As Hamilcar had noted, the specially built troop transports had reached the island and dropped their broad gangplanks. The marines were storming ashore. These were mainly Greeks and Cilicians: men expert in amphibious warfare, which was an extension of their traditional piracy. Teams split off from the main body, some to attack the towers where the harbor chains were anchored, some to deal with the island's small garrison, others to carry the Shofet's banner to the great lighthouse. All this had been planned far in advance. Norbanus grudgingly admitted that this, at least, was an operation well planned and carried out by men who knew their work.
The sun glittered from arms and armor, from shields and helmets, and in the drifting smoke it was difficult to determine whether anyone was winning or losing. At the wall the ram had finally been repaired and it began to boom against the western gate, its bronze head in the form of a snarling demon with huge, curling horns. Drums thundered and trumpets brayed.
Altogether, Norbanus thought, it was a fine, stirring sight, one well worth traveling far to see. He settled into a folding chair and gestured for more wine. It was going to be a long day.
“The new defenses are working,” Selene said. She and Scipio stood on a tower overlooking the harbor. It was here that the crucial fight of the morning was taking place. There would be no real danger from the western wall for some time to come, if ever. The harbor was different. The harbor was crucial, and the Carthaginians excelled at naval warfare.
"Look," Marcus said, pointing. The underwater boat, having been successful in its first attack, had chosen another target. The upper few inches of its hull was just above the water, the gleaming serrations of the bronze saw looking like nothing so much as the spine of a great reptile. In its eerily sentient fashion, it began to speed toward a Carthaginian trireme that was trying to back out of the harbor with half its oars smashed. Along the Carthaginian's side, men gibbered and pointed as the unearthly thing approached them. At a distance of a hundred paces, the hull sank from view, leaving only the jagged teeth to cut the water. Then they, too, went under and there was a momentary lull. Then the Carthaginian ship shuddered as if a gigantic, invisible hand had grasped it and shook it. There was no visible damage, but with shocking speed it filled with water and sank. A hundred paces beyond it, the underwater boat reappeared. Its hatch opened and the skipper's head appeared. Satisfied that the enemy was finished, he ducked below and closed the hatch. The strange craft began to look for another victim.
"Wonderful!" Selene cried, clapping her hands delightedly as a hundred or more enemy sailors were dragged down to their deaths. "Before long, our dragon will account for the whole enemy fleet!"
"Maybe if we had fifty more," Marcus said. "But pretty soon they'll figure out what it is. If just one of them can work up the nerve to ram, she's done. It's a fragile craft. In the long run, the plated ships may be of more use."
Out on the water, the great crocodiles were methodically ramming whatever strayed within range. They were slow, but with their great weight they crushed the enemy ships as if they were made of parchment. Time and again, they saw the stones and javelins flung from enemy catapults glance off the plating. Wads of burning pitch and tow clung to the plates and flamed furiously, but they did no damage and only contributed to the illusion that the Carthaginians were engaged with a pack of mythical dragons.
The harbor chain was cranked back into place and the enemy ships in the harbor were now cut off and without hope. One after another, the Carthaginian ships still afloat lowered their banners and sued for terms. White-robed heralds were rowed out in small boats to conduct the negotiations. Beyond the chain, the rest of the Carthaginian fleet fumed with impotence. On their side of the chain, they had won decisively. Beyond it, gods or demons seemed to have taken a hand and delivered their friends to the Alexandrians.
"How many have they landed on the island?" Selene asked.
"Enough. And if it's not enough, they will just land more. We knew from the first that Pharos couldn't be defended. They'll have it by nightfall, but it won't do them much good."
"I know," she said. "But I hate to think of our wonderful lighthouse in Carthaginian hands."
"You'll survive that. Every man they lose securing the island is one who won't be attacking the walls." He watched as a party attempted to storm the small castle at the western end of the island. It was an anchor point for the western chain. With its high walls and its small, heavily defended entrance, its tiny garrison could probably hold out for weeks even should the rest of the island be taken. That was the theory, at any rate. He knew better than to trust theories too far.
A messenger came running up to Selene. "Something strange is happening at the south wall, my queen," the man said.
She looked at Marcus. "The south wall? I thought it was invulnerable to attack."
"Nevertheless, we had better take a look," Marcus said. What now? Surely Hamilcar lacked the imagination to come up with some sort of innovation. When they reached the southwestern corner of the wall and looked over, he understood.
"It looks like some sort of shed they're building," said the captain of the corner tower. "They started erecting it just as the battle started."
On the narrow strip of soft ground between the southern wall and the lake, a long gallery of timber with a lead-sheathed roof was slowly growing, getting longer, like some strange animal. Marcus knew what it was. They had been used to encircle and reduce especially stubborn oppidiums and hill-forts. Its unique feature, one that had the defenders goggling in superstitious awe, was that the thing was built from the inside, as its members, already cut and notched, were passed down its length to be raised into place and fastened securely, by skilled men who did this work quickly and without exposing themselves.
"This could mean trouble," Marcus said.
"Trouble?" said Selene. "It's strange, but no stranger than our underwater boat and our bronze-clad ships. It's just a long shed, after all."
"Yes, but this is being built by Romans. When it's finished, it will control the lakefront. Alexandria will be cut off from the Nile and the interior. They'll use it as a base from which to mount attacks against the wall and the Mareotis gate."
"Can't the new catapults smash it?" she asked, alarmed that the supremely self-assured Roman was showing doubt. "They hurl missiles heavy enough to smash that shed to kindling wood."
"That would be ideal, but it's too close. Their stones would just fall in the lake. We'll have to move some of the conventional catapults over onto this wall. They'll damage it, at least." Already, arrows were coming from loops in the low wall and the lead-sheathed roof of the siege shed. Could Norbanus have come up with this idea? If so, he'd been underestimating the man. He was certain that the Roman he'd seen leading the scouting party and this morning atop Hamilcar's viewing-tower was indeed Titus Norbanus. The last word he'd received from Rome (strange, he thought, to know that it was the real Rome this time) had said that Norbanus, whose father was now consul, had been given provisional proconsular status to command the Roman forces in Africa.
"I thought they'd have sense enough to replace that bastard," he muttered.
"Who would have the sense to replace whom?" Selene asked.
"Just talking to myself. I'm afraid my old friend Norbanus has just handed us a surprise." Even as he watched, he had to admire both the skill of his countrymen and the excellent tactical thinking of his rival, if indeed this was Norbanus's idea. He was taking control of the southern side of the city just as he had controlled the right wing in the earlier battle and won a victory thereby. And in both instances, accomplishing his goals with an absolute minimum of casualties among the Roman forces.