"A fine morning for battle, eh?" said Hamilcar, in fine high spirits as his dreams were about to be realized. He sat on his golden throne, strewn with the skins of rare beasts, while his commanders stood around him.
"I cannot imagine a finer," Norbanus said, accepting a cup of warmed and spiced wine from a slave. It was early in the day but this occasion justified a bit of luxury.
"My Shofet," said Mastanabal, "I beg your leave. I must go and take charge of my men."
"Go, my friend, and may Baal-Hammon stand by your side this day."
The general beckoned to his officers. "Come." He donned his helmet and strode down the ramp that descended fifty feet or more to the ground below. The Shofet was left with his slaves, a small group of counselors and bodyguards, and Titus Norbanus.
"Something is different over there," Norbanus said.
"What?" the Shofet asked.
"Those mast-things. They're gone. Where are they?"
Hamilcar peered toward the city. It was now light enough to see that the towering timbers were, indeed, gone. He shrugged. "We don't even know what they were. It is no matter."
This, Norbanus thought, was most likely true. Still, it was an anomaly, and war was full enough of surprises without such worrisome matters. "Will your navy attack first, or the soldiers?" he asked.
"The same signal will start them both," Hamilcar said. "But the ships will reach their objectives first, so the first blood will be drawn on the water." He gazed proudly out to sea, where his fleet was drawn up in a vast, crescent-shaped formation, ready to swoop down upon Alexandria like a great bird of prey. The Alexandrian fleet awaited in three straight lines just without the mouth of the harbor, a mighty fleet but not so large as Hamilcar's. Behind it a great chain stretched from a fort on the northwestern corner of the city to the western end of the Pharos, blocking the harbor entrance. Taking Pharos would give Hamilcar control of that chain, as well as the other that blocked the Royal Harbor.
The sun rose gloriously above Alexandria, and Hamilcar took this as an auspicious moment to begin the battle. He raised his hand and the drums began to thunder. The soldiers below raised their shields and shook their spears and roared. At the same moment, at sea, the oars of the Carthaginian fleet rose and fell and churned the sea to foam all in unison. Men and ships surged forward. Titus Norbanus had never before seen a sight so stirring. This, he thought, was what it meant to be a king: to set such a thing in motion by raising your hand.
The army moved forward on a front a half-mile wide, but it had to divide into many files to pass through the necropolis, like a vast parade taking several roads through a city instead of only one. They were still more than two bowshots from the city wall when something strange happened: Abruptly, the mast-things appeared once more above the city walls as if swung up by the arms of giants. As they ascended, enormous slings swung from their terminals, climbing in huge, graceful arcs until an end of each was released. From each sling soared an object, small in the distance, to mount an incredible height, and then come back down with dreamlike slowness.
Only when the missiles landed among the tombs did the watchers understand how large they were. They were stone balls of at least five hundred pounds' weight and when they hit, they shattered into flesh-shredding fragments, caromed off the walls of tombs, rolled down the alleys and toppled rows of men like pieces in a game played by gods. The carnage was fearsome and the advance faltered.
"What are those things?" Hamilcar cried.
"Some sort of giant staff-sling," Norbanus said. "It must use a new principle. Twisted ropes can't power those things. They have three times the range of ordinary catapults." He watched, saw the masts being hauled down and did some mental calculations. "You must press the assault hard. Call in the Macedonians if you have to. Those weapons are high-trajectory and they must take a long time between shots. Once the men are within bowshot of the city, they're safe from those things."
Hamilcar gave some quick orders and the drums sounded again. The faltering advance resumed. Again the giant slings hurled their missiles and again men died, but the fire was not as intense after that first volley and now the men had some idea of what to expect. They took cover behind tombs and hurried forward to get inside the range of the fearsome catapults.
With this novelty past, Norbanus and the Shofet turned their attention to the battle outside the harbor. The two fleets were nearing one another, fireballs and other missiles arching back and forth, here and there a ship already in flames. Then the fleets merged in a great confusion and the sounds of ramming and the shredding of wood and the screaming of men came faintly across the water.
The Carthaginian land force was now through the necropolis and bearing its scaling ladders toward the wall. Arrows and stones began to fall among them and men came forward with mantlets: large shields the size of doors, handled by two men. Some of these were propped up with poles and from behind them archers began to shoot at the battlements above.
The first ladders reached the wall and the bravest men began to climb. Stones killed some, and logs or stone pillars were rolled over the battlements, smashing men and ladders alike. Great kettles of hot oil were tipped over and men fell screaming.
"Why are they so slow attacking the gate?" Hamilcat said.
"I think a stone struck the ram," Norbanus told him. "It might be a good idea to take the heavy equipment through the necropolis tonight, when it can't be seen."
"I want to be in possession of Alexandria by tonight."
Norbanus shrugged. "That would be nice." He wondered if the Shofet truly believed that a fortified city like this could be taken with a day's attack. Given his overblown pride, it was possible.
"The marines are on the island!" Hamilcar said excitedly.
Norbanus looked in the direction of the pointing finger. At sea, all appeared to be mass confusion, but this was deceptive. He could see that the Alexandrian fleet was being pushed back and was almost against the harbor chain. If they didn't lower it soon, he thought, the remnants of the fleet would be crushed. Even as this thought crossed his mind, he saw the chain grow slack and ships either turned or backed water, fleeing to the safety of the harbor.
The Carthaginian ships pressed all the harder, trying to force an entrance to the harbor. Several managed to get over the chain and were among the demoralized Alexandrian remnants. One of the Carthaginian ships, on the periphery of the mingled fleets, began to swing around. It was preparing to ram a crippled Alexandrian trireme. Norbanus thought he saw a jagged log floating up to the Carthaginian, moving as if it had some purpose. The Carthaginian shuddered and, with shocking abruptness, began to sink. It went down quickly, as if it had not merely been holed but had its entire bottom ripped out.
"What happened?" Hamilcar said. "What just happened there?"
Norbanus just shook his head. It was a mystery. Then he saw something even stranger. A number of vessels rowed out from the docks to confront the intruders. More were coming through the arches in the Heptastadion. These were like nothing he had ever seen: low, scaly things like dragons floating on the quiet water of the harbor. They made for the enemy and began to ram, their weight and momentum so great that Carthaginian ships were lifted on their rams, overturned, even broken in two.
"The Alexandrians do love their military toys," Hamilcar said disgustedly. "It's no matter. They resorted to this because they could not defeat us on the water."
Norbanus shrugged. What difference did that make? The fact was, the Alexandrians were stopping the fleet in its tracks. The great reflectors atop the walls swung about, focusing the sun's rays on the enemy ships, now conveniently immobilized in the harbor. One by one, they burst into flames. This sight would once have chilled him, but he had already seen the reflectors demonstrated.