"Holiness," he began, "we are most distressed by the signs. For the last month the Moon, sacred heavenly emblem of Tanit, has displayed a reddish color most uncommon for this time of year. Her sacred geese have been restless and have often refused to eat. Clearly, the goddess is displeased. We have offended her in some fashion."
Next the high priest of Eshmun stood. He was a tall, heavy man with uncut hair, his eyebrows emphasized with kohl to form a pair of swooping wings that met in an inverted point between his eyes. "My princess, the earth is in turmoil. The ground shook at Siccas, many buildings fell, many were killed. We anticipate a scanty harvest and wild beasts encroach on the outlying villages. Lions have never been so numerous." These were not seen as natural occurrences. There were no natural occurrences. There was only the will and whim of the gods.
A priestess rose. She wore a green gown in the form of fish scales and on her head was a fish headdress. She represented Dagon, once a minor Canaanite sea god, now exalted in Carthage. "My goddess-on-Earth, great monsters have been sighted at sea, dragons of the deep never seen in the Middle Sea before. Something has caused them to enter the Pillars of Melkarth-"
And so it went, one consecrated personage after another reporting ominous signs: fiery dragons seen hurtling through the night skies, birds, fish, beasts behaving unnaturally, monstrous births among humans and animals, floods and droughts and earthquakes, terrible storms and disappearances of ships in fine weather. Soldiers manning a border fort saw ghostly armies parading by in bright sunlight. A pure white elephant was born in the stables at New Carthage in Spain, and white was the color of death.
"Enough," Zarabel said. "It is plain that the gods are angry. But at whom?"
"Majesty," said the high priest of Eshmun, this time employing her title as princess, "Carthage lies now at the height of her power, as established by your ancestor Hannibal the Great. We are unchallenged save by Egypt, our prosperity is great." He paused, gazed around at the many sacerdotes in their holy regalia. "But this is a passing trifle, a matter of glitter and vanity. What are these things to the immortal gods? They have raised us high, and they can plunge us downward even more swiftly. We are powerless before them, and we can purchase their favor only with loyalty, devotion and sacrifice.
"In recent years," he went on in a more forceful voice, "we have fallen from the true religion. We have given our ancient gods the futile trappings of the Greek gods, who are nothing more than outsized humans!" There were cries of agreement and curses of execration against the alien gods. "My princess, you have resisted this valiantly and have kept the worship of Tanit pure, may she bless you forever. But I fear that your efforts have not been enough. The gods of Carthage are jealous. They will not share their glory with contemptible Greek half-gods. They require proof of our unswerving devotion, or I fear that they will destroy Carthage in their wrath."
"What proof of devotion must they have?" she demanded, knowing perfectly well. Her face was painted to resemble a mask and her silver crown bore a great crescent moon above her brow, its horns pointing upward. From throat to ankle she was draped in a black robe spangled with silver stars and moons.
"Majesty," said the high eunuch of Tanit, "the gods must have a tophet."
It was what she had expected. The tophet was the most solemn of Carthaginian rites. It was the ultimate affirmation of their devotion to the gods. When the gods had shown their disfavor through famine or plague or military catastrophe, the greatest people of Carthage, the wealthy, the noble, even the royal family, brought their children to the great square where the gigantic images of the gods were assembled. The huge bronze image of Baal-Hammon, now in his aspect as Moloch, glowed from the great fire kindled in his belly. There, amid prayer and wailing and the billowing smoke of tons of frankincense, the noble children of Carthage were cast into the naming maw of Moloch and were consumed utterly. The sacrifice was followed by a great celebration, for thus was the favor of the gods purchased. No other people were so devoted. No others were willing to make such a sacrifice. Therefore, no others were as powerful, as favored by the gods, as were the Carthaginians.
"I agree," Zarabel said, "but we will need preparation. The people are not ready."
"The people?" cried the priest of Eshmun. "What have they to do with anything? The gods do not ask for a consensus. It is because of such foreign practices that the gods became angry in the first place."
"Nonetheless," she said firmly, "as you have pointed out, the people see their nation and race at the very pinnacle of worldly power and glory. They are not skilled in interpreting the signs, as are we, the servants of the gods. To decree a tophet now would seem to them ingratitude."
"Majesty," said the priestess of Dagon, "we must not allow this state of affairs to continue too long. We could lose the favor of the gods irrevocably."
"I think we need not fear that," Zarabel said. "The people are accustomed to the tophet in times of national disaster. One such looms near even now."
"Your brother's war with Egypt?" said the chief eunuch.
"Precisely. His victory will strengthen the Hellenizing party in Carthage. His defeat will cast them into disgrace. The people will know that he has been defeated because he has displeased the gods."
No one mentioned what was on everyone's minds: that the princess had plans for bringing this defeat about. Even in such a gathering, there were some things best left unsaid.
The priestess of Bes rose. Bes was a minor Babylonian god who, like Dagon, had found a home in Carthage. He had the form of a fat, lion-headed dwarf and was the god of jollity and good times, a protector of travelers and women in childbirth. He was not one of the great and terrible gods, but was much beloved by the populace. "Holy one," she said, "the city is abuzz with talk of the Romans. Are they just men from a remote colony, or are they, too, a sign to us from the gods?"
"They are both," Zarabel said. "Yes, they are men from the remote north, descendants of our ancient enemies. But their appearance at this time, after so many generations, cannot be happenstance. Their ancestors were banished by the greatest and most victorious general ever raised by Carthage. That they should come among us just as an unworthy descendant of that same godlike Shofet seeks to equal his ancestor's glory cannot fail to be significant. The gods have sent them here for a purpose."
She did not have to explain to them what that purpose was: It was to bring low the Shofet and his bastardized, diluted cult, and raise high the cult of Tanit and its priestess. She had her plans already made.
"Ambassador Scipio?
Marcus looked up from his papers to see Zarabel standing in the doorway. He stood and inclined his head respectfully. "Princess. You honor me and Rome." He noted that she had employed a form of address to which he was not fully entitled. He was empowered by the Senate to open diplomatic negotiations, but he had not been given diplomatic rank. "You honor me personally far too much, in fact."
"Oh, I think not. Whatever your Senate thinks, you are a man who seizes the moment. If you are not officially an ambassador, you are one in fact through your own deeds. Any sovereign would rather deal with such a man than with some fat time-server sent out to get him away from court."
Instantly he was on his guard. Why such flattery? Today the princess was wearing one of her less distracting outfits; a neck-to-feet gown of fabulous blue silk. It left her arms bare but they were so plated with gold that the flesh was barely visible. He was sure that the relative modesty of her attire was intended to set him at his ease, just as the outrageously immodest garb she had worn on the first day had been chosen to unsettle the Romans and put them in their place as beings of a lesser order.