come will calculate the year from this date, when Rome raised the most powerful army in history to take back the sacred Seven Hills!" He raised his arm in salute and the assembled soldiers roared out their battle cry, pounding the butts of their pila against their shields as the priests of Mars known as the Salii, the "holy leapers," performed their vaulting dance around the altar of the god. They wore ancient helmets and they carried the twelve sacred shields called ancilia, one of which had in ages past fallen from the heavens. As they danced, they performed the act forbidden at any time save one such as this: They beat the shields with their staves to call upon Mars for aid in the coming war.

At last there was silence. The priests of Saturn entered the field, bearing the standards of the legions: the images of the sacred beasts for the lesser formations and the new golden eagles for the legions themselves. These were given to picked men who wore pelts of bear or wolf or lion draped over their helmets and shoulders. The senior of these bore a new title: aquilifer, "eagle-bearer." His would be the greatest responsibility of all the six thousand soldiers of the legion: It was his duty to walk forth alone if the legion faltered. He was to die before allowing the sacred emblem to fall into enemy hands.

When all else was done, the priests called fetiales came forth and walked to the little enclosure of land dedicated to Bellona and designated as enemy territory. One of the priests carried the ancient bronze spear of Romulus. At the boundary the senior priest pointed to the enclosure with his wand. "Behold Carthage!" he shouted. A younger priest stepped forward and solemnly cast the ancient spear into the enemy soil where it stood, quivering.

The Senate of Rome chanted as one man: "Go! Take back the Seven Hills!"

The assembled legions roared their assent.

The reconquest of Italy had begun.

The boat looked like nothing Marcus had ever seen before. If pressed to describe the thing, he might have said that it was like two boats fastened together, with the upper one hull-up, so that the whole thing was shaped like an enormous wooden spindle. Oars protruded from ingenious oarlocks, waterproofed with tarred leather sleeves. A pair of steering paddles protruded from its rear like the legs and feet of a goose. In the upper bow was a small window of thick glass. It rested on a launching slip like the egg of some vast bird. A small crowd of curiosity-seekers stood around waiting to see what might happen.

Marcus stood with Chilo, the head of the Archimedean School of the Museum. Selene sat near them in her elevated royal litter. Since this was not an official function she was dressed informally, in a plain, white gown with a gold-embroidered border. The gown was Greek but her hair was covered with an Egyptian-style coif, the first article of native garb Marcus had seen her wear.

"Do you believe this thing can really travel beneath the water?" Flaccus asked, looking queasy. He was the only member of the Roman party besides Marcus who had come to view the launching. The others deemed it a waste of time.

"Of course," Chilo said. "We wouldn't risk men's lives in it if we did not. The design has worked well when we built miniatures."

"I can make toy soldiers do things that living soldiers cannot," Flaccus said. "It is not natural for men to travel beneath the water."

"You think it's unnatural to travel
on
the water," Marcus said.

"The boat is watertight," Chilo asserted. "It will hold enough air to last the men inside for an hour or more. What we seek to find out today is how well we can make it move beneath the water, whether we can control its speed and direction sufficiently."

"I think it is most exciting," Selene said. "These men will be doing something no one has ever done before." No other member of the court was present. The pleasure-loving rulers of Egypt found nothing very interesting in the experiments of the Archimedeans. They had expressed only the mildest interest when Chilo had pointed out that his vessel would be useful in salvage operations.

"How can oars work under water?" Marcus asked. "If they can't be lifted free of the water, I would think that the pulling stroke would move the boat forward, then the return stroke would move it an equal distance back."

"The oarsmen are skillful," Chilo said. "You notice that the paddle ends are broad but very thin? Likewise, the shafts are of a flattened oval cross-section rather than truly round. After each pull stroke, they will twist the oars to a perfectly horizontal position and thus will cut through the water with very little resistance on the return stroke."

"We shall see," Marcus said.

A man's head appeared through the open hatch atop the hull. "All is ready," he reported.

"Good luck, Tyrophanes!" Selene cried.

"Then launch!" Chilo called. Slaves wielding sledgehammers knocked the chocks free and the bizarre boat slid down the greased skids to enter the water with a restrained splash. It settled so deeply that Marcus feared that it would sink, but as it lost way it floated with about a foot of its upper surface still above water. With a wave and a grin, the captain of the vessel disappeared inside, pulling the hatch shut behind him. The bronze wheel protruding from the hatch turned as it was tightened from within against its oiled leather gasket.

"Now what?" Flaccus asked.

"Tyrophanes will open the valves in the hull to fill the water skins inside. These will provide enough weight to cause the boat to sink entirely beneath the water."

"How do they come back up?" Flaccus said, his face a little pale.

"There are screw-presses to expel the water once more and then the boat will rise," Chilo explained.

"Something about that just doesn't sound right," Flaccus protested.

"The principles of buoyancy were articulated by Archimedes himself," Chilo told him. "It is all quite elementary." But his own face was somewhat pale and grim, belying his confident words.

"There it goes!" Selene said.

While they watched, the boat subsided slowly beneath the surface of the lake. Some in the little crowd cried out, then there was only a low muttering. All stared out at the calm, unruffled waters of the lake, saying very little. This silence held for perhaps fifteen minutes.