On the broad plain Ptolemy's land forces were arrayed along a broad front with its right flank anchored at the beach. On its left flank most of the cavalry sat mounted, and near them the corps of elephants waited patiently. The center was many lines deep and bristled with long pikes.
"Macedonians on both sides," Flaccus noted. "And they still favor those pikes."
"You'd think they'd have given those up long ago," Marcus said.
"They wouldn't do in our forests, but perhaps they're still of use in such conditions as these." Flaccus sketched the opposing battle formations on a scrap of papyrus with a charcoal stick. "Not very imaginative tactics," he remarked. "It's like they're following some old Greek textbook. Where are the legions?"
"Holding Hamilcar's right flank," Marcus answered. At such a distance it was impossible to distinguish standards and equipment, but the formation looked distinctly Roman. "He probably wants them to absorb the cavalry and elephant attacks. He should've put them in the center. The legions would make short work of those pikemen."
"I don't know," Flaccus said uneasily. "Does it occur to you that Roman armies haven't fought a large, civilized army in more than a hundred years?"
"I've considered it. But we've spent that whole time training for such a fight. They may be better organized than Germans and Gauls, but they certainly can't be any tougher."
Flaccus looked out over the water. "Look. They're already starting to fight out there." The ships rowed toward one another and fireballs began to arch from ship to ship. In the bright morning light the flames were pale and difficult to see, but the smoke trails were plain. In the clarity of the air the action was easy to follow, but at such a distance that all transpired in an eerie silence. Soon the battle lines dissolved as the fleets came together and all became a confusion of churned water and fire. Ships began to sink.
"I'm glad we're here instead of out there," Flaccus said.
"They're about to start," said Marcus. He referred to the ground armies who at last were beginning to move. They could hear the cheers and battle cries and chants, and above them the trilling of flutes and the thudding of drums. The colorful banners waved and a regiment of black Nubians on Hamilcar's right flank broke into a rhythmic, leaping dance, their plumed headdresses and waving leg bands of long, white monkey fur making a brave show as they prepared to kill for their king. With a surge, the Ptolemaic army began to advance along its whole front.
"He's taking the initiative," Marcus said, meaning Parmenion. Ptolemy was safely in Alexandria.
Flaccus pointed beyond the Egyptian army. "He's extending his line." The Carthaginian right, with the Romans at the extreme end, were stepping out in that direction, thinning the center somewhat.
"Trying for an envelopment," Marcus commented. "Hannibal's favorite tactic. It won't work, and it will leave the legions out there ready to be cut off and surrounded by the mounted troops."
"If Parmenion is clever enough to pull it off. From what I've seen so far, he's perfectly conventional. I think this calls for a drink." He unhooked a wineskin from his saddle and held it over his head, directing the stream into his mouth. He held the skin out toward Marcus but his friend shook his head. "Strange observing a battle from a distance like this, isn't it?"
"Right. I'm used to being in the thick of it. First blood now." On both sides the archers and slingers began to ply their weapons. A few heavy arrow-hurlers were brought into play, but these weapons were better suited for the siege than the battlefield. Still, where they struck the battle lines a single shaft could bring down five or six men at once.
Then the lines came together with a din that the observers could hear even at their distance. For a few seconds all was churning and flashing metal, then the dust rose and obscured most of the spectacle. They saw the Egyptian elephants charge toward the Romans while the horse cavalry made a wide circle to the left to catch them in flank and rear.
"I hope the legion commander has more brains than these people," Marcus said, striving for impassivity but without success. His tension and distress were plain as he saw the Romans under attack. There were old friends and colleagues out there, and it was largely his doing that brought them to this field. He felt that he should be over there with them, even as he chided himself for thinking so. This was not time to be thinking like a mere legion commander. He had broader horizons to consider now.
Titus Norbanus thrilled with anticipation. This would be a great battle and he was in command of the legions! Back in Noricum, it would have been many years before he could have aspired to such a command, but circumstances had thrown this opportunity his way and he had seized it with both hands. Now the armies were about to join battle and his subordinate commanders awaited his orders. They hadn't been happy with Hamilcar's order to extend the line, but Norbanus assured them that it would change nothing, save to weaken the center and make the Roman role on the right flank all the more crucial. He had begun formulating his strategy during planning sessions in the Shofet's command tent. Now he knew with precision the weaknesses of Hamilcar's military thinking and he knew how to take advantage of them.
From atop his command tower he studied his dispositions. It was a lightweight but strong structure of iron-braced wood, its members fastened with iron pins, easily disassembled and moved at need. It was about twenty feet high and gave him an adequate view of the battlefield over the heads of his troops. Its platform had room for a half-dozen officers and his signalers.
The Eighth Legion anchored the right flank. It was his veteran legion, fresh from a campaign against the Germans, the logical choice to hold the crucial flank. To its left were the Twelfth and Ninth, both salted but without as many campaigns to their standards as the Eighth. In the rear of these three legions the Seventh was deployed in reserve. This was a legion made up largely of veterans recalled to the standards. Its cohorts were arranged in a long line behind the three foremost legions. It was Roman belief that a veteran, though in his forties or even fifties, was worth ten recruits on the battlefield. Should the frontline legions falter and fall back, the veterans would be there to stiffen them.
"The horses will present no problem," said Priscus, commander of the Ninth. "But the men have never faced elephants before."
"They're just big cows," Norbanus said. "Tell your boys to use the men on their backs for javelin practice. The animals will be easy to kill then." He paused a moment. "Don't kill all of them. I want some for my triumph." Behind him, the others traded significant glances. Surely, Norbanus didn't think he'd be awarded a triumph for a battle fought under the command of a foreign king.
"Now let's go over this again," Norbanus went on. "First we take care of the elephants and cavalry. By the time we've done that, Hamilcar will be in trouble because his mercenaries don't have all that much cohesion, while those professionals over there across the field look like they know their business. They'll press the center and the left hard. Once our flank is secure, the Eighth will advance. At my signal, the Twelfth goes next, then the Ninth will wheel to the left, anchored on the left-hand cohort. The Twelfth and the Eighth will wheel likewise until all three have changed front and are at right angles to the rest of the army, just like a big door swinging shut. We'll have them boxed between Hamilcar, the sea and us. When we advance, they'll have no choice except to fall back on Alexandria."