The march was made in good order, the overnight camps efficiently set up and struck. And on the third day out of Carthage, they came upon the Hatti’s landing site.
Guided by scouts, Fabius took a small group forward to a headland, for a first view. Nelo went with them, his pouch at his side. From the headland the view to the north opened up, a vista of shore and sea. They were close to a river estuary, a sprawl of mudflats and braided waterways. A Carthaginian city called Utica lay a little way up the river; it had been abandoned and burned on the approach of the Hatti. Before the landing there had only been a scatter of fishing villages here, all now obliterated in the battle at the first landing site. Now the country had been transformed.
A tremendous arc of growstone dominated the estuary, an artificial harbour and groyne — an almost perfect circle. There were warehouses and other structures around this harbour, hasty constructions of turf and mud but huge even so. From the harbour, tracks trodden into the earth led inland. Looking that way, to the west, Nelo could see a new city being laid out around a low hill, for now not much more than a sketch of banks and tracks on a straight-line plan, but with the smoke of many fires feathering in the low breeze. Traffic moved on the tracks between city and harbour, carts, people on horseback and on foot. There was motion everywhere, and a distant clamour of voices — a sense of industry, of purpose about the scene.
The harbour itself was crowded with ships. And, looking north out over the sea, Nelo saw more ships, a scatter of them on the breast of the ocean as far as he could see — a snowstorm of Hatti ships, a countless number, descending on this shore.
‘Draw,’ Fabius muttered. ‘Draw, boy!’
Nelo fumbled for his paper.
Gisco said, ‘I’m surprised there wasn’t a Hatti scout up here. I’d have placed one.’
‘Oh, we’ve been seen.’ Fabius pointed. ‘Notice that party? Moving this way. That’s a Hatti war chariot. Not used in anger in a thousand years or more, and now the carriage of a prince.’
‘Look at all those ships,’ muttered Carthalo. He was a tall, angular man with a high forehead and a cool manner, evidently used to command, yet he seemed overwhelmed by the sight. ‘It’s as if the whole of the northern Continent is draining into Africa.’
‘Try not to be awed, sir,’ Fabius said sternly. ‘This is still your country, remember.’
‘True,’ Carthalo murmured. ‘And these Hatti are no more than a band of vagabonds and raiders, no matter how many there are.’
‘Quite right, sir.’
The Hatti party drew up below the headland. The single chariot was escorted by a hefty troop of soldiers dressed in the Hatti style, with their conical hats, and peculiar boots with the toes upturned.
Fabius muttered an order, and the Carthaginians began the gentle descent to meet the Hatti. Gisco made sure none of his troops raised a weapon. Still, Nelo could feel the tension rise as they approached the Hatti; a great deal of blood had already been spilled on this shore.
Nelo was surprised to find he recognised the man who led the Hatti party, dismounting now from the chariot. A young man with an air of command, with a queue of hair like a soldier’s, dressed not in armour but a rich embroidered ground-length robe, this was Arnuwanda, prince of New Hattusa, who had come to Northland two years ago, and had been stranded there when the first bad winter closed in.
Arnuwanda spoke in clear, stilted Hatti, and the man who had driven the chariot proclaimed a translation in Carthaginian. ‘You may bow in the presence of Arnuwanda, son of Arnuwanda who was nephew to My Sun the King Hattusili, the sixteenth of that name.’
Fabius bowed deeply but waved aside the translation, and replied in Hatti himself. Arnuwanda looked surprised, then grinned.
Aides muttered a hasty translation for the benefit of Carthalo and the rest. ‘The general says he knows Nesili and will address the prince in his own tongue.’
Fabius spoke again.
‘What did the Roman say?’ Carthalo snapped.
‘He asked, “How was your journey?” ’
The two parties merged, cautiously, and began to make their way down towards the Hatti port. Fabius and Arnuwanda continued to speak, translated for the benefit of the Carthaginians.
‘Roman, the journey was dramatic,’ Arnuwanda said. ‘First came the March of the Hatti, as history will know it, across Anatolia to the southern ports. That in itself was an epic adventure that will be remembered as long as mankind lives, in the blessing of Jesus Sharruma. You may know that our cities were always stocked with seal- houses of grain — granaries dedicated for the use of the King’s war-fighting. We planned the route to pass from one city to the rest, meaning to use the seal-houses. We found almost all of them looted, barren. And, rather than acquiring grain, we generally found ourselves acquiring more people, as each town emptied out and the people followed their Lord Jesus Sharruma. So we progressed across the country, stripping it of whatever food we could find — you can imagine how it was, the country was already starving. We left the country strewn with graves like poppy seeds. We did all this in the full gaze of Jesus Sharruma Our Lord, and built shrines, and kept a careful list of those who died, for they will be remembered when the Hatti return to take back the old lands.
‘It was a mighty throng that left New Hattusa; it was a much greater host by the time we reached the southern ports. There we began the process of transport across the sea. This was led by our allies of Hantilios, who as you know are expert seafarers.’
Fabius grunted. ‘I know my history, sir. That city was founded under the protection of the Hatti kings in the first place. It is no wonder its leaders serve you now.’
‘At a price, as you can imagine, good Fabius, I expect our grandsons still to be paying it off in instalments. But Hantilios served us well. Their shipwrights built special vessels for the first landing here on the African shore, which I myself led.’
‘Ah. The famous flat-bottomed boats that drive up the beaches.’
‘An ancient design, revived and reworked.’
‘My men resisted fiercely.’
‘Yes. As you know, even the first landing was a battle that would dwarf most in human history. Then it was a question of securing our position, of building the harbour to accommodate the hordes who followed us, and preparing for the greater war to come.’
‘Your harbour is impressive.’
‘We used Northlander engineers, and their expertise in growstone. We are involved in tremendous undertakings, General.’
‘Indeed. You spoke of the King. Uhhaziti is the crown prince, as the whole world knows. Since the death of My Sun the King Hattusili-’
‘There will be no coronation until this migration is done,’ Arnuwanda said. ‘Uhhaziti has insisted on it. He will be crowned in Carthage, on the Byrsa, and anointed by the Father of the Churches when your greatest temple has been rededicated to the worship of Jesus Sharruma. Not until then.’
Fabius nodded gravely. ‘And I, of course, will stop that from ever happening.’
‘We understand each other,’ Arnuwanda said. He glanced curiously at Nelo. ‘Do I recognise this boy?’
‘He serves me.’
Mago took the chance to push himself forward, and spoke in Carthaginian. ‘The boy answers to me; I am his commander. He is a Northlander. You may remember him from that chilly place. And me, perhaps, Prince?’
Arnuwanda stopped, and studied Mago, and replied in the same tongue. ‘I think I remember you. Your name, though. .’ He hesitated, an obvious bit of play-acting.
Mago, infuriated, snapped out his name. ‘My father is-’
‘Yes, yes. So we meet again. Fate draws us all together, it seems. Well-’ and he switched back to Nesili, ‘-let us walk on and talk some more, Fabius. It’s refreshing to hear a Latin accent, frankly. So much more melodious than the coarse Can’nai tongue of these fellows. .’
57
