Selene rolled her eyes. A man named Sostris had made several model flying machines out of reeds and parchment, and some of these had succeeded in gliding for a hundred paces or more. He was building devices large enough to carry a man, but thus far the results had been severe bruises to Sostris and broken bones to some of his slaves. He had indeed contrived to glide for modest distances on batlike wings of wood and leather, but controlling such things as altitude and direction so far eluded him. He had tried gluing on feathers, for he believed that these provided lift, but to no avail. His first designs had included flapping wings worked by the arms in the fashion of Icarus, but these had proven futile. "Men must have been stronger back then," he was heard to remark.
"Perhaps some things should remain in the world of myth," Selene said. "A man flying through the air might draw unwanted attention from the gods."
"That is very unenlightened of you," Marcus said. "Chilo says that the gods are too great to be bothered by the ambitions of mere mortals."
"I know very well what Chilo says. But perhaps you are moving too fast into this world of the fantastic. What next? Tables like those of Hephaestos that roll about under their own power, delivering refreshments? The statues he crafted in the form of beautiful women that acted as if alive and were his servants?"
"Hardly necessary. Ordinary slaves do that sort of work just as well." He smiled at the exasperated noise she made. They had this argument often. Her original enthusiasm was cooling somewhat and he feared she was more under the influence of the Museum's Platonists than even she realized.
She turned to more serious things. "My informants tell me that my brother's controllers want you killed."
"I suppose they do," Marcus answered, unperturbed. "If I was in their position, I'd have had me killed long before now. They assumed I was a harmless crank. Now they know better."
She shook her head. "I don't understand you. I don't understand any other Roman, for that matter. You are all alone in an alien land, where the most powerful men want you dead, and you simply take charge of its defenses as if you'd been appointed Grand Marshal!"
"I have you to thank for that. You don't exactly rule in your own right, but with the king a mere boy and his ministers unpopular, you can act as if you actually had the authority to appoint me to high command. The rest is pure style."
She was bewildered. This man always bewildered her. He seemed like the most provincial, unsophisticated bumpkin imaginable, then proceeded to act like the subtlest schemer ever raised in a decadent court. "Style? What do you mean?"
He picked up a heavy ballista projectile and tested it for straightness. "It is very simple, something we learned from the old Spartans. You know your history. Typically, a number of Greek states of some league or other would prepare for war on some other Greeks. There might be three or four generals at a conference, each of them bringing several thousand men to the war. Then a Spartan commander would arrive with maybe two or three hundred men in tow. What happened then?"
"The Spartan took charge," she answered.
"Every time. Even after the Spartans lost their reputation for invincibility at Leuctra. Men always defer to a military man who knows what he is doing, and shows it. In past days, it was the Spartans. Now it is the Romans."
"And what are you Romans up to?" she asked, dead serious. "You are here helping with my defenses. Your friends are out there with Hamilcar's army, preparing to attack. You are playing some game, and I want to know what it is. You've said that you will make me sole ruler of Egypt. I want that. But not if it means being your puppet."
He drew his cloak aside and sat in an archer's crenel set into the battlement. He patted the stone bench beside him. "Sit here, my queen."
Frowning suspiciously, she sat, conscious as always of this man's force and masculinity, determined as always not to let these things cloud her judgment. She had been raised a philosopher, supposedly above such things. "So tell me."
"Those legions approaching Alexandria are not there to help Hamilcar. They are there to make Rome great. That is what the legions always do. I am here to save Egypt from Hamilcar. I am also here to save Rome from Egypt."
"That makes no sense."
"Ah, but you are not thinking like a philosopher. I've been spending a lot of time with the Archimedeans, but I've also been attending lectures by logicians. I like the way they analyze the nature of reality and the way we think. You see the way Rome is acting and the way I am acting and it all seems to make no sense. What should that tell you?"
"Don't lecture me like a child. It means that I am not in possession of all the facts, assuming that there is sense to be made. It could also mean that you are insane and your behavior irrational. Now tell me."
"All right," he said, smiling. "The fact is, Rome could take Egypt easily. Your army is weak, your court decadent, your ministers corrupt. Only Alexandria is strong. If Alexandria were to fall, the people of Egypt would not rise up to throw out the conqueror. They have been ruled by foreigners for many centuries and you Ptolemies are only the latest pack of foreigners to oppress them. They would be about as content with the Carthaginians in charge, and a great deal more so with Rome. We know how to treat subject peoples with great firmness but with fairness and always with the prospect of future citizenship and advancement."
"You think much of yourselves," she said, glowering.
"So we do, and with good reason. But I fear what Egypt will do to Rome." He paused but she said nothing. "You see, what our republic has is an extremely competitive government. Each senator wants to excel above all the others. Each senatorial family wants to have more wealth, prestige, honor and power than all the others. An incredible amount of our political energy goes into building factions and voting blocs in order to secure the highest commands.
"Right now, the Senate must be in a frenzy with a hundred senators each wanting to be commanding an army when we take Carthage. Great wealth corrupts, Selene. It is going to be bad when we sack Carthage because gold will pour into Roman coffers in incredible amounts. The lands will be divided up and the highest officers will get the best estates. It could cause us to lose our edge. I'll remind you of the Spartans again."
"What about them?"
"They were famous for their simplicity and frugality. Even the highest nobles lived in military camps, slept on the ground, ate horrible black soup and owned no luxuries. Even their money was made of iron. But they were able to despise wealth and luxury because they were never exposed to these things. They were always easy to bribe and corrupt once they were away from Sparta, and that was why the Spartan ephors hated to send armies abroad or use them for occupation or garrison duties."
"And you think this may happen to the Romans?"
"I fear it will. Carthage must be destroyed. Our ancestors and our gods demand it. But at least the wealth of Carthage consists primarily of plunder. Once it is stripped, it is just a city on a rather nice stretch of coastline. Egypt is different. Egypt represents wealth unimaginable and everlasting. The general who takes Egypt will instantly be the wealthiest man in the world, able to set himself up as an independent king, should he so wish. He will be able to buy the loyalty of his soldiers with immense gifts that cost him little. The Senate will tear itself apart as men try to secure the important commands and prevent their rivals from doing the same. There could be civil war."
"I see. So what is your answer to this?"
"I must convince the Senate of the unwisdom of conquering Egypt, that our best course is to continue Ptolemaic rule here, to support you in power, and to stay out of Egypt ourselves."
"Do you think you can do this?"