John Roberts - Hannibal's children

"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.

Selene studied the odd structure. Just in the time they had been watching, it had grown another fifteen feet. The side facing them and the roof extended as if by magic, like some living thing. "How will they use it?" she asked.

"They can assemble men inside it and we won't know how many or where they're concentrated. It can be opened up at any point and men can pour out to attack a weak spot on the wall. And they can use it to mask mining operations. Anywhere along its length, they can sink a shaft, then bore a gallery right under the walls, undermine them or pop up inside the city some night when nobody is expecting them."

"If they try that, they'll drown," she said confidently. "Here, if you dig down just a few feet, you hit water. The walls of Alexandria are sunk all the way down to bedrock."

"I hope you're right," Marcus said, "but Roman engineers are nothing if not ingenious. They may well think of something. Cutting you off from the river and the interior may be the point anyway."

"We're not cut off," she insisted. "The whole eastern plain is wide open, not a single Carthaginian soldier watching it."

"That's a trap," he told her. "They've left it open to tempt you to run. And it's being watched, but from the sea. If it should look necessary, they'll land there in force."

"So what shall we do?" she asked.

"First, let's get some of the catapults moved over here." But he knew they would have little effect. It would be nightfall before the catapults could be in position. And at night, the Romans would emerge to heap earth against the sides of the shed. They would absorb the catapult missiles and most of the rest would merely glance off the metal-sheathed roof.

He turned to study the new catapults, the gigantic staff-slings that had already wrought such devastation among the Carthaginians. Again he was amazed at the simplicity of their design, so simple that it seemed incredible that no one had thought of it before. The heavy timber base was merely the support for a giant pin on which the sling-arm pivoted. From the short end of the arm hung a great box on another pivot. This box contained tons of rock for a weight. Oxen drew the arm back until it almost touched the ground, where it was held in place by a bronze bar connected to a trigger. A sling almost as long as the arm itself was stretched beneath it and a specially cut stone placed in its pouch. One end of the sling was attached to the upper end of the arm, the other terminated in a ring that was slipped over a shallow hook at the upper terminal of the arm. When the trigger was tripped with a sledgehammer, the box dropped just a few feet but the arm was whipped upward with unbelievable force. The sling then swung up and the ring slipped off the hook and the stone flew just like a missile from a common sling, only a thousand times as heavy.

The only problem with the wonderful device, Marcus thought sourly, was that it couldn't hit anything closer than a hundred paces. And it was dreadfully slow to reload: capable of delivering only about four missiles per hour. The speed might be improved with intensive drill, but oxen could not be speeded up. And if the siege should prove to be lengthy, the oxen would be eaten and they would have to use men for the labor.

As he mused, it struck him how strange this was: advising a foreign queen on how best to defeat his fellow Romans. Not that she or anyone else had a prayer of doing that. Even moving all those catapults to the southern wall would probably produce few if any Roman casualties. Nonetheless, it felt strange.

In the gallery, the chief engineer, Mucius Mus, was urging his men to ever-greater speed. Legionaries, auxilia and slaves mingled indifferently, busy as ants as they passed the timbers and lead sheets and pins of wood or iron from hand to hand and the team of artisans fitted them together with wonderful skill.

"Hurry up with those timbers!" Mucius shouted. "Do you think we've all the buggering livelong day to finish this? I've seen half-tamed Gauls work harder than this and Gauls hate work! Do you want those buggering Alexandrians to think you're a bunch of buggering Greeks!" In truth he was well pleased with the men and their work, but his many long years as a centurion forbade his saying so. Customarily, soldiers only received praise from their general and then only after the battle was won.

Cato and Niger came down the shoreline behind the shed. Since only the north side of the shed would receive fire, the south wall was left open for the sake of light and ventilation, and to conserve material.

"When will it be finished?" Niger asked Mucius.

"If we can maintain this pace, I can have it extended all the way to the southeastern corner of the city wall by tomorrow morning," Mucius reported. "That is, if they allow us to keep up the pace. There could still be trouble. Matter of fact, if there's going to be trouble, we're going to see it soon. Look." He pointed to what was just beyond the end of the shed: Here the soft ground stopped and the pavement began. It was the city's river port. Its docks were deserted. The merchant vessels were headed for the Nile and even the fishing craft had withdrawn to the lake's southern shore.