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  "Your hospitality on short notice is more than splendid, Excellency," Scipio said, taking his seat. The others sat in order of precedence, even Flaccus showing himself as punctilious as the rest, in the presence of barbarians.

  Hanno waved a hand dismissively. "Just what we keep handy for when unexpected guests drop in. Tonight I shall entertain you at a proper dinner and tomorrow we shall have a banquet, with all the best people of the city attending."

  "That is short notice for all the important people to drop their plans." This from another man. What was his name? Norbanus, that was it. Hanno did not miss the flicker of annoyance that crossed the face of the one called Scipio. Norbanus had spoken out of turn.

  "Everyone will be more than happy to meet such fascinating newcomers," Hanno assured them. Not, he reflected, that their wishes were of any account when he desired their presence. "In the meantime, quarters will be prepared for you here in the Residence. It will be my great pleasure to provide for all your needs and desires."

  "This is most generous," Scipio said. "You will find that our wants are minimal."

  "Indeed?" Hanno said. "But then, you are a martial people. Most commendable. Our own soldiers, officers and men, while on campaign practice the virtues of austerity as well. But what need is there to be frugal in the midst of abundance?"

  "It is our belief that luxury and soft living weaken a man, Excellency," Scipio said. "Even when we are away from the legions, we avoid those practices that might unfit us for service."

  "Most wise, I am sure," Hanno said, nodding, making a mental note to see which of these Romans actually lived up to this ideal. But he was intrigued by that word: legions. Had the Romans maintained their vaunted military organization and discipline? It was so superior that the Carthaginians had imitated it in many regards. He began to detect a possible answer to his recruitment dilemma, should conditions prove favorable.

  "I must confess," Hanno admitted, "that my knowledge of lands north of the alps is sketchy. We Carthaginians are sea-traders and send few expeditions inland. We have only the reports of Greek traders for information about the remote north, and they prefer to guard their trade secrets closely. It was my impression that your ancestors who dwelled formerly on this peninsula had founded a small nation beyond the mountains. Am I to take it that your New Rome is a rather prominent citystate?"

  "We call it Noricum, or Roma Noricum," Scipio answered. "And, yes, we have prospered up there. Noricum is the militarily dominant state of the region, as well as the most prosperous commercially and in all categories of agriculture."

  "How good to hear," Hanno murmured, certain that the man was holding back a great deal, which was only the path of wisdom. "And how comes it about that you have decided to return to Italy after all these years? You do understand that the banishment of your people has never been repealed?"

  "That is understood. In truth, for generations all the omens proclaimed that our gods wished us to stay north of the mountains. However, of late, certain signs have indicated a change in divine attitude and the Senate has decided to investigate the possibility of a Roman-Punic friendship. After all, many years have passed, times have changed, new persons occupy the thrones of nations—there is no reason why the enmity of our ancestors should separate us forever."

  "I am certain that the Shofet will accept your suit in exactly that light," Hanno assured them. "I shall be most happy to have a ship fitted out to bear you to the capital, so that you can present your credentials to His Majesty personally."

  "This goes beyond generosity and hospitality," Marcus said, exulting inwardly. A chance to see Carthage itself? He had never dared hope for such luck.

  "It is nothing. I want only good relations between our nations."

  That afternoon, given freedom of the city, the Romans explored Tarentum. They were fascinated to see the workings of a genuine port. In the presence of barbarians they maintained the unflappable Roman demeanor, but this required an effort when their urge was to goggle and stare.

  Tarentum was unlike anything they had seen before. Capua had given them some preparation, but it was a pale imitation. Here the streets were covered with bright awnings and fountains bubbled at every street corner. The temples were adorned with colorful marble and every open space featured splendid sculpture and painted porticoes. Huge sections of stony ground had been hewn away and filled with soil from the mainland and planted with splendid gardens. The agora was lined with shops offering luxury goods from all over the world: bolts of purple cloth, spices, incense, papyrus, gold and gems, fine art works, pearls, furniture of the rarest woods, exquisite perfumes, books copied from the library at Alexandria; the variety seemed endless.

  "Now I understand," said Titus Norbanus, "what a crude frontier fort Noricum is."

  "It's what I've been saying all along," said Flaccus, stroking the magnificent leather case of a scroll, just a single volume of a fifty-scroll set of the works of Homer complete with commentary, the entire collection resting in a case of pearl-inlaid ebony.

  "I've seen ten perfume shops," Marcus told them, "and not a single armory."

  "All to the good," Norbanus responded, lifting a massive golden platter wrought with a scene of satyrs pursuing voluptuous nymphs. "We've traveled the length of Italy and have seen not a single fort or military camp. Give me five legions and I'll occupy the whole peninsula in a single summer."

  "That part is easily done," Marcus said. "But what would we have to hold it against? We must learn about Carthaginian military strength. For all we know they can have a vast army here within days. We've heard that Sicily is heavily garrisoned, and it isn't far."

  "Let's have a look at the harbor," Norbanus suggested.

  "Good idea," Marcus concurred.

  They took the broad avenue that led from the agora to the waterfront, and there they stood, all but stupefied with amazement. The tip of the peninsula was the entrance to the fine harbor and even as they arrived, a two-masted grain ship was in the process of rounding its point. It was the largest object they had ever seen afloat, but it was one among many wonders.

  "Look!" Norbanus said, face aglow, pointing toward a long, low shape that seemed to be walking across the harbor. It was a war galley under oars, the first they had seen. The long oars moved with a precision that was wonderful to see. Its bronze ram cut the water, sending up a spray of foam. Crouched above the ram, its toes in the foam, was the effigy of a squat, ugly, crouching god or demon. Lining the bulwarks above the rowers were rows of overlapping shields painted with a triangle-and-crescent device. The marines who stood on the deck wore glittering armor. They had seen many drawings of these vessels, but beholding the real thing was a thrilling experience.

  "Carthaginian military might at last," Marcus said.

  "If paint and gilding win battles," Flaccus said, "we're defeated already." The rest chuckled, assessing the power of the ship with eyes that missed nothing. They traced its path and saw that it was heading toward a low building situated near the mouth of the harbor. Beneath its castellated ramparts were twenty-five openings at the waterline. As they watched, the galley entered one of the openings and disappeared.

  "So that's the naval dock," Marcus said. "They have docking for twenty-five such galleys."

  "Maybe for more," Flaccus remarked. "Each could be deep enough to hold more than one."

  "Let's go have a closer look," Marcus said. As they strolled toward the naval facility, one of the party pointed to a pair of islands just beyond the entrance.

  "Forts out there," he said. The islands were heavily fortified and they could just discern the angular forms of catapults atop the walls.

  "This place could be hard to crack," Norbanus said. "Just a narrow isthmus connecting it to the mainland, with a strong gate, the approaches by sea well guarded. There may be a harbor chain like the one at—where was it, Flaccus?"

  "Rhodes," said the scholar. "If there is one, it should be easy to find. They require large anchor points and heavy machinery to
lift and lower."

  "Find out," Marcus said. "You can poke around without looking like a spy."

  Along the waterfront they heard for the first time many people speaking in the guttural Punic tongue. To their ears, accustomed to Latin and Greek, it was an ugly language. Wandering among the waterfront stalls and taverns, they saw Punic soldiers and sailors. Immediately they noted that the soldiers all conversed in Greek, the sailors in Punic.

  "They still rely on mercenaries," Norbanus said with contempt. "Only the navy men are native Carthaginians."

  "Some of the soldiers seem to be using the Laconian dialect," Flaccus noted.

  "Spartans?" Marcus said. "If so, they've fallen far, to be hired lackeys for Carthage."

  "Spartans were hiring themselves out as mercenaries long before our ancestors left Italy," Flaccus said.

  Marcus beckoned to Metrobius and the fat teacher came to him. "Metrobius, you know Greek better than any of us. I want you to circulate here, talk with the soldiers, find out where they come from and anything else that might be of use to us."

  "You'll have my report this evening, Commander." He walked off and was soon lost in the crowd.

  They came to the naval dock and found it to be fortified with its own wall on the landward side, heavily gated and manned by soldiers who wore armor of bronze scales and conical helmets. At their approach, one of the guards called something and a tall man emerged from the interior. He wore a Greek-style cuirass of silvered bronze, its shoulder rings supporting an extravagant purple cape. He was bareheaded, his hair dressed in long, oiled ringlets, his beard square-cut. His complexion was dark, his eyes black, flanking a great beak of a nose that divided his face like the prow of a warship. They did not need to be told from what nation this man hailed. The writings and tales of their great-grandfathers had described this physiognomy in detail: highborn Carthaginian.

  "Greetings, sir," Marcus said. "We are a delegation from Rome, and we were just admiring your admirable naval base."

  "I know who you are. I've heard the rumors." His Greek was fluent, but so guttural that he sounded as if he were gargling some of the words.

  "Might we come inside and tour your facility?" Marcus asked.

  "That is forbidden."

  "But your governor gave us freedom of the city," Norbanus said.

  "It may be his city, but this is my naval base, and it is forbidden for any foreigner not in the service of His Majesty to set foot within any Carthaginian military base."

  "You must hold to your duty, of course," Marcus said. "We intended no disrespect."

  The man unbent fractionally. "I am Egabal, Commodore of the Tarentine Gulf and of the Adriatic fleet."

  Marcus made the introductions and Egabal looked them over. "I suppose, living in the far north, you've never seen a civilized naval base?"

  "Until a few days ago none of us had even looked upon a sea."

  "Well, then, there's no harm in your seeing the outside.

  That much is open to everyone." He strode to the water's edge and leaned on the balustrade, his scarred brown hands making an odd contrast with the polished white marble. He raised one of them and pointed at the great facade of the dock, which curved away from them with its row of gaping tunnels.

  "There you see the ship sheds. Inside are all the facilities necessary for fitting out the ships, arming and victualling them. Inside, each of those is long enough to hold three ships at once. If a middling large fleet must abide here, twice that many can be accommodated."

  "How is that possible?" Flaccus asked him. "We saw a ship go in a short time ago. There seems to be little leeway on each side. If they are only long enough for three, how do you crowd in three more?"

  "Easily. First, three ships go in, prow to stern. They are unloaded and dismasted, then they are hoisted to the ceiling with rope and tackle. Then three more are rowed in to dock beneath them."

  "Whole ships hung from the ceiling?" Marcus said, trying to visualize such a thing.

  "It is how warships are always stored for the winter. Even the Greeks do it, and they were never the sailors we are."

  So, Marcus thought, 150 ships constituted a middling sized fleet, unless this man was lying or exaggerating. "It is a magnificent establishment."

  Egabal shrugged. "It's not much compared to the great naval harbor of Carthage, but it's impressive to barbarian eyes." The Romans remained stone-faced, merely filing the small insult away as one more offense for which Carthage must one day be made to pay.

  That evening, after a sumptuous dinner at the palace, they heard Metrobius's report.

  "Many of the soldiers are Greeks, almost all of the marines. I encountered a number of Argives, a few Athenians and men from the islands and the cities of Magna Graecia, but no Spartans. I learned that all the training officers and drill instructors are Spartan professionals, so the Laconian dialect is the language of the whole army, even among the non-Greeks. The army also includes a great many Spaniards and men of Libya, Numidia and Mauretania, along with Balearics, Sicilians, Corsicans, Sardinians and men from all the islands of the western sea."

  "But no Carthaginian ground troops?" Marcus asked.

  "They never leave their homeland and are kept in reserve against uprisings by the natives and foreign threats to Carthage herself. The elite of the army is the Sacred Band, which is made up of highborn young Carthaginians."

  Norbanus snorted. "Elite! A pack of privileged boys who have never campaigned in foreign lands are the elite of this army?"

  "They're probably just the best-dressed," Flaccus said. "Shiny gear and bright plumes always seem to give men a high opinion of themselves. Did you see the purple cloak Egabal wore? Back home only a triumphing general gets to wear such a thing. Here, a navy functionary rates one."

  "I am preparing a report for the Senate," Marcus said. "I will include all we've seen and learned, but I have a feeling that the true revelations lie ahead."

  "Carthage," Norbanus said, dreamily. "We are going to see the heart of enemy territory with our own eyes! Even our ancestors never had that chance."

  "Actually," Flaccus said, "while it sounds like a most interesting trip, I will be more than happy to forego it in order to stay here in Tarentum and be your liaison—"

  "You're going with us, Flaccus," Marcus said. "You're just afraid to go out on the open sea."

  "It's unnatural to go floating about on water like that," Flaccus protested. "Neptune did not give us scales and fins."

  "You are going with us, Flaccus."

  "Very well, Commander," Flaccus sighed.

  That same evening, in another part of the palace, Hanno drafted two letters. The first he dictated to a scribe.

  "Begin with all the usual salutations to His Majesty," he told the old man who sat at his feet cross-legged, a writing table on his lap, pens and pots of ink on the floor beside him. The man scribbled industriously.

  "Majesty," Hanno began, "this day your city of Tarentum was visited by a most unexpected apparition—a delegation of Romans! I assure Your Majesty that your servant has not taken leave of his wits. It seems that the rumors of a state in the north founded by the Roman exiles are true. Not only that, but these latter-day Romans have prospered beyond expectation. They have retained some of their martial organization and I believe that Your Majesty may find them to be of some use in your most justified and holy war against the decadent Ptolemies of Egypt. To this end, I shall within a few days place these Romans on a trusty ship and dispatch them to the capital where they may afford you some amusement as well as provide a martial resource. I remain etcetera etcetera. Close with the usual formulas and make up a copy fit for royal eyes."

  Then he dismissed the scribe and began another letter, this one written with his own hand.

  Most esteemed and worshipful Princess Zarabel, he began. You are about to be visited by a delegation of Romans. It seems that these people are far from expunged from history as we have long imagined. The far north is a savage place, and for these to
have founded a state in that wilderness and made it prosper must mean that they have lost none of their political and military skills. The bearing of these men is dignified to an extent that you must see to appreciate. Impoverished and downtrodden states do not produce such men.

  Their leader is one Scipio, a name we know from history. His second in command is named Norbanus, and I detect both envy and ambition in this man. He is resentful of his inferior position. Such rivalry we know to be the bane of republics, and useful for us. For many years the world of the Middle Sea has lain in uneasy balance, with the Barcas, the Ptolemies and the Seleucids contending for dominance but each unable to seize it. These crude but martial foreigners are a new factor and they could tip the balance in favor of one or the other of the royal contenders. The one who makes best use of them may have a decisive advantage.

  Perhaps we have been mistaken in our concentration upon the Middle Sea, acting as if the rest of the world did not exist. I shall act forthwith to dispatch agents to the north, beyond the alps, and get an accurate report concerning this Roma Noricum. It is clear that the Greek merchants who trade to the north have been concealing much from us. I will interrogate such of these persons as I can find with utmost rigor.

  You, Lady of the Moon, Light of Tanit, are an unparalleled judge of men. I know that, once you have had an opportunity to assess them, you will read their hearts as you read the stars and the sacred waters of Tanit. This, I feel certain, is an opportunity that must be seized with the utmost resolution.

  I remain your most loyal servant, Princess Zarabel, shadow of Our Lady upon Earth.

  He finished the letter with a few more flourishes, rolled the parchment and placed it in a bronze tube. This he capped and sealed with melted lead, pressing a special seal into the soft metal. At his call a man entered the room and prostrated himself. The newcomer was a man of middle years, dressed in a short tunic and a pointed blue cap. His skin was burned dark and his face was seamed like old leather.