Chapter 8
They proceeded between the lines of courtiers toward the man who sat enthroned on a high dais. While not seeming to, the Romans assessed the men they were passing. Some were fat and scented and had the look of plutocrats. Others were graybearded, recognizable as counselors in any setting. Yet others were more ominous: hard, scar-faced men whose rich clothing could not disguise the fact that they were soldiers of long service.
The man on the throne was another pseudo-Greek, handsome and fit but without the marks of hard campaigning on him. Behind his throne were ranged a line of guards. To Marcus they looked like some sort of Celt, but of a breed he did not recognize. Most had dark hair dressed in triple plaits and they wore richly worked armbands and belts around their brief white tunics. Each carried a small iron-bossed wooden shield and a vicious, down-curving, slashing sword called a falcata. They wore no armor at all. From these and other signs Marcus guessed that they were Spanish Celts. Such men had served Carthage for generations.
Ten paces before the throne they stopped and Marcus inclined his head. "In the name of the Senate and people of Rome I greet you, Shofet of Carthage." A pair of guards strode forward, grasped his arms and tried to force him to his knees and looked disconcerted when they were unable to do so. "Tell these men to take their hands off me or face war with Rome."
With a laugh, the Shofet signaled for the men to desist. "They must be Romans in truth! The stories of their highhandedness were not exaggerated." His courtiers looked scandalized but none of them spoke. Hamilcar leaned forward. "Listen to me, Romans. My ancestor cursed your breed and I would only be doing my duty by my gods if I should choose to burn you alive on the altar of Baal-Hammon." He sat back, lounging against the white lion skin. "But that was generations ago, and times change. It pleases me to accept your suit. Show me your credentials."
He signaled for servants to bring chairs. The Romans did not change expression at these mercurial alterations of mood. They understood showmanship and knew how to respond to it. When folding chairs were brought, they sat, arranging their togas in the approved manner while Hamilcar read the documents Marcus presented. They were written on parchment bound within wooden covers. Each left-hand page was written in Latin with the facing page giving a translation in Greek. At the bottom was appended the leaden seal of the Senate.
"It is a bit old-fashioned," Hamilcar pronounced, "but everything seems to be in order." He handed the documents to a gray counselor, who proceeded to examine them closely. Hamilcar's Greek was impeccable, but there was something a bit irregular to his phrasing and vocabulary. Marcus guessed that the language, as used at court, had changed since the time of the Roman emigration. The merchants who sometimes came to Noricum spoke the simplified dialect used for trade.
"We have dealt with few republics," Hamilcar said. "They used to be common around the Middle Sea. Now they are a rarity. Nonetheless, we do not insist upon dealing with a fellow monarch. I am, after all, no more than spokesman for the Hundred, the true ruling body of Carthage."
His courtiers nodded solemnly, retaining their impassive demeanor in the face of this outrageous assertion. Hannibal had ruthlessly purged the ruling classes of Carthage. The Hundred, once a plutocracy of wealthy men holding office through property assessment, was now no more than an advisory council on matters concerning trade. All real power lay with the descendants of Hannibal.
"Our Senate," Marcus said, "desires to reopen trade with the lands of the Middle Sea."
"A laudable goal. And you have come to the right place to begin your mission. Carthage is preeminent on the Middle Sea in all matters involving the sea lanes, both for commercial and for military purposes."
While these preliminaries were carried out, the principals were under close observation. From a passage behind the throne, Princess Zarabel watched the proceedings through an aperture in an elaborate carving. The palace had many such passages and observation points, all of them unknown to her brother the Shofet. Zarabel knew them all intimately. This knowledge was passed down through the high priestesshood of Tanit. The high priestess was always a woman of the Barca family.
She had hurried her bearers through the streets from the great temple to the palace. If anyone had wondered at her abrupt return, they had kept silent about it. From the access in her own chambers she had reached this spy-hole just before the Romans entered. Now she made a study of the delegation, and her assessment was far shrewder than her brother's. He had the blindness of one who considered himself to be all-powerful. She, on the other hand, was revered by multitudes, but in the halls of power she was regarded with suspicion and barely veiled disdain. To keep her position, even to stay alive, she had to be able to read men and use them accordingly.
Like Hanno, she was struck by the kingly bearing of these men. She deduced that this was not a sign of innate superiority, but rather of long schooling in posture and deportment. The old Romans had been enamored of the Greek rhetorical arts, which emphasized stance and gesture as much as speech. This imperious stride and posture must be a development of those arts. Even knowing such a thing, it was still an impressive display.
The leader's arrogant refusal to prostrate himself was likewise impressive, if suicidal. For a moment she bit her lip, afraid that her brother would do something characteristically foolish in the family tradition, and order them all killed. Happily, he seemed more amused than offended. This was probably because he regarded these men as foreign bumpkins who simply knew no better. In this, she knew, he was seriously underestimating them.
The leader's ability to stand unshaken while two strong Spaniards tried to force him down was likewise impressive. Either these men had knees that would not bend, or they were just tough as old boots. She suspected the latter.
The leader, whose name, she learned, was Scipio, was a most impressive figure. He was a young man, but he showed the marks of long experience of warfare, and his overall presence gave the impression of a much older man. His straight, craggy features and coarse, close-cropped dark hair resembled those she had seen on old Roman portrait busts. She looked for the other man Hanno had mentioned in his letter.
She saw him at once. He was another man of distinguished appearance and she could read, by many tiny signs of face and body, that he chafed at his secondary position. This was an ambitious, jealous man. His hair and complexion were fairer than the leader's and she noticed that a number of these men were fairer than Italian natives should be. Either the Roman refugees had taken native wives or concubines, or else local families had risen to prominence. Either explanation was likely, considering what she knew of the old Romans. She was widely read in history, far more so than her brother.
It was interesting to hear their speech. Their pronunciation was a bit strange, and the grammar and syntax were those of a previous age, Greek rhetoric as it was spoken in the age of Demosthenes. The Romans had continued to study texts centuries old, and were unaware of the new speech and literature of Rhodes, Pergamum and the Greek cities of Asia. Somehow, it reinforced the forthrightness of their manner.
Satisfied with her first assessment, she returned to her chambers and called for her body slaves. The hairdresser, cosmetician, custodian of the jewels and mistress of the wardrobe appeared at once. Zarabel gave them her instructions and they set to work preparing her for her next task of the day, which was a delicate one. She needed to make a maximum impact on the visiting Romans, upstaging her brother without angering him so severely that he would order her execution. He had done this more than once. Thus far, he had always relented before the headsman bloodied his sword, but someday he might go through with it.