Notes: since I like Barcids, and the game doesn’t seem to create ones in the beginning, I have created two Bardid brothers, Hamilcar and Mago. Also, i have created 5 nice nubile young women, so there might be a few more little Carthagians running around. Especially Barcids, of course.
The war harbour of Carthage was bustling today. Most of the fleet was in there, making final preparations. Sailors checking rigging one last time, rowers flexing their muscles, captains shouting at everybody. Total 100 ships, filling up nearly all the port. Plus, 8000 troops, trying to board the ships. Soldiers cursing, sergeants cursing even more and officers just trying look like they’re in charge. Few elephants, protesting loudly to attempts of their trainers to force them step from solid land to unpredictable planks with deep sea under them made things only worse.
Military and civilian harbours of Carthage. Military is the inner one
In the middle of the harbour, separated from the noise with a wall, stood the temple of Melquart, the city god of Carthage. Of course, not totally separated, for nothing can suppress the noise of thousands of people, yelling at each other. Still, you could actually hear yourself and the noises from the harbour were reduced to a background noise. Always there, but not that bothersome.
At the roof of the temple, high above the harbour, two figures were standing and looking down the mess that happens only when lot of organized people try to make things happen. Both were young, either in their twenties or about to reach that age. They might seem usual at the first glance, probably some priest making preparations for some kind of ceremony. But on second glance, you'd notice that they radiated power, like people used to give orders- and even more important, used to see these orders carried off.
One of them, leaning against the railing in the casual pose and after a quick glance down again, shook his head.
“I don't like it, brother,” he said in a surprisingly high tenor.
“Like what?” the other one asked
“All of this. Look at these men. Militia, light infantry. They are not soldiers, they are rabble,” the man was obviously not happy.
“Is this the best Carthage has to offer?” he asked. “And am I really to take Syracuse with these troops? 8000, most of them used to shovel dirt, not to use arms. Some too young, some too old. Ok, archers are fine and elephants might be able to turn the battle. Still, most is rabble”
“We don't have any good infantry around, brother,” the other one nodded sadly. “And unless we find a good source of iron, we will get none either.”
“And actually, that is why I called you here today, Mago,” the older brother continued.
“Yes?”
“Besides of giving me this rabble and ordering me to take Sicily, I managed to convince Senate do one more thing: give you another 8000 of similar rabble and send you to Iberia, to guard our recent advances there. You know, barbarians and stuff. But... “ he hesitated for a minute.
“Hamilcar?”
“Well, we both know you and me are sent away with single hope: we will die in these campaigns. Senate thinks we are too much in power. We are the last of Barcids, you know. When we talk, people listen. And we both been doing a lot of talking lately. Not for the senate, not for current high general, but rather against them.”
Mago nodded. “I see what you mean. Giving us the promotions, positions of power... and hoping we fail utterly. Preferably end up dead as well, I presume”
The other men, obviously called Hamiclar, grinned. “But we're not about to give them the pleasure. I go to Sicily and instead of failure, I come back as the conqueror of Syracuse and winner of Epeirus. Given that they are at war with Rome anyway, it shouldn't be too hard.”
The grin went wider. “And brother, when I come back as victor, there is an election to be held. Election for the position of High General. And the people love Hamilcar, the Barcid, soon the Victor and the Conqueror.”
Mago nodded. “And then, we can bring Carthage back to it's feet. And crush these upstart Romans.
As for me, I follow the orders and march with army to the Iberia. But once there, I will try to recruit Iberian mercenaries for our cause and try to talk some sense into local governors. We need the resources there.”
A cough interrupted their conversation. As they turned around, a messenger was saluting them.
“General Hamiclar, the troops have loaded and the fleet is ready,” he reported.
“Looks like it's my cue,” said Hamilcar and hugged his brother. Then, he stepped on the ladder, climbed down and headed towards ships.
Mago stayed on the roof, looking down as the fleet left the harbour. After that, he looked at the horizon until the ships had disappeared into east. Then he climbed back into ground, found his bodyguards obviously very busy boring themselves to death on temple grounds. He beckoned them closer:
“Boys, we have a long ride ahead of us. An army is waiting for me in Hippo Regulus”
By nightfall, the harbour was quiet again.
Brothers Barcids.
And the rabble that passes as Hamilcar's army. Not like Mago has any better.
The war harbour of Carthage was bustling today. Most of the fleet was in there, making final preparations. Sailors checking rigging one last time, rowers flexing their muscles, captains shouting at everybody. Total 100 ships, filling up nearly all the port. Plus, 8000 troops, trying to board the ships. Soldiers cursing, sergeants cursing even more and officers just trying look like they’re in charge. Few elephants, protesting loudly to attempts of their trainers to force them step from solid land to unpredictable planks with deep sea under them made things only worse.
Military and civilian harbours of Carthage. Military is the inner one
In the middle of the harbour, separated from the noise with a wall, stood the temple of Melquart, the city god of Carthage. Of course, not totally separated, for nothing can suppress the noise of thousands of people, yelling at each other. Still, you could actually hear yourself and the noises from the harbour were reduced to a background noise. Always there, but not that bothersome.
At the roof of the temple, high above the harbour, two figures were standing and looking down the mess that happens only when lot of organized people try to make things happen. Both were young, either in their twenties or about to reach that age. They might seem usual at the first glance, probably some priest making preparations for some kind of ceremony. But on second glance, you'd notice that they radiated power, like people used to give orders- and even more important, used to see these orders carried off.
One of them, leaning against the railing in the casual pose and after a quick glance down again, shook his head.
“I don't like it, brother,” he said in a surprisingly high tenor.
“Like what?” the other one asked
“All of this. Look at these men. Militia, light infantry. They are not soldiers, they are rabble,” the man was obviously not happy.
“Is this the best Carthage has to offer?” he asked. “And am I really to take Syracuse with these troops? 8000, most of them used to shovel dirt, not to use arms. Some too young, some too old. Ok, archers are fine and elephants might be able to turn the battle. Still, most is rabble”
“We don't have any good infantry around, brother,” the other one nodded sadly. “And unless we find a good source of iron, we will get none either.”
“And actually, that is why I called you here today, Mago,” the older brother continued.
“Yes?”
“Besides of giving me this rabble and ordering me to take Sicily, I managed to convince Senate do one more thing: give you another 8000 of similar rabble and send you to Iberia, to guard our recent advances there. You know, barbarians and stuff. But... “ he hesitated for a minute.
“Hamilcar?”
“Well, we both know you and me are sent away with single hope: we will die in these campaigns. Senate thinks we are too much in power. We are the last of Barcids, you know. When we talk, people listen. And we both been doing a lot of talking lately. Not for the senate, not for current high general, but rather against them.”
Mago nodded. “I see what you mean. Giving us the promotions, positions of power... and hoping we fail utterly. Preferably end up dead as well, I presume”
The other men, obviously called Hamiclar, grinned. “But we're not about to give them the pleasure. I go to Sicily and instead of failure, I come back as the conqueror of Syracuse and winner of Epeirus. Given that they are at war with Rome anyway, it shouldn't be too hard.”
The grin went wider. “And brother, when I come back as victor, there is an election to be held. Election for the position of High General. And the people love Hamilcar, the Barcid, soon the Victor and the Conqueror.”
Mago nodded. “And then, we can bring Carthage back to it's feet. And crush these upstart Romans.
As for me, I follow the orders and march with army to the Iberia. But once there, I will try to recruit Iberian mercenaries for our cause and try to talk some sense into local governors. We need the resources there.”
A cough interrupted their conversation. As they turned around, a messenger was saluting them.
“General Hamiclar, the troops have loaded and the fleet is ready,” he reported.
“Looks like it's my cue,” said Hamilcar and hugged his brother. Then, he stepped on the ladder, climbed down and headed towards ships.
Mago stayed on the roof, looking down as the fleet left the harbour. After that, he looked at the horizon until the ships had disappeared into east. Then he climbed back into ground, found his bodyguards obviously very busy boring themselves to death on temple grounds. He beckoned them closer:
“Boys, we have a long ride ahead of us. An army is waiting for me in Hippo Regulus”
By nightfall, the harbour was quiet again.
Brothers Barcids.
And the rabble that passes as Hamilcar's army. Not like Mago has any better.
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Good luck and we'll definitely be watching this.
