For the rest of the day, even as the unfortunate soldiers were nailed to their crosses and raised on display before the whole army, the huge stones continued to pound the gallery to fragments. Alexandria was once again in control of the lake and its access to the Nile and the interior. The siege would not end quickly.
“There goes another one!” someone shouted. The crowd assembled on the grounds of the vast temple of Serapis made sounds of awe as another 500-pound ball arched high overhead, crossing the city from north to south, disappearing beyond the southern wall, so distant that the crash of its impact came only faintly to their ears. Then there was applause and cheering. People had winced and ducked at the first few missiles and found the novel sight unnerving. By mid-morning they were used to it and treated the sight as a new sort of spectacle.
Selene watched from the top of the temple steps like a priestess presiding at a ceremony. Scipio had advised her to show herself to the people as much as possible. It would help to bind them to her, he explained. This, she thought, had to be connected to his republican form of government. Egyptian monarchs expected to be worshiped. They placed no value upon popularity.
She saw a ripple go through the crowd, the way an animal's progress through a wheat field can be marked by the waving of the stalks. Someone was pushing through the crowd toward her. For a moment she went numb. This must be Ptolemy's guard coming to arrest her. It was over. Then she breathed relief when she saw the two Romans clear the crowd and climb the steps.
Selene held out her hand in greeting. "Welcome, savior of Alexandria," she said, loud enough for the crowd to hear. A great cheer went up. The Romans kissed her hands, then turned to wave at the crowd, beaming. Both were tricked out in their best uniforms: cuirasses embossed to represent Herculean muscles, red-plumed helmets beneath their arms, scarlet cloaks flaring dramatically. Even unwarlike Flaccus managed to look martial.
"Don't get too relaxed," Flaccus said in a low voice, still grinning and waving. "Your little brother's guards are right behind us, with warrants for our heads and your living body."
Selene gasped. "We must get away!"
"No," said Scipio, waving and grinning. "We stay right here, with this wonderful audience. They love you and by natural extension now they love us. They think I'm the savior-you've named me, although Chilo and the Archimedeans ought to get the credit."
"But," said Flaccus, "taking credit for other men's work is part of the politician's art. So saviors we shall be."
"I am terrified," Selene said, taking her cue from them and waving graciously to the crowd.
"They'll take it for righteous indignation," Flaccus told her. "When the guards come, be sure to be outraged. Remind everybody of our wonderful services on behalf of Carthage, and of the disgraceful performance of Ptolemy and his ministers."
"That part shouldn't be hard," she said.
"Good," Marcus said. "Leave the rest to us. This will be an exercise in the oratorical arts we've been trained for since boyhood."
"You Romans do something besides fight efficiently?" she said.
"Oh, yes," Flaccus said, "we're great talkers, too."
"Here they come," she gasped. She could see a party of armed men plowing through the crowd, causing a broad "V" pattern to ripple through it. They wore the uniform of the king's personal guard: mercenaries from a score of nations who had no connection to Alexandria and therefore were unlikely to be involved in domestic conspiracies. In theory, at any rate.
Once through the crowd, the guard, perhaps a score in number, climbed the stair. In the forefront was a young Spartan officer who held aloft a roll of parchment. "I have here," he said, "the king's warrant for the arrest of the Romans who call themselves Marcus Cornelius Scipio and Aulus Flaccus, and for the arrest of Selene, of the family of Ptolemy." The crowd stood in stunned silence.
"What?" Selene almost jumped when the word boomed out. "You dare to so address the Queen of Egypt?" Marcus stood in a most impressive pose: feet widespread, upper body half refused, head turned to glare at the officer with a majestic, eagle gaze. She had never heard a voice trained to be heard across a noisy forum or a legion encampment.
Flaccus made a broad, actor's gesture, his cloak draped gracefully from one arm. "Surely that corrupt child Ptolemy never gave you this order!" The humorous scorn in his voice was infectious. "Who was it really? That coward Parmenion, who lost the first and only field engagement of this war? Or was it that no-balls Eutychus? Or that vicious bungler Alexandres?"
The crowd began an ugly mutter. The officer looked around nervously. Then he turned to his men. "Arrest them!" he said in a half-whisper.
Hands reached for them. An ugly Syrian tried to grasp Selene's arm but Scipio's sword was already out, flashing up, then downward in a great, theatrical blow that was serious in its intent despite its flourish. The man's hand fell to the steps as he cried out and clasped the spouting stump with his remaining hand.
"Alexandrians!" Scipio shouted with a broad gesture. "They have laid profane hands on your queen! It is sacrilege! Will you allow this?"
With a roar, the crowd surged up the steps like a great wave breaking upon a beach. The guards were overwhelmed by the mass of citizenry, disarmed, cast down the steps, pummeled and trampled until the pavement was slick with blood.
"Citizens!" Selene cried. "I am your queen!" The crowd roared approval. "Ptolemy is a boy, and his corrupt advisers have brought Alexandria and Egypt near ruin. Hamilcar defeated them in the field and ever since they have cowered here, unable to take decisive action. If Alexandria has been saved, it has been only through the heroic efforts of Marcus Scipio! Will you let your city, founded by Alexander the Great, fall to the degenerate descendant of Hannibal?" A great cry of protest rose from the throng. "Then take me to the palace and I, Selene Ptolemy, will give you the leadership that Alexandria deserves!"
"Brief and to the point," said Flaccus. "Very well done, Majesty."
"But now what?" she said. "Once they know the guard failed to arrest us, they will call out the troops."
"You go to the palace," Scipio advised. "This mob will set you comfortably on the throne. I will go to the Macedonian Barracks and address the troops."
"How will you handle this?" she asked. The dice had fallen and she was resigned to following his lead.
"What you always do with soldiers such as these. I will bribe them."
“What is going on in the city?” Hamilcar asked. He and his officers sat before his tent in the heat of the afternoon. All day, strange cries and murmurs had been heard from within the walls. There had been much scurrying about atop the battlements and the bombardment from the catapults had ceased.
All around the Carthaginian camp, work was in progress as men built lofty siege towers high enough to assault the western wall. Others were busy with sledgehammers, demolishing tombs to make a path for the ponderous machines through the necropolis. The Shofet had finally conceded that there would be no quick victory over Alexandria and he was preparing for a long, grinding siege.
"It sounds like civil war," said an adviser.
"Excellent!" Hamilcar said. "Perhaps someone sensible has killed Ptolemy and is ready to make terms."
"What terms would my Shofet find acceptable?" the adviser asked.
"Simple ones. If the Alexandrians surrender their city at once, I will spare their lives. Other than that, they are entirely at my mercy. We will take all their treasures, Egypt will be mine to govern under the customs of Carthage, their army will be absorbed into mine and the lands are to be divided among my nobles. There is no need to make things unnecessarily complex." His council made sounds of approval.