[Illustration: Verginius left his beautiful young daughter Verginia in
the care of her nurse]




  THE
  STORY OF ROME

  FROM THE EARLIEST TIMES
  TO THE DEATH OF AUGUSTUS

  TOLD TO BOYS AND GIRLS BY

  MARY MACGREGOR

  AUTHOR OF ‘THE STORY OF FRANCE,’ ETC.

  WITH TWENTY PLATES IN COLOUR
  BY PAUL WOODROFFE, W. RAINEY
  AND DUDLEY HEATH

  [Illustration]

  LONDON: T. C. & E. C. JACK
  67 LONG ACRE, W. C.
  AND EDINBURGH




  TO

  IAN AND WILLIE TAYLOR


DEAR IAN AND WILLIE,--The Story of Rome has been written, as you know,
in your beautiful, quiet old garden.

And as the story grew, the short cold days of winter passed and the
long warm days of summer were here.

In the garden a miracle had been wrought. It had become alive.

After slow, persistent struggle with storm and frost, the delicate bare
branches were no longer bare, but clothed in living green. The hard
black earth too had stirred, and shoots and blades appeared, until at
length the garden was ablaze with gold, purple, crimson.

Sometimes I dreamed that, in its own different way, the Story of Rome
too was a miracle, wrought out of the tears and throes of a brave and
ambitious people.

For the story tells of the birth of a city and of its growth through
storm and struggle, until it became a great world empire.

The city which Romulus founded was built upon a single hill; soon
seven hills were not great enough to contain her. And when Augustus,
the first Emperor of Rome, began to reign, part of Europe, Asia Minor,
Egypt, Syria, and a large portion of Africa formed his kingdom.

Although the story was written in the quiet of your garden, little of
its peace has stolen into the tale, and for that you boys may care for
it the more.

As you read, fierce battle-cries will ring in your ears, and the clash
of arms will startle you. You will hear the tramp of armies marching
to new lands to conquer them and their treasures for Rome, the city of
their love.

Sometimes you will catch your breath in horror as you read of terrible
and cruel deeds, for the Romans were often pitiless, showing little
mercy to those they conquered.

But at other times your breath will come quick with wonder as you read
of the dauntless courage, the rare endurance of these mighty men of old.

And if there are many things which you do not admire in the people of
Rome, yet they possess one virtue which you and every British boy and
girl may not only admire, but gladly imitate.

What that virtue is I will leave you to find out for yourselves as you
read _The Story of Rome_.--Yours affectionately,

                                                  MARY MACGREGOR.




CONTENTS


  CHAP.                                                             PAGE
         I. THE LADY ROMA                                              1

        II. THE SHE-WOLF                                               4

       III. THE TWIN BOYS                                              6

        IV. NUMITOR RECOGNISES HIS GRANDSON                            8

         V. THE SACRED BIRDS                                          10

        VI. THE FOUNDING OF ROME                                      12

       VII. THE SABINE MAIDENS                                        14

      VIII. THE TARPEIAN ROCK                                         17

        IX. THE MYSTERIOUS GATE                                       19

         X. THE KING DISAPPEARS                                       22

        XI. THE PEACE-LOVING KING                                     24

       XII. HORATIUS SLAYS HIS SISTER                                 28

      XIII. THE PRIDE OF TULLUS HOSTILIUS                             31

       XIV. THE KING WHO FOUGHT AND PRAYED                            33

        XV. THE FAITHLESS FRIEND                                      35

       XVI. A SLAVE BECOMES A KING                                    38

      XVII. THE CRUEL DEED OF TULLIA                                  40

     XVIII. THE FATE OF THE TOWN OF GABII                             43

       XIX. THE BOOKS OF THE SIBYL                                    46

        XX. THE INDUSTRY OF LUCRETIA                                  48

       XXI. THE DEATH OF LUCRETIA                                     50

      XXII. THE SONS OF BRUTUS                                        52

     XXIII. HORATIUS COCLES, OR THE ONE-EYED                          55

      XXIV. GAIUS MUCIUS BURNS HIS RIGHT HAND                         60

       XXV. THE DIVINE TWINS                                          63

      XXVI. THE TRIBUNES                                              66

     XXVII. CORIOLANUS AND HIS MOTHER VETURIA                         68

    XXVIII. THE ROMAN ARMY IN A TRAP                                  73

      XXIX. THE HATED DECEMVIRS                                       77

       XXX. THE DEATH OF VERGINIA                                     80

      XXXI. THE FRIEND OF THE PEOPLE                                  85

     XXXII. CAMILLUS CAPTURES THE CITY OF VEII                        88

    XXXIII. THE STATUE OF THE GODDESS                                 92

     XXXIV. THE SCHOOLMASTER WHO PROVED A TRAITOR                     94

      XXXV. THE BATTLE OF ALLIA                                       97

     XXXVI. THE SACRED GEESE                                          99

    XXXVII. THE CITY IS REBUILT                                      105

   XXXVIII. CAMILLUS SETS THE CAMP OF THE VOLSCIANS ON FIRE          109

     XXXIX. THE BATTLE ON THE BANKS OF THE ANIO                      111

        XL. THE CURTIAN LAKE                                         116

       XLI. THE DREAM OF THE TWO CONSULS                             119

      XLII. THE CAUDINE FORKS                                        124

     XLIII. THE DISGRACE OF THE CAUDINE FORKS AVENGED                129

      XLIV. FABIUS AMONG THE CIMINIAN HILLS                          131

       XLV. THE BATTLE OF SENTINUM                                   135

      XLVI. THE SON OF FABIUS LOSES A BATTLE                         138

     XLVII. PYRRHUS, KING OF THE EPIROTS                             141

    XLVIII. THE ELEPHANTS AT THE BATTLE OF HERACLEA                  145

      XLIX. PYRRHUS TRIES TO FRIGHTEN FABRICIUS                      149

         L. PYRRHUS IS DEFEATED                                      153

        LI. THE ROMANS BUILD A FLEET                                 155

       LII. THE BATTLE OF ECNOMUS                                    159

      LIII. THE ROMAN LEGIONS IN AFRICA                              161

       LIV. REGULUS IS TAKEN PRISONER                                164

        LV. THE ROMANS CONQUER THE GAULS                             168

       LVI. THE BOY HANNIBAL                                         172

      LVII. HANNIBAL PREPARES TO INVADE ITALY                        176

     LVIII. HANNIBAL CROSSES THE ALPS                                178

       LIX. THE BATTLE OF TREBIA                                     183

        LX. THE BATTLE OF LAKE TRASIMENUS                            187

       LXI. HANNIBAL OUTWITS FABIUS                                  192

      LXII. FABIUS WINS TWO VICTORIES                                197

     LXIII. THE BATTLE OF CANNÆ                                      200

      LXIV. THE DESPAIR OF ROME                                      203

       LXV. THE DEFEAT OF HASDRUBAL                                  208

      LXVI. LIVIUS AND CLAUDIUS ENJOY A TRIUMPH                      213

     LXVII. THE CAPTURE OF NEW CARTHAGE                              215

    LXVIII. SCIPIO SAILS TO AFRICA                                   220

      LXIX. THE ROMANS SET FIRE TO THE CAMP OF THE NUMIDIANS         223

       LXX. HANNIBAL LEAVES ITALY                                    226

      LXXI. THE BATTLE OF ZAMA                                       229

     LXXII. SCIPIO RECEIVES A TRIUMPH                                231

    LXXIII. FLAMININUS IS COVERED WITH GARLANDS                      233

     LXXIV. THE DEATH OF HANNIBAL                                    238

      LXXV. THE HATRED OF CATO FOR CARTHAGE                          243

     LXXVI. THE STERN DECREE                                         246

    LXXVII. THE CARTHAGINIANS DEFEND THEIR CITY                      249

   LXXVIII. THE DESTRUCTION OF CARTHAGE                              253

     LXXIX. CORNELIA, THE MOTHER OF THE GRACCHI                      258

      LXXX. TIBERIUS AND HIS FRIEND OCTAVIUS                         261

     LXXXI. THE DEATH OF TIBERIUS GRACCHUS                           266

    LXXXII. THE DEATH OF GAIUS GRACCHUS                              269

   LXXXIII. THE GOLD OF JUGURTHA                                     278

    LXXXIV. GAIUS MARIUS WINS THE NOTICE OF SCIPIO AFRICANUS         281

     LXXXV. GAIUS MARIUS BECOMES COMMANDER OF THE ARMY               283

    LXXXVI. THE CAPTURE OF JUGURTHA’S TREASURE TOWNS                 287

   LXXXVII. THE CAPTURE OF JUGURTHA                                  290

  LXXXVIII. JUGURTHA IS BROUGHT TO ROME IN CHAINS                    294

    LXXXIX. MARIUS CONQUERS THE TEUTONES                             297

        XC. MARIUS MOCKS THE AMBASSADORS OF THE CIMBRI               303

       XCI. METELLUS IS DRIVEN FROM ROME                             307

      XCII. SULLA ENTERS ROME WITH HIS TROOPS                        311

     XCIII. THE FLIGHT OF MARIUS                                     315

      XCIV. THE GAUL DARES NOT KILL GAIUS MARIUS                     318

       XCV. MARIUS RETURNS TO ROME                                   320

      XCVI. THE ORATOR ARISTION                                      325

     XCVII. SULLA BESIEGES ATHENS                                    328

    XCVIII. SULLA SAVES ROME FROM THE SAMNITES                       331

      XCIX. THE PROSCRIPTIONS OF SULLA                               334

         C. THE GLADIATORS’ REVOLT                                   337

        CI. THE PIRATES                                              341

       CII. POMPEY GOES TO WAR WITH MITHRIDATES                      345

      CIII. CICERO DISCOVERS THE CATILINARIAN CONSPIRACY             350

       CIV. THE DEATH OF THE CONSPIRATORS                            353

        CV. JULIUS CÆSAR IS CAPTURED BY PIRATES                      356

       CVI. CÆSAR GIVES UP HIS TRIUMPH                               360

      CVII. CÆSAR PRAISES HIS TENTH LEGION                           363

     CVIII. CÆSAR WINS A GREAT VICTORY OVER THE NERVII               367

       CIX. CÆSAR INVADES BRITAIN                                    370

        CX. CÆSAR CROSSES THE RUBICON                                374

       CXI. CÆSAR AND THE PILOT                                      378

      CXII. THE FLIGHT OF POMPEY                                     381

     CXIII. CATO DIES RATHER THAN YIELD TO CÆSAR                     386

      CXIV. CÆSAR IS LOADED WITH HONOURS                             389

       CXV. THE NOBLES PLOT AGAINST CÆSAR                            392

      CXVI. THE ASSASSINATION OF CÆSAR                               396

     CXVII. BRUTUS SPEAKS TO THE CITIZENS                            399

    CXVIII. MARK ANTONY SPEAKS TO THE CITIZENS                       402

      CXIX. THE SECOND TRIUMVIRATE                                   405

       CXX. THE BATTLE OF PHILIPPI                                   408

      CXXI. THE DEATH OF BRUTUS                                      411

     CXXII. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA                                     413

    CXXIII. THE BATTLE OF ACTIUM                                     418

     CXXIV. ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA DIE                                 421

      CXXV. THE EMPEROR AUGUSTUS                                     425

            INDEX                                                    427




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


  Verginius left his beautiful young daughter Verginia
      in the care of her nurse,                           _Frontispiece_

                                                                 AT PAGE
  A she-wolf, coming to the edge of the river to drink, heard their
      cries,                                                           6

  When she saw Horatius wearing on his shoulders the cloak of her
      betrothed, she broke into bitter sobs,                          30

  She carried in her arms nine books,                                 46

  ‘O my mother, thou hast saved Rome, but thou hast lost thy son,’    72

  Seated in chairs of ivory, sat a number of strange, venerable old
      men,                                                           100

  The youth laid the arms he had taken from his foe at his father’s
      feet,                                                          120

  The armour of Pyrrhus was richer and more beautiful than that of
      his soldiers,                                                  146

  ‘I carry here peace and war, choose, men of Carthage, which ye
      will,’                                                         176

  ‘We are beaten, O Romans, in a great battle, our army is
      destroyed,’                                                    190

  A messenger was seen spurring his horse toward the city,           213

  His progress was as that of a king,                                232

  So Carthage was given to the flames,                               258

  Here it would be possible, he thought, to hold the enemy at bay,   276

  Jugurtha came to the tent of his father-in-law unarmed,            292

  Gaius Marius sitting in exile among the ruins of Carthage,         320

  Lists of those who were doomed were hung up in the Forum,          336

  The following morning Cicero made another speech against
      Catiline,                                                      352

  Looking down upon the stream, he stood awhile deep in thought,     378

  Here, sheltered by steep cliffs, he sat down to rest,              412




THE STORY OF ROME




CHAPTER I

THE LADY ROMA


Long, long years ago, Troy, one of the great cities in Asia Minor, was
taken by the Greeks.

Many mighty Trojans had defended their city well, and among them all
none had fought more bravely than the prince Æneas.

But when Æneas saw that the Greeks had set fire to the city, he fled,
carrying, it is said, his father on his shoulders, and grasping by the
hand his son Ascanius.

Moreover, so precious to him was the sacred image of the goddess
Pallas, that he saved it from the burning city.

The gods, pleased with his reverence, helped him in his flight by
building a ship. So when Æneas reached the sea he at once embarked in
it, with his followers and their wives, and sailed away to seek for a
new land in which to build a new city.

As the Trojans sailed they saw a bright star shining above them. Day
and night the star was always to be seen, showing the seafarers the
direction in which to steer.

At length the Trojans reached the western shore of Italy, and here, at
a town called Latium, they disembarked.

The women were weary of the sea, and no sooner had they landed than
they began to wonder how they could persuade their husbands to journey
no farther, but to settle in the pleasant country which they had
reached.

Among these women was a lady of noble birth, who was wise as she was
good.

Roma, for that was the lady’s name, proposed that they should burn the
ship in which they had sailed. Then it would be impossible for their
husbands to go any farther in search of a new home.

The other women agreed to Roma’s daring plan, and with mingled hope and
fear the ship was set on fire.

When the men saw the flames devouring the vessel they were troubled,
but when they found out how it had been set on fire, they were angry.

Yet, as anger could not give them back their ship, and as Italy was a
pleasant land, the men did as the women wished. They settled near a
hill called Mount Palatine, and there they built a city.

Some old stories tell that the city was called Rome after Roma, the
noble lady who had first thought of setting the ship on fire.

But other stories say that the country in which Æneas landed belonged
to a king named Latinus, who welcomed the Trojan, and gave him ground
on which to build. Æneas married Lavinia, the daughter of the king, and
called the city which he built after her Lavinium.

Soon after this, King Latinus was killed in battle, and then for
three years Æneas ruled well and wisely not only over his own Trojan
followers, but also over the subjects of his royal father-in-law. His
people he now called Latins, in memory of King Latinus.

When the three years were passed, war broke out against the Etruscans,
who were at that time the most powerful tribe in Italy.

One day a terrible storm overtook the armies on the battlefield; so
dark grew the clouds that the soldiers could not see each other.

When at length the sky cleared Æneas had disappeared, and was seen no
more on earth.

‘The gods have taken him away,’ said the Latins. So they built an
altar, and henceforth worshipped their king as the god Jupiter.

Ascanius, who had escaped from Troy with his father, now ruled in
Lavinium. But he soon found that the city was not large enough for all
his people; so, leaving Lavinium, he built a new city, and called it
Alba Longa, or the Long White City.

Alba Longa stood in the midst of the Alban hills, not far from the site
on which Rome itself was soon to be built.




CHAPTER II

THE SHE-WOLF


After the death of Ascanius nearly three hundred years passed away, and
then a king named Proca died, leaving behind him two sons. The name of
the elder was Numitor, the name of the younger Amulius.

The crown belonged by right to Numitor, the elder son, but Amulius,
who was ambitious, was not willing that his brother should reign. So
he said to Numitor, ‘One of us shall wear the crown, and to the other
shall belong the gold and treasures left by our father Proca.’

The story does not tell if Numitor was indignant with his brother, and
said that the crown belonged to him; it only tells that Numitor chose
to reign, as was indeed his right.

Amulius then seized the gold and treasure, and bribed his followers to
drive Numitor from the throne and to make him king.

This, in their greed, they were soon persuaded to do.

Ere long Numitor was banished from the city, and Amulius, to his great
content, began to reign.

But the king was soon surprised to find that the crown rested uneasily
upon his head.

It might be that the children of Numitor would some day wrench the
crown from him, even as he had wrenched it from their father.

That this might never be, Amulius, thinking to get rid of fear, ordered
Numitor’s son to be slain, while his daughter Silvia was kept, by the
command of the king, in a temple sacred to the goddess Vesta. Here the
maiden tended the altar fire, which was never allowed to die.

But the god Mars, angry, it might well be, with the cruelty of Amulius,
took pity upon the maiden and sent twin sons to cheer her in her
loneliness. Such strong beautiful babes had never before been seen.

As for the king, when he heard of the birth of these little boys he was
both angry and afraid, lest they should grow into strong men and wrest
his kingdom from him.

In his fear Amulius ordered Silvia to be shut up in a prison for the
rest of her life, and her beautiful boys he commanded to be thrown into
the river Tiber.

Heavy rains had fallen of late, and, as the king knew, the river had
overflowed its banks, but of this he recked not at all, although,
indeed, the flood was to be his undoing.

Two servants, obeying the cruel order of Amulius, placed the baby boys
in a basket, and going to the Tiber, flung their burden into the river.

Like a boat the basket floated hither and thither on the water, until
at length, carried onward by the flood, it was washed ashore at the
foot of a hill called Mount Palatine.

Here, under the shade of a wild fig-tree, the basket was overturned,
and the babes lay safe and sound upon the dry ground, while the river
stole softly backward into its accustomed channel.

Before long the babes awoke hungry and began to cry. A she-wolf coming
to the edge of the river to drink heard their cries, and carried them
away to her cave, where she fed them with her milk, just as she would
have fed her lost cubs. She washed them, too, as she was used to wash
her own children, by licking them with her tongue.




CHAPTER III

THE TWIN BOYS


The twin boys, it was said, were guarded by the god Mars. So it was not
strange that, as they grew older, the god should send his sacred birds,
the woodpeckers, to feed the children. In and out of the cave the birds
flew each day, bringing with them food for the little boys.

But neither the wolf nor the birds could do all that was needful, so
before long, the god who watched over the children sent Faustulus to
their aid.

Faustulus was one of the herdsmen of King Amulius. He had often seen
the wolf going in and out of the cave, and had noticed, too, how the
woodpeckers came and went each day. So when the wolf went off to prowl
in the woods, Faustulus ventured into the cave, where to his amazement
he found two beautiful and well-fed children. He took them in his arms
and carried them home to his wife. She gladly welcomed the little
strangers, and, naming them Romulus and Remus, brought them up as
though they had been her own sons.

As the years passed the boys grew ever more beautiful. Stronger and
braver, too, they became, until the rough herdsmen among whom they
dwelt called them princes.

The lads soon showed that they were fitted to lead the herdsmen. If
wild beasts attacked the flocks, or if robbers tried to steal them,
Romulus and Remus were ever the first to attack, and to drive away
either the robbers or the wild beasts.

[Illustration: A she-wolf, coming to the edge of the river to drink,
heard their cries.]

Faustulus lived on Mount Palatine, near to the spot where the boys
had been washed ashore when they were babes.

This hill belonged to the cruel king Amulius, and it was his sheep and
cattle that the princes, unwitting of the evil the king had done to
them, defended from danger.

Not far from Mount Palatine was another hill, named Mount Aventine, and
here also were herdsmen guarding flocks, but these herdsmen belonged to
the dethroned King Numitor. Numitor was living quietly in the city of
Alba.

Now it chanced that the herdsmen of Amulius began to quarrel with the
herdsmen of Numitor. One evening, forgetting all about their enemies,
the shepherds on Mount Palatine were merrymaking at a festival in
honour of the god Pan.

Then the herdsmen on Mount Aventine said one to the other, ‘See, here
is our chance. We will lay an ambush for these unwary merrymakers.’

As the gods willed, they captured none other than Remus, and well
pleased with their prize, they carried the prince a prisoner to their
master Numitor.




CHAPTER IV

NUMITOR RECOGNISES HIS GRANDSONS


The young prisoner was brought before Numitor in the city of Alba. No
sooner had the old man’s eyes fallen on the lad than he threw up his
hands in amaze, and gazed more keenly at the prisoner.

‘No herdsman this,’ muttered the old king to himself, ‘rather does he
bear himself as a prince.’

Scanning the face before him even more closely, it seemed to Numitor
that the features were not unknown to him. Dreams of his lost daughter
Silvia gladdened his heart.

Gently the old man tried to win the confidence of the lad, asking him
who he was, and whence he came.

Remus was touched by the kindness of Numitor, and answered: ‘I will
hide nothing from you, sire, for you seem of a princely temper, in that
you give a hearing and examine before you punish.’

Then he told the old man the story that Faustulus had often told to him
and Romulus, of how the wolf had found them as babes on the banks of
the river Tiber, and had carried them to her cave and fed them with her
milk.

Long before Remus had ended his story, Numitor knew that it was his
grandson, his daughter Silvia’s child, who stood before him, and his
old heart beat quick with joy. Here at length was one who would take
his side against the cruel King Amulius.

At this moment Romulus, leading a rough band of herdsmen, approached
the city gate, determined to rescue his brother from the hands of
Numitor.

In the city were many folk who groaned under the tyranny of Amulius.
These, hearing that Romulus was without the city gate, stole
noiselessly away to join the prince, believing he had come to punish
the king.

Meantime Romulus had divided his followers into companies of a hundred
men. At the head of each company was a captain, carrying a small bundle
of grass and shrubs tied to a pole.

These rough standards were called ‘manipuli,’ and it was because they
carried these manipuli that captains in the Roman army came to be
called Manipulares.

When Amulius heard that Numitor had recognised in the prisoner one of
his long lost grandsons he was afraid. Then, hearing the shouts and
blows of Romulus and his men as they attacked the city gate, he rushed
to defend it, determined that the second prince should not enter the
city.

But Romulus captured the gate, slew the king, and entered the city in
triumph.

Here he found Remus, no longer a prisoner as he had feared, but the
acknowledged grandson of Numitor.

The old king welcomed Romulus as joyfully as he had welcomed his
brother, and the two princes, eager to please the gentle old man,
placed him upon the throne from which he had so long ago been driven.

They then sped to the prison where their mother Silvia had lain since
the princes had been born. Swiftly they set her free, and cheered her
by their love and care as good sons ever will.




CHAPTER V

THE SACRED BIRDS


The grandsons of Numitor could no longer live as shepherds on Mount
Palatine, which they had learned to love. Nor could they dwell quietly
in Alba, for all their lives they had been used to live free among the
mountains, nor had they been subject to any king.

So the princes made up their minds to leave Alba, and to build a city
for themselves on the hills they loved.

But the brothers could not agree on which hill to build their city,
Romulus choosing the Palatine, Remus the Aventine.

Not knowing how to settle their dispute, they asked Numitor to help
them. He bade them, as the custom was, to appeal to augury--that is, to
watch for a sign or omen from the gods. These signs were given in many
different forms, sometimes by the flight of birds, as happened now.

The princes determined to follow their grandfather’s advice. Romulus
went to Mount Palatine, Remus to Mount Aventine, and patient through
one long day they watched for a sign.

But no sign appeared. The slow hours passed, and night drew on apace,
yet still the brothers never stirred.

Then, as darkness faded before the dawn, Remus saw, far off, dark,
moving shapes. Were the gods going to be gracious, the prince wondered,
and after so many hours send a sign?

Nearer and nearer drew the dark shapes.

‘Ah!’ Remus cried sharply, ‘it is a good omen.’ For now he could see
that the moving forms were six vultures winging their way toward the
west. These birds were sacred to the gods, and did no harm to corn,
fruit, or cattle, nor would they, indeed, wound any living thing.

Swiftly Remus bade a messenger to go tell his brother of the good omen
vouchsafed to him. But even as his messenger sped to do his will, Remus
was crestfallen. For before him stood one of the servants of Romulus
to tell him that his brother, too, had seen a flight of vultures, but
while Remus had seen six birds, Romulus had seen twelve.

What was to be done? It seemed now that the brothers were not thinking
on which hill the city should stand, but of which of them should build
the city. Remus believed that the augury proclaimed him as the founder
of the new city. Romulus was sure that it was he who was intended by
the gods to build it; for had not he seen twelve vultures while his
brother had seen but six?

The princes turned to their followers, demanding who should be their
king. Then loud and lusty was the answering shout: ‘Romulus, Romulus,
he shall be our king!’




CHAPTER VI

THE FOUNDING OF ROME


It was in the year 753 B.C. that Romulus was chosen king. He at once
began to make preparations to build a city on the Palatine hill. The
foundation he wished to lay on the twenty-first of the glad month of
April, for, as Romulus knew, this was a feast-day among the shepherds.

Often he, with his brother, had joined the herdsmen on that day, to
offer cakes to the goddess Pales, to beseech her blessing on themselves
and on their flocks. And when the prayers and sacrifices were over, how
gladly he had joined in the shepherds’ games and jollity! No better day
could be found on which to lay the foundation of the new city.

When the feast-day arrived, a hole was first dug on the spot where the
city was to stand.

Into this hole the king flung the first fruits of the earth, corn and
fruit.

Each of his followers then took a handful of earth which he had carried
with him from his own, perhaps distant, home, and flung it also into
the hole, which was then filled to the top.

Here, too, an altar was built, on which the people laid offerings to
the gods. From henceforth the spot, where the temple had been erected,
was to be the hearth or centre of the new city.

Romulus then throwing his toga, or as we would say, his mantle, around
him, with one end covering his head, took a white bull and a cow and
yoked them to a sacred plough, the share of which was made of brass.

With this ploughshare the king then made a furrow to mark the boundary
of the city, bidding his followers watch that the upturned earth fell
inward to the hearth of the city. Not a clod must be allowed to lie
without the furrow. When the plough reached the different spots at
which the gates of the city were to stand, it was carefully lifted over
the spaces.

As he guided the plough, Romulus cried to his gods that his city might
become strong and endure, and ever grow more powerful in the great
world.

Out of a clear sky thunder crashed, lightning flashed over the hills as
Romulus uttered his petitions, and the people believed that the storm
was the answer of the god Jupiter to the prayers of their king.

When these sacred rites were ended, Romulus bade his men begin at once
to build the wall which was to surround his city.

The wall itself was sacred. None might enter the city, save by the
gates. So the king bade one of his followers, named Celer, to guard the
sacred furrow, and to see that no one dared to scale the wall or jump
across it, as it was being built.

Remus, who was still angry that he had not been chosen king, had been
standing near to Romulus as he laid the foundation of the city. Then,
as the wall began to rise before him, a swift rage sprang up in his
heart, and he leaped across it, crying: ‘Shall such defences as these
guard your city?’

Celer, the watchman, seeing that Remus had scorned the order of the
king, raised his spade in sudden fury and struck the young prince dead
to the ground.

Then, fearing lest Romulus should punish him for his hasty deed, he
fled. Fear lent him wings, and his name from that day became a byword
to betoken great speed.

Our own word, ‘celerity,’ comes from Celer, the swift-footed servant of
Romulus.

When Romulus was told that his brother had been slain, he showed
neither grief nor anger. ‘Thus perish every one who may attempt to
cross these walls,’ were his stern words to those who brought the sad
tidings.

Celer, it was plain, had fled in needless haste.




CHAPTER VII

THE SABINE MAIDENS


When Romulus had built his city and surrounded it with a wall, he began
to fortify the hill on which it was built. This was necessary because
hostile tribes held the neighbouring hills, and might at any moment
attack the new city.

The king ordered his followers to scrape the steep slopes of the
Palatine until they were smooth. Then great slabs of stones, fitted
into each other without mortar, were built into the sides of the hill,
from the base to the summit.

Romulus was pleased when he saw this great fortification finished, for
he knew that it was almost impossible that an enemy should scale the
smooth surface of the hill and lay siege to the city.

Not far from the foot of the Palatine flowed the river Tiber, a
safe highway to the sea. So the king as he gazed, first at his
well-fortified city and then down to the swift flowing river, felt that
he had indeed chosen his site with wisdom.

The Palatine was only one of seven hills, and each of the other six was
added to the city during the reign of the six kings who ruled after
Romulus. Five of these hills were called montes or mountains, while the
other two, being only spurs that jutted out from the tableland, were
called colles or hills.

But I have not yet told you the name of the city! Amid the shouts of
his people the king named it Rome, after its founder Romulus.

Rome was built and fortified, yet the king was dissatisfied, for now
he found that he had not enough people to dwell in the city.

The king must by this time have taken possession of the Capitoline
hill, which was close to the Palatine, for here he resolved to build a
city of refuge, that those who fled to it might gradually be removed to
Rome.

Asylum, which is the Greek word for refuge, was the name of this city,
and it was open to all those who had been forced by crime or misfortune
to flee from their own homes.

To this Asylum hastened robbers, exiles, slaves who had fled from their
masters, as well as those who had stained their hands with blood.

The city of refuge was soon crowded, and many of these rough and
criminal folk were then sent to Rome, until Romulus had as many
subjects as he wished.

But there were no women among those who fled to the king for
protection, and Romulus saw that he would have to find wives for his
new subjects.

So he begged the neighbouring tribes, among which was a tribe called
the Sabines, to allow their daughters to marry his new subjects. But
the king’s request was refused. Give their daughters to robbers and
murderers, to men who had been outlawed! The tribes did not hesitate to
mock at Romulus for thinking that such a thing could be.

Romulus was not a king to be lightly thwarted. He was determined at any
cost to gain wives for his subjects.

So, as his neighbours had proved churlish and refused his request, he
made up his mind to capture their daughters by guile, or by a trick,
as we would say. Nor did he take long to lay his plans. He invited his
neighbours, among whom were the Sabines, to a feast and games which he
wished to celebrate in honour of the god Consus.

They, eager to enjoy the feast and the great spectacle of the games,
came flocking into Rome on the appointed day, bringing with them their
wives and daughters.

Fearlessly they came, and were greeted with great hospitality by the
king, who knew that he must hide his anger until his plot had been
successful.

The feast began with solemn rites, sacrifices being offered to the
gods, and especially to Consus, in whose name the festival was held.

When the sacrifices were ended, the guests mingled carelessly with the
Romans, thinking only of the games and races.

The king, seeing that the moment had come, gave the signal for which
his people were waiting.

A band of armed men at once rushed in among the guests, and in spite of
their screams and struggles, carried away the Sabine maidens.

The parents of the maidens hastened to leave the city where the laws of
hospitality had been so cruelly transgressed. As they went, they called
down the anger of the gods upon Romulus and his people.




CHAPTER VIII

THE TARPEIAN ROCK


The tribes who had been at the feast of Consus were so angry with the
king that many of them went to fight against him, without waiting to
gather together a large army. Thus Romulus soon defeated and scattered
his foes.

Moreover, having slain one of the kings with his own hand, he stripped
him of his armour, and tying it to a pole, carried it back to Rome,
where he offered it to Jupiter. This was the earliest Triumph
celebrated at Rome. In days to come the Triumphs of the Roman generals
became famous. They were held when the soldiers returned victorious
from a great battle. The general at the head of his army rode into the
city in a chariot drawn by beautiful horses. Other chariots followed,
filled with the treasures and spoils of war, while the most noble
prisoners, often loaded with chains, were dragged along behind the
chariots. The day on which a Triumph was celebrated was always held as
a holiday by the citizens of Rome.

Now, among the tribes which Romulus had robbed, none had suffered so
heavily as the Sabines. But they, more wary than the king’s other foes,
did not attempt to avenge their wrongs until they had had time to
collect a large and powerful army. Nearly two years had passed before
this army was led by Tatius, the King of the Sabines, against the
Romans.

The fortress on the Capitoline hill Romulus had entrusted to the care
of a chief named Tarpeius. Now Tarpeius had a daughter named Tarpeia,
and she loved ornaments and jewels of gold and silver.

As the Sabines, led by Tatius, drew near to attack the fortress,
Tarpeia looked out of a spy-hole and saw that the enemy was adorned
with beautiful golden bracelets. The longer she looked, the greater
became her desire to possess these dazzling ornaments. What would she
not do to wear such splendid jewels? She would--yes, she would even
betray the fortress into the hands of the Sabines, if only she might
hear the tinkle of the golden bracelets on her arms.

So, leaving the spy-hole, Tarpeia slipped secretly out of the fortress
and spoke to the Sabines, offering to show them how to take the citadel
if they would give her in reward ‘what they wore on their left arms.’

The Sabines agreed to do as Tarpeia wished, but in their hearts they
despised the maiden for her treachery.

But she, heedless of all save the ornaments that would soon be hers,
hastened back to the fortress.

Then, when it grew dark, she stealthily opened the gate, outside of
which stood the waiting foe.

As the Sabines marched into the fortress, Tarpeia cried to them to
remember their promise and give her her reward.

Then Tatius bade his men not to refuse ‘the least part of what they
wore on their left arms,’ and himself taking off his bracelet, threw it
to her, together with his shield, which he also bore on his left arm.

His men did as their king had done, so that Tarpeia soon fell to the
ground and was killed by the weight of the shields that covered her.

The traitress was buried on the hill which she had betrayed. From that
day traitors were punished by being thrown over the steepest rock on
the Capitoline hill, which was named after the maiden who betrayed her
city, ‘The Tarpeian Rock.’




CHAPTER IX

THE MYSTERIOUS GATE


The fortress on the Capitoline hill was now in the hands of the
Sabines, but they had still to fight with the Romans who dwelt on the
Palatine hill.

Romulus was, indeed, already to be seen leading his men into the valley
that lay between the two mountains.

The battle was long and fierce, and disaster well-nigh overtook the
Sabines.

In the valley was a swamp, and in this swamp the whole of the enemy’s
army would have been engulfed, had not Curtius, one of their most
gallant soldiers, warned them of danger.

He himself had been carried by his horse into the mire. Nobly he tried
to free his steed, but his efforts were all in vain. The more the
animal struggled, the deeper it sank into the swamp, until at length
Curtius was forced to leave his horse that he might save himself. This
swamp was ever after known as the Curtian Lake.

Hour after hour the battle raged, until at last Romulus and his
followers were driven backward. In their dismay the Roman army rushed
through one of the gates into their city, hastily shutting it behind
them, that the foe might not also enter.

But lo! so says the legend, the gate would not remain shut, but opened,
as it seemed, of its own accord.

Twice again the terrified Romans tried to close it, and twice it opened
as mysteriously as before.

The Sabines reached the gate as it opened for the last time.

In through the open gate pushed the triumphant enemy, when suddenly a
great flood of water gushed forth from the temple of the god Janus,
which stood near to the gate.

Overwhelmed by the force of the water, the Sabines were swept, not only
out of the gate, but far away from the city, and Rome was saved.

But although the Sabines had been forced to flee, they had not been
conquered. Again and again they marched against Romulus, for they could
not forgive him for the loss of their daughters.

In one of these battles Romulus was wounded by a stone and fell to the
ground. His followers, seeing that their king was wounded, lost courage
and began to retreat.

But the king was soon on his feet, calling to his men to stand and
fight. But it seemed as though they dared not turn to face the foe.

Then, in his great need the king stretched out his hands to heaven and
besought Jupiter to come to his aid, promising that he would build a
temple to his name, so only he would stay the flight of his army.

Even as he prayed the answer came. No voice from heaven commanded them
to stand, yet the Romans were suddenly ashamed of their cowardice and
turned once more to face the foe.

But as the battle was about to begin with redoubled fury the Sabine
women rushed in between the two armies with loud cries, entreating
now their fathers and brothers, now their husbands to end this cruel
slaughter.

They even begged that they themselves might be slain, for, ‘Better it
is that we perish,’ said the women, ‘than live as widows and orphans.’

In their arms the women carried their little sons, and these babes
stretched out their tiny arms toward their grandsires, as though they
too would beg for peace. The lamentable cries of their daughters, the
sight of their little grandchildren made the Sabines hesitate, and soon
the warriors in either army let their weapons fall to the ground in
mood no longer warlike. ‘Then fathers and sons-in-law clasped hands in
friendship. The old men embraced their daughters, and carried their
baby grandsons on their shields. Surely a sweeter way was that to use
the shield.’

Peace was then made, and the Romans and Sabines agreed to become one,
while Romulus and Tatius ruled together over their united people.

Five years later Tatius was killed in a quarrel, and Romulus again
ruled alone.




CHAPTER X

THE KING DISAPPEARS


As the years passed, the city of Rome became ever larger and more
powerful. The king, too, grew haughty, and as his greatness increased,
careless of the welfare of his people. His subjects, who had formerly
loved Romulus, now began to hate him, so insolent seemed to them his
behaviour.

Dressed in a scarlet robe, the king spent his days lying on a couch,
while young lads, called Celeres, waited upon him. This name was
bestowed upon them because of the swiftness with which they sped to do
the king’s behests.

Nor was this all, but when Romulus at times roused himself to walk
through the streets of the city, the Celeres went before him, bearing
staves. These they used, to thrust aside any of the common people who
dared to disturb the king by their presence.

The staves angered the people, but even more did they resent the
leather thongs which the Celeres wore, for these were used to bind and
take prisoner whoever displeased the king.

After he had reigned forty years a strange thing happened.

Romulus ordered the people to assemble on the Field of Mars, which
reached from the city to the river Tiber, for here a festival was to
be held. But when the king and his subjects met, a terrible storm
arose. Dark and yet darker grew the sky, while fierce gusts of wind,
blowing now in one direction, now in another, confused the terrified
crowd. Flashes of lighting gleamed across the faces of the throng,
then darkness, more dense, fell across the field, hiding each from the
other. Thunder rolled until the earth seemed to shake at the sound.

In terror and distraught with fear, the crowd fled to their homes,
lashed by a ceaseless torrent of rain.

And the king? When the storm was over the king was nowhere to be found.
He had disappeared, and was seen no more on earth in human form.

‘His enemies have slain him,’ said some among the people. But others
thought that the god Mars had carried the king to heaven in a chariot.

Proculus, a friend of Romulus, told the people a story, which made them
believe that their king had himself become a god.

One day, as Proculus was walking from Alba to Rome, Romulus stood
before him, clad in shining armour.

His friend was afraid when he saw the king, so tall and comely had he
become, and he cried: ‘Why, O King, have you abandoned us, and left the
whole city to bereavement and endless sorrow?’

Proculus did not seem to know that Romulus had lost the love of his
people many years before.

The figure in shining armour answered his friend in these wise words:

‘It pleased the gods, O Proculus, that we, who came from them, should
remain so long a time amongst men as we did, and having built a city to
be the greatest in the world for empire and glory, should again return
to heaven.

‘Farewell, and tell the Romans that by the exercise of temperance and
fortitude they shall attain the height of human power. We will be to
you from henceforth the god Quirinus.’

The Romans listened eagerly to Proculus, and when his story ended, they
determined to build a temple on the Quirinal hill in honour of their
new god.

And each year, on the 17th February, the day that Romulus had been
taken from their sight, the Romans held a festival in honour of
Quirinus, calling it the Quirinalia.




CHAPTER XI

THE PEACE-LOVING KING


After the disappearance of Romulus, the Romans and Sabines each wished
to appoint a new king.

Romulus had been a Roman, so the Sabines said that now it was but just
that a Sabine king should rule.

The dispute between the people lasted for a whole year, and then at
length it was determined that the new king should be a Sabine, but that
the Romans should be allowed to choose him.

Now among the Sabines dwelt a man named Numa Pompilius. He was honoured
by the Romans as well as by his own people, for he was both good and
wise. He had indeed been known for his wisdom since he was a boy. And
if, when he was young, any one ventured to dispute his wisdom, his
friends would point to his grey hair, believing there was no need to
speak. For the hair of Numa Pompilius had been grey from the day of his
birth, and that surely was a sign from the gods to show that he already
was and ever would be wise.

Often he was to be seen, a solitary man, walking in the fields and
groves which were consecrated to the gods. At other times he would
spend long days and weeks alone in desert places.

It was to this strangely quiet, thoughtful man, who was now about forty
years old, that the Romans sent ambassadors to beg him to become their
king.

Numa Pompilius had no wish to rule. Moreover, he deemed that the people
would desire a more warlike king than he was like to be. So he bade
the messengers return to Rome, saying: ‘I should but be, methinks, a
laughing-stock, while I should go about to inculcate the worship of
the gods and give lessons in the love of justice and the abhorrence of
violence and war to a city whose needs are rather for a captain than
for a king.’

In spite of these words, the ambassadors still urged Numa to return
with them to Rome. ‘Your presence,’ said they, ‘will help to put an end
to war and discord.’

Then the wise man consulted the gods, and they sent a flight of sacred
birds as a sign that he should reign in Rome.

So Numa Pompilius set out with the ambassadors, and when he reached the
city he called together the people to ask them if they were willing to
obey his commands.

They, greeting him as ‘a holy king, and one beloved of the gods,’
promised to obey him in all things. Thus, almost against his will, the
wise man became king. But being king, he was not the man to shirk the
duties belonging to his royal state.

His first act was to dismiss the band of three hundred Celeres, which
had formed the life-guard of Romulus, for this king trusted his
subjects, and believed that they would safeguard him from danger.

To train the Romans in the love of truth he built on the Capitol a
temple to the goddess Fides, or Faith, bidding them invoke this goddess
above all others. At the same time he told them ever to remember as
they went about their daily work that their promises were as sacred as
their oaths.

In the temple no sacrifice of sheep, oxen, or bird was ever offered,
for the good king would not have his gifts to the gods stained with
blood. Fruits, cakes, corn, these were the offerings he bade the people
bring to the temple.

Pompilius himself had loved to work and to walk in the fields, so now
he encouraged the Romans to labour in the country, dividing among them
a large part of the land which Romulus had conquered.

In these and other ways the king did all he could to curb the fierce
passions of his subjects, who, when left to themselves, were swift to
turn to war and bloodshed, rather than to peace.

Many of the people reverenced their peace-loving king, but others
mocked at his gentle ways.

Even the feasts of the king were more simple than some of the Romans
liked, and these discontented ones grumbled at the plain fare of which
they were invited to partake.

One day, so the legend runs, the king ordered, as was his custom, a
simple meal to be prepared, and to this meal he invited many of his
friends.

They came, for the king had asked them, but, as they expected, the food
was plain, the plates were of earthenware, and water was served in
bottles of stone.

But no sooner had the guests seated themselves at the table than
behold! as if by magic, the plain food was changed into the choicest
viands, the water became the richest wine, while the earthenware dishes
disappeared, and in their place stood plates of silver and of gold.

The guests were startled, yet it pleased them well that the gods should
show such favour to their king, for they never doubted that it was thus
the gods treated those who honoured them.

Henceforth the people grumbled less, and were more ready to obey their
sovereign.

Numa Pompilius ruled for forty-three years, caring, during his long
reign, for the welfare of his people.

Even the enemies of Rome did not venture to disturb this good and
gentle king. So, while he ruled, the weapons of war were laid aside.
The gates of the temple of Janus, too, which were only opened in time
of war, remained closed during the reign of Numa Pompilius.

It seemed that the gods did indeed show goodwill to this pious king,
for neither sickness nor famine troubled the country as long as he sat
upon the throne, and the Romans prospered in all that they undertook.

When he was eighty years of age Numa Pompilius passed away in a death
as peaceful as his life.

The Romans mourned his loss, for he had been to them father as well as
king.

Quietly they laid his body to rest, beyond the Tiber, on the hill
Janiculum which looks toward the west.




CHAPTER XII

HORATIUS SLAYS HIS SISTER


Tullus Hostilius, the king who succeeded Numa Pompilius in 672 B.C.,
loved war as much as Pompilius had loved peace.

He feared lest already the Romans had lost the renown that had been
theirs on the battlefield when Romulus was king. So he determined to
find a pretext for war as soon as possible, that his soldiers might
show that courage was still theirs, and that their fame might spread as
of old to the neighbouring tribes.

Such was the warlike character of Tullus Hostilius, that it was soon
found necessary to throw wide the gates of the temple of Janus.

It chanced that shortly after the new king came to the throne some
Roman and Alban countrymen quarrelled, each saying that he had been
robbed by the other.

Tullus at once took the side of his own people, sending to the King of
Alba to demand that the goods which had been stolen should be restored.
The King of Alba at the same time sent messengers to Tullus, claiming
that justice should be meted out to those who had robbed his subjects.

The King of Rome received the messengers from Alba so courteously and
treated them so well, that they forgot the errand on which they had
been sent, until startled by the return of the Roman ambassadors.

They, having been refused justice by the King of Alba, had, ere they
left, declared that the Romans would avenge the wrong done to their
countrymen.

Tullus was well pleased with the report of his ambassadors. He sent
away the careless messengers of Alba, bidding them tell their king that
it was he who had provoked the war.

The two kings speedily collected their armies and marched to the
battlefield. But before the war began the King of Alba died. Then the
Albans chose one of their number, named Mettius, to be Dictator.

He, standing between the two armies, begged that the victory might be
decided by single combat, so that many lives might be spared.

To this Tullus agreed, sending forth as the Roman champions three
brothers, called the Horatii, while the choice of Mettius fell upon
three Alban brothers, named the Curiatii.

A great silence fell upon the two armies as the combatants stood forth,
armed to the teeth, and the contest which was to settle the fate of
Rome and Alba began.

Should the Horatii win, Rome would seize Alba as its prize. Should the
Curiatii be the victors, Rome would be forfeit to the Albans.

Fierce and yet more fierce fell the blows of the champions, until at
length, two of the Horatii lay slain on the ground, while the three
Curiatii were wounded.

Then, to the dismay of the Roman army, Horatius, on whose courage the
safety of Rome depended, turned and fled, pursued by the three wounded
men.

But the Romans need not have feared that Horatius had turned coward.
His flight, as they soon saw, was but a feint to separate his enemies.

As the swiftest of the Curiatii gained upon him, the Roman champion
turned and smote him to the ground. Without a moment’s pause Horatius
then attacked the second brother, who had now reached his side, and
he also fell before the fury of the Roman’s stroke. The last of the
Curiatii had been forced to follow more slowly, as his wounds had been
severe. He, too, was now stricken down by the conqueror.

Rome was saved! At the thought great shouts rent the air, and Horatius
was led in triumph toward the city.

As the glad procession drew near to the gate, the sister of Horatius
came out to meet her brother. She was the promised bride of one of the
Curiatii.

When she saw Horatius, wearing on his shoulders the cloak of her
betrothed, which she herself had embroidered, she broke into bitter
sobs and began to curse him for his cruel deed.

Then Horatius, in sudden passion, drew his sword and stabbed his
sister, crying: ‘So perish the Roman maiden who shall weep for her
country’s enemy.’

Great was the service Horatius had done for Rome that day, yet his rash
act could not be allowed to pass unpunished. He was taken prisoner, and
brought before two judges, who condemned him to death.

But Horatius refused to submit to his sentence, and appealed to the
people of Rome to save him. And for the sake of his old father, who
had already that day lost two sons, as well as because he himself had
risked his life for his country, the people listened to his plea and
set him free.

Yet, as a public penance, he was obliged to pass beneath a yoke and
offer sacrifices to the spirit of the sister he had slain.

The yoke under which Horatius had to pass was formed of two beams of
wood which were thrust into the ground, and across the top of which
a third beam was placed. Sometimes the yoke was made by using three
swords in this way.

But it was a wooden yoke under which Horatius stooped, and one of the
beams was treasured for many years, and named the ‘sister’s beam.’

Yet it was not only the memory of his penance that was preserved. To
recall his courage to the Romans who would follow him, the arms which
Horatius had taken from the Curiatii were hung on a pillar in the
market-place. And in days to come the citizens would point to this
pillar, saying: ‘It is the pillar of Horatius.’

[Illustration: When she saw Horatius wearing on his shoulders the cloak
of her betrothed, she broke into bitter sobs.]




CHAPTER XIII

THE PRIDE OF TULLUS HOSTILIUS


By the victory of Horatius, the Albans became subject to Rome, and were
forced to help them in their wars.

But Mettius, the Dictator, never ceased to hope that he would yet be
able to throw off the yoke of Rome.

So when Tullus summoned him to bring an army to help the Romans in
their battle against the Etruscans, Mettius brought an army as he was
bidden, but when the battle was at its height, he secretly told his men
to give no aid to the Romans.

In spite of the treachery of Mettius, Tullus was victorious.

The Dictator, hoping that the king knew naught of his deceit, boldly
praised him for the victory he had won.

But Tullus knew that Mettius had done nothing to help him win the
battle, and so angry was he with his treachery that he ordered him to
be torn to pieces by horses. Then the king ordered the Albans to be
disarmed, and after burning their city, he carried off the people to
Rome.

The Roman nobles, or patricians as they were called, welcomed the Alban
nobles to their city, while the countrymen of Alba soon became friends
with the common people, or plebeians.

As in the reign of Romulus the Sabines and the Romans became one, so
now the Albans and Romans were united. In this way the number of the
citizens in Rome was nearly doubled.

Encouraged by his victories, Tullus spent the rest of his reign in wars
with the Etruscans. His success, instead of making him humble, made
him proud, and he grew careless of the service of the gods. Moreover,
he neglected the wise and just laws made by the good King Pompilius.

Then, in sign of their displeasure, the gods sent a plague among the
people, and the king himself was smitten with sickness. In his misery
Tullus remembered the gods and prayed. But Jupiter was angry, and sent
a shaft of lightning from the sky, which killed Tullus and destroyed
his house.

Tullus Hostilius reigned for thirty-two years, and after his death, in
640 B.C., Ancus Marcius, a grandson of Pompilius, became King of Rome.




CHAPTER XIV

THE KING WHO FOUGHT AND PRAYED


Like his grandfather Numa Pompilius, Ancus Marcius loved peace.

His first act after he became king was to restore the service of the
gods, which during the last reign had ofttimes been neglected. The
sacred laws of Pompilius, too, he ordered to be written on tablets of
wood and to be shown to the people.

Now among the enemies of Rome was a tribe named the Latins. The Latins,
knowing that King Ancus spent his time in prayer and in offering
sacrifices to the gods, began to plunder and destroy the country round
about Rome, thinking to go unpunished. But they soon found that the
king could fight as well as pray.

No sooner, indeed, had Ancus heard that the Latins were laying waste
his dominions, than he commanded the priests to attend to the temple
services. Then, placing himself at the head of his army, he marched
against the enemy.

The battle was fierce and long, but at length the Latins were beaten
and their towns destroyed. His prisoners the king took back with him to
Rome, bidding them make their home on the Aventine hill.

Ancus next determined to secure the command of the Tiber and to join
the Janiculum hill to Rome by throwing a wooden bridge across the
river, which was named the ‘Bridge of the Wooden Piles,’ for it was
built entirely of wood. The beams were placed loosely, one alongside
another, so that, should an enemy approach, it could be quickly taken
to pieces.

Ancus loved peace, but he could not yet lay down his arms, for he saw
that Rome ought to secure the land that lay between the city and the
sea. So he led his army against the tribes to whom this land belonged,
and, taking it from them, he built a town at the mouth of the Tiber,
which he called Ostia. And here a busy harbour was soon to be seen,
from which Roman ships set sail for the open sea.

For twenty-four years this good king reigned, and then, calm and
content as his royal grandfather, he died. His name was ever held in
honour by his people, for in time of peace he had been just, in time of
war victorious.

The children of the king were still young when their father died, so
they were left to the care of his friend, Lucius Tarquinius.




CHAPTER XV

THE FAITHLESS FRIEND


Lucius Tarquinius, to whom the king had entrusted the care of his
children, was a Greek noble possessing great wealth. His real name was
Lucumo, and being driven from his native town by a tyrant, he had taken
refuge in the town of Tarquinii in Etruria. It was from this town that
he took the name by which he was known in Rome.

But neither Lucumo nor his wife Tanaquil were content to spend their
lives in such a sleepy little town as Tarquinii proved to be. So they
determined to go to Rome, where, it was said, strangers were ever
welcome.

One day, then, the husband and wife set out on their journey. As they
drew near to the Janiculum hill, an eagle suddenly swooped down upon
the travellers, and seized the cap which Lucumo was wearing. Then,
uttering loud screams, the bird flew high in the air, only to return in
a few moments to replace the cap on the head of its astonished owner.

Tanaquil seemed pleased with the strange behaviour of the eagle, and
assured her husband that it was an augury or sign from the gods that he
would rise to honour in the city to which they were going.

King Ancus heard of the wealth and the wisdom of the stranger who had
come to Rome, and ere long he sent a messenger to Tarquinius, bidding
him attend the king’s councils. So wisely did Tarquinius behave that
the king soon treated him as a friend.

When Ancus Marcius was dying, he did not fear the future for his
children. They would be safe, he believed, in the care of Tarquinius.
But he, alas! betrayed his trust that he might satisfy his own ambition.

After the death of the king, Tarquinius, pretending that he wished to
make the sons of Ancus forget their grief, persuaded them to go away
from the city to hunt.

In their absence the false friend appealed to the people to make him
king, and this they did.

Tarquinius had gained his power by a treacherous deed, but by his
courage on the battlefield he won the admiration of his subjects.

He fought against the Latins, and made many of their cities subject to
Rome. And when the Sabines took up arms and marched almost to the gates
of the city, Tarquinius, vowing that if Jupiter would come to his aid
he would build a temple in his honour, rushed against the foe and drove
it away.

Flushed with victory, he then went to war with the Etruscans, and
forced them to acknowledge him as their king.

As a sign of their subjection the conquered tribe sent to Tarquinius
royal gifts--a golden crown, a sceptre, an ivory chair, an embroidered
tunic, a purple toga, and twelve axes tied up in bundles of rods.

These gifts the king sent before him to Rome as a proof of his victory
over the Etruscans.

Then, when peace was at length proclaimed, Tarquinius remembered
the vow he had made to Jupiter, and began to build a temple on the
Capitoline hill.

As the workmen were digging, in order to lay a good foundation, they
found a human head. This was a sign, so said those who knew, that the
spot on which the head had been buried should become the chief place of
worship in Rome.

The temple, when it was finished, was named the Capitol, and in days to
come it was indeed looked upon as the most sacred building in the city.

Although Tarquinius was but a usurper, yet he did all that he could to
improve the kingdom over which he ruled.

He ordered great drains to be built, that the marshy valleys between
the hills of Rome might become healthier. He also built a large circus
and a racecourse, to encourage the games of the people, and in course
of time the Roman games became famous.

In the valley between the Capitoline hill and the Palatine hill the
king then began to build the Forum, or market-place. Round the Forum he
set up booths, where the trades-folk might carry on their business.

Meanwhile, the subjects of Rome had become so numerous, that the king
wished to increase the three tribes into which Romulus had divided his
people.

But a skilful augur, named Attius, forbade Tarquinius to alter what
Romulus had consecrated with rites sacred to the gods.

The king could ill brook interference, and he mocked at the augur’s
words in the Forum, where the people had assembled.

Then, thinking to show that Attius was not really as wise as he was
believed to be, he cried: ‘Tell me, O Attius, can the thing of which I
am thinking at this moment come to pass?’

The augur, undisturbed by the mockery of the king, consulted the sacred
birds. Yes, the omens were good. The thought in the mind of the king
could be put into action.

Tarquinius pointed to a whetstone which lay before him, and said: ‘Can
you then cut this whetstone in twain with a razor?’

Undismayed, Attius at once seized a razor, and with one stroke the
stone was split in two.

Then the king was afraid, and dared not disregard the wisdom of the
augur. So the number of tribes ordained by Romulus was left unchanged.

But Tarquinius doubled the nobles in each tribe, and also increased the
companies of knights.




CHAPTER XVI

A SLAVE BECOMES A KING


Among the slaves of the king was a young boy named Servius Tullius. One
day the lad fell fast asleep in the doorway of the palace.

As he slept, it chanced that Tanaquil, the queen, came out to walk in
the palace grounds. When she saw Servius she would have roused him,
save that a flame of fire was playing around his head, yet doing him no
hurt.

But the attendants of the queen also saw this strange sight, and at
once rushed off in search of water with which to put out the flame.

Tanaquil, however, called to them to return, saying: ‘Leave the lad to
sleep. The flame will not injure him.’

Then, hastening back to the palace, she told the king what she had
seen, adding: ‘The gods have appointed Servius to great honour.’

From that day the boy was no longer treated as a slave, but as the
king’s son, and when he was older he was married to the daughter of
Tarquinius.

Little by little Servius Tullius was entrusted with the cares of State,
while the Senate or elders of the people treated him as a prince.

Now the sons of Ancus, from whom Tarquinius had stolen the crown, were
indignant when they saw the former slave treated with more honour
than were they, and they grew afraid lest the king should appoint
Servius to succeed him. That this might not be, they determined to kill
Tarquinius.

Hiring two men, they bade them go kill the king, and they should be
well rewarded for their deed.

So the men disguised themselves as shepherds, and begged to be admitted
to the presence of Tarquinius, that he might settle their dispute, for,
so they pretended, they had quarrelled with one another while they
tended their flocks.

When they stood before the king one of the shepherds began to tell a
piteous tale. While Tarquinius was listening, the other suddenly raised
his axe, and with one great blow killed the king. The false shepherds
then fled from the palace.

But the sons of Ancus had forgotten that Tanaquil was left to thwart
their plans.

No sooner was the king slain, than she ordered the doors of the palace
to be closed. Then, when the people heard it rumoured that the king
was dead and rushed to the palace, Tanaquil opened an upper window and
spoke to the crowds below.

‘The king is but wounded,’ she told them, ‘he is not dead. He has
commanded that you should obey Servius until he is again able to rule.’
But all the while Tarquinius lay in the palace, dead.

But the people, loyal, as they thought, to the wishes of their king,
allowed Servius to rule. And the sons of Ancus knew that they had
killed the king in vain.

A few days later it was known that the king was really dead; yet,
although neither the Senate nor the people had chosen Servius to be
king, he continued to sit upon the throne and to rule over Rome.
Moreover, he was wise enough to try to win the hearts of the people by
promising to give them land and to rule justly.

So well did he perform his royal duties, that when he called together
an assembly of the people he was at once elected king.




CHAPTER XVII

THE CRUEL DEED OF TULLIA


Servius Tullius began to reign in 578 B.C. Like Pompilius and Ancus, he
loved peace, and fought against none, save only the Etruscans.

With the Latins he made a treaty, after which the two tribes built a
temple to Diana on the Aventine hill, and here every year sacrifices
were offered for Rome and for Latium.

The city which Romulus had built on the Palatine had long ago become
too small for the Romans. Little by little, cities had grown up on
the neighbouring hills, and now Servius was able to enclose all the
seven hills of Rome within the city, building around her a great wall
of stone. This wall was called after the king the ‘Servian Wall,’ and
so strongly was it built that it was still standing in the days of
Augustus. Beyond the wall a deep moat was then dug, a hundred feet in
breadth.

Having thus strengthened the city, Servius divided it into four
regions, while the people were arranged in numerous tribes.

Should a citizen be wanted to appear before the king or the Senate, it
was then an easy task to find the tribe to which he belonged and the
region in which he dwelt.

Servius also made a law which pleased the Romans well, called an
ordinance of the king.

This ordinance forbade the nobles to oppress the poor. It also decreed
that, however lowly the birth of a Roman citizen, if he became rich he
might hold positions of power in the State. This encouraged the poor
man to be industrious, for if he could but gain wealth there was no
ambition which he might not be able to satisfy.

But while the ordinance pleased the common people, it displeased the
nobles, who had no wish to see the plebeians raised to positions which
until now had been sacred to them and to their sons. They bore Servius
no good will for passing this new law.

Trouble, too, was threatening the king through his two daughters, both
of whom, as the Roman custom was, were named Tullia.

But although their names were the same, their natures were as different
as summer is different from winter.

Tullia, the elder, was wicked and ambitious; Tullia, the younger, good
and gentle.

Servius determined to marry his daughters to the sons of King
Tarquinius, whose kindness had placed him on the throne.

The princes, as the princesses, were of strangely different natures.
Lucius was proud, his temper violent; while Aruns was humble and
good-natured.

Now the king thought that if the gentle Tullia married Lucius, he would
become a better man; while he hoped that if his ambitious daughter
married Aruns she would learn from him the grace of humility.

But Servius made a great mistake when he married his daughters. For
before long Lucius hated his quiet wife, and killed both her and his
brother Aruns, so that he and Tullia the elder might be free to marry
each other.

No sooner had Lucius Tarquinius married Tullia, than, encouraged by
her, he joined the discontented nobles, who hated Servius.

Day by day Lucius grew more bold, more rude to Servius, and at length
he put on the royal robes and sat on the king’s seat in the Senate
house, unrebuked by the nobles.

Servius was now no longer young, but when he heard how Lucius had
dared to behave he went at once to the door of the Senate house, and
bade the prince come down from the throne, and lay aside the royal
robes.

But Lucius paid no heed to the king’s command. Then, as the king
repeated his words, Lucius seized the old man and flung him down the
stone steps of the Senate house.

Servius, bruised and dazed by his fall, yet struggled to his feet, and
slowly turned away toward the palace.

Lucius dared not let the king live now that he had defied him. So,
sending his servants after Servius, he bade them kill the old man.

It was easy to overtake him, and the fellows soon slew their king,
leaving his body lying in the middle of the street.

When Tullia heard what her husband had done, she had no grief to spare
for her father’s cruel death. She ordered her chariot, and drove
quickly to the Forum to greet her husband as king.

But Lucius did not wish the people to see the triumph of his wife, and
he sternly bade her go home.

Tullia obeyed, heedless of his anger. She had room in her heart for
only one thought. Lucius was king, and she, she was queen.

So full was her mind of the new honours that would now be hers, that
her chariot had reached the street where the dead body of her father
lay before she was aware. The driver drew up his horses sharply, seeing
his murdered king lying across his path.

But Tullia angrily bade him drive on, and as he obeyed, her robe was
stained with her father’s blood. The street was ever after called the
Via Scelerata, or the Way of Crime.

Lucius showed no shame for the murder of the king, and haughtily
refused to allow his body to be buried with the usual rites.

And because of his pride the new king was named Tarquinius Superbus or
Tarquin the Proud.




CHAPTER XVIII

THE FATE OF THE TOWN OF GABII


Tarquin, having killed Servius, seized the throne, and began his reign
by condemning to death the chief senators who had supported the old
king. He also ordered the tablets, on which Servius had written many
wise and good laws, to be destroyed. Refusing to summon the Senate,
Tarquin then attempted to rule alone.

His cruelty was so great that he was soon hated both by rich and poor.
Before many months had passed he was forced to surround himself with a
bodyguard, lest he should be slain by those whom he had ruined. For, in
order to grow rich, he imposed heavy fines on the wealthy, sometimes
driving the nobles into exile that he might take possession of their
goods. If they ventured to remonstrate, Tarquin did not hesitate to put
them to death that he might seize their money.

As for the poor people, he forced them to work so hard that they were
more like slaves than freemen. Often in despair they escaped from the
king’s cruelty by killing themselves.

After he had crushed the spirit of his subjects, Tarquin went to war
with the Latins, conquering many of their cities, and even enrolling
some of his prisoners in the Roman legions.

One ancient Latin town determined to resist the cruel king. Gabii, for
this was the name of the brave little town, even opened its gates to
the nobles who had been exiled from Rome.

In vain Tarquin sent legion after legion against the city. Its
defenders still defied him, fighting with all their strength so as to
protect their homes from the cruel hands of Tarquin the Proud.

Since he could not take the town by force, the king resolved to take it
by treachery, and in this resolve he was aided by his son Sextus.

Sextus, pretending that he had been forced to leave Rome by his
father’s cruelty, fled to Gabii. Telling the citizens a piteous tale,
he showed them his back, bare and bleeding from stripes, and begged to
be taken into the town that his father might not capture him.

The citizens did not find it difficult to believe that the tyrant had
ill-used his son, and they willingly opened their gates to the prince.
And not only did they give him shelter, but, so great was their trust,
that before long they gave him command of a company of soldiers.

One day a Roman legion was seen marching toward the city. Sextus at
once led his soldiers against it, and, instructed secretly by Tarquin,
the Romans fled before the prince.

This made the men of Gabii still more sure that they could trust
Sextus, so they foolishly gave to him the chief command of the defences
of the town.

Then Sextus sent in triumph to his father to know what he should do.

Tarquin the Proud was walking in his garden when his son’s messenger
arrived, and he listened in silence to his words. But he still walked
up and down the garden paths, switching off with his stick the heads of
the tallest poppies in the flower-beds. Then, still without a word, he
sent the messenger back to Gabii.

But when Sextus heard of the fate of the poppies, he needed no words to
explain his father’s silence. He knew as well as if the king had spoken
that as the tallest poppies had been beheaded, so he was to behead the
leading nobles in Gabii.

The citizens knew nothing of what had happened in the king’s flower
garden, so they were startled and dismayed when, day after day,
Sextus accused one and another of their nobles of crime or treason,
and ordered them to be put to death. The prince then completed his
treachery by delivering the town into the hands of the king.

Tarquin’s next victory was over the Volscians, a powerful tribe which
dwelt south of Latium. After plundering one of their richest towns, he
determined with his new-found wealth to finish the great temple on the
Capitoline hill, which had been begun by his father Lucius Tarquinius.

He adorned Rome with many other beautiful buildings, and ordered
the great sewers, also begun by his father, to be finished. He then
completed the Forum, or market-place. In the Forum the people bought
and sold, and here also were held the great assemblies of the people.




CHAPTER XIX

THE BOOKS OF THE SIBYL


One day, when Tarquin the Proud was at the height of his power, a woman
came to the city and demanded to see the king. She was a stranger, and
carried in her arms nine books.

When she was brought before the king she asked him to buy the books,
telling him that they were the sacred prophecies of the inspired Sibyl
of Cumæ. Cumæ was in the Campania, and was the most ancient of the
Greek towns in Italy. The prophecies were written on loose leaves, and
in them, said the strange woman, the king would read the destiny of
Rome, and how to fulfil it.

But the stranger asked so large a sum of money for the nine books that
the king laughed and refused to buy.

Quietly, before the king’s eyes the woman burned three of the nine
books. Then, turning to him again, she offered the six books for the
same price as she had before demanded for the nine.

Tarquin laughed still more scornfully, and refused to buy the six as he
had already refused to buy the nine books.

Quietly as before the woman burned three more books before the eyes of
the king. Then turning to him she offered the three books that were
left for the same sum.

Then the king laughed no more. He began to wonder if perhaps the gods
had sent the books to Rome. So he consulted the augurs, and by their
advice he now bought the three books for the sum which would have
bought the nine.

[Illustration: She carried in her arms nine books.]

The strange woman, having done her work, disappeared and was seen no
more, while the books were put in a chest and kept in the Capitol,
which was now complete.

Two Greeks were appointed to guard the Sibylline books, for they were
written in the Greek language. And ever when death, pestilence, or
war threatened the city, the books were consulted by the augurs, if
perchance Rome might be saved from destruction.

Many years after the reign of Tarquin the Capitol was burned, and the
sacred books were destroyed in the fire.

To the Romans the loss of the books was a greater blow than even the
destruction of the Capitol.

The Senate sent ambassadors to Greece and to Asia Minor to beseech
the sibyls there to find fresh oracles, that calamity might still be
averted from Rome.

And the ambassadors were successful, for when they returned they
brought with them new scrolls, which, when a new Capitol was built,
were placed within its sacred precincts.

During the reign of Augustus, the oracles were removed to the temple of
Apollo, which stood on Mount Palatine.

But long after the time of Augustus, in A.D. 400, they were burned in
public by a famous Roman, for he was a Christian, and cared little for
the ancient oracles, believing them to be but a useless relic of the
old pagan days.




CHAPTER XX

THE INDUSTRY OF LUCRETIA


As the years passed, Tarquin was disturbed by terrible dreams. The evil
deeds he had done came back to his memory, and haunted him by day and
by night. Even in the temples of the gods he could find no rest from
his fears.

One day, as sacrifices were being offered, the king saw a serpent
stealing down a wooden pillar. Fascinated, he watched as it dropped
slowly on to the altar and devoured the sacrifice. His fear told him
that this was a bad omen, and, thoroughly alarmed, Tarquin determined
to consult the Greek oracle at Delphi, for this oracle was famous not
only in Greece, but throughout the world.

So he sent his two sons, Titus and Aruns, to Delphi. With them went the
king’s nephew, named Junius, but called Brutus because he was believed
to be stupid. But Brutus only pretended to be stupid so that his uncle
would not trouble to do him harm.

When the princes reached the dwelling of the priestess, the king’s sons
offered her valuable gifts, while Brutus gave to her only a simple
staff. His cousins mocked at Brutus as they were used to do, for a
priestess would not care for so poor a gift, they were sure. But Brutus
was wiser than they deemed, for the staff had been made hollow, and
then had been filled with gold.

As the king had bidden, the young princes asked the oracle the meaning
of the serpent that had devoured the sacrifice on the altar.

It was indeed an evil omen. ‘The fall of Tarquin is at hand,’ was the
sinister answer they received.

‘Which of us shall reign after him?’ demanded the king’s sons with
unseemly eagerness.

‘He who shall first kiss his mother,’ responded the oracle.

Then the two princes cast lots to determine which of them should greet
their mother first on their return.

But Brutus guessed that the words of the oracle had a deeper meaning.

As he left the Delphic temple, he pretended to slip, and falling to the
ground, he secretly kissed the Earth, knowing that she was the mother
of all men.

When the princes returned the king was at war, besieging Ardea, a town
in Latium. It seemed that he had forgotten his fears, nor does the
story tell what he thought of the answer of the oracle.

Meanwhile the siege of Ardea dragged on month after month, so bravely
did the inhabitants defend their town.

In the Roman camp, Prince Sextus and a noble named Collatinus one day
whiled away the hours by wondering what their wives were doing. Each
boasted that his wife was the more diligent and the more modest of the
two women.

At length one of their friends idly suggested that Sextus and
Collatinus should ride to their homes and find out how their wives were
employed.

So the two officers, accompanied by their friends, ordered their
horses, and rode first of all to Rome.

Here they found the wife of Sextus at a banquet, where she was dancing
gaily, the merriest of all the merry throng.

It was late when they reached Collatia, where they found Lucretia, the
wife of Collatinus, still busy with her maidens at the spinning-wheel.

The whole company agreed that of the two wives Lucretia deserved the
greater praise. Then the frolic being over, the prince and his friends
rode back to camp.




CHAPTER XXI

THE DEATH OF LUCRETIA


The idle suggestion that had made Sextus and Collatinus ride from the
camp to Rome and Collatia led to terrible disaster.

Sextus, having seen how wise and beautiful Lucretia was, wished to win
her from her husband; and one day, leaving the camp, he again rode to
Collatia, but this time he rode alone.

Lucretia, believing the prince was her husband’s friend, received him
with fitting hospitality when he arrived at her house, hot and tired
after his ride. But when she found that he was not a true friend to
Collatinus she was no longer kind. Then the prince grew angry, and
treated Lucretia so cruelly that she knew she could never again be
happy.

The next day she clad herself in black, and sent messengers to her
father and her husband, bidding them come to Collatia with all possible
speed.

When they arrived, she told them how Sextus had treated her, and making
them swear to avenge her wrongs, she plunged a dagger into her heart
and died.

Brutus, the king’s nephew, had ridden from the camp with Collatinus,
and he, too, swore to avenge Lucretia, and to see that never more
should any of the race of Tarquin sit upon the throne of Rome.

This oath was also taken by the husband and father of Lucretia, as well
as by two brave Romans named Publius Valerius and Spurius Lucretius.

The dead body of the Roman matron was carried to the market-place, and
when the people were told what had happened, they broke out into loud
cries, and mourned for her sad fate.

Brutus then hastened to Rome to tell the terrible tale. In the Forum,
amid the assembled people, his voice rang out clear and fearless as he
reminded them of the crimes of Tarquin the Proud, and denounced the
king and his son Sextus.

‘Will you suffer such a tyrant or any of his race to rule longer over
you, O Romans?’ demanded Brutus sternly. And the people in a storm of
indignation shouted ‘No.’

The Romans were in earnest. An army was at once enrolled, and, led by
Brutus, set out to attack the king at Ardea.

Tullia, the queen, meanwhile, startled by the tumult in the Forum, fled
from the palace. As her chariot drove along the streets the people
muttered curses, calling down upon her the vengeance of her murdered
father.

Rumours had already reached the camp that Rome was in revolt, and
Tarquin at once marched to the city with a division of his army to
punish the rebels.

Brutus, on his way to Ardea, took care to avoid the king. He had
determined to win over the army that was left before the besieged town.

When he reached the camp, he quickly roused the soldiers by the tale of
Lucretia’s wrongs.

They swore never again to own Tarquin or any of his race as king, and
at once prepared to march to Rome.

Meanwhile, the king had reached the city only to find the gates closed,
and the citizens, stern and resolute, manning the walls. No threats, no
promises would make them open to the king whom they had determined to
dethrone.

Tarquin, knowing that if he lingered he would have to face the army led
by Brutus, turned away from the city and hastened to seek refuge in
Etruria.

The Romans, having thus expelled their king, appointed a day to be
celebrated as the Feast of Flight, or the Feast of the Expulsion of the
Kings. This feast was held each year on the 24th February.




CHAPTER XXII

THE SONS OF BRUTUS


After Tarquin the Proud had been driven away from Rome, the people
determined that they would never again be ruled by kings.

They resolved to follow the wise laws of Servius, who had bidden them
choose each year two men to rule, giving them equal power, the right to
make laws, and to see that justice was done in the land.

The two men, chosen by the Senate and the people, were called Consuls.

In token of his office, each Consul had at his command six men, named
lictors.

When a Consul went into the Forum or into the street, he was preceded
by his lictors, who carried, as a sign of their master’s power, rods to
chastise and an axe to kill.

Rome had now become a Republic, and the first Consuls to be elected
were Brutus and Collatinus.

But if the Romans expected Tarquin to make no effort to recover his
throne, they soon discovered their mistake.

Before long, the king sent messengers to Rome to ask that his own
private possessions might be sent to him, and to this simple request
the Senate and the people agreed.

As perhaps the Romans might have suspected, Tarquin had another reason
for sending to Rome than the one his messengers carried to the Senate.
He knew that among the younger patricians were many who wished to place
him again upon the throne, and his messengers had come to talk secretly
with these nobles. They even hoped to arrange the best time for the
king’s return.

But as the conspirators talked together, a slave chanced to overhear
what they said, and he at once went to the Consuls and told them of the
danger that threatened the city.

The conspirators were immediately seized and thrown into prison, while
the slave was set free and made a citizen of Rome.

Among the prisoners were Titus and Tiberius, the sons of Brutus.

The brave Consul was dismayed to learn that his sons, whom he loved
well, had been guilty of treason. How could he bear to pronounce
judgment upon them as upon other traitors?

Yet soon he thrust aside his weakness. A true Roman must love his
country better even than his own children.

So when the conspirators were brought before him he did not flinch.
With stern, set face he condemned Titus and Tiberius to death along
with the other traitors, nor did he stoop to ask the people to show
mercy to his sons.

The young men were bound to the stake before his eyes, after which the
lictors beat them with rods and then cut off their heads with the axe.

So angry were the Senate and the people with Tarquin for attempting to
plot against the Republic, that they now refused to send to him his
possessions. And not only so, but they divided his goods among the
people, while the field between the city and the Tiber which Tarquin
had sown with corn was destroyed, the corn cut down and thrown into the
river. The angry citizens then dedicated the field to the god Mars, and
henceforth it was known as the Field of Mars.

The Senate then made a law banishing for ever from Rome all who bore
the hated name of Tarquin.

So Collatinus, whose other name was Tarquinius, resigned his Consulship
and left the city in obedience to the law. And this he did, although he
was the friend of Brutus, and hated the exiled king.

Valerius was then chosen Consul in his stead.

Meanwhile, Tarquin was full of wrath because he had not been able
to enter Rome by craft, and he went to Etruria, and persuaded the
Etruscans to help him to recover his throne.

But when the Etruscans proclaimed war against Rome, Brutus gathered
together an army and led it against the enemy.

Close to a wood the battle raged. Aruns, one of Tarquin’s sons, saw
Brutus at the head of the Roman army, wearing the royal robes which he
considered belonged to his house alone. In sudden fury he put spurs to
his horse, and with his spear ready dashed toward his enemy.

Brutus saw Aruns drawing near, and he also spurred his horse forward
and couched his spear.

Onward flew the two warriors until at length they met. Then each,
pierced by the other’s spear, fell from his horse and moved no more.

All day the battle raged, and still when night fell the victory was
uncertain.

But, during the night, while both armies were encamped on the
battlefield, a loud voice was heard coming from the direction of the
wood.

It was Silvanus, the god of the wood, who was speaking. ‘The victory
belongs to the Romans,’ said the god, ‘for they have slain one more
than their enemy.’

Obedient to the voice of Silvanus, the Etruscans on the following
morning withdrew their army, while the Romans marched back to Rome.

In spite of their victory they were sad, for they carried with them the
dead body of their leader.

Brutus was mourned by all the people. But the Roman matrons lamented
more than others, setting aside a whole year in which to grieve for his
death, because he had so bravely avenged the matron Lucretia.




CHAPTER XXIII

HORATIUS COCLES, OR THE ONE-EYED


After the death of Brutus, Valerius ruled alone. But he soon displeased
the people, for they thought that he behaved too much as though he were
a king.

The Consul had indeed built himself a beautiful house, from the windows
of which, had he wished, he could look down into the Forum.

When he walked from his house to the market-place, Valerius, it was
true, was preceded by six lictors, bearing rods and axes, but this was
a dignity accorded to the Consuls by the people themselves.

Valerius had in truth no wish to spy upon the people as they feared,
nor did he try to use his authority unjustly.

Yet the people grumbled, and grew restless and suspicious, until at
length the Consul heard that he had displeased them.

Valerius was not angry with the foolish citizens, but he resolved to
make them ashamed of their groundless suspicions.

So one evening, when it was dark, he sent for workmen and ordered them
to pull his beautiful house to pieces.

When morning dawned, the people, gazing upward from the Forum to the
Consul’s house, were startled. What could have happened? There was no
longer any house to be seen.

It was not for some time that they learned that it was their foolish
suspicions that had caused the Consul to destroy his house.

Then, fickle as the Roman crowd always was, it changed its mind and
hung its head, ashamed of the destruction it had caused.

But Valerius not only made the citizens ashamed of their suspicions, he
made them love him for his humility.

When he came into the Forum, the Consul now ordered his lictors to
carry the rods and axes in two separate bundles, while the axes were
from this time always lowered when he entered the Senate-house, or
stood before the assembly of the people.

Valerius also made a law that pleased the Romans well.

When a Roman was condemned to death by a magistrate, the Consul decreed
that he should have the right to appeal to the people against the
sentence. This, you remember, was what Horatius had done when he was
condemned to death for slaying his sister.

So completely had the Consul endeared himself to the Romans that they
now called him Poplicola, or the Lover of the People.

Meanwhile, Tarquin the Proud had enlisted the aid of a powerful king,
named Lars Porsenna.

This king now sent to Rome, bidding the people open their gates to
Tarquin. When they refused, he at once marched against the city with a
great army.

The Romans increased the guard and strengthened the forts on the
Janiculum hill. At all costs the enemy must be prevented from crossing
the Tiber by the wooden bridge that joined the hill to the city itself.

Slaves, cattle, goods--all were brought from the surrounding country,
either within the walls of the city, or into forts without.

But in spite of all the Romans could do, Lars Porsenna reached the
Janiculum, and storming the heights, drove the Roman soldiers down the
hill toward the river. His men pursued the fugitives, who seemed to
think of nothing save their own safety.

If the enemy was not to enter the city, the bridge must be defended
until the Roman soldiers on the other side of the river had cut through
the beams that supported it.

Then, as the enemy drew near and ever nearer to the bank of the river,
a brave Roman, named Horatius Cocles, or Horatius the One-Eyed, whose
country was dearer to him than life itself, cried to the Consul right
manfully:--

   ‘“Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul,
      With all the speed ye may:
    I, with two more to help me,
      Will hold the foe in play.
    In yon strait path a thousand
      May well be stopped by three.
    Now, who will stand on either hand,
      And keep the bridge with me?’

There were not lacking Romans to answer the brave challenge:--

    ‘“Lo, I will stand at thy right hand,
      And keep the bridge with thee,”’

cried Spurius Lartius, one of Rome’s strongest warriors, while the
voice of another brave soldier, named Herminius, rang out clear above
the noise of arms:--

   ‘“I will abide on thy left side,
      And keep the bridge with thee,”
    For Romans in Rome’s quarrel
      Spared neither land nor gold,
    Nor son, nor wife, nor limb, nor life,
      In the brave days of old.’

Fully armed, the three brave men sprang to the end of the bridge
farthest from the city, and flung defiance at Lars Porsenna and his
great army.

The king and his army, seeing but three stalwart warriors, laughed them
to scorn, yet ere long their scorn gave way to amazement.

Before the missiles hurled upon them, before the fiercest
sword-thrusts, Horatius and his comrades stood dauntless and unafraid,
while at their feet rose a ghastly heap of those the brave Romans slew.

And while they held the bridge thus resolutely, behind them fell the
blows of mighty axes, loosening the great beams that held the bridge
secure.

Soon the axes had done their work. The bridge began to totter, to sway,
and the Romans shouted to the noble three to come back ere the bridge
gave way.

At the call, Lartius and Herminius turned and darted swiftly across the
swaying planks.

But Horatius stayed behind. Not till the bridge fell into the river
would he stir from his post.

Then, with a mighty crash the bridge gave way, and fell into the
rushing torrent beneath.

Horatius, separated from his friends, stood alone, facing thirty
thousand of the foe. Behind him tossed the broad surging river.

   ‘“Down with him,” cried false Sextus,
      With a smile on his pale face.
    “Now yield thee,” cried Lars Porsena,
      “Now yield thee to our grace.”

   ‘Round turned he, as not deigning
      Those craven ranks to see,
    Nought spake he to Lars Porsena,
      To Sextus naught spake he;
    But he saw on Palatinus
      The white porch of his home;
    And he spake to the noble river
      That rolls by the towers of Rome.

   ‘“O Tiber! father Tiber!
      To whom the Romans pray,
    A Roman’s life, a Roman’s arms,
      Take thou in charge this day!”
    So he spake, and speaking sheathed
      The good sword by his side,
    And with his harness on his back,
      Plunged headlong in the tide.’

Not a sound was heard from either bank as Horatius, wounded and
bleeding, disappeared in the flood.

Then the enemy, furious that it had allowed the great warrior to
escape, hurled its spears after him.

But not one reached the bold swimmer, who, weighed down by his armour
and weakened by his wounds, often sank, yet ever rose again and
struggled onwards.

At length he reached the bank, where eager hands were waiting to draw
him up into safety.

When the Romans saw that their hero was safe indeed, although exhausted
with his efforts, a mighty shout of triumph rent the air.

Horatius was rewarded for his brave deed by the Senate, who gave him as
much land as he could plough in a day, while in later days a monument
was erected in memory of his prowess and placed in the Comitium. The
Comitium was near to the Forum, and was sometimes counted as part of
it.




CHAPTER XXIV

GAIUS MUCIUS BURNS HIS RIGHT HAND


Lars Porsenna had been repulsed, but he had not been defeated. He now
besieged Rome so closely, that the people were soon suffering all the
horrors of famine.

Then a youth, named Gaius Mucius, determined to save Rome by killing
Lars Porsenna.

Gaining the consent of the Senate to his scheme, he disguised himself
as a countryman, and found his way into the camp of the enemy. Beneath
the folds of his simple dress, Mucius had concealed a dagger.

It had been easy to enter the camp, but now the lad was in a difficult
position, for he did not know the king, nor did he dare to ask any one
to point him out.

But seeing a courtier wearing a purple robe and distributing money to
the soldiers, he believed he had found him. Drawing near, he stealthily
drew his dagger and stabbed--not Lars Porsenna, but his treasurer.

Before he had time to escape, Mucius was seized and taken before the
king.

The king threatened the young noble with torture, even with death,
in order to make him reveal the condition of the Roman army. But
Mucius thrust his right hand into a flame that was alight on an altar
beside him, and held it there until it was burned to ashes. This he
did without flinching, that Lars Porsenna might see that he feared no
torture. As for death, when it came, he would bear it as a Roman should.

But the king, amazed at the courage of the youth, forgot his anger, and
bade him return unharmed to Rome.

Then Mucius, touched by the kindness of the king, told him that three
hundred Roman youths had sworn to take his life, and would not rest
until one of them had succeeded in doing so.

Lars Porsenna was a wise king. He listened to the warning given to him
by Mucius, and offered terms to the starving city, promising if they
were accepted to withdraw with his army. But the terms were hard, for
the king demanded that Tarquin’s possessions should be sent to him,
that the Romans should give up all their dominions on the right bank of
the Tiber, that they should not use iron save to cultivate the ground,
and that ten noble youths and maidens should be sent to him as hostages.

With starvation staring them in the face, the Romans were forced to
agree to these terms, and the hostages that he had demanded were sent
to the king as a pledge of good faith.

Among the hostages was a noble maiden named Clœlia. In the Etruscan
camp she pined for the freedom of her own home, for the joy of seeing
her own friends, and at length she determined to escape.

So one night, when it grew dark, she slipped out of the camp unnoticed,
and found her way to the edge of the river.

Without hesitation she plunged into the water and swam across to the
other side--to home, to freedom.

But a sad disappointment was in store for the maiden. The Romans
refused to allow her to stay in Rome, for although they admired her
courage, their treaty with Lars Porsenna must be kept.

So poor Clœlia was sent back to the king. But he, pleased that the
Romans had behaved so honourably, set Clœlia free, and allowed her to
take many of the other hostages back with her to Rome.

Soon after this, Lars Porsenna refused to help Tarquin the Proud any
longer, and breaking up his camp on the Janiculum he went back to his
own country. His tents, which were full of corn and provisions, he
gave to the starving city.

So grateful were the Romans for the food that they rewarded Lars
Porsenna with royal gifts--a throne and sceptre of ivory, a golden
crown, and a purple robe.

And these gifts the king well deserved, for he had proved a generous
foe.




CHAPTER XXV

THE DIVINE TWINS


Tarquin the Proud was an old man now, but he was not yet ready to
believe that he would never again reign in Rome.

Once more he prepared for battle, invoking the aid of the Latins, for
he believed that the Romans would quail before this fierce and warlike
people.

The Romans did not quail, but they knew that they would need brave
men to lead their army. So they appointed a Dictator, who was to have
supreme command of the army and power as though he was king in Rome,
for six months.

Aulus Postumius was the name of the Roman who was chosen for this great
trust.

Tarquin, his cruel son Sextus, and a band of Roman exiles marched to
the battlefield, near Lake Regillus in the region of Tusculum. With
them was their ally the King of the Latins, leading a great army.

The Romans, with Aulus at their head, advanced against the foe, and a
great battle was fought.

Valerius, the Consul was on the field, and when he saw Sextus anger
filled his heart, and he dashed forward to slay him. But the prince
retreated, and Valerius followed until he was drawn into the lines of
the enemy, and perished by the thrust of a spear.

Fiercely as the Romans fought, the day began to go against them. Then
Aulus vowed that he would build a temple to the twin brothers, Castor
and Pollux, if they would but come to his aid and give to the Romans
victory.

Scarcely had the Dictator ended his prayer, when lo! two youths of more
than human height and majesty appeared, clad in shining armour, and
riding upon white horses.

Going to the head of the army, they led it afresh against the Latins.

The enemy, terrified by the splendour of the strangers, and startled at
the suddenness of the new attack, were seized with panic, and fled.

On rushed the Romans in pursuit of the foe, on until they reached the
camp of the Latins, which the strange horsemen were the first to enter.

The Latin army was now in utter confusion, while a great victory had
been won by the Romans.

Aulus wished to reward the strangers to whom the victory was really
due, but they were nowhere to be seen. Neither in the field nor in the
camp was there any trace of the riders or their steeds.

But in Rome, where old men and women awaited, with anxious hearts, news
of the battle, there appeared in the Forum, as the sun went down, two
horsemen. They were mounted on pure white steeds, and they themselves
were ‘exceeding beautiful and tall above the stature of men.’ But they
bore upon them the stains of battle.

When they reached the spring that rises close to the temple of Vesta,
they dismounted, and washed the foam from their horses, the stains from
their clothes.

Men and women crowded around the strangers, eager to hear their
tidings. Then the brothers told them of the glorious victory that had
been won, after which they mounted their white steeds, and riding away,
were seen no more.

When the Dictator returned to Rome, he told how he had prayed to the
Divine Twins Castor and Pollux, and how he believed that they had
indeed come to his aid.

Moreover, he was sure that it was they who had ridden to Rome with more
than mortal speed to tell of the victory that had been won.

Then Aulus, with a glad heart, began to build the temple he had vowed
to the Divine Twins, and the Romans kept a festival each year in honour
of Castor and Pollux.

At this festival, sacrifices were offered in the temple, while a solemn
procession of knights, clad in purple and crowned with olive, rode from
the temple of Mars without the city wall to the temple dedicated by the
Dictator to the Divine Twins. This temple is now being excavated in the
Forum of Rome.

The Latins, after their defeat, refused any longer to fight for
Tarquin, while they hastened to make peace with his enemies.

Alone and childless, for Sextus had fallen in battle, Tarquin went away
to Cumæ, and there he, the last of the Kings of Rome, died.

Soon after this, Rome regained her dominions on the right bank of the
Tiber. She had already ceased to regard the treaty which had forbidden
her the use of arms.




CHAPTER XXVI

THE TRIBUNES


The people of Rome were divided into two great classes, the patricians
or nobles, the plebeians or common people.

After the death of Tarquin the Proud, the patricians began to oppress
the plebeians even more than they had done in the time of the kings.

Sometimes the poor were forced to borrow from the rich, and the rich,
although they lent their money, demanded such heavy interest that the
plebeians were often unable to pay their debts.

Then the patricians swept down upon the miserable debtors, drove their
wives and children from their home, and carried them away to work as
bondsmen.

When at any time war threatened Rome, the plebeians were called on to
fight, and while they were at war their fields lay untilled, unless
they hired labourers to work in them. In either case the plebeians
suffered. Did they hire labourers, they must borrow money from the
patricians to pay them. Did they leave their fields untilled, they
musts borrow money to buy food and seed.

Driven at length to desperation, the plebeians rose against their
oppressors, and at the very time that a hostile army was marching
against Rome, they left the city, and encamped on a hill near the river
Anio, about three miles away. Here they determined to build a city for
themselves.

But the patricians could not hope to hold Rome against the approaching
foe without the help of the plebeians. So the Senate sent a messenger
to the ‘seceders,’ offering terms of peace and protection from the
patricians, if they would return to Rome to fight against the common
enemy.

The plebeians agreed to go back to the city, and for a time, at least,
the patrician magistrates ceased to treat them unjustly.

To make them more secure, the plebeians were now, in 493 B.C., allowed
to elect two magistrates of their own, who were to be called tribunes.

As the patricians were able to appeal to the Consuls, so the plebeians
could now appeal to their tribunes against unjust treatment.

The tribunes were elected for one year, and during that year they were
obliged to live in Rome, while their doors were to stand open day and
night, that the plebeians might claim their protection at any hour.

This new law was made a sacred law, and the hill on which the seceders
had encamped was named the Sacred Hill.




CHAPTER XXVII

CORIOLANUS AND HIS MOTHER VETURIA


Many legends are told of the wars which the Romans now waged with a
fierce tribe named the Volscians.

None, perhaps, is so well known as the story I am going to tell you of
Gaius Marcius, who was named Coriolanus.

Marcius was only a lad of seventeen years of age when he fought in the
great battle of Lake Regillus. For his courage in saving the life of a
comrade on the battlefield he was crowned with a wreath of oak leaves,
as was the Roman custom.

The young lad loved his mother Veturia well. When the battle was over,
his first thought was to hasten to show her the wreath that his valour
had gained, for he had no greater joy than to please her.

When the Romans went to war with the Volscians, Marcius was with the
army which was besieging Corioli, their capital town.

One day, the defenders of the city, seeing that part of the Roman army
had withdrawn from the walls, determined to venture out to attack those
soldiers who remained.

So fierce was their onslaught, that the Romans began to give way.

Marcius, who was some distance off, saw what had happened, and with
only a few followers rushed to the aid of his comrades, at the same
time calling in a loud voice to those who were retreating to follow him.

Encouraged by the young patrician, the Romans rallied, and dashing
after Marcius, they soon forced the enemy to turn and fly back toward
the shelter of their city.

The Romans pursued the Volscians until they reached the gates, but they
did not dream of entering, for within the city were many more of the
enemy. Already the walls were manned, and a deadly rain of arrows was
descending among them.

But Marcius, crying that the gates were open, ‘Not so much to shelter
the vanquished as to receive the conquerors,’ forced his way into the
city.

With only a handful of men, he succeeded in keeping the gates of
Corioli open, until the main body of the army arrived, when the city
was taken without difficulty.

The soldiers said, as was indeed the truth, that it was Gaius Marcius
who had taken the city.

When the war with the Volscians ended, the Consul wished to reward
Marcius for this and many another courageous deed. So he ordered that
of all the booty that had been taken in the war, the tenth part should
be given to the brave young patrician. He himself gave to Marcius a
noble horse, splendidly caparisoned.

But Marcius refused to receive more than his proper share of the booty.
He begged, however, for one favour. It was that a Volscian who had
shown him hospitality and was now a prisoner, might be set free.

Shouts of applause greeted Marcius when the soldiers heard his request.

When all was again quiet, the Consul said: ‘It is idle,
fellow-soldiers, to force and obtrude those other gifts of ours on one
who is unwilling to accept them. Let us therefore give him one of such
a kind that he cannot well reject it. In memory of his conquest of the
city of Corioli, let him henceforth be called Coriolanus.’

So it was that from this time Coriolanus was the name of the young
soldier.

In Rome, as was usual after war, there was much misery, for the fields
had been left unploughed, and no seed had been sown while the plebeians
were away on the battlefield. Now the people were starving.

The Consuls sent to Etruria for food, and when it reached Rome it was
divided among the people, but still there was not enough to satisfy
their hunger.

While the people still cried for bread, the time to elect Consuls for
the following year drew near.

Coriolanus was one of the candidates. He came to the Forum, clad in his
white toga only, and drawing it aside he showed to the people the marks
of the wounds he had received in fighting for his country.

But although at first they meant to elect Coriolanus, many of
them remembered that he often spoke of their tribunes with bitter
contempt. If he were Consul, he might try to do away with the tribunes
altogether, and to whom then would the people be able to appeal against
the oppression of the haughty patricians?

When the day came to elect the Consuls, the feeling against Coriolanus
had grown so strong that he was rejected. This made him very angry with
the plebeians, nor did he try to disguise his feelings.

Soon after the elections were over, large ships laden with corn reached
Ostia. The senators were eager to feed the starving people, and as some
of the corn was a gift, they were ready to give it to them without
charging even a small sum.

But Coriolanus was indignant, and denounced in the Senate-house those
who wished to treat the people so well. The plebeians had already grown
more insolent than was fitting, owing to the favours bestowed upon
them. ‘Before you feed them,’ said the haughty patrician, ‘let them
give up their tribunes.’

When the plebeians learned what Coriolanus had said, their anger knew
no bounds. They would have forced their way into the Senate-house and
torn him to pieces, had not the tribunes protected him and calmed the
fury of the people.

‘Do not kill him,’ said the tribunes, ‘for that will only harm your
cause. We will accuse him of having broken the sacred laws, and you
shall yourselves pronounce his sentence.’

But when the tribunes summoned Coriolanus to appear before them, he
mocked both at them and at the people.

A patrician appear before the tribunes to be judged! That was to
Coriolanus a foolish idea.

But although the patrician ignored the summons, the tribunes and the
people met and declared that Coriolanus was banished from Rome.

Then Coriolanus was forced to leave the city. Hastening to the
Volscians, he threw himself upon the mercy of their chief, Attius
Tullius.

Tullius was willing to help the banished patrician to punish Rome, and
soon an army, led by the chief and by Coriolanus, was on its way to the
city. Town after town fell into the hands of the advancing army. At
length it encamped only five miles from Rome.

The Senate, in alarm at the success of the Volscians, sent to beg for
peace.

But Coriolanus sent back the Roman ambassadors, saying that unless all
the towns taken from the Volscians in the last war were restored to
them, peace would not be granted.

Such terms were scorned by the Senate, and it sent other ambassadors
to beg for easier conditions. But Coriolanus refused even to see these
messengers.

Then the priests, clad in their sacred robes, walked in solemn
procession to the camp of the enemy, to try to appease the anger of the
haughty patrician. But the efforts of the priests were vain.

Meanwhile, the matrons of Rome had been beseeching Jupiter to come to
the aid of the city.

When the priests returned, having accomplished nothing, one of these
matrons said: ‘We will go to Veturia and Volumnia and beseech them to
go plead with Coriolanus. He cannot refuse to listen to his mother and
his wife, for he loves them well.’

Veturia, who was stricken with grief that her son could betray his
country into the hands of the enemy, needed no persuasion to go to
speak with him.

Clad in black garments, she and Volumnia with her little children,
followed by a band of Roman matrons set out for the camp of the enemy.

Coriolanus, when he caught sight of his mother, leaped from his seat,
and running quickly toward her, would have kissed her, as was his wont.

But she, putting him aside, bade him first answer her question.

‘Am I the mother of Gaius Marcius,’ she asked reproachfully, ‘or a
prisoner in the hands of the leader of the Volscians? Alas! had I not
been a mother, my country had still been free.’ As his mother said
these words, his wife and children fell at his knees and clung to him.
His mother’s words did what nothing else had been able to do, for the
proud patrician could not bear to listen to her reproaches.

With tears in his eyes he cried: ‘O my mother, thou hast saved Rome,
but thou hast lost thy son.’

Then he led the Volscian army away from the city, and restored to the
Romans the towns which the enemy had taken.

Some legends tell that the Volscians were so angry with Coriolanus for
deserting them, that they slew him as a traitor; but others say that he
lived in exile until he was an old man.

Weary of exile, he is said to have cried: ‘Only an old man knows how
hard it is to live in a far country.’

[Illustration: “O my mother, thou hast saved Rome, but thou hast lost
thy son.”]




CHAPTER XXVIII

THE ROMAN ARMY IN A TRAP


While the Romans were at war with the Volscians, another tribe, called
the Æquians, poured down from their mountain fastnesses and plundered
and destroyed their land.

In 459 B.C. peace was made with these fierce mountaineers, and Rome
hoped that her borders would no longer be disturbed.

But the Æquians were a restless people. They soon broke the treaty,
and, led by their chief Clœlius, pitched their camp on one of the spurs
of the Alban hills, and began to burn and plunder as of old.

The Romans, furious at this breach of faith, sent an embassy to demand
redress.

But Clœlius mocked at the Roman ambassadors, and laughingly bade them
lay their complaints before the oak-tree, under which his tent was
pitched.

The angry ambassadors took the oak and all the gods to witness that it
was not they but the Æquians who had broken the treaty and begun the
war. Then hastening back to Rome, they told how insolently they had
been treated.

An army, with the Consul Minucius at its head, was at once dispatched
to punish the Æquians.

Clœlius was a skilful general, and as the Roman army advanced he slowly
retreated into a narrow valley. The Romans foolishly followed the
retreating Æquians, as Clœlius intended that they should.

When the enemy was in the midst of the valley, hemmed in by steep
hills on either side, Clœlius ordered a band of soldiers to guard the
end by which the Romans had entered. Minucius was caught in a trap.

But before the Æquian general had secured the end of the valley, five
Roman soldiers had escaped, and these, putting spurs to their horses,
rode swiftly to Rome to tell how the Consul and his army were ensnared.

As the terrible news spread, Rome was stricken with panic. She feared
the enemy would soon be at her very gates, and their second Consul was
far away, fighting against the Sabines.

In their dismay, the Senate determined to appoint a Dictator, who would
have supreme authority as long as the country was in danger.

Neither the Senate nor the people had any doubt as to whom they should
turn to in their trouble. There was one man only who could save the
country. He was a noble patrician who had already held positions of
trust in the State, and he was, too, a proved and experienced general.

Cincinnatus, or the Crisp-Haired, was the name of the man to whom the
Senate now determined to send. This strange name had been given to him
because his hair clustered in curls around his head. The family of the
Cæsars also received their name from their curls.

When the messengers from Rome reached the home of the patrician it was
still early morning, but Cincinnatus was already at work in his fields.
For he, as many a noble Roman in the olden days, cultivated his own
estate. As the heat was great, Cincinnatus had thrown aside his toga,
and was digging with bare arms.

One of his household ran to the fields to tell that messengers had
arrived from Rome and wished to speak with him.

So, putting on his toga that he might receive the messengers of the
State in suitable guise, the simple-minded patrician hastened to the
house.

No sooner did he hear that his country was in danger, and that he had
been chosen Dictator, than he speedily went to Rome, where the people
greeted him with shouts of joy.

Cincinnatus lost no time in assembling a new army. Going to the Forum,
he ordered that the shops should be closed, and all business cease
until Rome was safe.

All who could bear arms were told to assemble without delay on the
Field of Mars, bringing with them twelve stakes for ramparts and food
for five days.

That same evening, before the sun sank to rest, the new army had left
Rome, and by midnight it was close to the valley in which Minucius,
with his legions, lay entrapped.

Here the Dictator commanded his men to halt and throw their baggage in
a heap. Then he ordered trenches to be dug round the enemy’s camp, as
noiselessly as might be, and the stakes they had brought with them to
be driven into the ground.

When this was done, Cincinnatus bade his soldiers shout with all their
strength. The noise aroused the Æquians, who sprang to their feet, and
in terror seized their arms.

But the legions of Minucius also heard the shouts, and recognising
their own war-cry, they also grasped their weapons and attacked the
Æquians.

They, seeing that they were surrounded by the enemy, with no way
of escape possible, surrendered to the Dictator, begging him to be
merciful.

Cincinnatus spared the lives of Clœlius and his soldiers, but he made
the men pass under the yoke, after which they were allowed to find
their way back to their mountain retreats.

The yoke was formed of three spears, and as the soldiers stooped to
pass beneath this rough erection they had to lay aside their cloaks and
surrender their arms.

Clœlius and the other leaders of the Æquians were kept prisoners.

Then the Dictator having freed his country from danger, returned
in triumph to Rome. At the end of sixteen days he resigned the
Dictatorship, and went back to his home, honoured by the people and
crowned with glory.

Soon he was again to be seen digging or ploughing in his fields,
contented as of yore.




CHAPTER XXIX

THE HATED DECEMVIRS


The tribunes, you remember, were appointed to protect the people from
the cruelty of the patricians.

As they were chosen from among the plebeians themselves, they did not
understand the laws of their country as well as did the nobles, who had
ever guarded them as they might have guarded a mystery.

So when the tribunes tried to gain justice for those who appealed to
them, they often found their plans thwarted by the patricians, because
of their superior knowledge of the law.

Thus, in spite of all that the tribunes could do, the people still
suffered under the oppressions of the nobles.

So restless and discontented did the plebeians become, that in 451 B.C.
three patricians were sent by the Senate to Greece to find out how the
people were governed in Athens.

The nobles of Greece were wiser and more cultured than those of Rome,
and may have been supposed to have discovered how best to rule those
under them.

Whether the three ambassadors drank deep of the wisdom of the Greeks
or no, they returned to Rome with a new plan for the government of the
country.

It would be well, said the ambassadors, if, for a time, there should
be neither Consuls nor tribunes. In their place ten men or decemvirs
(decemvirs being the Latin for ten men) should be chosen from among
patricians and plebeians alike, to rule the country and reform her
laws.

Until now the laws had been unknown to the people. But the ambassadors
said that the reformed laws should be written on tables of brass and
be hung up in the place of assembly, so that the people might read and
understand them.

The new laws were called the Laws of the Twelve Tables, and for many
long years they were obeyed. In the time of Cicero, schoolboys had to
learn these laws as part of their regular lessons, while they were, as
we would say, in the lower forms.

Like the Consuls, the decemvirs were elected only for one year, each of
them during the year having in turn full authority.

At first the decemvirs tried to please the people. They worked hard to
reform the laws, and before their year of office came to an end, ten of
the twelve tables had been revised.

It was determined that the decemvirs should be re-elected for the
following year that they might finish the code of laws which they had
begun.

But Appius Claudius, who had been the chief among the first year’s
decemvirs, was not satisfied that this should be so, and he saw to it
that more plebeians should be elected among the second year’s decemvirs.

He hoped by doing this to persuade the people that he was their friend,
but before long it appeared that he was a true friend to neither
patrician nor plebeian.

The new decemvirs, with Appius Claudius at their head, soon struck
dismay into the hearts of the people by going to the Forum, with a band
of one hundred and twenty lictors. The lictors carried with them not
only rods, but, as in earlier days, axes were concealed among the rods,
which was a sign that the decemvirs had power over life and death.

Nor did the decemvirs scruple to use their power, banishing or putting
to death those who displeased or opposed them, and seizing their
property for themselves. When their year of office was nearly ended,
the decemvirs had not finished the code of laws as they were expected
to have done.

It was soon plain why they had seen no reason for haste, for, when the
year came to an end, the decemvirs refused to resign.

Both patricians and plebeians were indignant, while the Senate, angry
that the decemvirs did not consult it, had already, for the most part,
left Rome.

To add to the confusion in the country, war now broke out with the
Sabines and the Æquians.

One of the Roman armies was to be led by a plebeian tribune, who was
loved by the people, for he had fought for his country in one hundred
and twenty battles. On his way to join his army, this brave soldier was
murdered, it was said by the order of Appius Claudius. The soldiers
were furious at the loss of their leader, and the hatred against the
chief of the decemvirs increased each day.




CHAPTER XXX

THE DEATH OF VERGINIA


Appius Claudius did not go to the war. He stayed in Rome, and before
long roused the temper of the people beyond control.

Verginius, a brave plebeian soldier, was with the army, and in his
absence he had left his beautiful young daughter Verginia in the care
of her nurse.

One day as the young girl was on her way to school in the Forum, Appius
Claudius saw how beautiful she was, and he determined to take her away
from her father and Icilius, to whom she was betrothed.

But although he did his utmost to persuade the maiden to go home with
him, Verginia refused to leave her father’s house.

Then Appius Claudius grew angry, and vowed to himself that he would
take her away by foul means, since fair ones had failed.

So the tyrant ordered a man, named Marcus Claudius, to declare that
Verginia was not a free Roman maiden, as Verginius had pretended, but
was a slave belonging to himself.

This Marcus did, and then, seeing the girl one day in the Forum, he
tried to lay hold of her. But her nurse cried aloud for help, so that
a crowd quickly gathered, and hearing what had happened, it vowed to
protect Verginia, until her father and her betrothed returned from the
camp.

Then Marcius did as Appius Claudius had secretly bidden him. He said
that he did not wish to harm the maiden, indeed, he was even willing to
take the matter to law.

So, followed by the crowd, he led Verginia before the judge, who was no
other than Appius Claudius.

Here Marcus announced that he could prove to Verginius that the maiden
was not really his child, but belonged to a slave who lived in his
house. Meanwhile he demanded that the maiden should be given into his
charge.

But the crowd did not believe what Marcus said, nor did they care to
let the young girl leave her home in her father’s absence.

‘Send to the camp for Verginius,’ cried the people, heedless of the
angry looks of the judge. ‘Verginia is a free maiden, and shall stay
with her friends until she is proved a slave.’

With an effort, Appius Claudius concealed his real feelings, and,
speaking with the dignity of a judge, he said: ‘The maiden belongs
either to Verginius or to Marcus. As Verginius is absent, Marcus shall
take charge of her until her father returns, when the case shall again
come before me.’

But to such an unfair sentence the people refused to submit. So fierce
was their temper that they would have forced Claudius to leave the city
had he not reluctantly allowed Verginia to stay with her friends until
the following day. If Verginius did not then appear at his tribunal
Marcus should claim the maiden without delay, said Claudius.

Icilius had by this time returned to the city, and he at once sent to
the camp, beseeching Verginius to let nothing keep him from at once
coming to Rome.

But Claudius also sent a messenger to the camp, bidding his officers on
no account to allow Verginius to leave his post.

Fortunately, the messenger sent by Icilius reached the camp first, and
Verginius was already hastening to the city when his officers received
the order sent by Claudius.

The next morning Claudius went to the Forum, sure that before the day
was over he would have secured Verginia.

What was his surprise and anger to see that Verginius, whom he had
believed to be safely detained at camp, was already there by the side
of his daughter, accompanied by many Roman matrons and a crowd of
people.

The judge could hear the voice of Verginius as he drew near. He was
speaking to the people, and Claudius knew too well how easily the
passions of the mob could be roused.

‘It is not only my daughter that is not safe,’ Verginius was saying;
‘who will dare henceforth to leave their children in Rome if I am
robbed of my child?’

As the matrons listened they wept, thinking of the fate that might
overtake their own dear daughters.

Claudius was now much too angry to try to humour the people.

Bidding Verginius be silent, he at once gave his verdict that the
maiden should be given to Marcus, until her father had proved that she
was free-born.

The people stood silent, stunned for the moment by the wickedness of
the judge. But as Marcus drew near to lead Verginia away, her friends
gathered around her, refusing to let the man come near her.

Then, in his rage, Claudius bade his lictors drive the people away, and
they, raising their axes, soon scattered the crowd, for it was unarmed.

Verginius, turning quietly to Claudius, asked that he might at least
speak apart for a moment to his daughter and her nurse. His request was
granted. Then the poor father in his desperate sorrow knew that there
was but one thing to be done. To trust his daughter to these wicked men
was not to be thought of, so, drawing her into his arms, he snatched
a knife from one of the stalls, and whispered in her ear: ‘My child,
there is no other way to free thee.’ Swift and sure, even as he spoke,
he plunged the knife into his daughter’s heart.

Turning to the unjust judge, Verginius cursed him to his face; then
breaking through the crowd, he sped to the city gates, and mounting a
horse, rode in hot haste back to the camp.

Meanwhile, Icilius lifted the dead body of the maiden, and bade the
people see what the tyrant Claudius had done.

In fierce anger, the crowd rushed upon the lictors and a band of armed
patricians and drove them from the Forum. Claudius, covering his face
with his toga, fled, and for the time escaped with his life.

Verginius had no sooner reached the camp than he told his piteous
tale to the army. Willingly the soldiers marched to Rome, led by the
miserable father, and joined by another army, at the head of which was
Icilius.

Together they entered Rome, and the soldiers deposed the decemvirs,
while each army elected ten tribunes. They then marched out of the
city, followed by the people, and encamped, as once before, on the
Sacred Mount, leaving Rome to the patricians.

The Senate saw that it was time to act, for the decemvirs, it was
plain, still hoped to keep the power they had grasped. So it forced
them to resign, and then sent to the Sacred Mount to ask the plebeians
what sentence they wished the tyrants to suffer.

Icilius demanded that the decemvirs should be put to death, the others
were content that they should be banished from Rome. But Appius
Claudius was not banished with the other decemvirs. He was sent to
prison, where some say that he killed himself, but others assert that
his enemies put him to death.

The people were now ready to return to the city, having obtained from
the Senate a promise that they should have their tribunes as of old,
and that the sacred laws should be again established.

In 445 B.C., about four years later, the plebeians succeeded in gaining
new privileges. A law was passed allowing them to marry patricians, and
this greatly pleased the people.

For many years the plebeians had wished to be allowed to stand for
the Consulship. Now it was arranged that, instead of Consuls, from
three to six military tribunes should be appointed, and for this office
plebeians might stand.

Two of the duties however that had belonged to the Consuls were not
given to the military tribunes, but kept for two new officers, called
censors. The censors were to be chosen from among the patricians.




CHAPTER XXXI

THE FRIEND OF THE PEOPLE


Ten years after the decemvirs had been banished, there was a severe
famine in Rome. The misery was terrible--men, women, and little
children were dying in hundreds for lack of bread.

Faint and stricken, those who still managed to exist looked to the
Senate for help.

So Minucius was appointed Master of the Markets, and did his utmost
to succour the people, buying large supplies of corn from foreign
countries and selling it to them for a small sum.

Should a family be found to have in its possession more corn than it
needed for a month, Minucius ordered the surplus to be sold to those
who were starving. Slaves were put on the smallest possible allowance
of food.

But, in spite of the efforts of Minucius, the misery in the city was
but little less than before. The poor still suffered the awful pangs of
hunger, and many threw themselves into the river Tiber to escape from
their desperate plight.

When the famine was at its height, Mælius, a rich plebeian, full of
pity for the suffering he saw on every side, sent to Etruria for large
quantities of corn and divided it among the ravenous folk.

Sometimes he gave his bounty freely, at other times he took a small sum
of money for his goods.

The patricians, who, needless to say, were not starving, were not
pleased to hear of the generous gifts of Mælius. Instead of being glad
that the poor hungry people were being fed, they murmured that he
was doing what Minucius had been appointed to do. The truth was, that
the patricians were seized with an ugly passion called jealousy, and
the more the people showed their gratitude to their benefactor, the
angrier, the more jealous grew the patricians.

It was certain that Mælius was trying to win the favour of the people
for his own ends, said his enemies one to the other. What was his
ambition, they wondered, and how could they thwart it?

Minucius, who was more suspicious of the good plebeian than any one
else, informed the Senate that Mælius held secret meetings in his
house, where he had concealed a large number of arms. Moreover, he
declared that Mælius had bribed the tribunes, and soon the Republic
would be overturned, while the traitor would reign as king.

The Senate, alarmed by such a report, did not stay to find out if it
were true or false, but at once determined to elect a Dictator.

Cincinnatus was once again entreated to leave his plough, to come to
Rome and save his country.

So, lest his country should be betrayed by the honest plebeian,
Cincinnatus hastened to the city, and appointing one named Ahala master
of the horse, bade him summon Mælius to the Forum. Here the Dictator
awaited the traitor, sitting on his tribunal.

Mælius knew all that had been said against him, and not wishing to be
accused of treason, he refused to go with Ahala, and appealed to the
people he had helped to support him.

But Ahala, furious that the plebeian dared to ignore his summons, drew
a dagger and stabbed Mælius to death.

The people, horrified at the fate of their friend, rushed to the Forum
and demanded that the Dictator should punish Ahala.

But this Cincinnatus refused to do, saying that even if Mælius had not
been guilty of treason, yet he had deserved death for disobeying the
command of the Dictator.

Too weak from want of food to persist that their benefactor should
be avenged, the people, so some stories tell, soon grew quiet, for
Minucius promised that the corn still stored at the house of Mælius
should be sold to them at a low price.

But other stories say that the people refused to be satisfied until
they had driven Ahala from the city.

It was in such selfish, wicked ways that the patricians sought to ruin
the plebeians when they saw them gaining power and influence in the
State.




CHAPTER XXXII

CAMILLUS CAPTURES THE CITY OF VEII


When Rome was in danger, the people, as you know, were called from
their homes, their shops, and their fields to fight for their country.
If the army was sent to besiege a town, it was one which could be taken
in a short time, so that the soldiers were soon free to go home to
plough their fields and tend their shops.

These soldier citizens received no wages for fighting for their
country. They were but doing their duty in defending her or in adding
to her dominions.

But the Romans were now growing ambitious to win greater glory by
their conquests than they had yet done. To do this they knew that they
must have a regular army that could stay in the field as long as was
necessary. This army, too, would have to be paid by the State. It was,
partly, at least, through the influence of Camillus, who was soon to
be made Dictator, that a standing army was raised. Under him the army
began to grow in power, nor did it cease to grow until at length it was
able to control Senate and people alike.

In 406 B.C. the Romans began their more ambitious wars by besieging a
beautiful city called Veii. Veii was in Etruria, about ten miles north
of Rome.

For many years the inhabitants of this city had made raids along the
borders of Rome, plundering and burning the countryside, until the
people fled from their homes at the slightest rumour of their approach.

To destroy Veii was the only way to put an end to these constant and
irritating border raids, and the siege was begun.

The town was built on the summit of a steep rock, three sides of
which it was impossible to scale, and she was strongly fortified. Her
population was larger and richer than that of Rome, while her buildings
were grander and more beautiful.

Camillus was made Dictator during the siege, which lasted for ten long
years.

I need not tell you of all that happened in the course of these ten
years, but of the taking of the city many legends are told. Here is one
of them.

It was autumn, and many of the lakes and brooks were dry, for little
rain had fallen during the summer. But in the Lake of Alba the water
began to rise in a strange, mysterious way.

First it rose to the foot of the mountains which encircled the lake,
and that was wonderful enough, but when the water reached the summit of
the mountains that was marvellous indeed.

No waves disturbed the peace of the lake, but by and by the sheer
weight of the water broke down part of the surrounding mountains, which
had acted as a dam.

Then a great flood of water spread over fields and groves, and the
Romans whispered to one another, ‘It is a sign from the gods,’ yet no
one could tell what the sign might portend.

In the camp before Veii and in the city itself every one talked of the
strange omen.

One day a Roman soldier talked with a Veian soldier, who was said to
know the meaning of omens.

It was plain that the Veian did not think that the omen boded ill to
his city, but the Roman did not find it easy to find out all that the
other knew. Until he had done so, he determined not to let him go.

So, telling the Veian stories about his own country, he drew the wise
man unaware farther and farther from the gates of Veii. As they drew
near to the Roman camp, the soldier, who was tall and strong, seized
the Veian in his arms and carried him before his captain. Before long
the captive had been persuaded to tell all he knew.

‘The city of Veii shall never be taken,’ said the wise man, ‘until the
waters of the Lake of Alba are dried up.’

It seemed to the Romans that the soothsayer should be sent to the
Senate, that it might hear for itself what he had to say.

But when the Senate had listened to the Veian’s words it was still
uncertain what to do; so it sent messengers to the oracle of Delphi,
which was the highest authority it knew. The oracle sent back a plain
message. ‘Shut up the water of the lake in its ancient bounds, and keep
it from flowing into the sea’; and the Romans at once began to carry
out its instructions.

Channels were dug, and soon, with the help of great engineering works,
the water of the lake was carried away to irrigate the plain.

Meanwhile, Camillus, finding that he would never be able to take Veii
by storm, ordered underground passages to be made between his camp and
the centre of the city. So secretly were the tunnels dug that the enemy
never dreamed what was going on beneath their streets and temples.

At length the passage was complete, and Camillus led a picked band of
soldiers along the tunnel, until they stood beneath the temple of Juno,
the goddess of Veii.

While the Dictator was stealing underground with his followers, the
walls of the city were being once again attacked.

The Veians, still ignorant of the mine beneath their feet, rushed to
defend their walls against the enemy.

As the conflict raged, the King of Veii hastened to the temple of Juno
to offer sacrifices, and to beseech the goddess to grant him victory.

‘The victory will be won by him who lays the sacrifice on the altar,’
cried the priest who stood by the side of the king.

Camillus, who was just beneath the altar, heard the priest’s words.
Instantly he broke through the floor of the temple and entered the
sacred building with his followers, who shouted and waved their weapons
above their heads.

The Veians fled from the temple in dismay, while Camillus hastened to
seize the sacrifice and fling it upon the altar.

Then, knowing that victory was assured, the band of Roman soldiers
rushed to the gates of the city and flung them wide that their comrades
might enter.

A little later, and the Veians were overwhelmed, and Veii was at length
in the hands of the Romans.




CHAPTER XXXIII

THE STATUE OF THE GODDESS


When Veii had fallen into his hands, Camillus allowed not only the
soldiers, but the citizens of Rome to plunder the city, for he had
agreed with the Senate that all the people should share in the spoil.

As he stood on a high tower watching the sack of the city which had
resisted Rome for ten years, Camillus wept for pity. Then, covering his
face with his toga, he prayed that if his great victory had made him
proud, Jupiter would punish, not Rome or the army, but only him, and
that ‘with as little hurt as might be.’

Turning then to his right, as was the custom after prayer, the Dictator
slipped and fell to the ground. This, he believed, was the ‘little
hurt’ sent to him by the god.

Many treasures were taken from the conquered city to Rome, but none
more sacred than the statue of Juno.

Camillus ordered some young men to clothe themselves in white robes,
and then to go to the temple to remove the statue.

It was a solemn moment when the youths stood before the image, scarce
venturing to look upon it, lest they should be punished for their
boldness.

One of them, half mocking, yet, it may be, half in earnest too, said:
‘O Juno, wilt thou go to Rome?’

Clear through the temple echoed the voice of the goddess: ‘I will.’

Then reverently the young men lifted the image, but to their
astonishment it was so light that they felt as though their arms were
empty, and the goddess was walking by their side.

In safety they reached Rome with the wondrous image, and Camillus built
a temple on the Aventine hill, in which henceforth the statue of Juno
stood.

When the Dictator returned to Rome he enjoyed a great triumph. Dressed
in the garments of Jupiter, he drove through the gates in a chariot
drawn by four white horses, his soldiers following him, shouting the
praises of their leader.

But the people of Rome were displeased with the Dictator, for none but
kings might drive in a chariot drawn by four white horses.

Soon they even hated Camillus, for he sided with the Senate against
those tribunes who had been faithful to the plebeians. Moreover, he had
vowed to give a tenth of the spoil taken at Veii to the god Apollo.
At the time that the city was sacked, it seemed that the Dictator had
forgotten his vow. When he remembered it, the people had spent or
parted with their share of the spoil, so Camillus forced them to give
up the tenth part of their goods. At this the poor folk grumbled, as
indeed they had some cause to do.

But much as the people hated Camillus, they could not do without him.
When war broke out against a people called the Falerians, he was
elected as a military tribune, and at once marched away with his army
to besiege the strongly fortified town of Falerii.

In his heart Camillus hoped that if he was successful in taking the
city, the Romans would forget their anger against him.




CHAPTER XXXIV

THE SCHOOLMASTER WHO PROVED A TRAITOR


The Falerians were not disturbed when the Roman army pitched its camp
without their walls, not even although they knew that so great a
general as Camillus was at its head.

Their city was well fortified, and so, sure of being able to defend it,
they guarded their walls, and then went on with their work and with
their play as was their wont.

But there was a traitor within the walls of Falerii, and through his
treachery misfortune well-nigh overtook the city.

The traitor was a schoolmaster. He thought that it would be an easy
matter to betray the city to the Romans by the aid, unknown to
themselves, of his pupils.

Before the siege began he had been used to take the children outside
the city walls for their daily walks and exercises.

He continued to do so after the Romans had laid siege to the city,
but at first he did not venture far from the gates, lest the children
should be afraid.

But, little by little, as they became careless of the enemy, the
schoolmaster took them nearer and nearer to the Roman camp. Then one
day, before the boys were aware, their master had led them close to the
enemy’s lines and had asked to be taken before Camillus.

He was admitted to the presence of the tribune, and pointing to his
pupils the traitor said: ‘I have brought you the children of Falerii.
With them in your power, you will soon be able to make what terms you
please with the citizens. They will give up their city without a
struggle to secure the safe return of their children.’

But Camillus was not the man that the traitor had dreamed. He looked
with scorn upon the treacherous schoolmaster, then, turning to those
who stood near, he said: ‘War indeed is of necessity attended with much
injustice and violence. Certain laws, however, all good men observe,
even in war itself, nor is victory so great an object as to induce us
to incur for its sake obligations for base and impious acts. A great
general should rely on his own valour and not on other men’s vice.’

Camillus then bade his officers strip off the schoolmaster’s clothes
and tie his hands behind him. The children were then given rods and
told to beat their master back to the city.

Meanwhile, the Falerians had missed the children. Fathers and mothers,
distraught with grief, rushed to the walls, to the gates, but nowhere
was there any trace of their boys. Cries and lamentations filled the
city.

Suddenly the cries were hushed. Hark! that was a joyful shout! And then
another and yet another rent the air.

The children were there, in sight, running back, merrily as it seemed,
from the direction of the enemy’s camp.

Then silence fell upon the parents, for as the children came nearer a
strange picture was visible.

Their boys had rods in their hands, and they were chasing and beating a
miserable, naked man, who looked like the honourable schoolmaster. But
surely they must be mistaken....

A moment or two later the children rushed through the gates, and in
breathless haste told to their parents all that had befallen them, and
how Camillus himself had bidden them chase the traitor schoolmaster
back to the city.

Not only the parents, but all the citizens of Falerii were so pleased
with the kindness Camillus had shown to the children that they sent
ambassadors to him, offering to give up to the Romans whatever he chose
to ask.

Again Camillus showed how generous a foe he could be, for he made peace
with the Falerians, and demanding from them only a sum of money, he
took his army back to Rome.

But the soldiers, who had hoped to gain much booty in Falerii, were
angry. When they reached Rome empty-handed, they grumbled against their
general, and told the people he was not their friend, for he cared for
nothing save his own welfare.

Then his enemies determined to get rid of Camillus. So they accused
him of keeping more than his share of the spoils of Veii. Even now, so
they said, valuable brass gates, to which he had no right, were in his
possession.

Camillus had many friends as well as many enemies, and he entreated
those who trusted him to prove that the accusations brought against
him were false. But all they could promise to do was to help him pay,
should the Senate insist on fining him.

But this did not satisfy the brave Roman, who knew that he was
guiltless. He determined to leave the city for which he had done so
much, without waiting to hear his sentence pronounced.

As he passed through the gates, he turned, and stretching out his hands
toward the Capitol, he cried to the gods: ‘If not for evil I have
done,’ he cried, ‘but through the hatred of my enemies I have been
driven into exile, grant that the Romans may soon grow sorry and send
for Camillus to help them when trouble befalls.’

And his prayer was answered. For when, in 390 B.C., the Gauls descended
upon Rome, soldiers and citizens alike demanded that the Senate should
send to Camillus and beseech him to come to help them in their dire
need.




CHAPTER XXXV

THE BATTLE OF ALLIA


The inhabitants of Gaul, who dwelt in the country we now call France,
were tall, fair, blue-eyed warriors. Long before the time of which I
am going to tell you, they had crossed the Alps and made themselves
masters of Northern Italy.

Now, in 389 B.C., they turned to the south, crossed the Apennines, and
came pouring down into the valleys of Etruria. The city of Clusium,
only a few days’ march from Rome, was the first to attract the
barbarians.

There was peace at this time between Rome and Etruria, and the
inhabitants of Clusium, in fear of the fierce-looking Gallic warriors,
besought Rome to come to their aid.

The Senate at once sent three patricians as ambassadors to the Gauls,
warning them not to attack the allies of Rome.

But the haughty barbarians, heedless of the ambassadors’ words, at once
demanded from the Etruscans land on which they and their families might
settle. When their request was refused, they began to fight.

Now the Roman ambassadors had no right to join in the battle, for just
as they were protected by their mission from being attacked, so they
were forbidden to attack others.

But forgetting, in their anger with the Gauls, that they were
ambassadors, the three Romans joined in the defence of Clusium, and
unfortunately slew one of the Gallic chiefs and took his armour.

Brennus, the King of the Gauls, was so angry with the envoys that he at
once withdrew from Clusium, and marched with his whole army through the
valley of the Tiber toward Rome. He was determined to punish the city
for the folly of her ambassadors.

The Romans at once marched out to meet the enemy, and in July, 390
B.C., near the Allia, about ten miles from Rome, a terrible battle was
fought.

Although the Roman army was but forty thousand strong, while the
barbarians numbered seventy thousand, yet the Romans had no fear.
Against such uncouth foes they were sure to win the victory. Thus in
their insolence and pride spoke the warriors of Rome.

But the battle day--it was the 18th of the month--was one that was
never to be forgotten by the Roman legions.

Shouting their strange, fierce war-cries, the Gauls rushed upon the
foe, while the Romans, dismayed at the wild appearance of the gigantic
Gauls, and distracted by their war-cries, were seized with sudden
panic. Without even attempting to fight, they turned and fled.

Pursued by the terrible barbarians, many of the fugitives plunged in
despair into the river Tiber, and were drowned by the weight of their
armour; many others were overtaken and slain. Only a remnant of the
army reached Rome, for most of the fugitives who escaped took refuge at
Veii.

The Gauls themselves were astonished at their easily won victory, for
the fame of the Roman legions had reached even these barbarous tribes.

In Rome the Battle of Allia was henceforth a name of ill omen, nor
would the Romans ever undertake a new adventure on the 18th of July,
lest it should be doomed to failure, by the evil influence of that
fatal day. For many long years, the Romans, who feared no other foe,
trembled at the name of the barbarians.




CHAPTER XXXVI

THE SACRED GEESE


Rome, when she heard of the defeat of Allia was stricken with terror.
Her walls were left unguarded, her gates open, for the one thought of
the citizens was flight.

And in truth, so fearful were they lest the Gauls should reach the city
and find them still there, that they crowded out of the gates, across
the bridge to the Janiculum.

Some few sacred images they stayed to bury, and the vestal virgins
tarried to take with them the sacred fire which must not be allowed to
die, but many of the most sacred treasures of Rome were left to perish
by the hands of the barbarians.

So the city was left desolate, her gates open to the enemy. Only in the
Capitol, the temple of the gods, a band of armed men kept guard, and
with them stayed the priests, who refused to leave the sacred building,
and the Senate.

No others were left in Rome save some old patricians, who long years
before had been Consuls, and had led the legions of the Republic to
many a hard-won battlefield.

These clad themselves in their richest robes, then, after praying to
the gods, they walked to the Forum and seated themselves, each in his
ivory chair, there to await what the gods should send.

Three days after the Battle of Allia, the Gauls, having feasted as was
their custom after a victory, appeared before the city.

The gates were open, the walls unmanned, and within the city all was
silent as the grave. Was it a trap? Did an ambush lie in wait? Thus the
Gauls hesitated, questioning one another.

At length they ventured into the city--not a single citizen was to be
seen. On through the desolate streets wandered the bewildered warriors,
until at length they stood in the Forum.

There, seated in chairs of ivory, silent and still as statues, sat a
number of strange, venerable old men.

King Brennus himself came to the Forum to gaze at these still images of
men, and was amazed to see them thus unmoved in his presence.

He noticed that ‘they neither rose at his coming, nor so much as
changed colour or countenance, but remained without fear or concern,
leaning upon their staves, and sitting quietly, looked at each other.’

For a long time the Gauls gazed in silence at the quiet figures. Then,
one of the soldiers, bolder than the others, drew near to Papirius,
stretched out his hand, and slowly stroked the long white beard of the
old patrician.

This was more than Papirius could bear. He, a Roman senator, to be
touched by a barbarian! Quick as thought he raised his staff and struck
the Gaul a blow.

The strange, silent images were alive then! They could move!

Swiftly the barbarian drew his sword, and a moment later Papirius fell
from his ivory chair, wounded to death.

No longer awed by the silent images, the Gauls now fell upon the other
patricians and killed them too. Then for days they sacked the city,
and at length burned it to the ground, angry that the Capitol was held
against them.

The Capitol stood on a hill, steep and impossible to scale, save at one
point.

[Illustration: Seated in chairs of ivory, sat a number of strange,
venerable old men.]

Again and again the Gauls tried to storm this one approach, but the
brave defenders drove them back, killing some of their number. Then the
Gauls determined to besiege the Capitol, but days and weeks passed,
and still they seemed no more likely to take it than before. And now
their provisions were beginning to run short.

Meanwhile, the Roman soldiers who had fled from Allia and taken refuge
in Veii, began to be ashamed of themselves. Surely they ought to go to
the help of their comrades who were so manfully holding the Capitol. If
they had but a leader they would go.

Then all at once they remembered Camillus, who was still in exile. They
would ask him to come back and lead them as of old to victory.

So they sent to beg Camillus to come to Veii and take command of the
soldiers. But Camillus refused to come unless the Senate recalled him
and asked him to deliver Rome.

At first it seemed that there was no way to reach the Senate. It was
shut up in the Capitol. But a young soldier, named Cominius, hoping to
retrieve the disgrace of his flight from Allia, offered to try to scale
the rock and reach the citadel.

Disguising himself as a poor man, and carrying corks under his old
clothes, he reached the Tiber as it was growing dark. The bridge, as he
had expected, was guarded by the Gauls. To cross it was impossible.

So, taking off his clothes, he tied them on to his head, and laying
the corks he had brought in the river, he swam with their help safely
across and slipped unnoticed into the city.

Cominius, fortunately, was light and agile. He actually succeeded in
scaling the rock on which the Capitol was built, as only a bold and
skilful climber could. When he reached the summit in safety he called
to the astonished guards and begged to be taken to the Senate.

It was pleased to see the brave youth, and after listening to his
tale at once bade Cominius return and let Camillus know that Rome not
only recalled him from exile, but appointed him Dictator. So Cominius
hastened back to Veii with the good news, and because the soldiers
were eager to fight, messengers were sent in hot haste to Camillus to
tell him the decision of the Senate, and to bring him back to Veii.

Soon Camillus had twenty thousand men ready to follow him to Rome.

Meanwhile the Capitol was all but taken by the Gauls.

The morning after Cominius had clambered down the cliff, the barbarians
noticed that the shrubs had been crushed, that bushes had had their
branches torn, that the soil had been loosened on the side of the rock.

It was clear that some one had either climbed up to the Capitol, or had
come down the terrible descent. And if that was possible, why should
not they climb the cliff, and at last capture the Capitol?

So when night had come, the Gauls began their dangerous task. Up and
up they climbed as noiselessly as might be, up and up, until they had
nearly reached the top.

At the summit there was no wall, no sentinel. Even the watchdogs heard
no sound and slept on undisturbed.

Close to the top of the rock, however, stood the temple of Jupiter,
Juno, and Minerva, the three guardian deities of Rome. Without the
temple, geese, sacred to Juno, had their home. Although the defenders
of the Capitol were starving, yet they never dreamed of touching the
birds that were sacred to the goddess, ‘which thing proved their
salvation.’

Up and up climbed the Gauls, and no one heard them as they drew near
to the summit of the rock, no one save the sacred geese. They, divine
birds as they were, began to cackle and to flap their wings, and to
make as much noise as geese can make.

Manlius, the captain of the guard, who slept near the temple, awoke
startled to hear the din caused by the sacred birds. Springing swiftly
from the couch on which he had lain wrapped in his military cloak, he
seized his arms and ran to the top of the cliff. As he ran he shouted
to his men to follow as quickly as they could.

As Manlius reached the edge of the rock, lo, the face of a Gaul peered
at him over the summit.

The Roman was but just in time. Dashing his shield at the enemy, he
hurled him down the cliff, and he, as he fell, knocked against those
who were behind, so that they also were carried down the face of the
rock, which they had climbed with so much difficulty. Thus the Capitol
was saved by the sacred geese.

The defenders of the citadel were grateful to Manlius for acting so
promptly, and although they were all suffering from hunger, each one
agreed to give him, from his own slender store, one day’s allowance of
food. This consisted of half a pound of corn and a measure holding five
ounces of wine.

At length a day came when the brave folk in the Capitol must either die
of starvation or surrender. So the senators sent to King Brennus and
offered to pay him a large sum of money if he would raise the siege.

As the Gauls too were suffering from famine, the king was willing to
accept a ransom, but he demanded the large sum of one thousand pounds
of gold.

Only by borrowing treasures from the temple, and receivings gifts of
golden ornaments from Roman matrons, could the sum be found.

In bitterness of spirit the Romans went down to the Forum on the day
appointed, and began to lay their treasures on the scales.

Suddenly they noticed that the weights which the barbarians were using
on their scales, were false.

But when they complained, the king threw his sword into the scale,
crying scornfully, ‘Væ Victis,’ ‘Woe to the Conquered.’

At that moment, Rome was saved from the shame of paying a ransom, for
Camillus with his army marched into the Forum.

As Dictator, the supreme power was his, and he had the right to forbid
even what the Senate had allowed.

He looked at the gold ornaments lying in the scales, and bade the
Romans take them back, for, said Camillus proudly, ‘It is usual with
Romans to pay their debts, not in gold, but in iron.’ By these words
the Dictator meant that the Romans used their weapons to settle their
quarrels.

Then, forcing the Gauls out of the city which they had ruined, Camillus
and his army fought so fiercely against their enemy that not a single
man was left alive to tell the tidings to his countrymen.

King Brennus himself was slain, and as he fell he heard the Romans
shout in triumph the words he himself had so lately used, ‘Væ Victis,’
‘Woe to the conquered.’




CHAPTER XXXVII

THE CITY IS REBUILT


When the Dictator had cut the Gallic host to pieces, he returned
to Rome. The brave defenders of the Capitol went out to meet their
deliverer, tears of joy streaming down their gaunt, hungry-looking
faces. Scarcely yet could they believe that they were saved.

But when they saw the vestal virgins returning to their temple, bearing
with them the fire they tended, still undimmed, and the priests also
coming back to the city, they grew quiet and unafraid, for were not the
ministers of the gods again in their midst?

Before aught else, the sacred places that had been pulled down must be
restored. It was difficult amid the ruins of the city to find the very
spot on which the temples had stood, but they were rebuilt as nearly as
could be in the places where the people had been used to see them.

As the touch of the barbarian had made the sites unholy, they were
dedicated anew to the gods, with solemn rites and sacrifices.

Under the buildings which had been destroyed some relics were found,
as by a miracle unharmed. One of these was the staff or crook used by
Romulus when he dwelt upon Mount Palatine, a careless shepherd lad,
while another was the Laws of the Twelve Tables.

But the ancient records of the history of the seven kings were never
found, and this is why the story of the early days of Rome is so full
of fancy as well as of fact.

When the sacred places were restored, many of the poorer citizens felt
that they had done all that was needful. They shrank from the labour
of rebuilding the city. Many of them, too, had houses of their own in
Veii, which they had built while the Gauls were in Rome. They wished to
return to their new homes and found a new city.

Camillus was grieved that the people should wish to desert Rome, the
city of their birth, and he appealed to them by the things they held
most sacred to remain.

Was it not in Rome that their beautiful temples stood? Was it not
here that they had ofttimes heard the sacred voices of the gods? The
people, touched by the words of Camillus, wavered. At that moment a
band of soldiers halted without the Comitium or place of Assembly, the
centurion calling to his standard-bearer: ‘Pitch thy standard here, for
this is the best place to stop at.’

Surely such words were not spoken by chance, thought the citizens.
Surely they were words sent by the gods, bidding them to stay in Rome.

In this strange way the die was cast, and the people, throwing aside
their indolence, began to build, pulling down the houses at Veii and
bringing the stones to Rome to complete the rebuilding of the city.

Even with the help of material from Veii, the plebeians were forced to
borrow money from the patricians before their houses were finished, and
their shops and farms replenished.

As in earlier days, the patricians showed no mercy to their debtors,
and when they could not pay, threw them into prison or sold them as
bondsmen.

Now Manlius, who had saved the Capitol from the Gauls, was a rich man,
and the troubles of the poor folk made him sad.

One day he saw a famous centurion, who had fought by his side in many a
battle, being dragged from the Forum to prison, because he was unable
at once to pay some haughty patrician what he owed.

Manlius could not look on at such cruelty and do nothing. He hastened
to the spot, paid his old comrade’s debt, and set him free. This was
only one of the kindnesses by which he won from the grateful people the
title, ‘Father of the Commons.’

The patricians soon heard that Manlius was winning the hearts of the
people. Jealous as ever, they determined to crush him.

On one pretext or another he was arrested, and when he stood before the
assembly of the people he was accused of treason, for he had, so his
enemies said, tried to make himself king.

Manlius was standing in the Forum when he was accused, and looking up
he could see the Capitol.

Pointing to the temple, Manlius appealed to the gods and to the
gratitude of the Romans to save him. And the people, remembering all
that he had done, refused to condemn him, in spite of the anger of the
patricians.

But the patricians were still determined to destroy the Father of the
Commons. The very name was an offence to them.

They succeeded in once more bringing Manlius to trial; but this time
they arranged that it should take place in a grove, from which no
glimpse of the Capitol could be caught.

Here he was sentenced to death, and as his crime was treason, it was
decreed that he should be thrown down the Tarpeian Rock.

The struggle between the patricians and the plebeians lasted for nearly
half a century after the death of Manlius.

But in the year 376 B.C., and for ten years afterwards, a wise man
named Licinius did all that he could to make better laws for the
people. The laws of this tribune were called the Licinian Laws.

Let me tell you three of the laws by which Licinius tried to gain fair
treatment for the plebeians.

He made it unlawful for the patricians to take an unjust rate of
interest from the poor. As the patricians had grown rich with the money
that they had extorted from the plebeians, they disliked this Licinian
law. But to the poor it was of the greatest use.

Public land, which belonged to the poor as much as to the rich, had in
the past been seized by the powerful and already wealthy patricians.
This, said the tribune, should no longer be allowed. The land should
henceforth be divided justly.

And of all these new laws, perhaps the most important was this, that
one Consul should be chosen from among the plebeians. The patricians
did their utmost to prevent this law from being passed, and when they
were forced to yield, they did so with a bad grace.

To make it clear that they still had privileges which were not shared
by the people, they decreed that certain new magistrates should be
elected. These new magistrates were called prætors, and only patricians
could be chosen for this new office.

Yet even so, the Licinian Laws improved the position of the plebeians,
and were considered by them to be both wise and just.




CHAPTER XXXVIII

CAMILLUS SETS THE CAMP OF THE VOLSCIANS ON FIRE


While Rome was still at work repairing the damage which the Gauls had
inflicted on her city, the Volscians encamped within twenty miles of
her gates. They hoped to attack the city while she was unprepared for
war.

But an army at once set out to meet the enemy. Before the Romans were
aware, however, their camp was surrounded by the Volscians, and they
were unable either to fight or to retire.

Camillus, who had again been appointed Dictator, summoned every Roman
who could bear arms to follow him. He then marched to within a short
distance of the camp of the Volscians. Here he ordered fires to be
lighted, that the imprisoned army might know that help was at hand.

But the Volscians saw the fires as well as the Romans, and at once
began to strengthen their camp with a strong barricade, made out of the
trunks of trees.

Then, knowing that their numbers would soon be reinforced, they were
satisfied that the enemy could do them no harm.

But Camillus did not mean to wait until their allies joined them.
He determined at once to set fire to the wooden barricade that the
Volscians had built around their camp.

Ordering part of his force to attack the camp on one side, the Dictator
withdrew the rest of the army to that side of the camp from which the
wind blew. He then bade the soldiers fling lighted torches in among the
wooden defences.

The flames, blown by the wind, quickly spread from stake to stake until
they reached the camp itself.

There was no water at hand to quench the fire, and the Volscians were
soon driven from their tents, to find themselves in the hands of the
Romans, who cut them down without mercy.

Camillus then ordered the flames to be put out, that the soldiers might
pillage what was still unconsumed by the fire.

Leaving his son to guard the prisoners, the Dictator was soon marching
to Sutrium, which town was besieged by the Etruscans.

But before Camillus reached the city, he met a pitiful band of men,
women and children, who had already been banished from the town by the
victorious enemy.

Their homes were plundered, their treasures were in the enemy’s hands.
With nothing left, save only the clothes they wore, they were wandering
through the country in search of shelter.

Camillus was grieved for the misery of these poor folk. When he saw
that his soldiers also pitied them, he determined still to go to the
city, that he might wrest it once again from the Etruscans, and restore
the Sutrians to their homes.

He foresaw that the victorious soldiers would be feasting, that the
gates would be unguarded.

And so it was. Camillus had no difficulty in seizing the gates and
manning the walls of Sutrium. Then he ordered his soldiers to fall
upon the merrymakers, who were celebrating their victory with song and
feast. Many of the Etruscans surrendered, while others waited like
cowards to be slain. Sutrium was thus taken twice in one day.




CHAPTER XXXIX

THE BATTLE ON THE BANKS OF THE ANIO


The battle on the banks of the Anio took place when Camillus was no
longer young, and when he was attacked with illness.

Yet the Senate, anxious to have his help, would not listen as he
pleaded that he was unable for the duties of a tribune.

But when war broke out with the Volscians and the Prænestines, it sent
another tribune with Camillus, to lead the army, so that the old man’s
strength might be spared. Lucius Furius was the name of the tribune who
accompanied Camillus.

The two tribunes encamped near the enemy, Camillus hoping to avoid
battle until he was stronger.

But Lucius wished to win glory on the field, and was impatient to fight.

The old warrior, too generous to thwart the young tribune, agreed that
he should lead the army to the field; yet he feared that the rashness
of Lucius might lead to defeat.

Owing to his feeble health, Camillus himself stayed in the camp,
with only a small company of soldiers. But he could see all that was
happening on the battlefield.

As he had feared, Lucius proved too rash a leader, and the Roman army
was soon in dire confusion and flying toward the camp.

Such a sight was more than the brave old warrior could endure. Leaping
from his couch, he bade those who were near to follow him.

Then as the fugitives saw their old general, who had so often led them
to victory, forcing his way toward the enemy, shame stayed their flight.

Swiftly they rallied, and turning, followed Camillus, so that the
Volscians and the Prænestines were in their turn forced to flee.

The next day Camillus led the whole army against the foe, and fought so
fiercely that before long the enemy was in full retreat. Many of the
fugitives sought refuge in their camp, but the Romans followed, and
driving them from the shelter of the tents, put them to death.

Then, having won these three victories, Camillus returned in triumph to
Rome, carrying with him much plunder.

But the old warrior was not yet to be allowed to rest.

In 381 B.C. war broke out in Tusculum, which town had long been
faithful to Rome, and Camillus was sent to put down the rebellion. He
was told to choose one of his five colleagues to help him.

Each tribune longed for the glory of accompanying Camillus, but his
choice fell upon Lucius, who had so nearly lost a battle in the last
war. Perhaps the great general wished to give the tribune a chance to
retrieve his mistake.

When the Tusculans heard that Camillus was approaching their gates with
a large army, they speedily repented of their rebellion and laid down
their arms.

Ploughmen hastened back to their fields, shepherds to their sheep.
Tradesmen, too, were soon again busy in their workshops, children were
in their places at school, while the well-to-do citizens walked about
the streets in their usual dress, unarmed.

When the tribunes arrived at Tusculum, they were welcomed by the
magistrates with every sign of pleasure, and entertained as hospitably
as though they were eagerly expected guests.

Camillus was too wise to be deceived by these simple folk, yet seeing
their penitence, he was sorry for them.

So, instead of punishing them, he merely bade them send ambassadors to
the Senate to beg for forgiveness, promising himself to speak on their
behalf.

The Senate proved merciful. For the city was forgiven, and her
inhabitants were made Roman citizens.

About five years later, in 376 B.C., the Latins were defeated so
severely by the Romans, that they were glad to enter into alliance with
their conquerors. Then for nearly ten years Rome enjoyed greater peace
than had been her lot for long. It was during these years that Licinius
made the laws of which I have told you.

But in 367 B.C., the Gauls, who were still dreaded by the Romans,
marched with a large army toward Rome, laying waste the country through
which they passed.

Camillus, although now eighty years of age, was again made Dictator.

Before leading his army against the dreaded foe, the Dictator ordered
smooth and polished helmets of iron to be made. In other days he had
seen that the swords of the Gauls swept down with relentless force on
the heads and shoulders of the Romans. Now he hoped that their blows
would glance off the smooth surface of the iron helmets, or be broken.

The Roman shields, too, were made of wood, but Camillus ordered their
rims to be strengthened with bands of brass.

With his army thus equipped, the Dictator felt that victory was secure.

The Gauls, already laden with the plunder that they had taken on their
march, were encamped near the river Anio.

Within sight of the camp was a hill with hollows, behind which it would
be easy to hide from the enemy. To this hill Camillus led his men,
carefully concealing the larger number of them behind these hollows so
that from the Gallic camp the Roman soldiers seemed but a small company.

The Gauls were indeed completely deceived. It seemed to them that the
Romans did not mean to attack them; that they had fled for safety to
the hills.

Camillus, wishing to lure the Gauls into danger, never stirred, even
when the enemy ventured close to his trenches in search of plunder.

Soon, careless of the enemy, the barbarians scattered over the country
in search of forage, while those left in the camp spent day and night
in song and feast.

Then the Dictator knew that the time for action had come.

He sent a small company of his men to harass the enemy, while early the
following morning he marched with his whole army to the foot of the
hill.

The barbarians were dismayed when they saw so great a host in battle
array, and before they could form into their proper ranks the enemy was
upon them.

Shouting their wild battle-cries, the Gauls then drew their swords and
fought with fury. But their swords were soon twisted or broken, as they
slid off the polished helmets worn by the Roman soldiers. To complete
their discomfort, the javelins which Camillus now bade his soldiers
throw at the enemy’s shields, stuck fast in them, until they grew too
heavy to wield.

As their swords were useless, the Gauls sought to pull the javelins out
of their shields, that they might use the Romans’ weapons against the
enemy.

But Camillus saw what they meant to do, and ordered his men to advance
swiftly, and cut the Gauls to pieces before they could carry out their
plan. The foremost were speedily hewn down, while those who could fled
over the plains, for the hills were already held by the Romans.

So sure of victory had the Gauls been, that they had left their camp
unguarded, and it too was soon captured.

Thirteen years before, the defeat at Allia and the sack of Rome had
filled the Romans with a superstitious fear of the fierce Gallic
warriors.

The battle now won by the banks of the river Anio for ever put an end
to their dread of the barbarians.

Camillus returned once more in triumph to Rome, to find yet another
service he could do for the country he had served so loyally and loved
so well.

Civil war was on the point of breaking out, for the people, acting
according to one of the Licinian laws, had chosen Sextus, a plebeian,
to be Consul.

The Senate and patricians were not at all ready to carry out this law.
Indeed, it seemed that they would rather fight than let the people
have their will. As the plebeians refused to give up their new-won
privilege, the city was in an uproar.

But Camillus had great influence with the Senate, and he persuaded it
to yield to the just demand of the people. So the angry passions of the
patricians and the plebeians were allayed, and Sextus became the first
plebeian Consul.

In the following year, 366 B.C., a pestilence swept over Italy, and in
Rome, among many who perished was the brave old soldier Camillus.




CHAPTER XL

THE CURTIAN LAKE


The pestilence, to which Camillus fell a prey, did not cease until 361
B.C.

During the second year, the superstitious folk, of whom there were
many, were startled by strange omens.

The Tiber overflowed its banks. This was perhaps not so unusual as
to alarm the citizens of Rome, but when the waters streamed into the
Circus it was certainly strange. For at that very time games were
being held there, in the hope of propitiating the gods, so that the
pestilence might be stayed.

But the flood speedily put an end to the games, and the people wondered
if this was the answer of the gods.

The flood was alarming, but still more so was an earthquake that took
place before the people had forgotten their fears. It is supposed that
the earthquake gave rise to the well-known legend of the Curtian Lake.

For it was after the shock that a gulf wide and deep yawned in the
Forum. The Romans believed that the gods who had sent the pestilence
had now opened this terrible abyss in their market-place.

In vain the terrified people tried to fill up the gulf. However much
they threw into it, there it was, deep, dark, mysterious as before.

Then the Romans went to their priests and begged them to learn from the
gods how the gulf might be closed.

The answer, when it came, seemed almost as perplexing as had been the
problem. ‘Never will the awful chasm disappear until into it has been
thrown the best and truest strength of Rome.’

What was the true strength of the city? With grave faces and anxious
hearts the people pondered the answer of the gods.

Suddenly the truth flashed into the mind of a noble youth named
Curtius, who was known among his fellows as a brave and gallant soldier.

‘The true strength of Rome,’ said Curtius, ‘can lie in naught save in
the arms and in the valour of her children. To think otherwise would
shame us all.’

So, believing that he had discovered the will of the gods, the noble
youth donned his armour, mounted his steed, and plunged headlong into
the abyss.

A great crowd had gathered in the Forum to see what Curtius meant to
do. For a moment the people stood in silence, awed by the fate of the
young Roman, and full of admiration for his deed.

Then, rousing themselves, they took offerings of gold and precious
ornaments and flung them after the bold rider and his horse, and as
they did so, slowly the gulf closed. And since that day the place where
once the chasm yawned has been called the Curtian Lake.

Before the plague was subdued, in 361 B.C., the Gauls once more invaded
Roman lands, and a terrible battle was again fought, near the river
Anio.

Titus Manlius engaged in single combat with one of the barbarians, who
was strong and tall as a giant. Yet so bravely did the Roman fight that
the giant was slain. Then Manlius took from the neck of his foe a gold
collar. As the Latin word for necklet is ‘torques,’ Manlius and his
descendants were ever after called Torquati.

When the Gauls saw that their champion was slain, they retreated; yet
for a year and a half they continued to harass the Romans. But in 358
B.C. they were defeated so severely that those who were left after the
battle were glad to escape from the neighbourhood of Rome.

Ten years later, however, the Gauls were once again laying waste the
plains and coasts of Latium.

Furius Camillus, son of the great Camillus, was Consul, and as his
colleague had died, he alone was responsible for the safety of the
State.

He, like his father, was a brave soldier, and his army soon scattered
the Gauls.

During the battle, as Valerius fought in single combat with one of the
strongest of the barbarians, a strange sight was seen.

A crow circled over the heads of the combatants, then suddenly it flew
down and perched on the helmet of the Roman.

The clashing of swords, the cries of the barbarians, did not disturb
the bird. It sat on the helmet of Valerius as still as though it was
perched on a tree in the forest.

But by and by this strange crow began to watch what Valerius and the
Gaul were doing. Seizing its chance, it darted again and again between
the combatants, flapping its wings and tearing with beak and claws at
the face and eyes of the barbarian.

Unable to see what he was doing with his sword, as well as unable to
avoid the thrusts of his foe, the Gaul tried in vain to get rid of the
bird.

At length, worn out with the unequal struggle, the barbarian fell, and
Valerius was hailed as victor.

The crow, as though content with the result of the battle, now flew
away and was seen no more; but from that time Valerius was called
Corvus, corvus being the Latin word for a crow.

After the victory of Camillus, the Gauls left Rome undisturbed until
the end of the third Samnite war, in 290 B.C.

About the Samnite wars I am now going to tell you.




CHAPTER XLI

THE DREAM OF THE TWO CONSULS


The Samnites were a rough and hardy race of warriors, whose homes were
among the mountains of the Apennines.

In 343 B.C. they determined to wrest Campania, in the south of Italy,
from the Romans.

The wars of the Samnites lasted for many long years, and when at
length Rome conquered, she was mistress of Italy. But before she was
victorious, the first, second, and third Samnite wars had been fought
and won.

Of the first Samnite war little is known, save that it lasted for three
years, and that the Romans won three battles.

During this first war, however, the Latins, who had allied themselves
with Rome, revolted. They wished to be given the full rights of Roman
citizens, and they demanded that one Consul, as well as half the
members of the Senate should be Latins. Nor was this all. For they
refused to be content unless Latium and Rome were henceforth counted as
one Republic.

The Romans did not for a moment dream of granting such ambitious
demands. Indeed, they resolved to punish the Latins for their
presumption in making such large requests.

So they went to war and fought, until the Latins lost their last
stronghold and were forced again to submit to Rome.

The Latins had gained little by provoking their former allies, for
while some Latin cities were granted the rights of Roman citizens, all
were forced to send soldiers to the Roman army.

Two famous stories are told of the war with the Latins.

The armies had encamped near to each other on the plain of Capua, in
the south of Italy.

Manlius Torquatus was one of the Consuls, and he, with his colleague,
had given strict orders that no soldier was to engage in single combat.

But the son of Torquatus chanced to be challenged by one of the enemy,
and the temptation to fight was more than the young man could stand.

Was he victorious, what glory he would win! Was he beaten, he could
but die! So, despite the strict order of the Consuls, young Manlius
accepted the challenge.

Groups of Roman and Latin soldiers watched the combat with the keenest
interest, and when at length, after a gallant fight, Manlius slew his
opponent, a shout of triumph arose from his comrades. But the Latins
looked on, sullen and ashamed, while their champion was stripped of his
arms.

Flushed with victory, and thinking that his father would forgive his
disobedience, the youth hastened to the tent of Torquatus, and laid the
arms he had taken from his foe at his father’s feet.

But discipline was dear to the Consul’s heart, and he did not greet his
son as he entered the tent, but turned coldly away from him. Had it
been any other who had disobeyed, punishment swift and sharp would have
descended on the culprit.

It made Torquatus angry to think that he should dream even for a
moment of being more merciful to his own son than to another. He loved
discipline, but he loved his son as well. So it was with a mighty
effort that he resolved that, although it was his own son who had
transgressed, punishment swift and sharp should be inflicted on him.

[Illustration: The youth laid the arms he had taken from his foe at
his father’s feet.]

Cold and stern, the Consul’s voice rang out, bidding the soldiers
assemble in front of his tent, and there, before them all, he ordered
that his son should be beheaded.

No one dared to dispute the order of the Consul, and the soldiers
looked on in horror while their brave young comrade was put to death
because of his disobedience.

The soldiers hated Torquatus for his severity, and never forgot it.
But if they hated, they also feared, and never again were his commands
disobeyed.

The second story is about a terrible battle that was fought close to
Mount Vesuvius.

It was the night before the battle that the two Consuls, Torquatus and
Decius Mus, both dreamed the same dream.

A man taller than any mortal appeared to each of the Consuls, and
warned him that in the battle which was to be fought, both sides must
suffer, one losing its leader, the other its whole army.

In the morning, when the Consuls found that each had dreamed exactly
the same dream, they determined to appeal to the gods. Even as their
dreams were alike, so also was the answer each received.

‘The gods of the dead, and earth, the mother of all, claim as their
victim the general of one party and the army of the other.’

At all costs the Roman army must be saved. Of that neither Consul had
any doubt. Nor did they shrink when they realised that to save the army
one of them must perish.

So Manlius and Decius Mus agreed that the one whose legions should
first give way before the enemy should give himself up to the gods of
the dead.

When the battle was raging most fiercely, the right wing of the Latins
compelled one of the Roman divisions to give way. The leader of the
division was Decius Mus.

Without a murmur, the Consul prepared to fulfil the agreement he had
made with Torquatus. By doing so he was sure that he would save the
army from destruction.

Turning to a priest who was on the battlefield, he begged to be told
how best to devote himself to the gods.

Then the priest bade Decius Mus take the toga that he wore as Consul,
but which was not usually seen on the battlefield, and wrap it round
his head, holding it close to his face with one of his hands. His feet
the Consul placed on a javelin, and then, as the priest bade, he prayed
to the god of the dead.

‘God of the dead, I humbly beseech you, I crave and doubt not to
receive this grace from you, that you prosper the people of Rome with
all might and victory; and that you visit the enemies of the people of
Rome ... with terror, with dismay, and with death.

‘And, according to these words which I have spoken, so do I now, on
behalf of the Commonwealth of the Roman people ... devote the legions
and the foreign aids of our enemies, along with myself, to the god of
the dead and to the grave.’

When he had prayed, Decius Mus sent his lictors to tell Manlius what he
was about to do.

Then, with his toga wrapped across his face, the noble Roman leaped
upon his horse, and fully armed, plunged into the midst of the Latin
army and was slain.

Inspired by the courage of Decius Mus, and knowing that the vengeance
of the gods would now fall upon their enemies, the Romans fought with
fresh courage.

At first the Latins were dismayed and driven backward. But they soon
rallied, and fought so fiercely that it seemed as though the sacrifice
of the Consul had been in vain.

But just as the Romans were beginning to give way, Manlius with a band
of veterans rushed to their aid, and with loud cheers dashed upon the
enemy.

The Latins, already weary, were not able to withstand this new shock.
So the Romans were soon victorious, and slaughtered or took prisoners
nearly a fourth part of the Latin army.

Torquatus now returned to Rome, expecting to receive a great triumph.
But the citizens looked on his procession in silence and dislike, for
he had come back from battle without his colleague.

In this the Romans were unjust to Torquatus, for had his legions been
the first to flinch before the enemy, he would have faced death as
bravely as did Decius Mus.




CHAPTER XLII

THE CAUDINE FORKS


One of the chief events of the Second Samnite war took place in 321
B.C., at a gorge or pass called the Caudine Forks.

Gaius Pontius, the general of the Samnite army, was encamped at
Caudium. He had hoped to hold the passes which led from the plain of
Naples to the higher mountain valleys among the Apennines.

But one day he thought of a better plan. If he could but entice the
Roman army into the mountain passes, he would have them in a trap
before they were aware.

So he sent two countrymen to Rome, bidding them report to the Consuls
that the Samnite army had left Caudium and marched to Apulia, where
they were besieging the town of Luceria.

The Consuls had no reason to doubt the truth of the countrymen’s words,
and as Luceria was held by allies of Rome, they resolved to send an
army to her help, lest she should fall into the hands of the enemy.

So before long the Roman legions were marching toward Apulia. As the
shortest way lay through the pass of the Caudine Forks, and as the
Consul Postumius, who was at the head of the legions, believed that the
Samnite army was far away, he did not hesitate to enter the gorge.

It was a deep and gloomy pass, between rugged mountains. As the Romans
advanced, the gorge grew more narrow and precipitous, and they were
glad when at length they approached the end of the dangerous path. But
their pleasure was soon changed to anxiety, for the exit from the pass
was barricaded with trees and great masses of stone.

Postumius began to suspect treachery. It was plain that the trees had
but recently been cut down. Suppose the barricades were the work of the
Samnites! The Consul at once ordered the army to retreat.

But long before the weary legions reached the opening by which they had
entered the pass they felt sure that they were caught in a trap.

The Samnites were indeed guarding the entrance, and escape was
impossible.

Nevertheless, the Romans made a gallant attempt to scale the side of
the steep mountains that brooded over the gorge, and when they reached
the opening they even tried to make their way through the enemy. But
the Samnites killed or wounded all who tried to escape.

When night fell, Postumius ordered his army to encamp in the valley at
its broadest point, and here he awaited the will of Gaius Pontius.

But the Samnite general was in no haste to make terms with his
prisoners. Each day that he delayed, famine would stare the Roman army
more closely in the face. Before long it would be forced to agree to
whatever terms he chose to dictate.

And, indeed, before many days had passed, the Romans were compelled to
yield, crying to their foes: ‘Put us to the sword, sell us as slaves,
or keep us as prisoners until we be ransomed, only save our bodies,
whether living or dead, from all unworthy insult.’

It was plain that the Romans feared lest they should be treated in the
same way as they used their captives.

For the Romans dragged their prisoners in chains at the chariot wheels
of their victorious generals. Often, too, their captives were beheaded
in the common prison, and their bodies refused the rite of burial.

But Pontius used his power generously. If his terms were hard, yet they
were just, and had in them no trace of cruelty.

‘Restore to us,’ said the Samnite general, ‘the towns you have taken
from us, and recall the Roman colonists you have unjustly settled on
our soil. Then conclude with us a treaty, which shall own each nation
to be alike independent of the other. If you will swear to do this I
will spare your lives and let you go without ransom, each man of you
giving up your arms merely and keeping his clothes untouched, and you
shall pass in sight of our army as prisoners, whom we ... set free of
our own will, when we might have killed them, or sold them, or held
them to ransom.’

The Consuls and officers of the army vowed to observe this treaty, and
six hundred knights were given as hostages to the Samnites.

But Pontius, had he been wise, would have gained the consent of the
Senate and people of Rome to his terms, before he was content.

To the Romans, the demands of Pontius seemed severe, but yet deeper was
the humiliation they were to endure.

The entire army, along with the Consuls, were forced to pass beneath
the yoke, in the presence of, their foe. It was the only way of escape
from the pass of the Caudine Forks.

Giving up their arms, and wearing only a kilt which reached from their
waist to their knees, the vanquished army filed sullenly out of the
gorge beneath the yoke.

This was no unusual humiliation, but was the custom in those days, and
equal to our demand that arms should be laid down on the surrender of a
garrison.

Pontius was indeed strangely kind to his conquered foes, ordering
carriages for the wounded, and giving them food to eat on the march
back to Rome.

But nothing could comfort the Romans, whose pride had been gravely
wounded by being forced to pass beneath the yoke.

In silence, shame written clear upon their faces, they marched gloomily
along, with no desire to reach the end of their journey.

When they drew near to Rome, those who lived in the country slipped
away to their homes, hoping that none would notice them. Those who
lived in the city waited until it was dark that they might enter unseen.

The Consuls were not able to shun the attention of the crowd, for they
entered the city during the day. But they, too, were so ashamed that
they deemed themselves no longer fit to be Consuls, and escaping from
the people as soon as possible, they shut themselves up in their homes.

Rome was a gloomy city for days after the return of the disgraced army.

The senators laid aside their gold rings, and no longer wore on their
robes the red border which was the sign of their rank. In sombre
attire and with grave faces they sat in the Senate-house, or paced the
streets, thinking of the disgrace that had overtaken their people.

Shops were shut, business was laid aside, while the citizens mourned
alike for those who had returned as for those who had been slain.

Ere long new Consuls were elected, and they, with the Senate, agreed
that the treaty made with Pontius must not be kept.

Postumius then offered to go back to the Samnites, with his colleague
and officers, as a punishment for agreeing to so humiliating a treaty.
To this proposal the Senate gave its approval.

The Consuls and officers were then stripped of all save the kilt which
they had worn when they passed beneath the yoke, and thus, with their
hands tied behind them, they were sent back to the Samnites.’

‘These men are forfeited to you in atonement for the broken treaty,’
cried those who accompanied the miserable penitents, when at length
they stood in the presence of Pontius.

But the Samnite general refused to receive such atonement. ‘Either,’
said he, ‘you must put your army back in the Caudine Forks, or you must
keep the treaty to which your Consuls agreed.’

As the Romans refused to do this, the second Samnite war continued to
be waged.




CHAPTER XLIII

THE DISGRACE OF THE CAUDINE FORKS AVENGED


A year after the Romans had been, as they felt, disgraced at the
Caudine Forks, they determined to blot out their humiliation.

The old annalists, whose one desire was to increase the glory of Rome,
wrote of great victories and marvellous deeds achieved by the legions,
but historians of a later day say that not all the stories told by
these ancient writers are true.

It is one of these old annalists who tells that in 320 B.C. Papirius
Cursor marched with an army into Apulia. He did not venture through the
fatal pass of the Caudine Forks, but took his men along the coast. If
this was a longer way it was at least safer than through the valley.

Reaching Luceria, Papirius took it from the Samnites, and not only so,
but he recaptured all the arms and standards which the Romans had lost
at the Caudine Forks. The hostages too, who had been taken to Luceria
by the Samnites, the Consul found and set free.

Then, that the enemy might never dare to boast of the victory which
they had won over the Romans, Papirius made seven thousand Samnite
soldiers pass beneath the yoke.

And, by the favour of the gods, Pontius was commander of the city, so
that the humiliation he had erstwhile forced upon the Romans he had now
himself to endure.

After this victory, the Consul returned to Rome and enjoyed a triumph.

The chief object of the war was to secure Campania. After many
battles, in which now one army, now the other was victorious, a
decisive one was fought in 314 B.C., when the Romans utterly defeated
the Samnites. The whole of Campania was now in the hands of Rome.

So as to protect her new possessions, the Romans sent a colony to
Ponza, an island lying off the Campanian and Latin coasts. A new
interest thus arose in the sea: in 312 B.C. commissioners were
appointed to look after the ships of Rome and see that they were in
good repair. The following year the Romans had a small fleet ready to
sail along the coast of Campania.

Rome was not yet prepared to test her fleet by fighting at sea, but she
was now able to send troops to the coast towns of her enemies.

It was about this time that the Consul Appius Claudius began to build
the great road between Rome and Capua, which was called The Appian Way.




CHAPTER XLIV

FABIUS AMONG THE CIMINIAN HILLS


One of the most famous heroes of the second Samnite war was Fabius.

Before the disgrace of the Caudine Forks, Fabius, who was an ardent
warrior, had fought a battle against the command of the Dictator,
Papirius. That he was victorious did not make Papirius less angry with
his disobedience. Indeed so angry was he, that he ordered that Fabius
should at once be beheaded. But the soldiers threatened to mutiny if
the order was carried out, and so for the time the life of the young
soldier was saved.

Knowing that the Dictator would take the first opportunity to carry out
the sentence he had pronounced, Fabius waited only until it was dark
and then fled from the camp to Rome.

When he reached the city he summoned the Senate to meet, meaning to beg
for protection from the wrath of the Dictator.

But before the Senate had assembled, Papirius, who had followed Fabius,
dashed into the Forum and ordered the runaway to be arrested.

The father of Fabius then besought the tribunes to interfere between
his son and the Dictator, declaring that if they did not do so, he
would appeal to the Assembly of the people.

But although the tribunes disapproved of the severity of Papirius, they
did not dare to interfere, for the power of the Dictator was supreme.

The people, however, who had now gathered in the Forum, speedily took
the matter into their own hands. With one voice they begged Papirius to
forgive Fabius for their sake.

Papirius, whose passion had had time to cool, was pleased that the
people should ask him to be merciful, and he promised to pardon the
disobedient soldier.

In 310 B.C., Fabius was elected Consul, along with Marcius. Together
the two Consuls set out, each with his own army, to the relief of
Sutrium, which town had already been besieged for a year by the
Etruscans.

Roman troops had tried again and again, but without success, to raise
the siege.

New hope was aroused in Sutrium when the citizens heard that both the
Consuls were on the way to their relief. Before they had accomplished
anything, however, Marcius was forced to leave his colleague to march
against the Samnites, who were in Apulia, plundering the allies of Rome.

Fabius was left alone at Sutrium, but before long he had forced the
Etruscans to raise the siege and had captured their camp, in which he
found thirty-eight standards.

The Consul then pursued the enemy across the Ciminian hills, which
hills we now know as the mountains of Viterbo.

In these days of long ago, the Ciminian hills were densely-wooded, and
strange stories were told of their mysterious shades.

No pathway was to be found through these hilly forests, while their
unknown terrors were dreaded so much that even peaceful merchants never
attempted to reach Etruria by passing through the Ciminian hills. This
was the way that Fabius ventured in pursuit of the enemy.

The Senate at Rome no sooner heard of the Consul’s daring, than it sent
messengers to bid him be less reckless. But long before the messengers
reached the edge of the thicket, Fabius was in the depth of the
forests.

For weeks nothing was heard of the Consul and his army, and the Senate
believed that they were lost. Fabius had, however, escaped from the
thickly-wooded hills with but few adventures, and was safe in the rich
plains of central Etruria. If he had not captured the Etruscans, he was
now at least able to plunder their country.

Meanwhile the dire tidings reached Rome that Marcius had been defeated
by the Samnites, nor was it known whether the Consul had escaped with
his life.

Bereft, for the time at least, of both Consuls, the Senate resolved to
appoint a Dictator, and Papirius, they knew, was the man to inspire the
people with the greatest trust.

But a Dictator must be appointed by one of the Consuls, and Marcius was
either dead or in the hands of his enemies.

Fabius, of whose safety the Senate was now assured, would scarcely
appoint Papirius to the supreme post of honour, for it was he who had
hunted Fabius and condemned him to death in earlier days.

Nevertheless, the Senate determined to beg Fabius to forget the
treatment he had received from Papirius, and for the sake of his
country to appoint him Dictator. So messengers were sent to the Consul
with the Senate’s request.

Fabius had fought and won many battles, but never had he had a fiercer
one to fight than while he listened to the message sent to him by the
Senate.

His look indeed was forbidding, and gave the ambassadors little hope of
success. Having heard what they had to say, he gave them no clue to his
thoughts, for he dismissed them without a word.

But in the dead of night, he arose, as was the custom when a Dictator
had to be appointed, and gave to his enemy the coveted post. By this
act he made himself once more the subordinate of Papirius.

The ambassadors thanked Fabius for his noble deed, but showing no
pleasure in their praise, the Consul, still without a word, sent them
from his presence.

Fabius had won that night a more glorious victory than any he had ever
gained on the battlefield, for he had conquered himself.

No sooner was Papirius appointed Dictator, than he marched against the
Samnites and defeated them in a great battle. Marcius, who was alive,
was thus set free to return to Rome. The Samnites were forced back into
their own mountain country, and in 304 B.C. they made an honourable
peace with Rome. Thus the second Samnite war came to an end.

Fabius meanwhile won victory after victory over the Etruscans, and in
304 B.C. they also made a peace with Rome, which lasted for several
years.

Rome was now mistress of Italy, and in such respect was she held that
no tribe henceforth dared to attack her, without first enlisting other
powers to help them in their adventure.




CHAPTER XLV

THE BATTLE OF SENTINUM


The peace made with the Samnites in 304 B.C. lasted for six years,
after which the third war with these hardy mountaineers began.

One of the Consuls at this time was Cornelius Scipio, the
great-grandfather of the famous Scipio who conquered Hannibal.

Now the Samnites had persuaded the Gauls to join them in their new
attack upon Rome, and they, it is said, surprised and slew one of
Scipio’s legions. So dreadful was the slaughter that not a single
soldier escaped to tell the Consul, who was some distance off with the
main body of his army, what had happened.

Nor did the Romans know what had befallen their comrades, until the
Gauls, elated with victory, galloped up to the camp of the enemy
shouting their war-cries and carrying on the point of their lances the
heads of those whom they had slain.

In 295 B.C. the Romans grew alarmed at the forces that had united
against them, for the Samnites had now not only the Gauls, but also the
Etruscans and other tribes to strengthen them.

Fabius, whose courage had been tested in many a difficult position,
was therefore appointed Consul for the fifth time, and sent with his
colleague Decius to the war.

The leader of the Samnites, Egnatius, was at Sentinum in Umbria. He was
anxious to fight without delay, for he knew how quickly the Gauls were
used to desert their allies.

So he, as well as his men, was pleased when they saw that the Roman
legions, with the two Consuls at their head, had reached Sentinum.

Yet for two days no battle took place. But as the armies faced one
another, a stag chased by a wolf ran in between the two forces.

The Gauls, in their barbarous way, threw their javelins at the stag
and killed it, while the Romans allowed the wolf to run safely through
their ranks, for the beast was sacred to Mars, and its presence was to
them a sign of victory.

‘The Gauls have slain the stag which is sacred to Diana,’ cried the
Roman soldiers. ‘It is certain that her wrath will fall upon them. As
for us, the wolf bids us remember Quirinus, our divine founder. With
his aid we have naught to fear.’

The Consuls could no longer restrain the eagerness of their legions,
and they at once led them against the enemy.

Fabius commanded the right wing, and faced the Samnites; Decius was
opposite the Gauls. They, as was their way, rushed with loud war-cries
upon the foe, spurring their horses forward with fury and driving their
war-chariots upon the Roman cavalry.

Startled by the noise of the heavy chariots and by their strange
appearance, the Roman horses turned and fled. In their flight they
encountered the infantry, and dashing upon it, caused the legions to
give way.

Decius tried in vain to rally his men. Then, in despair, he determined
to do as his father had done, and yield himself up to death, that the
army might be saved.

So, spurring his steed, he rode headlong into the midst of the Gallic
warriors and was slain.

The soldiers, seeing that the Consul had sacrificed himself for their
sake, took courage and turned to face the foe. Decius had, by his
death, won a victory for his country.

Fabius meanwhile, had routed the Samnites, who now added to the
confusion by rushing past the Gauls, in a desperate effort to reach
their camp.

As the Samnites fled, the Gauls formed themselves into a dense mass,
for they feared that they would now be attacked by Fabius.

The Consul, however, contented himself by sending a detachment of his
men to harass the Gauls in their rear, and another to attack them in
front.

Then vowing to build a temple to Jupiter and to offer him all the spoil
if he was victorious, Fabius himself followed the Samnites and cut them
down ruthlessly, until at length Egnatius, their brave commander, fell.
Resistance was now at an end, yet those who were still alive refused to
surrender. Forming themselves into a compact body, they marched away
and struggled back to their own country.

The Gauls too were utterly crushed, and the glory of the battle of
Sentinum belonged to Rome.




CHAPTER XLVI

THE SON OF FABIUS LOSES A BATTLE


The year 295 B.C. in which the battle of Sentinum was won, was a year
long remembered by the Romans for its glorious victories.

But three years later their armies were defeated by the Samnites.

Fabius, the son of the Fabius who crossed the Ciminian hills, led the
Roman legions against the foe. The young Consul believed that the
Samnites had been so severely beaten during the last few years, that he
need take no great precautions before attacking them.

It was after a long march that Fabius encountered a small detachment of
the enemy. His men were weary, but he determined to pursue the foe, and
succeeded in making it slowly retreat.

The Consul pushed on still more eagerly, to find himself, before he was
aware, close to the entire Samnite army, which was drawn up ready for
battle.

A terrible struggle took place. But the Romans, exhausted and
unprepared, were slain in great numbers. Indeed had night not fallen,
the whole army would have been destroyed.

At Rome, the dreadful tidings roused great indignation against Fabius.
It was even proposed in the Senate that the young Consul should be
recalled and have his Consulship taken from him, a disgrace unheard of
until now.

But his father pleaded that his son might be spared so heavy a
punishment. If he was allowed to keep his command, Fabius even offered
to go to the war and serve under his son.

So unselfish an offer could not be refused, and the veteran general was
permitted to join the army. He lost no time in setting out, and he took
with him large reinforcements, for every man was willing to follow the
brave old chief.

The Roman soldiers were themselves anxious to retrieve their defeat.
Encouraged by the presence of the general, who had so often led them
to victory, they fought fiercely and defeated the Samnites, taking
Pontius, their leader, captive.

When young Fabius returned to Rome, his former defeat was forgotten in
the joy of this great victory, and he enjoyed a triumph.

Some histories tell that the leader of the Samnites, whom Fabius had
captured, was the same Pontius who thirty years before had spared the
lives of the Roman soldiers at Caudium.

If that was so the generous treatment of the Samnite chief was now
cruelly requited. For as Fabius drove in his chariot through the
streets of Rome, Pontius, loaded with chains, walked in the procession.
At the foot of the Capitol he was taken, with other captives, to the
prison beneath the Capitoline hill and beheaded.

A year or two later, in 290 B.C. the third Samnite war drew to a close.
The last battle was won by a famous Consul, named Dentatus.

The Samnites, hoping to bribe the Roman, sought for him in his country
home. They found him, like Cincinnati, living quietly on his farm,
cooking for his dinner turnips which he had himself sown in his fields.

Dentatus had little to say to the Samnite ambassadors, when they
offered him bribes to desert his country, save to tell them that he did
not consider it a great thing to possess gold. ‘To rule those who have
it, is what I value,’ he added sternly. And as the ambassadors withdrew
they saw, as in a picture, their own army defeated, and the Romans,
with Dentatus at their head, marching home victorious.

The Consul did indeed defeat the Samnites, so that they were forced to
sue for peace and retire once again to their mountain strongholds.

Yet even now their hardy spirits were not subdued, and again and again
you will read of them coming down from their fastnesses to strike a
blow at Rome. And they were wise in their warfare, choosing always the
time when Rome was already surrounded by other foes.




CHAPTER XLVII

PYRRHUS, KING OF THE EPIROTS


Along the southern coast of Italy, many of the towns were Greek, and
had not yet become subject to Rome.

But as Rome became more and more powerful in the south of Italy, many
of these Greek towns, when attacked by an enemy, appealed to her for
help.

Tarentum, the chief of these towns, was jealous of Rome, and chose to
send to Greece or Sicily when help was needed.

During the second Samnite war, Rome had made a treaty with the
Tarentines, promising that no ships of war should enter the Gulf of
Tarentum.

But in the autumn of 282 B.C. ten Roman warships suddenly appeared
before the harbour, to the indignation as well as to the dismay of the
Tarentines.

Should the warships be allowed to enter the inner harbour, their town
would be in the hands of Rome. So the Tarentines speedily manned their
ships and boldly sailed to attack the enemy.

On this occasion the Tarentines showed themselves good fighters, and
soon they had sunk four of the Roman warships and taken one, while the
other five escaped.

The admiral of the fleet was killed, and many soldiers and sailors were
made prisoners. Of these, the Tarentines sold the sailors as slaves,
the soldiers they put to death.

Knowing that the defeat of the Roman fleet would be avenged, the
Tarentines grew reckless.

Thurii, a town not far off, had received help from Rome and had had a
Roman garrison imposed upon it. The Tarentines now marched to Thurii,
expelled the garrison, and prepared to defend themselves from the
consequences of their act.

But Rome was at war with the Samnites, and was not yet ready to punish
Tarentum.

She merely sent an embassy to demand that the prisoners taken from
her fleet should be given up, that the garrison should be restored to
Thurii.

The Tarentines not only refused to do as Rome demanded; they treated
the embassy with insults.

This was more than the Senate could brook. The Consul Æmilius was at
once sent with his legions into the country of the Tarentines.

Æmilius offered the people peace on the same terms as the embassy, but
again the citizens flouted the offer. Then knowing that the legions of
Æmilius had come to support the demands of Rome, they sent in hot haste
to Pyrrhus, king of Epirus, begging him to come to their aid.

The Consul seeing that his terms were rejected, did indeed begin to
plunder and lay waste the country, while the Tarentines looked but the
more eagerly for the answer of Pyrrhus.

Nor was it long in coming. In the early spring of 280 B.C. the king of
Epirus reached Tarentum.

Epirus, the region over which Pyrrhus was king, lay in the north-west
of Greece, among wild mountains and narrow valleys.

The Epirots were proud of their king, and because of his courage on the
battlefield they called him the ‘Eagle.’

Pyrrhus knew the name his soldiers had given to him, and he said to
them, ‘It is by you that I am an eagle, for how should I not be such,
while I have your arms as wings to sustain me.’

The king had one peculiarity, which added to the terror he at times
inspired. When he opened his mouth no row of upper teeth was to be
seen. Instead of teeth, one single long bone was visible, with small
lines to mark where the separate teeth should have been. Such was the
king who had hastened to the aid of the Tarentines.

So eager had Pyrrhus been to set out, that he had refused to wait for a
fair wind, and a terrible storm had overtaken his fleet and scattered
it, while he, with only a small part of his army, had been driven
ashore some distance from Tarentum.

With his army Pyrrhus had brought twenty elephants, for, the king had
been in Africa and had learned there how useful these huge animals
could be on the battlefield. But he had reached Tarentum with only two
elephants and a few soldiers.

After many difficulties, however, his whole force had succeeded in
rejoining him, bringing with it the other eighteen elephants. To the
Tarentines, as to the Romans on the battlefield, these elephants were a
new and awe-inspiring sight.

The king had been but a short time in Tarentum before he found that the
people he had come to help were lazy, and more fond of pleasure than of
war.

They would be well pleased to stay at home to feast, to talk of the
great battles they would fight, while their new ally was in the field,
enduring hardships and struggling with the Roman legions.

The king of the Epirots was used to having real soldiers around him,
and he determined, if it was possible, to turn the foolish, indolent
Tarentines into an army of trained, resolute men.

So he ordered the theatres, the baths, and the other places of
amusement to be closed, and then he called upon all who were old
enough, to enrol their names for service.

Then began a strange state of affairs in Tarentum. The city was turned
into a military camp. Discipline was strict, and the recruits grumbled
that they were under arms all day, guarding the walls, or watching in
the market-place.

The most indolent actually made up their minds to escape, forgetting
that Pyrrhus was training them that they might be able to defend their
own homes. There seemed no trace in these indifferent citizens of the
spirit that had made them sail against the Roman fleet and turn the
Roman garrison out of Thurii.

‘Not understanding what it was to be commanded, these called it mere
slavery not to do as they pleased.’




CHAPTER XLVIII

THE ELEPHANTS AT THE BATTLE OF HERACLEA


While Pyrrhus was training the lazy Tarentines, the new Consul,
Valerius, was advancing with his army toward the city, burning and
plundering the country through which he passed. So Pyrrhus resolved
to leave Tarentum and go to meet the enemy. Assembling his troops he
marched away toward the town of Heraclea, which stood on the bank of
the river Siris, where he determined to pitch his camp.

Across the river lay the Roman army, and the king rode along the bank
on his side of the Siris, admiring the order and discipline of the
enemy.

‘We shall see presently what they can do,’ he said to a friend who rode
by his side.

Wishing to keep the Romans from crossing the river until his
reinforcements arrived, Pyrrhus ordered soldiers to guard the passage.

But Valerius did not mean to wait for the king to strengthen his force,
and he at once sent his cavalry higher up the Siris to cross at a ford,
while he, with his infantry, tried to cross the river in spite of the
guard set by Pyrrhus.

The king immediately advanced with three thousand horse, hoping to
scatter the Romans ere they succeeded in reaching the opposite bank.

But protecting themselves with their shields, the Roman soldiers were
soon scrambling out of the river.

Pyrrhus, ordering his men to form in closer ranks, then led them
against the enemy. His armour, richer and more beautiful than that of
his soldiers, at once attracted the attention of the Romans and drew on
him the most determined attacks.

His friends, seeing the danger to which the king was exposed, begged
him to beware.

One of them, pointing to a barbarian who rode upon a black horse with
white feet, said, ‘Sire, yonder fellow fixes his whole attention on you
alone, taking no notice of others. Be on your guard against him.’

The king answered, ‘It is impossible for any man to avoid his fate,
but neither he nor any other Italian shall have much satisfaction in
engaging with me.’

At that moment the Roman, spurring on his horse and lowering his spear,
dashed upon the king.

Pyrrhus fell to the ground, for his steed was pierced by the enemy’s
spear.

Quick as lightning, Leonnatus, who had warned Pyrrhus of this very
soldier, killed the Roman’s horse, and before he or any other of the
enemy could reach the king, his friends had dragged him to a place of
safety. He was then persuaded to change his armour with one of his
officers named Megacles.

The Romans now fiercely attacked Megacles, and at length they succeeded
in dragging him from his horse and in wounding him to death.

Then the victors seized his helmet and cloak and hastened with them to
their general, to show that they had indeed killed the king.

The royal trophies were placed on the point of a spear and carried
along the lines of the Roman army, that all might see that the king was
slain.

While the Romans shouted for joy, the Greeks looked on in dismay,
thinking that their Eagle king was no longer alive.

[Illustration: The armour of Pyrrhus was richer and more beautiful than
that of his soldiers.]

But Pyrrhus soon learned what had happened, and dashing to the
front, he rode bare-headed before his men, shouting to them to follow
him.

The Consul now determined to bring forward the force he had kept in
reserve, thinking that it would decide the day. But Pyrrhus too had a
reserve force, and a more terrible one than his enemy. This was his
twenty elephants, which, with towers on their backs filled with armed
men, he now let loose upon the foe.

The huge beasts, trumpeting loudly, were more than the Roman horses
could stand. Wild with fear at the sight of such strange monsters, they
galloped madly away, either throwing their riders or carrying them off
the battlefield.

Many of the fallen were trampled to death by the elephants, while the
victorious Greeks hastened in pursuit of the flying legions.

The whole Roman army would have been destroyed save for an accident.

As he fled, one of the Roman soldiers flung his spear at an elephant
and wounded it. The beast, wild with pain, turned back upon its own
army, making the other elephants also restive.

Before order was restored and the animals pacified, the main body of
the Romans had escaped across the Siris.

Pyrrhus had gained a victory indeed, but he had lost a large number
of his men. As he looked sadly upon the hosts of the dead lying upon
the battlefield, he cried, ‘Another such victory and I must return to
Epirus alone.’

The sight of the Roman soldiers slain in battle roused his admiration,
for he noticed that their wounds were all in front. ‘Had I such
soldiers,’ said the king, ‘I should soon be master of the world.’
Pyrrhus must have been thinking as he spoke of the lazy, undisciplined
Tarentines, for his own brave Epirots were surely the last to turn
their backs to an enemy.

When tidings of the king’s victory became known, many Greek towns sent
tardy recruits to the conqueror.

And Pyrrhus, who had a generous heart, gave to these a share of the
plunder, and rebuked them but lightly for joining him only after the
battle was won.




CHAPTER XLIX

PYRRHUS TRIES TO FRIGHTEN FABRICIUS


After the great victory of Heraclea, Pyrrhus sent his minister Cineas
to Rome to offer terms of peace.

Cineas was an orator. By the magic of his word he could sway men’s
minds and wills, and it was said that he, by his tongue, had won more
cities than Pyrrhus by his sword.

Between the eloquence of Cineas and the fear of another defeat, the
Senate wavered--almost it was tempted to accept the terms offered by
the conqueror of Heraclea.

As the Senate hesitated, Appius Claudius, who was now old and blind,
appeared before the Assembly, leaning upon the arms of his sons. He had
heard that the Senate thought of accepting the terms of the conqueror,
and old and feeble as he was, he had come to protest against so
disloyal a deed.

‘Hitherto, Fathers,’ said the old man, ‘I used to mourn that I was
deprived of the light of the eye; now, however, I should consider
myself happy, if, in addition to that, I had lost the sense of hearing,
that I might not hear the disgraceful counsels which are here openly
proposed to the shame of the Roman name.... Whither have your pride and
your courage flown?’

Weak as the old man was, he spoke with such passion and such wisdom,
that when he ended, there was not a single member of the Senate who was
not prepared to vote that war should continue until Pyrrhus had been
forced to withdraw from Italy.

Cineas, as he listened to the passionate words of Appius Claudius, knew
that his cause was lost. He was indeed bidden to hasten back to his
master and say that the Romans would never make peace with him, no, not
if he ‘should have defeated a thousand such as the Consul Valerius.’

Meanwhile Pyrrhus had marched north, to Capua, hoping to seize the
town, only, however, to find that Valerius had already taken possession
of it.

Disappointed as he was, the king continued his march until he was
within twenty-three miles of Rome. And as he marched Valerius followed,
harassing his rear on every possible occasion.

Then Pyrrhus, hearing that a Dictator had been appointed and was ready
to oppose him, retreated to Tarentum, where he spent the winter months.

The victory of Heraclea had been followed only by a useless march.

During the winter an embassy, led by Fabricius, came from Rome to
Tarentum, to offer an exchange of prisoners.

Cineas advised the King to try to bribe the Roman. So Pyrrhus offered
Fabricius splendid gifts, but he answered proudly, ‘If I am base how
can I be worth a bribe, if honest how can you expect me to take one?
Poverty with honesty is more to be desired than wealth.’

Then Pyrrhus, finding that the advice of Cineas had been useless,
determined to try a plan of his own. Perhaps he would be able to
frighten Fabricius into doing as he wished, and this is the strange way
he chose.

He ordered his largest elephant to be placed in the room in which he
and the Roman were to meet. The elephant was to be hidden by a curtain,
which at a signal from the king was to be drawn aside.

So the next day when Pyrrhus and the ambassador met, their conversation
was suddenly interrupted, and the Roman to his astonishment found
himself standing close to a huge beast, whose trunk and tusks would
have looked formidable enough even to a strong soldier, while
Fabricius was an old man.

But when the elephant began to trumpet, the Roman only laughed, and
without stirring he said, ‘The beast cannot move me to-day more than
your gold yesterday.’

Fabricius had easily guessed the meaning of the strange interruption,
and of the appearance of the huge animal in the king’s sitting-room.

Pyrrhus saw that it was hopeless to try to come to terms with the
Roman, and he again prepared for war.

Early in 279 B.C. he marched into Apulia, and there, near the town of
Asculum, another great battle was fought.

The Romans had learned to dread the terrible war-elephants which
accompanied Pyrrhus on the battlefield. To cope with them, they had
wagons built, with spikes fixed to the wheels. These wagons were filled
with soldiers, who carried javelins, ready to throw at the dread beasts.

But Pyrrhus made these precautions of little use, for he sent the
elephants to a part of the field where no wagons had been placed.

Long and terrible was the struggle between the two armies.

The elephants, with archers scattered among them, advanced in a
closely-formed body upon the Romans, while the Greeks, using their
swords, seemed heedless of their wounds, so only they might get to
close quarters with the enemy. But here, as at Heraclea, the elephants
dashed upon the Romans before they were aware, and they were forced to
flee.

Pyrrhus and many of his officers were wounded, and although the day was
theirs, they were soon glad to retire to Tarentum, until their wounds
were healed.

The victory of Asculum seemed of as little use as that of Heraclea, for
when his wound was healed, Pyrrhus found that so many of his men had
perished, that he could not again take the field until reinforcements
arrived from Epirus.

So in the spring of 278 B.C. the king once again tried to make terms
with Rome.

But the Senate still heard the brave words of Appius Claudius ringing
in its ears, and it refused even to discuss terms of peace with the
victor.

Meanwhile the people of Tarentum showed their dislike to the discipline
of the king more and more plainly. Their ingratitude and the approach
of the hostile armies of Rome I made Pyrrhus glad to leave Tarentum.

So he sailed to Sicily, where the Greek colonies were in danger from
the Carthaginians, who had come from Africa in hope of new conquests.

He spent two years in the island, where at first he won great
victories. But here, as in Italy, he seemed unable to reap good from
his conquests.

Moreover his officers, although they began by behaving well to the
Sicilians, soon showed themselves to be both greedy and cruel. In 276
B.C. the people resolved to endure these foreign soldiers no longer,
and they hounded them out of the island.

Pyrrhus then went back to Italy, where both the Tarentines and the
Samnites were becoming alarmed at the growing power of Rome.




CHAPTER L

PYRRHUS IS DEFEATED


Pyrrhus found it no easy task to return to Italy, for the Romans had
made a league with the Carthaginians, whose fleet was now watching the
shore, to prevent him from landing.

But the soldier-king was not easily daunted, and although in a battle
with the Carthaginian fleet he lost a number of his ships, he succeeded
in reaching Italy.

When the king now marched for the second time into Tarentum, it was at
the head of as large an army as he had brought with him from Epirus.

But although in numbers his army was as strong as before, in real
strength it had lost much. For the king’s own faithful veterans had
perished on the battlefields of Heraclea and Asculum, and their place
was taken by hired soldiers. And of true courage and devotion to their
leader, what did these hired fighters know?

The king himself, too, had lost hope of achieving great things in
Italy, and Cineas was no longer living to cheer him with his outbursts
of eloquence. Yet his name alone, had he but known it, still awoke
terror among the legions of Rome, and made them shrink from meeting him
again in battle.

Meanwhile the Consul Dentatus, with his army, had already left Rome,
and was marching along the Appian Way toward Maleventum. Here he took
up a strong position on the hills, hoping to fight as soon as his
colleague joined him.

Pyrrhus knew that his cavalry and elephants could be of little use on
the hilly ground on which the Romans had taken up their position, yet,
rather than wait until Dentatus was strengthened by the arrival of his
colleague, he at once offered battle.

All might have gone well for the king had not one of his young
elephants been wounded. In its pain and fright it rushed wildly hither
and thither among the other elephants, seeking its mother.

The beasts were soon thrown into utter confusion, while the hired
soldiers were seized with panic, and proved useless in quelling the
disorder.

Two of the elephants were at length killed by the Romans, while four
were captured and led in the triumph of Dentatus, when he returned
victorious to Rome.

For the king was utterly defeated and forced to escape, with only a few
followers, to Tarentum. In 274 B.C. he sailed back to Epirus, having
lost all hope of gaining a kingdom in Italy. But he left a garrison in
Tarentum, under one of his officers.

The town, however, was blockaded by the Carthaginian fleet and besieged
by the Consul Papirius, and soon, being in a sorry strait for want of
food, it was forced to surrender.

Latin colonies were then sent to settle in many towns that had until
now been held by the Greeks, and soon Rome was mistress from the river
Rubicon to the extreme south of Italy.




CHAPTER LI

THE ROMANS BUILD A FLEET


The Romans had conquered Pyrrhus with the help of the Carthaginians.
Now that they no longer needed the help of their new allies, the Romans
would have been glad had the Carthaginians sailed away to their home in
Africa. But this they did not seem to think of doing.

In Sicily they took possession of many Greek towns, and this made Rome
jealous. Their fleet, too, was often seen sailing along the coasts of
Italy.

Like the Vikings of the North, the Carthaginians would suddenly swoop
down upon some undefended coast town and plunder it and the surrounding
district. Farm-houses were burned, plantations destroyed, and men
and women dragged away to be sold as slaves, long before the Romans
had been able to gather an army and march to the spot to punish the
offenders.

But such insolence Rome could not brook, and she declared war against
the bold intruders. This was the beginning of the first Punic war,
which was the name given to the struggle between the Romans and Pœni or
Carthaginians for the empire of the world.

On land the Romans quickly showed that they were more powerful than
their former allies, and in about three years the Carthaginians had
been forced to sail away to the shores of Africa, while those who
stayed behind held only a few sea-coast towns in Sicily.

But the Carthaginian fleet was as powerful as ever, and the Romans saw
that they would never get rid of their enemy, until they, too, had a
fleet, and could cope with them on sea as well as on land. So, although
they knew little about ships and none of them were sailors, the Romans
determined to build a fleet.

The Carthaginian warships were large vessels with five benches, built
one above the other. The five benches were provided for five sets of
rowers.

These large five-decked boats were called quinqueremes, quinque being
the Latin word for five, and remus for an oar.

One day, one of these Punic vessels was stranded on the Italian coast.
Here was the very model the Romans needed. They seized it, and sent it
to Rome as a copy for the ships that were to form the new fleet.

When the quinquereme reached Rome the shipwrights at once set to work.
Forests were hewn down, timber was sawn, and in two short months the
Romans had built and launched one hundred ships, large and solid as
those of the Carthaginians.

And what was perhaps even more wonderful was that there were sailors
ready to man the fleet. For while the ships were being built, the men
chosen to form the crew had been placed on benches on dry land. These
benches were arranged in the position they would have on board.

Here the landsmen, who had still to be changed into sailors, had
practised the movements of the oars, and had learned to keep time as
they would have to do when actually at sea. A musical accompaniment had
helped them to pull the oars together.

But these hastily trained sailors could not hope to handle their
vessels as skilfully as the well-trained mariners of Carthage. So the
Romans added to each ship a solid wooden bridge, with a spike at the
end. When the enemy’s ship drew near, the Romans meant to drop the
bridge, which was attached to the masts, on to the deck of their foe.
The spike, sinking into the deck by the force of the fall, would hold
the ship, while the Romans would rush across this rough drawbridge and
fight with their enemy at close quarters, as though they were on land.

In 260 B.C. the new fleet put to sea under the command of the Consul
Duilius, and before long it met the enemy on the northern coast of
Sicily.

The Carthaginians had no fear of the newly built ships and quickly
trained sailors. Their captain even thought the usual manœuvres
unnecessary, and sailed toward the Roman fleet in a careless way,
thinking to charge prow to prow. To his surprise he found his vessels
suddenly gripped by the ships of the enemy, and unable to move.

The bridges, of which I told you, could be wheeled round the masts
and dropped just where they were needed, and the Romans, aided by the
careless attack of the Carthaginians, had dropped their bridges at the
right moment and secured the enemy’s ships.

Before the Carthaginians had recovered from their surprise, the Romans
had rushed on board, sword in hand, and ere long had captured many of
the crew and taken possession of, or destroyed, fifty of the Punic
vessels.

Even the flagship, a huge vessel of seven rows of oars, which the
Carthaginians had once taken from Pyrrhus, was abandoned to the victors.

This, the first great victory at sea, caused much joy in Rome, and
Duilius was awarded a triumph.

It is said that to the end of his life, the Consul was accompanied by
a flute-player and a torchbearer as he returned home from banquets, in
memory of this glorious victory.

Three years later another great battle was fought at sea, both sides
claiming the victory.

But the Romans were ambitious and inspired by their success, they
determined to sail to Africa and attack the Carthaginians in their own
country.

So they began to build a larger fleet of three hundred and thirty
ships. When it was ready they sent on board two armies, of about
40,000 men, under the command of the two Consuls, Regulus and Manlius.

As the Roman fleet sailed along the south coast of Sicily, it was met
at Ecnomus by an even larger Carthaginian fleet, under the command of
Hamilcar and Hanno.

The Punic generals had been sent to scatter or destroy the Roman fleet
before it reached Africa.




CHAPTER LII

THE BATTLE OF ECNOMUS


The Romans no sooner saw the Carthaginian fleet than they knew that it
would be necessary to fight before they could sail on their way.

As the enemy’s ships were drawn out in a long weak line, the Consuls
determined to charge through its centre.

No sooner had the Romans begun the attack, than Hamilcar ordered his
ships to row away, as though they had been put to flight.

As the Carthaginian had foreseen, two divisions of the Roman fleet
followed, one of them having Regulus on board.

On sped the Punic ships, eager to separate the Roman divisions from
the rest of the fleet. When the enemy was some distance off, Hamilcar
ordered his ships to turn, to attack the vessels that had followed them.

But at close quarters, as the Carthaginians should have known, the
Romans were more than a match for their foe.

The bridges of the Roman ships fell, grappling the enemy’s vessels to
their own, and in a fierce hand-to-hand fight Hamilcar and his ships
were soon overpowered.

Regulus then hastened to the help of his fourth division, which had
been attacked by Hanno, and was now fighting desperately between two
divisions of the enemy. Here, too, the Consul was successful, and
forced Hanno to retreat.

Meanwhile, the third division of the Roman fleet had been driven toward
the coast, but had suffered little damage, for the Carthaginians
feared to approach too near lest they should find themselves grappled
by the Roman bridges. These they were learning to dread.

The two Consuls soon set the third division free, and before long they
had taken sixty-four of the Carthaginian ships with their crews, while
more than thirty vessels had been sunk.

As for the Romans, they had lost only twenty-four ships, and these were
sunk not captured.

The victory of Ecnomus left the way to Africa open, and after putting
in on the Sicilian coast for repairs, the Roman fleet sailed away
toward the Gulf of Carthage.




CHAPTER LIII

THE ROMAN LEGIONS IN AFRICA


The Roman soldiers did not wish to sail to a strange land. Their
dislike to the voyage grew as they listened to bewildering tales of
these unknown regions.

So they began to grumble, saying that the heat would overpower them,
that they would be lost in the great forests of which they had been
told, and that huge and poisonous serpents would certainly strangle
them. Even one of the tribunes was disloyal, and encouraged the
soldiers to complain.

But Regulus paid no heed to the distress of the soldiers, and the fleet
sailed on, until it reached the coast of Africa.

The soldiers disembarked, and in a short time they found how foolish
had been their fears. Instead of being lost in dark and fearful
forests, they found themselves in a country that was beautiful and glad
as a garden.

Figs, larger than the Romans had ever seen, grew in abundance;
harvests, more plentiful than they had deemed possible, waved golden
in the fields. Houses, surrounded by vineyards, oliveyards and rich
pasture land, roused the envy as well as the delight of the soldiers.

Over this beautiful country the Roman army was soon scattered to
plunder and to destroy. Houses were burned, fields were trampled down,
cattle was stolen, and it is said that 20,000 persons, many of whom had
lived in comfort all their lives, were now captured and sold as slaves.

And while their land was destroyed and their people were taken
prisoners, the Punic army kept to the hills, and left the enemy
unmolested.

Then the Romans, knowing that on such steep ground neither cavalry nor
elephants would be of much use to the enemy, attacked the Carthaginian
army and defeated it.

After this victory, Manlius, with one army, was recalled to Rome.

Regulus continued to ravage the country unchecked, for the
Carthaginians, after their defeat, were unable to hinder his
onslaughts. The Consul indeed is said to have boasted that he had taken
and plundered more than three hundred walled villages.

To add to the misery of the people, the wild tribes of the desert
also began to attack the defenceless village folk, and to rob their
homesteads.

Then, from far and near, the wretched inhabitants flocked into Carthage
for shelter and protection, until the city was so full that there was
scarcely enough bread to feed the hungry multitude.

The Senate of Carthage sent, in despair, to Regulus, to beg for peace.

But the Consul received the ambassadors with scant courtesy, while the
terms he offered were intolerable.

Among other things, he demanded that the Carthaginians should make
neither alliance nor war, unless by the permission of Rome, that they
should never send more than one ship of war to sea for their own ends,
while if Rome demanded help they must be ready to provide her with a
fleet of fifty vessels. The Consul also said that they must agree to
pay, not only the expenses of the war that was going on, but a yearly
tribute to Rome as well.

When the ambassadors protested that it would be impossible for Carthage
to accept such degrading terms, Regulus drove them from his camp,
rudely saying, ‘Men who are good for anything, should either conquer or
submit to their betters.’

The Senate, with one voice, agreed that the terms offered by the Consul
deserved no consideration.

It was plain that Regulus would not help them, and so the people, in
their despair, turned to their gods. Lest the city of Carthage itself
should fall into the hands of the enemy, they must be appeased with
sacrifices.

In the temple, one of the gods stood with arms outstretched, while
at his feet a furnace flamed. Into the cold and lifeless arms little
children of noble rank were laid. But the god was unable to hold the
treasures given into his keeping, and they rolled out of his arms
and fell into the furnace below. By such terrible sacrifices the
Carthaginians strove to appease their gods.

After the sacrifices had been offered the Senate determined to send for
hired soldiers to Greece, that the army might be strengthened. Among
those who came to fight for the Carthaginians was a Spartan officer,
named Xanthippus.

As he belonged to Sparta, Xanthippus, like all the youths of his land,
had been trained from the age of seven to endure hardships, and to
suffer pain without a murmur.




CHAPTER LIV

REGULUS IS TAKEN PRISONER


Xanthippus had fought in the wars of Greece, and he was a skilful as
well as an experienced soldier.

He had been but a short time in Carthage before he saw that the Punic
army had made a mistake in fighting among the hills.

So wisely did he speak to the officers, showing them how they could yet
conquer the enemy, that he inspired them with confidence.

Before long he was appointed, by the Senate, commander of the entire
Carthaginian army. Under the training of the Spartan, the troops
speedily regained their lost courage, and soon they were clamouring to
be led against their cruel foe.

Xanthippus, secure in the enthusiasm of his troops, led them to an open
plain. Their number was not large, but he could depend on his cavalry,
which was four thousand strong. A hundred elephants too, if carefully
guided, might well cause havoc among the enemy.

Regulus would perhaps have been glad to avoid a pitched battle. But
if the Punic army was now strong enough to stop the raids of his
followers, his food supply would soon come to an end. So as a battle
was inevitable, the Consul marched to within a mile of the enemy.

When the Carthaginians saw the dreaded Roman legions so near, they
were wellnigh panic-stricken. But Xanthippus was at hand to allay
their fears, and confident in their leader, the men’s courage was soon
restored.

Then the Spartan gave the signal to advance. At the same moment, the
Romans, clasping their spears, rushed to meet the enemy that they had
grown used to conquer.

A line of elephants was ranged in front of the Carthaginian army, but
the left wing of the Romans slipped past the animals and attacked the
Punic infantry.

It was on the point of giving way when Xanthippus, riding quickly up,
rallied it. Then flinging himself from his horse, the Spartan fought in
the midst of his infantry, as a common soldier.

The Carthaginian cavalry meanwhile had swept the Roman horsemen from
the field, and was now charging the legions at the rear.

Then the elephants, already roused to fury by the noise of battle,
reached the main body of the Roman army and trampled and crushed the
bravest to the ground.

Those who succeeded in escaping from the elephants found themselves in
front of the unbroken ranks of the Punic infantry, and were soon cut to
pieces.

Only two thousand of the Roman army escaped. Regulus himself fled from
the field, followed by about five hundred soldiers, but he was pursued
and taken prisoner.

In a short time after this great victory, which was gained in 255 B.C.,
the Romans lost all that they had formerly gained in Africa.

In Carthage, and throughout the land, joy and gratitude were unbounded.
People crowded into the temples with offerings and thanksgiving, for
the foe who had used them so cruelly was crushed.

Xanthippus, to whom the glory of the victory belonged, went back to
Greece, loaded with gifts from the grateful Carthaginians.

The Consul was kept a prisoner for five years. During these years the
war between the Romans and Carthaginians was carried on in Sicily, the
Romans in the end making themselves masters of the island.

Then the Carthaginians, disheartened and tired of war, determined to
beg for peace.

Ambassadors were sent from Carthage to Rome, and with them went
Regulus, having first taken an oath that if he did not prevail on the
Senate to grant terms of peace and an exchange of prisoners, he would
return to captivity.

When the ambassadors reached the gates of Rome, Regulus refused to
enter the city, saying that he was no longer worthy to be counted a
citizen. Nor could he be persuaded to see his wife or his children.

As Regulus would not enter Rome, the Senate agreed to meet him without
the walls. It believed that he had come to ask that peace should be
made with the Carthaginians.

But the Roman had never meant to urge the Senate to make peace.
Although he knew that he must go back a prisoner to Carthage if the war
was continued, yet he besought the Senate to fight until Africa was
subdued, for his pride in his country was greater even than his love of
liberty.

And so, the Senate having agreed to carry on the war, Regulus, true to
his oath, went back to Carthage, knowing that torture and death awaited
him.

The legends say that the Carthaginians were so angry that Regulus had
not even tried to make peace, that they did indeed torture him.

So cruel were they that they shut their prisoner up with an elephant,
so that at any moment he might be trampled or crushed to death.
He was starved, his eyelids were cut off, and he was laid in the
scorching sun, where no shade tempered the burning rays. At length
the unfortunate Roman was placed in a box, in which he could not move
without his body being torn by the nails with which it was studded.

It is also told that when the tale of what Regulus had suffered reached
Rome, two noble Carthaginian prisoners were given to his widow and her
sons, that they might avenge on these the cruelty done to Regulus.

But these terrible stories of vengeance and torture are now thought by
many historians to be untrue.




CHAPTER LV

THE ROMANS CONQUER THE GAULS


The first Punic war ended in 242 B.C., leaving the Romans in possession
of Sicily, while the second Punic war did not begin until twenty-three
years later.

For a little time Rome was at peace, and in 235 B.C. the gates of the
temple of Janus were closed for the first time since the reign of the
peace-loving King, Numa Pompilius.

But ten years later, the Gauls once again threatened to invade Rome.
They were always foes to be dreaded, and some of the old superstitious
fears, which had apparently vanished for ever, began once more to
spread among the Roman legions.

Omens of ill too were rife. The Capitol was struck with lightning, so
the Sibylline books were opened, and behold, it was written, ‘When the
lightning shall strike the Capitol and the temple of Apollo, then, must
thou, O Roman, beware of the Gauls.’

After that the simplest event seemed to the Romans to forebode evil.
And while they brooded over the meaning of a strange light in the sky
or a cloud of curious aspect, a large Gallic army was marching through
Etruria, upon Clusium, a town only three days’ march from Rome. This
was the very way their fathers had taken long years before.

When the Consuls were absent from Rome, or already engaged with other
matters, prætors were sent to lead the Romans against the foe.

In this case it was a prætor who was sent with a reserve corps to track
the enemy. He succeeded in following the Gauls to Clusium, and believed
the enemy was in his grasp.

But during the night, the main body of the Gauls slipped quietly out of
their camp and marched some distance off, leaving only the cavalry to
guard the tents. They hoped to entrap the Romans.

The prætor, finding only a small force of cavalry in the camp, ordered
an attack. As the Gallic horse retreated, the Romans followed, to find
themselves, almost at once, face to face with the whole force of the
barbarians.

A fierce struggle followed, in which six thousand Romans were slain.
Those who were left alive entrenched themselves with the prætor on a
hill, and were at once surrounded by the Gauls.

Meanwhile Æmilius, one of the Consuls, found himself free to hasten
to Clusium with a large army. Here he heard of the disaster that had
befallen the arms of Rome, and he resolved to restore her fortune.

The prisoners on the hill were soon cheered to see the watchfires of
their comrades, and they were sure that in the morning the Consul would
scatter the barbarians.

But the Gauls had no wish to encounter Æmilius while they were laden
with prisoners and booty. So they began to march northward, followed by
the Consul, who harassed their rear, and wrested what booty he could
from the retreating-foe.

Suddenly the barbarians were ordered to halt. Their chiefs had seen
another army approaching. If they were Romans, the Gauls saw that they
were caught in a trap.

It was indeed a Roman army that was marching toward them, led by
Regulus, the son of the Consul who had perished at Carthage. He was
on his way to Rome when he unwittingly startled the Gauls by his
appearance.

With an army marching straight toward them and another in their rear,
there was nothing left for the Gauls to do save prepare for battle.

One part of the Gallic army continued to face northward, ready to
destroy, as they hoped, the troops led by Regulus. The other turned to
the south, to face Æmilius, who was eager to attack the warriors. A
short time before it had seemed as though they were going to escape the
punishment he was anxious to inflict.

Those who advanced upon Æmilius were the fiercest of all the fierce
Gallic tribes. They wore neither armour nor clothes, but their bodies
were covered with ornaments.

The chiefs wore the richest jewels, for they were adorned with heavy
collars and bracelets of twisted gold, the sight of which filled the
Romans with greed. Their savage war-cries filled them with fear.

Amid the blowing of horns and trumpets, the Gauls, still shouting their
wild battle-cries, dashed upon the enemy, while they, remembering the
dread day of Allia, fought with all their might.

Toward the north, the battle also raged. Regulus himself led his
cavalry, but he was slain almost at once. The barbarians cut off his
head, and in their savage way held it aloft on a spear, that his
followers might see what had befallen their leader. With no one to
command them, the cavalry withdrew, to allow the infantry to advance.

But the Gauls soon found that their weapons were of little use against
the shield or helmet of the enemy. Their swords, of which the steel was
badly tempered, bent at the first stroke and glanced aside, leaving the
Roman’s shield or helmet unglazed.

Fierce was the struggle between the two forces, but ere long the
barbarians found that the day was going against them. The knowledge
made them fight but the more desperately.

Slowly but steadily the Roman legions now began to close in, shutting
the Gauls together in their midst, until at length they were hemmed in
so relentlessly that it was not possible for them to use their arms.
Then the Romans slaughtered them without mercy.

Forty thousand were killed, ten thousand taken prisoners, while one of
the Gallic kings was captured alive. The other perished by his own hand.

All the booty that the Gauls had taken from the Romans, when they
enticed them out of the camp at Clusium, was now recaptured. The Gauls
themselves were robbed of their ornaments and their land was invaded by
the victorious armies.

Æmilius then led his troops back to Rome and was given a great triumph,
while the people thanked the gods that their city was safe from the
barbarians.

For three years the war with the Gauls continued, until, from the
Apennines to the Alps, the whole plain of Northern Italy had been
subdued and was subject to Rome.




CHAPTER LVI

THE BOY HANNIBAL


The Carthaginians, as you know, had been turned out of Sicily at the
end of the first Punic war. They had, too, lost more than Sicily, and
were eager to atone for their losses by gaining territory in other
lands.

Their thoughts turned to Spain, where already they had a few colonies.

So while the Romans were busy fighting against the Gauls, and too
engrossed with the barbarians to trouble about the ambitions of the
Carthaginians, they sent their general Hamilcar Barca to Spain, to add
to the power and dominion of Carthage.

This was in time to prove the cause of the second Punic war.

Before setting out for Spain, Hamilcar went to the temple to offer a
sacrifice to the supreme god of his people, at the same time beseeching
him to grant success to his adventure.

As he turned away from the altar he caught sight of his little son
Hannibal, then a boy of nine years old, who was watching his father
with eager, awe-struck eyes.

Bidding those who stood near to withdraw, Hamilcar called the boy to
him, and asked if he would like to go with him to Spain.

To go with his gallant father! To be a soldier like him!

There was no need for the child to answer, his eager face told his
father all he wished to know.

So then the great general solemnly led his little son to the altar and
bade him lay his hands upon it, as he swore never to be the friend of
the Romans.

Hannibal took the oath as his father bade him, and never, in all the
years to come, did he forget it. His hatred of the Romans grew with his
strength, and when he became a man, his chief aim was to thwart their
plans and overthrow their power. So it happened that when Hamilcar set
out for Spain, Hannibal went with him.

In the camp the boy soon learned to love the hardships as well as the
joys of a soldier’s life.

His father himself saw that he was trained as a good soldier should
be. In the end he gave his life to save his son from danger on the
battlefield. After his father’s death, Hannibal served under his
brother-in-law, Hasdrubal, for eight years.

While he was still young, he was given a command in the army, and none
was ever loved by his men as was he.

In battle, the young leader was always to be found at the point of
danger, and every hardship, in the camp as on the field, he shared
with his men. Nothing seemed able to daunt his spirit. In disaster as
in success he remained cheerful and confident. And he complained of no
trouble when it could help his cause.

Until he was twenty, Hannibal lived his hard and happy soldier life.
Then young as he was, a great responsibility was laid upon him.

Hasdrubal was killed in his tent by a slave whose master he had
murdered, and the army shouted with one voice, that no one but Hannibal
should become their commander.

And at length, the government of Carthage reluctantly agreed that the
young soldier should be appointed. Until now this important post had
been filled by men of greater age and wider experience than Hannibal.

But the new general soon showed the stuff of which he was made. He was
young and energetic, and in two years he had taken many towns and
added to the power and possessions of Carthage in Spain.

But Saguntum, a town on the east coast of Spain, defied Hannibal’s
efforts and remained unconquered. As the inhabitants watched the
growing power of the young Carthaginian leader, they grew afraid, lest
they in the end should be forced to yield. So they appealed to Rome for
help.

In the winter of 220 B.C. a Roman embassy was therefore sent to Spain,
bearing a message from the Senate for Hannibal.

The young leader received it with no goodwill. Did it not come from the
country he had sworn to hate, and had not his hatred grown, until now
it had become the burning passion of his life?

But although the Roman ambassadors found Hannibal in no pleasant mood,
they did not attempt to pacify him. Haughtily they gave their message
that he should not attack Saguntum, or dare to cross the river Ebro,
beyond which the Carthaginians had not yet advanced.

Hannibal listened with undisguised disdain to the demands of the
Senate, and dismissed the ambassadors from his camp without an answer.

In the spring of 219 B.C., it was plain that he meant to defy Rome, for
he laid siege to Saguntum.

For eight months the city held out. When their provisions failed, and
starvation stared them in the face, they still refused to surrender,
believing that Rome would send help.

But at length all hope of relief faded. Then the Spanish chiefs
determined to die rather than fall into the hands of the enemy. So
they ordered a fire to be kindled in the market-place, and into it
they flung all the treasures which were left in the city. After the
treasures were consumed, they themselves leaped into the flames and
were burned to death.

When tidings of the fall of Saguntum reached Rome, she sent an embassy
to Carthage, at the head of which was a noble named Fabius.

Fabius demanded that Hannibal and his officers should be given up,
otherwise Rome would declare war against Carthage.

While the Carthaginians hesitated, Fabius rose, and gathering up the
folds of his toga, as though in them he held the fate of the city, he
cried, ‘I carry here peace and war. Choose, men of Carthage, which ye
will.’

‘Give us whatever ye wish,’ answered the Senate.

Then shaking out the folds of his toga Fabius answered, ‘Then here I
give ye war,’ and without another word he left the Senate-house.

‘With that spirit with which ye give it, shall we wage it,’ cried the
Carthaginians, while the ambassador strode away.

As the shout of the Assembly followed him, Fabius knew that the men of
Carthage did not dread his gift.




CHAPTER LVII

HANNIBAL PREPARES TO INVADE ITALY


The Romans thought it would be an easy matter to send an army to Spain
to punish the young general for his daring defiance of the Senate. But
as they soon found, it was not so simple as they had deemed.

Hannibal had ambitions beyond the wildest imaginations of the Romans,
and before they had sent an army to Spain, he had left the country to
invade Italy, for this was his great ambition.

In order to reach Italy, he determined to lead his army across the
Alps, a feat that no one without the genius and the daring of the
Carthaginian general could have ever hoped to accomplish.

The Gauls, who had so lately been at war with Rome, promised to join
Hannibal’s forces. When he was assured of the help of the barbarians,
Hannibal called his soldiers together and told them his plans.

‘The Romans,’ he said, ‘have demanded that I and my principal officers
should be delivered up to them as malefactors. Soldiers, will you
suffer such an indignity? The Gauls are holding out their arms to us,
inviting us to come to them and to assist them in revenging their
manifold injuries. And the country which we shall invade, so rich in
corn and wine and oil, so full of flocks and herds, so covered with
flourishing cities, will be the richest prize that could be offered by
the gods to reward your valour.’

[Illustration: “I carry here peace and war, choose, men of Carthage,
which ye will.”]

As you know, Hannibal was the idol of his men, and when he had
spoken a loyal shout arose. It was plain that his soldiers would follow
him to death.

Hannibal thanked his troops for their devotion, told them the day on
which they were to march, and then dismissed them.

He himself went to the temple to pray to the gods for the success of
his invasion of Italy.

Day and night he brooded over his plans, so that even when he slept his
mind was possessed by them.

One night he dreamed that he was in the presence of the gods of
Carthage. The deities bade him invade Italy, and one of them, they
promised, would be with him as his guide.

In his dream he and his divine leader then set out. ‘See that thou look
not behind thee,’ said the god. But in spite of this command Hannibal
looked back and a terrible dragon, covered with innumerable scales,
met his gaze. As the monster moved, it dragged in its path, woods,
orchards, houses.

‘What is this that I see?’ asked Hannibal.

‘Thou seest the desolation of Italy,’ answered his guide. ‘Go thy way
straight forward and cast no look behind.’

Thus encouraged by his dream, Hannibal went back to his army more
confident than before, and marched into Italy to perform his boyhood’s
vow.




CHAPTER LVIII

HANNIBAL CROSSES THE ALPS


In the spring of 218 B.C. the Carthaginian army set out on its great
undertaking, thirty-seven elephants in its train.

Hasdrubal, one of Hannibal’s brothers, was left behind to guard the
towns that had been taken in Spain.

Meanwhile the Roman Senate, knowing nothing of Hannibal’s movements,
sent Sempronius, one of the Consuls, into Sicily with an army, while
the other, Cornelius Scipio, was ordered to lead an army into Spain to
punish Hannibal.

But while Rome was thus hoping to secure the general who had flouted
her, he was already marching through Gaul. At the river Rhone he
was met by his first difficulty, for some of the tribes that were
unfriendly to the Carthaginians had gathered on the opposite bank to
oppose his passage.

Hannibal at once sent a body of his troops higher up the river, with
orders to cross, and, stealing unnoticed into the camp of the enemy, to
set it on fire. When the general thought that there had been time for
this to be done, he began to cross the river with the main body of his
army, in boats and canoes. On the opposite bank, the barbarians were
drawn up in battle array.

Hannibal did not fear them. Already his quick eyes had seen a column
of smoke rising from the Gallic camp, and he knew that when the flames
burst out, the Gauls would not stay to oppose his passage across the
river.

As Hannibal had foreseen, so it happened. The Gauls, to their dismay,
soon saw that their camp was on fire, and many of them at once rushed
away to try to save their goods. Those who did not desert their post
were too few to prevent Hannibal and his army from landing in safety.

It was no easy matter to get the elephants across the river. Huge rafts
were moored to the bank and covered with earth to make them seem part
of the land. The animals were then persuaded to venture on board.

When the rafts began to move, some of the elephants grew restive and
jumped into the river, drowning their drivers. The beasts themselves,
however, reached the other side in safety.

By this time Rome had discovered Hannibal’s movements. Scipio, who had
not yet sailed for Spain, was sent toward the Rhone to keep Hannibal
from crossing the river. But as you know, he was already too late to do
so.

However, he sent out a company of cavalry to find out the movements of
the enemy and to report to him. The cavalry soon came across a number
of Hannibal’s men, who, after crossing the Rhone, had been sent forward
to reconnoitre.

Scipio’s horsemen drove them back toward their camp, then sped swiftly
to the Consul to tell him that Hannibal was across the river and had
now encamped on its banks.

No sooner had Scipio heard this, than he hastened in the direction of
the river, only to find that the Carthaginians had marched away three
days earlier. But from the direction in which the enemy had gone,
Scipio learned that they intended to cross the Alps and descend into
Italy by one of the passes used by the Gauls in other times.

It was incredible, yet it was true. Scipio did not dare to follow
Hannibal into the dangerous passes of the Alps, so he marched into
Italy, to be ready to meet the bold invader when he descended into the
valley of the river Po.

Among the mountain passes, the Carthaginian army was meanwhile
struggling against terrible difficulties.

It was already October, and snow had fallen and lay thick in the
passes, so that often no footpath was to be seen. Guides proved false,
mountain tribes hostile.

It was almost impossible to find food or shelter for the great army he
was leading, yet Hannibal went before his troops, fearless, undaunted.
Neither cold, nor hunger, nor treachery could change his purpose.

The hostile tribes were guarding many of the defiles through which the
army must pass, but it was only during the day that they were to be
seen. When darkness fell they slipped away to their own homes, which
were scattered among the mountains.

One evening, Hannibal with a band of lightly armed troops, seized the
posts that had been held by the barbarians through the day.

When morning dawned, the general ordered his army to advance along the
narrow and difficult defile, while he stayed above the pass, to keep
the enemy in check.

At first the barbarians looked at the slowly moving army in
astonishment; then, seeing how easy it would be to attack and plunder
it, they rushed down the mountains and dashed upon the startled
Carthaginians. Hannibal had been unable to hinder their descent.

In the narrow pass all was soon in utter confusion. The cattle, laden
with baggage, stumbled, fell and slipped over the track, while the
horses, wounded by the darts of the enemy and mad with fear, plunged
into the depths below.

Hannibal saw the havoc that was being done in the valley, and despite
the danger, he now charged down upon the barbarians, and succeeded in
driving them away. But in the struggle, as he had foreseen, many of his
own men were lost.

Soon after this desperate adventure, the army emerged from the pass,
and ere long reached a town which Hannibal took by storm.

Here he found many of his own men, as well as much baggage, which had
been captured by the hostile tribes.

In the town there was also a good supply of corn and cattle, so that
the exhausted army was fed and rested, before it again began its
perilous march.

It seemed as though the natives had now determined to be friendly. When
the army had marched steadily on for four days, many of the tribes came
to meet it, with branches of trees in their hands and on their heads
wreaths, in sign of friendship. They even brought with them cattle to
provide the army with food, and offered hostages, to prove that they
were sincere.

Yet Hannibal did not trust them. He accepted their offers of help, but
as the army approached another dangerous pass, he was careful to send
the baggage and cavalry on in front.

The cavalry left the defile safely, but as the foot soldiers were still
toiling along the dangerous way, the faithless barbarians attacked them
from above, rolling huge stones and great masses of rock upon them.

A great number of soldiers were killed, and it was with difficulty that
Hannibal regained his cavalry on the following day.

But the worst of the ascent was now over, and the army reached the
summit of the Alps, after a march of nine days.

The soldiers, who had come from the warm and sunny climates of Africa
and Spain, were unused to snow and frost, and they grumbled at every
discomfort.

Hannibal soon roused them to a braver spirit. Calling them together
he bade them look at the valley beneath. ‘That valley,’ he said, ‘is
Italy. It leads us to our allies, the Gauls, and yonder is the way to
Rome.’

After resting for ten days, the army began the descent, and although no
hostile tribes added to the difficulties, the downward way proved even
more dangerous than the ascent.

Snow had completely covered the path, and the soldiers unawares stepped
off it, to be hurled down the precipice into the chasm below.

At one spot it is said that the road was broken away by an avalanche,
and in front of the army yawned a hideous gulf. But even such a
disaster proved powerless to daunt Hannibal.

Encouraged by their general, the men were soon at work bridging the
chasm. Before a day had passed the cavalry and baggage were sent across
in safety. But it took three days to make a bridge strong enough and
wide enough to bear the elephants.

At length, all obstacles were overcome, and Hannibal led his army into
Northern Italy. But in the terrible journey across the Alps he had lost
three thousand men.




CHAPTER LIX

THE BATTLE OF TREBIA


After the hardships they had endured while crossing the Alps Hannibal
and his army were forced to rest. But in a short time Hannibal was
ready to lead his men along the left bank of the river Po, having sent
a corps of cavalry forward to reconnoitre.

Scipio, you remember, had determined to await Hannibal in the valley of
the Po, and he was now also marching along the left bank of the river.

As he crossed the Ticinus, a tributary of the Po, he suddenly found
himself face to face with the cavalry of the enemy.

A fierce struggle at once took place, but before long the Roman
soldiers turned and fled, in spite of all the Consul could do to rally
them. He himself showed the greatest courage, fighting in the forefront
of the battle and so being wounded. Had it not been for the bravery of
his young son, he would indeed have been captured or killed.

Seeing that his father was wounded and surrounded by the enemy, the
lad, who was only sixteen years of age, dashed into their midst. He
was followed by his men, who were ashamed to linger behind their
young leader. His daring attack scattered the foe, and the Consul was
carried off the field in safety. This lad of sixteen was the Scipio who
afterwards became known as Scipio Africanus, the conqueror of Hannibal.

The battle at the Ticinus was in reality only a skirmish. But Scipio
was warned by this defeat to be cautious, and he determined to withdraw
across the Po. There he would await his colleague Sempronius, who had
been recalled from Sicily, when it became known that Hannibal meant to
invade Italy.

Although the fight at Ticinus was only a skirmish, yet the victory of
Hannibal’s cavalry encouraged many Gallic tribes to throw off their
fear of Rome and join the Carthaginians.

Even those Gauls who had joined the Roman camp were eager to
escape, and one night more than two thousand of them mutinied, and,
overpowering the sentinels, left the Romans to join Hannibal.

After the flight of the Gauls, Scipio thought it would be wise to
move to a safer position, so he marched to the upper Trebia, another
tributary of the Po. Here he was joined by Sempronius.

Hannibal was eager to fight while the Gauls were still faithful to him,
for he, as well as the Romans, knew their unstable character. Scipio
on the other hand, wished to delay meeting the enemy, for he was still
wounded. Moreover, he thought that if a battle did not take place soon,
the Gauls would be more than likely to forsake their new ally.

But Sempronius, who had entire charge of both the Roman armies since
Scipio was wounded, could brook no delay.

The Carthaginian general had already discovered that it would be easy
to tempt the second Consul to fight. He therefore determined to entice
him to cross the river Trebia.

It was winter. Heavy rains and sleet had fallen, and the river was
flooded, when, early one bleak morning, Hannibal ordered his brave
young brother Mago, with a large number of troops, to lie in ambush in
a dried-up watercourse, where they were hidden by high banks and tall
bushes. Until a signal bade them dash out upon the enemy, they were not
to stir.

Meanwhile a body of Carthaginian cavalry had been sent across the
river, close to the Roman camp. The cavalry was to tempt Sempronius to
leave his camp and offer battle.

The Consul no sooner saw the enemy, than without waiting for his men
to have breakfast, he ordered the horsemen to advance at once, and the
infantry to follow as soon as possible.

Cold and hungry, the Roman army obeyed, and the Punic cavalry retreated
across the river before the enemy.

The Roman foot soldiers were ordered to follow, although the water was
cold as ice, and reached almost to their shoulders. When they scrambled
up on the other bank, they were chilled to the bone as well as faint
for want of food. More miserable bedraggled Roman soldiers had never
been seen. They were scarcely fit to attack a small body of the enemy,
much less to face the main body of the Carthaginian army, which, well
fed and warm, awaited them in battle array.

Hannibal, with his usual care for his soldiers, had seen that they had
a good meal, after which he had bade them rub their bodies with oil in
front of the camp fires, before they buckled on their armour.

It was soon plain that the Romans were not fit to cope with the
comfortable Carthaginian troops.

Yet in spite of the elephants, that trampled them underfoot, and in
spite, too, of the Punic cavalry which was stronger than their own, the
Roman legions held their ground.

It was only when the signal had been given, and Mago, with two thousand
men rushed from his ambush, and attacked them in the rear, that the
Romans gave way.

Then they turned and fled towards the Trebia, hoping to be able to
cross it and to regain their camp. But many of them were cut down
before they reached the river, while, of those who attempted to recross
the cold and swollen waters, many were drowned.

Only ten thousand in the centre of the Roman army succeeded in keeping
their ranks unbroken. These brave soldiers pushed their way through
the enemy and retreated to Placentia, a town on the river Po, which had
already been taken and fortified by their own legions.

Before the day was over the Carthaginians, too, had suffered severely
from the weather. Showers of rain and snow forced them at length to
give up the pursuit of the Romans and hasten to their tents for shelter
and warmth. Many of the elephants perished in the storm.

When Rome heard of the defeat of her two armies, and that both her
Consuls were shut up in Placentia with a remnant of their soldiers, she
was dismayed at the greatness of the disaster. Moreover, she was well
aware that this victory would make the Gauls cleave more steadfastly
than before to the successful general.

Thus the year 218 B.C. drew to a close, while signs of evil omen added
to the anxiety of the citizens of Rome.

Rain fell; no gentle, refreshing showers, but rain of red-hot stones.
In the market-place a bull ran up the third story of a house and leapt
from thence into the street. And who ever heard of a child of six
months old being able to speak! Yet one of just such tender age was
heard to shout ‘Triumph.’

Even the least superstitious saw in these strange portents the hand of
the gods, and they trembled for what might next befall.




CHAPTER LX

THE BATTLE OF LAKE TRASIMENUS


Early in 217 B.C. Hannibal broke up his camp in the valley of the Po.

The Gauls in large numbers were still with him, but he had lost many of
his own loyal soldiers, since he had crossed the Rhone a year earlier.

Now, with the first sign of spring, he marched to the river Arno. Here
his difficulties began.

The country through which Hannibal wished to take his army was in a
state of flood. As the snow melted on the mountains, streams of water
poured down into the valley, and these streams, along with the heavy
rains of spring, had made the ground like a vast swamp.

Many of the Carthaginians sank deep into the marsh, and they and their
beasts perished.

For three days, part of the army was forced to wade through the floods,
and, when night fell, there was no dry spot on which to pitch its
tents. The soldiers had perforce to rest as well as they could on the
bodies of their poor fallen steeds or amid the baggage which had been
left behind by their comrades.

Damp and hardships of this kind made many of the soldiers ill, while
Hannibal himself lost the sight of one eye, through an attack of
inflammation.

But it was the Gauls who suffered most, and they were less willing than
the well-trained Carthaginian troops to endure hardship. Had it been
possible they would have deserted, but Hannibal, knowing their fickle
ways, had ordered his brother Mago with the cavalry to ride at the
rear of the army.

As the march continued, it seemed that Hannibal was on his way to Rome.
He passed the Roman camp where Flaminius, one of the new Consuls, was
in command, and then continued southward, with no army now to hinder
his approach to the city.

But what the great general was really trying to do was, not to reach
Rome and besiege it, since for that he had not the necessary machines,
but to entice the Roman army from its camp and force it to fight. All
unwittingly, the army fell into the trap which the Carthaginian set.

Flaminius had been sent into Etruria to see that Hannibal did not march
upon Rome. As he had allowed the enemy to pass his camp unhindered, he
determined to atone for his error as well as might be, by following
swiftly and destroying it.

The Consul was urged to wait until his colleague Servilius joined him,
but this he was much too impatient to do.

Hannibal meanwhile had reached the Trasimenus Lake. Between the lake
and the mountains ran a narrow road. The general saw at once that this
was the very place in which to entrap the Roman army. So he sent his
men to command the heights that overlooked the path.

That same evening, Flaminius encamped a short distance from the lake.
He could see the narrow road stretching out before him.

Early in the morning the Romans were again on the march, hastening
after the enemy that was, as they believed, on the way to Rome.

Unaware of evil, they marched along the narrow road by the side of the
lake, scarce able to see a step before them, so heavy hung the mist on
the pathway and along the foot of the mountains.

But up on the heights, where Hannibal had posted his men, the sun was
shining bright.

The Consul was glad of the mist. He would be able to approach the enemy
unseen and attack it suddenly, while it was in marching order and
unprepared for battle.

On and on tramped the Roman soldiers, and although they knew it not,
they were tramping to destruction.

Hannibal waited until the rearguard had entered the defile, and then he
gave his men the signal to attack.

Suddenly the Romans seemed to see the mist break and scatter before
their eyes, pierced by the terrible battle-cry of the Gauls and by the
quick tramp of Hannibal’s cavalry as it dashed out of the silence, upon
the startled foe.

Javelins and arrows, hurled by unseen hands penetrated the mist as it
again closed around them, while great stones came crashing down upon
them, too huge to be withstood by shield or helmet.

In vain Flaminius strove to rally his panic-stricken troops. They
but rushed the more wildly hither and thither, falling now upon the
enemy, now upon each other, in their despair. The Consul himself fought
bravely, but he soon fell wounded to death.

Thousands of his soldiers were slain. Some threw themselves into the
lake, hoping to swim to safety, but their armour weighed them down
and they were drowned. Others waded out as far as they dared into the
water, only to be followed by the cavalry of the enemy and slaughtered
without mercy.

It was useless to cry for quarter that day, for it was a day of
vengeance and of sacrifice to the gods of Carthage. In three short
hours, the Roman army was not only defeated; it no longer existed.

Only a body of six thousand men escaped. It had been at the vanguard of
the army, and had cut its way through the enemy to the top of the hills.

Here the survivors stayed until the mist lifted, knowing nothing of
what had befallen their comrades, until it was too late to go to their
aid. So they then entrenched themselves in a village not far from the
lake, but Hannibal’s cavalry soon surrounded them and forced them to
surrender.

In the battle of Lake Trasimenus the Carthaginians lost but fifteen
hundred men, and of these the larger number were Gauls.

Fugitives from the army soon reached Rome, and threw the citizens into
consternation by the terrible and different tales they told.

The following day tidings of the awful slaughter at the edge of Lake
Trasimenus reached the Senate.

Then the people thronged into the Forum and surrounded the
Senate-house, demanding to know what really had happened.

In the evening, when the people’s patience was all but at an end,
Marcus, one of the prætors, mounted the public platform and cried in a
loud voice, ‘We are beaten, O Romans, in a great battle, our army is
destroyed, and Flaminius the Consul is slain.’

At the words of Marcus the city became a scene of wild despair. Many
men and women who had lost their husbands and sons called down the
curses of the gods upon their enemy, others wept and prayed in the
temples and forbore to curse, for all the bitterness of their loss.

Amid the tumult, the Senate alone remained calm. Day after day, from
early morning until late in the evening, it sat to consider how it
might best save the city from the mighty conqueror.

Three days passed, and then even worse tidings arrived.

The Consul Servilius had sent his cavalry to prevent Hannibal’s advance
on Rome, but it had been either captured or put to the sword. Servilius
without his cavalry was powerless to prevent the Punic army from
advancing upon the city.

[Illustration: “We are beaten, O Romans, in a great battle, our army is
destroyed.”]

In a short time indeed, Hannibal, at the head of his triumphant
army, was scarcely two days’ march from Rome.

Flaminius was dead. Between Servilius and the city was the Carthaginian
army.

Being bereft of both her Consuls, Rome determined to appoint a
Dictator.




CHAPTER LXI

HANNIBAL OUTWITS FABIUS


The Senate had restored some sense of confidence to the stricken people
by its gravity and calmness. It had also reassured them by destroying
the bridges by which the city could be approached and by strengthening
her walls.

Soldiers who had been deemed too old to follow the army were now called
together, and armed with weapons which had hung for years in the
temples--trophies these from many a hard-fought field.

But most important of all, a Dictator was chosen to guide Rome in the
crisis that had befallen her.

Fabius, the noble patrician who was elected, was a wise man, and
one who was not easily swayed by others. He was, however, neither a
brilliant nor an enterprising soldier.

Minucius, one of the people’s favourites, was appointed to be the
Dictator’s master of horse.

Now many of the people believed that disaster had overtaken the army
because Flaminius had marched to the war without first offering
sacrifices to the gods. And also because he had treated their warnings
with contempt.

For as he rode off to join his troops he was thrown from his horse,
while a standard that had been thrust into the ground was found to be
so firmly embedded that the standard-bearer, with all his efforts,
could not dislodge it. These omens Flaminius had treated with scorn,
merely remounting his steed and ordering the standard to be dug out of
the ground.

Fabius the Dictator, therefore, determined before he did aught else,
to pacify the anger of the gods and at the same time to please the
people.

So he ordered white oxen to be offered in the temples, as an atonement
for the neglect shown to the gods by Flaminius. The people flocked
gladly to these sacrifices, bringing with them their own offerings to
lay on the altars, while they prayed for the goodwill of the god of
battle.

A vow, too, was made by the whole of the people, to keep ‘A holy
spring.’

This vow said that ‘every animal fit for sacrifice, born in the spring
of the year 216 B.C., and reared on any mountain or plain or river bank
or upland pasture throughout Italy, should be offered to Jupiter.’

There was no need to offer children to the gods in sacrifice, for
they, when they grew old enough, offered their lives, and that right
willingly, on the battlefield to the god of war.

When the religious rites were ended, Fabius prepared to meet the enemy.

Two new legions were soon raised, and Servilius was ordered to bring
his two legions to Rome, so that Fabius had four legions to lead to
battle.

The Dictator had his own idea of how best to beat Hannibal, and to this
idea he remained faithful, although his own followers as well as the
enemy derided his policy.

Fabius had determined not to meet the Carthaginians in a pitched
battle. They had already been victorious too often in such a struggle.
He intended to harass the rear guard of the enemy and to cut off the
parties Hannibal sent out in search of food or forage. This discreet
policy proved pleasing neither to Hannibal nor to his own troops, but
of this Fabius recked little.

After deciding on these tactics, the Dictator led his legions into
Northern Apulia and encamped near to the enemy. In vain Hannibal tried
to tempt Fabius to fight. He wantonly burned the homesteads and
destroyed the vineyards of the Italians, that the Dictator might grow
indignant and hasten to their help. But seemingly untouched by the
desolation of his country, Fabius continued to follow his own method of
warfare.

This method of delay has since his time become a byword, and is known
as ‘The Fabian Policy.’ He himself was named, or perhaps I should say
he was nicknamed, Cunctator, The Delayer.

Minucius, the master of the horse, eager for battle, encouraged the
soldiers in their discontent with the Dictator, until they even dared
to say that Minucius was more fit to command Romans than Fabius.

Then Minucius, seeing the men were in his favour, grew more daring,
and ventured to jest at the Dictator because he encamped always on the
hills, while the enemy was in the plains. ‘It is,’ said the officer,
‘as if Fabius has taken us to the hills as to a theatre, to look at the
flames and desolation of our country.’ Or he would mockingly declare
that the Dictator was leading them up to heaven, having no hopes on
earth, or even that he was trying to hide them in the clouds from the
Carthaginians.

These words were told to Fabius, and his friends urged him, as they had
often done before, to fight.

But the Dictator answered, ‘I should be more faint-hearted than they
make me, if through fear of idle reproaches I should abandon my own
convictions.’

Such words showed the true bravery of the Delayer’s spirit.

Soon after this, Hannibal, who had been despoiling the beautiful
country of Campania, determined to march back to Apulia, with the booty
he had secured. He had with him great herds of cattle which formed a
large part of the spoil.

To reach Apulia, the Carthaginians would have to march through a
narrow defile, and Fabius believed that now his patience was going to
be rewarded. He would catch Hannibal in a trap.

But Fabius had scarcely realised the man with whom he had to deal.
Hannibal in a trap like that which he had himself often set for the
Romans! That surely was not easy to believe.

Knowing the country well, the Dictator did not on this occasion delay,
but sent a company of four thousand soldiers to guard the exit by which
the enemy must leave the pass, on its way to Apulia. He, with the main
body of his army, stationed himself on the summit of a hill, close at
hand.

Hannibal guessed what the Romans had done, and he made up his mind to
frustrate their plans; moreover, he determined to do so by a trick. He
seemed to treat the Dictator and his arrangements with scarcely the
requisite gravity.

First he ordered two thousand of the oxen he had captured to have
torches or dry faggots fastened to their horns.

Then when it grew dark these faggots were lighted, and the beasts were
driven toward the mountains where the Roman soldiers were encamped.
Hannibal and his army followed slowly behind the oxen.

The beasts moved heavily along, the lights on their heads making them
appear like a mighty army, marching through the night. By and by the
fire burned the horns down to the quick, and the poor animals, in
horrible pain, ran hither and thither, tossing their heads and thus
setting fire to the trees which they happened to pass.

On the crest of the hill, the Roman army saw the moving lights, but as
Fabius issued no orders, the soldiers stayed in the camp.

The company guarding the pass also saw the lights and thought that they
were moving toward the mountains. Thinking their comrades would be in
danger, they deserted their post and ran to give them help.

Hannibal’s soldiers at once seized the forsaken exit, and the
Carthaginian army passed out of the defile unharmed.

Before morning dawned Fabius discovered how he had been outwitted by
Hannibal. Yet fearing lest his men should fall into an ambush if he
sent them in pursuit of the enemy before it was light, he still kept
his army idle in camp.

When it was daylight it was too late to do the Carthaginians much harm,
although the Dictator ordered his army to attack them in the rear.




CHAPTER LXII

FABIUS WINS TWO VICTORIES


Rome was not long in hearing how Hannibal had tricked the Dictator, and
the people were roused to fury because Fabius had allowed their great
enemy to escape.

Now it was necessary at this time for Fabius to leave the army and
return to Rome to celebrate a religious rite.

Minucius was left in command of the legions during the absence of the
Dictator. Before he left, Fabius bade the young officer on no pretext
to risk a battle while he was away.

But no sooner had the Dictator gone, than Minucius, hearing that a
large body of the enemy had left their camp in search of forage, fell
upon a company of those that were left behind. He killed many of them,
and retreated without losing any of his own men.

When tidings of this success, slight though it was, reached Rome, the
people were both excited and elated. And as was perhaps natural, they
began to compare Minucius and his triumph with the Dictator and his
policy of delay.

If Minucius had been commander, Hannibal would have been beaten long
ago, so grumbled the people. Surely it was ignoble to camp on the hills
in safety, while the country was being destroyed by the enemy.

So great was the discontent of the people that at length the Senate
decreed that Minucius should be given power equal to that of the
Dictator. This had never been done before, as the Dictator always held
the supreme power alone.

When Fabius returned to camp he showed no chagrin at the new
arrangement, but gave to his former master of the horse complete
control of two legions, while he himself kept command of the other two.
This was, he believed, wiser than that two generals should rule the
entire army.

Hannibal was well pleased when he heard how the Roman command had
been divided. For he foresaw that it would be easy to draw the young
impetuous general down from the heights.

So, as his way was, he carefully laid an ambush, and then sent out a
small party to take possession of a hill that lay not far from the
enemy’s camp.

Minucius rose, as a fish rises, to the bait. He sent out his light
troops and cavalry to scatter the enemy. Then when he saw the great
Carthaginian general himself march to the help of his men, he ordered
his whole army to hasten forward to the attack.

No sooner did Hannibal see that his ruse had been successful than he
gave a signal to the men lying in ambush, and they, springing from
their hiding place, with loud cries attacked the Romans in the rear.

In vain did Minucius try to rally his terrified followers. They were
soon in utter confusion. Nor, now that battle had actually been given,
did the new general show himself a capable or wise soldier.

Just as the Romans were on the point of flying from the field, Fabius,
who, foreseeing what would happen, had ordered his army to be ready,
cried, ‘We must haste to rescue Minucius, who is a valiant man and a
lover of his country.’

Then speeding to the battlefield with his men, he led them so bravely,
and at the same time so warily, that Hannibal was soon forced to sound
a retreat.

To his friends the Punic general remarked, ‘Did I not tell you that
this cloud which always hovered upon the mountains, would at some time
or other, come down with a storm upon us?’

After Hannibal had withdrawn his troops, Fabius went back to his camp
without saying a harsh or reproachful word to Minucius.

He, the more ashamed, that Fabius treated him so generously, called
together his discomfited army, and told them that he was sorry that he
had ever spoken against the Dictator.

‘Some reason,’ he said, ‘I may have to accuse fortune, but I have many
more to thank her; for in a few hours she hath cured a long mistake,
and taught me that I am not the man who should command others, but
have need of another to command me.... Therefore in everything else
henceforth the Dictator must be your commander; only in showing
gratitude towards him, I will still be your leader and always be the
first to obey his orders.’

Then he bade his men follow him to the camp of Fabius, carrying with
them their standards.

As Minucius drew near to the tent of the Dictator, Fabius came out to
meet him.

Ordering the standards to be laid at the feet of the man he had
disdained, Minucius said, ‘You have this day, O Dictator, obtained two
victories, one by your valour and conduct over Hannibal, and another by
your wisdom and goodness to your colleague.’

Then thanking Fabius for saving his life and the lives of those under
him, he flung himself into the arms of the Dictator, calling him father.

The soldiers of each army, touched by the example of their leader,
forgot their jealousy and also embraced one another with tears of joy.




CHAPTER LXIII

THE BATTLE OF CANNÆ


Winter was nearly over, and spring, the usual time for the new Consuls
to begin their duties, was at hand. Fabius therefore resigned his
Dictatorship, as the Consuls would be able to carry on the war.

The people had chosen Varro, a man hated by the patricians, to be one
of the Consuls. He was the son of a butcher, so it was declared; but be
that as it may, his birth had not kept him from holding positions of
trust in the state.

His colleague was Æmilius, a member of a noble family, who had, three
years earlier, held the post of Consul.

Spring passed, and in summer of this same year, 216 B.C., Hannibal
again marched into Apulia and seized the citadel of Cannæ, where the
Romans had stored a large quantity of provisions for the army.

This, Hannibal was well aware, would force the Romans either to retreat
or to give battle, for their army now consisted of eight legions,
and without food, and a large supply of food, the Consuls would be
compelled to take action.

Now Æmilius and Varro commanded the army on alternate days. The
patrician Consul, who before leaving Rome had said: ‘I will rather seek
in my conduct to please and obey Fabius than all the world besides,’
urged Varro not to fight on the plains of Apulia.

Fabius, he knew, would never have risked a battle on the plains, where
the cavalry of Hannibal would have every advantage. And his cavalry
was without doubt his greatest strength.

But Varro refused to listen to the advice of his colleague. When it was
his turn to command, he drew up his army close to the village of Cannæ,
and hung his scarlet coat outside his tent. This was a signal that the
Consul meant to fight, and Hannibal at once ordered his men to prepare
for battle.

As the wind at the time was blowing violently, carrying with it a cloud
of dust, the Carthaginians took up their position with their backs to
the storm, so that the dust swept harmlessly past them. But it dashed
into the faces of the Roman legions, wellnigh blinding them.

In the centre of his army, and a little in advance, Hannibal had placed
the soldiers on whom he could least depend. The bravest and most loyal
men were in the wings.

This he did because he foresaw that the Romans would first attack the
centre, and as the less resolute soldiers fell back, they would press
forward. Then, as they continued to push back the Carthaginian centre,
Hannibal meant to bid the men on the right and left wings to close in
and envelop the enemy.

So when the Romans charged the centre of the Punic army, pushed it well
back and were already beginning to think of victory, the wings closed
in and charged upon their flanks. Then the centre, seeing how it was
supported, took fresh courage, and charged the front of the enemy with
sudden determination.

Slowly but surely the Roman infantry was pressed closer and closer
together, until they were unable to strike a blow, unable even to move.

Those on the edge were cut down at once, while thousands in the centre
were compelled to stand and look on, awaiting their fate.

For a whole day the slaughter never ceased, and when the sun sank there
was no longer any Roman army left. Hannibal had cut to pieces wellnigh
the whole eight legions, which was the largest army that Rome had ever
sent to the field.

Æmilius had been wounded at the beginning of the battle. In spite of
this he had tried to remount, to rally his men. But he was too severely
injured to be able to sit in his saddle, and he fell again, unnoticed,
and was slain.

Minucius, who was on the field, was also killed, as well as eighty
senators who had taken part in the battle.

The plebeian Consul, Varro, escaped, with about seventy horsemen, to
the town of Venusia, where scattered troops of soldiers gradually
rejoined him.

Maharbal, the master of Hannibal’s cavalry, begged to be sent at once
to Rome. ‘If you will let me lead the horses and follow quickly,
you shall dine in the Capitol in five days,’ he said with perfect
confidence.

But Hannibal refused to march on Rome, and offered her terms of peace
instead.

Then Maharbal turned sadly away, muttering, it is said, these words:
‘You know how to win a victory, Hannibal, but not how to use it.’

The terms offered by Hannibal, Rome in her pride refused, although the
loss of her eight legions had left her wellnigh helpless in the hands
of her conqueror.

Hannibal seemed indeed not to know how to use his victory. He turned
away from Rome, and marched to the wealthy city of Capua, in the south
of Italy. The gates were thrown wide to the victorious general, and
here he entered and set up his camp.




CHAPTER LXIV

THE DESPAIR OF ROME


After the victory of Cannæ, Hannibal was deemed more than a mere man.
Surely he must be endowed with the power of the gods, or he would never
be able to sweep eight legions from his path, as he had done on this
last dread battlefield.

Even a number of young Roman knights, of the best patrician families,
were so sure that nothing could now save their country, that they
determined to fly to the coast and thus escape to another land, where
they might yet win honour by their arms.

But Cornelius Scipio, although but a lad like themselves, drew his
sword and boldly declared that he would kill any one of them who
refused to swear never to forsake his country. His courage made the
young knights so ashamed that they gave up their selfish plan.

In Rome itself the people had been more confident than of late years,
for was not Varro at the head of their army, and had he not been heard
to say that he would conquer Hannibal in a day?

Tidings of the disaster at Cannæ reached the city first as a mere
rumour, but even so it filled the hearts of the people with dread
forebodings. Rumour said that the whole army was annihilated, that both
Consuls were slain--the citizens in despair watched and waited for
certain news of the battle.

At length a horseman was seen riding in hot haste toward the city. The
people’s hopes rose at the sight. For a moment they forgot the rumours
that had made them so uneasy, forgot all, save that their favourite
Varro had been fighting for them. So they rushed toward the messenger,
shouting with expectant voices: ‘Is it victory of which you have to
tell--victory?’

But even as they spoke the people knew how foolish were their hopes.
For the face of the rider was pale and stricken with pain, and the folk
shrank back, fearful now to hear the truth. And the messenger seemed in
no haste to tell his tidings.

But Fabius the Delayer came to him and bade him speak, saying that if
he had bad news, they were prepared to listen.

So, amid a sudden silence, the terrible tale was told, nor when it
was ended was there a house to be found in Rome that was not filled
with mourning. Henceforth the people trembled at the very sound of the
conqueror’s name.

After the first shock of the tidings, the people awoke to fresh fears.
Suppose Hannibal was already marching upon Rome?

In a panic they flocked to the gates, longing to escape from the city
that they believed was doomed.

Again it was Fabius who came and talked to the terrified folk, and by
his calmness allayed their fears. In these troublous days the Delayer
proved indeed so strong and wise that, before long, even those who had
been used to mock at his slowness were glad to turn to him for counsel.

It was Fabius who ordered guards to be placed at the gates, that the
frightened inhabitants might not desert their city. It was he who
ordered the women not to wail and sob in the streets, but to go quietly
to their homes to mourn there for their dead.

Meanwhile messengers were sent along the Appian and Latin roads to
gather tidings of Hannibal’s movements. And soon they returned to
tell that the conqueror was not on his way to Rome, but was still in
Apulia, dividing the spoil of the battle.

Varro, who was in Venusia, had with much difficulty gathered together
the remnant of the army. He was now bidden by the Senate to bring it
back to Rome.

It was a command he had dreaded. He had left Rome in joy, proud of the
confidence of the people, he was going back shamed and, in his own
eyes, disgraced. How would he be received by the Senate, by the people?

When he reached the gates of the city he would not enter, but awaited
without the judgment of his fellows.

Then the Senate, knowing that the Consul loved his country and mourned
for the humiliation he had brought upon her, went down to the gates to
welcome him, followed by many of the people.

Fabius was among the senators, and from none of their lips did Varro
hear a word of blame for the disaster of Cannæ. But they praised him
for gathering together the remnant of the army, and thanked him, too,
that after so great a loss ‘he had not despaired of the safety of the
Commonwealth, but had come back to Rome to help them in their plans to
deliver their country from the Carthaginians.’

Meanwhile Hannibal had marched to Campania, and been gladly welcomed
to its chief city Capua. Here, after their many hardships, he and his
army enjoyed through the winter months comfort and ease. It is even
said that the great general relaxed the severity of his discipline for
a time.

But Capua was punished for opening its gates to Hannibal, for two Roman
armies, under Fabius and Marcellus, were sent to besiege the town. The
siege lasted during 212 and 211 B.C.

In the latter year Hannibal determined to march to Rome, for by doing
so he thought he would force the Roman armies to leave Capua.

So at length what the citizens had often feared actually came to pass.
The dreaded Carthaginian was on his way to Rome, and the people
were sure that their city would be razed to the ground, while they
themselves would be carried away as slaves.

But although Hannibal encamped three miles from the city, and rode
round part of her walls, he did not attempt to lay siege to her.
He knew that he had not the materials needed to reduce so strong a
fortress as Rome.

Hannibal did not achieve all that he had hoped from his march. The
siege of Capua was not raised, although Fabius, it is true, was
recalled from before her walls.

So the Punic general, having accomplished little, set out, meaning to
return to Capua. He was followed by a Roman army, of which he took no
notice until five days later.

Then, hearing that Capua was still besieged, he was angry, and vented
his wrath upon the army at his rear. Waiting until it was dark and
their camp was set up, Hannibal stormed it, and drove the Romans away
in utter confusion. As he knew he was not strong enough to relieve
Capua, he did not return to the city, and she, thus deserted, was
forced to surrender to the Romans.

But thirty of the noblest senators of Capua resolved to die rather than
fall into the hands of those they had betrayed, for they feared their
vengeance. So they met together for a last solemn feast, after which
they each took poison, and so escaped from their enemy.

The senators who had chosen to trust to Roman justice were loaded with
chains and sent as prisoners to two different towns.

Fulvius, who longed for a sterner punishment, determined to inflict
it himself. He followed the prisoners with a body of cavalry, and
reached the first town early one morning. Twenty-eight of the wretched
prisoners were at once ordered to be brought before him, that they
might be scourged and put to death. Then, hastening to the other town,
he ordered twenty-five senators to be put to death, without the trial
they had a right to expect.

It is told that before his vengeance was complete Fulvius received a
letter from Rome, ordering the punishment of the senators of Capua
to be delayed until she herself was able to judge them. But Fulvius,
suspecting what was in the letter, left it unread until his horrible
work was done.

Meantime, Hannibal was looking for reinforcements from Africa, and he
wished to secure a good harbour where they might land in safety. So
in 210 B.C. he attacked the citadel of Tarentum, and took it, only,
however, to lose it the following year, when it was retaken by Fabius.
Hannibal had now no port at which troops might land.

If he was yet further to subdue Italy he must wait until his brother
Hasdrubal could bring him fresh troops from Spain.




CHAPTER LXV

THE DEFEAT OF HASDRUBAL


Early in the spring of 207 B.C. Hasdrubal was on his way from Spain to
join Hannibal in Italy. He had with him a large army and much money to
enable his brother to carry on the war.

Hasdrubal crossed the Alps with less difficulty than Hannibal, for it
was springtime and the passes were not covered with newly fallen snow.
The native guides, too, proved friendly.

He was also greatly helped by the bridges which Hannibal had built, and
by the cuttings he had made through the rocks. Even now, after seven
years, the bridges were still trustworthy, the cuttings clear.

While he awaited his brother, Hannibal encamped near Venusia, on the
borders of Lucania and Apulia, and here he hoped Hasdrubal would join
him. But the Romans were watching the brothers, and they hoped to be
able to keep them apart.

One Roman army, under the Consul Claudius Nero, had already had
skirmishes with the Carthaginians, and was now encamped not far from
Venusia. As Claudius had lost fifteen hundred men in these skirmishes,
he did not again venture to attack the enemy.

The other Consul, Livius, was stationed near the river Sena, to stop
Hasdrubal should he attempt to march southward to join his brother.

But Hasdrubal intended to march not to Venusia, but into the Umbrian
country, where he wished Hannibal to go to meet him. To let his brother
know his plans, he wrote a letter, and entrusting it to four soldiers,
he bade them deliver it to no one save to the Carthaginian general
himself.

The soldiers mounted their horses and rode away, promising to deliver
the letter to Hannibal. They knew that they were risking their lives,
for at any moment they might fall into the hands of the Roman soldiers,
of whom the country through which they had to pass was full.

They reached Apulia without difficulty, but not finding Hannibal, they
rode toward Tarentum, and were captured by a band of Roman soldiers,
who demanded what they were doing in that part of the country.

The soldiers’ answers were not very clear, and they were threatened
with torture unless they frankly told the object for which they were
riding toward Tarentum.

In their terror the men acknowledged that they were looking for
Hannibal, and that they carried with them a letter from his brother
Hasdrubal.

The soldiers were then hastily dragged before Claudius, and in a short
time the letter was in the Consul’s hands, the letter that the men
should have guarded with their lives.

Claudius was exultant! He knew the secret that was meant only for
Hannibal. Now at length the Carthaginians would meet the fate they
deserved. The Consul laid his plans with care, and carried them out
with complete success.

A messenger was sent to Livius to warn him that Claudius intended to
join him with a company of his army.

When night fell the Consul and his men stole quietly out of their camp,
so quietly that Hannibal did not know that they had gone. Claudius
had left soldiers to guard the camp, so that the great general might
suspect nothing.

As the Consul and his soldiers passed along the road, the Italian
townsfolk and village folk alike, came out to welcome them. It was
plain that they trusted that the Romans would banish the invaders who
had poured down into Italy from the Alps.

Men left their work, women their homes, children their play--all were
eager to see the Consul pass. To show their goodwill many of them
brought food for the soldiers.

Thousands of men joined the army as volunteers, and they, and the
regular soldiers, were so eager to reach the camp of Livius that they
would hardly interrupt their march to eat and drink.

The Roman camp lay to the south of the river Metaurus, and not far off
was the camp of Hasdrubal.

Claudius had arranged to reach his colleague at night. He arrived as
quietly as he had left his own camp, and his men were at once scattered
among the tents in which the soldiers of Livius were already for the
most part asleep.

As the camp had not been enlarged, the Consuls thought that Hasdrubal
would not notice that the army of the enemy had been increased.

But Hasdrubal had fought with Romans in Spain, and he knew their
signals. So the following morning, when he heard two trumpets sound
instead of one, as had been the case on other days, he was aware that
the second Consul had joined the camp. And when the army was drawn up,
Hasdrubal would have been unobservant indeed if he had not seen that
the number of Roman soldiers was greater than before. How it was that
the camp remained unchanged may have proved a puzzle which Hasdrubal
had no time to solve.

The new soldiers were haggard and worn, as though they had marched far
and fast, or as though they had been on the battlefield, and, seeing
this, Hasdrubal grew alarmed.

Had Hannibal by some strange chance been at last defeated, and were
these the exhausted but triumphant troops?

Had his letter failed to reach his brother? Nay, worse still, had it
fallen into the enemy’s hands?

In his uncertainty Hasdrubal determined that when night fell he would
withdraw his army to the other side of the river. It would be safer
there until he heard from Hannibal.

So when it was dark the camp was broken up, and the army set out with
guides to ford the river.

But the guides proved faithless, and fled, leaving Hasdrubal and his
men to wander up and down the river bank in search of a ford. Thus much
precious time was wasted.

When morning broke, Hasdrubal was still but a short distance from the
enemy’s camp, and the Romans, who were early astir, were soon able to
overtake him.

Hasdrubal saw that he could not avoid a battle, although he would fain
have done so until his troops had rested. He had not, indeed, time to
throw up fortifications before the enemy was upon him.

But Hasdrubal was a brave soldier, and he made up his mind to fight to
the death.

His army he arranged in the best possible position, and his elephants
he hoped would prove of great service. They, however, grew restive,
and, as often happened, did as much harm to their friends as to their
foes.

After a fierce struggle, Claudius succeeded in attacking the brave
Spanish soldiers both in the rear and in the flank, and they, overcome
by the numbers that attacked them, fell, after a bold and desperate
struggle.

When Hasdrubal saw that the Spaniards, on whom he chiefly relied, were
being slaughtered, he knew that the day was lost.

For himself, he resolved neither to leave the field, nor to be taken
alive. Putting spurs to his horse, he galloped wildly into the midst of
the enemy and was slain, still grasping his sword in his hand.

Not only were ten thousand of Hasdrubal’s soldiers slain, but many were
taken prisoner. The spoil was enormous, for Hasdrubal had plundered
the country as he had passed through it, and he had also been carrying
large sums of money to Hannibal.

Perhaps it was little wonder that the Romans felt that even the awful
battle of Cannæ was now avenged.

[Illustration: A messenger was seen spurring his horse toward the
city.]




CHAPTER LXVI

LIVIUS AND CLAUDIUS ENJOY A TRIUMPH


Hannibal had not discovered that the Consul had left Venusia before he
had returned.

As soon as the battle of Metaurus was over, Claudius had marched
back to his camp, carrying with him the head of Hasdrubal. This,
with cruelty unworthy of a conqueror, he ordered to be thrown into
Hannibal’s camp.

Two prisoners he also set free, that they might go to the Carthaginian
camp and tell how their comrades had been slain.

In this terrible way Hannibal first knew what had befallen his brother
and the army he had brought from Spain.

Claudius, before he marched to the camp of Livius had sent to Rome to
tell the Senate what he hoped to do. As the news of his hasty march
became known, the greatest anxiety was felt.

No one was able to work. The Forum, indeed, was crowded with people;
but they assembled, not to do business, but to talk of the desperate
action of the Consul, of the hopes and fears that clustered around his
deed.

After a time the women betook themselves to the temple, and spent the
hours in prayers to their gods, that now at length they would send
victory to Roman arms.

As hope was changing into fear, a messenger was seen spurring his horse
toward the city. When he rode in at the gates the people crowded round
him to try to gather his tidings.

Good! It seemed that the news was good. The face, the whole bearing of
the messenger proclaimed it so, yet the people were afraid to believe.
They had grown used to such evil tidings. How could they believe all at
once that the gods had at length sent them victory! Yet so it was.

The messenger made his way through the crowds to the Senate-house, and
then for a little while the people were left to their vague hopes and
fears.

At length the door of the Senate-house was opened, and down the steps
into the Forum stepped one of the senators, to tell the breathless
multitude that the tidings were good indeed. Hasdrubal was slain and
his army was destroyed.

Then at last the people believed, and a great shout rent the air, a
shout of triumph.

Public thanksgivings were at once ordained, to last for three days.
The people in their joy never stayed to think that Hannibal was still
alive, and in their land unconquered.

Hannibal, indeed, stayed in Italy four years longer, yet he fought no
more great battles there. The towns, too, that he had won were, one
after another, gradually reconquered by Rome.

After the defeat of Hasdrubal, Hannibal withdrew to Lacinium with his
troops. They remained loyal to their great leader in his misfortune as
in his prosperity.

Claudius and Livius, to whom the great victory was due, were both given
a triumph.

But as the battle had been fought in the province of which Livius had
charge, and as it was he who had commanded on the battlefield, he
entered the city on a triumphal car drawn by four horses, his army
marching in the procession, while Claudius rode on horseback by the
side of the car, and his army, being needed on the field, was not with
him.

But it was the Consul who rode on horseback at whom the people for the
most part gazed, and it was for him that the crowd cheered its loudest.
For the people knew that it was Claudius whose decision had made the
battle so complete a triumph.




CHAPTER LXVII

THE CAPTURE OF NEW CARTHAGE


From the time that Hannibal entered Italy, it seemed as though the
Romans needed all their strength to meet so powerful a foe. They did,
indeed, have as many as eight legions on the battlefield of Cannæ. Yet,
at the same time, they had sent officers and soldiers to Spain, and
were fighting against the Carthaginians in that country, as well as in
Italy.

Publius Scipio had, you remember, been ordered to march to Spain in
218 B.C. to punish Hannibal for defying the demands of Rome. But as he
found that Hannibal was crossing the Alps, he awaited him in the valley
of the Po, sending his brother Gnæus to Spain in his stead.

In about twelve months Publius was able to join his brother, and for
four years they fought together against the Carthaginians. Then in 213
B.C. the Romans found that the enemy was making a determined effort to
push their possessions beyond the river Ebro.

Such presumption must be punished, and Publius with an army set out to
repulse the enemy. But in the battle that followed he fell, mortally
wounded. Gnæus also was slain about three weeks later.

The loss of the Scipios was a serious blow to Rome, for their influence
in Spain had made the Roman name powerful. Nor was it easy to find
an officer to send to Spain in the place of the brothers, for every
soldier wished to stay in Italy to fight against Hannibal, the arch
enemy.

At length Cornelius, the son of Publius Scipio, offered to take up the
work that had fallen from his father’s hands.

Cornelius Scipio was only twenty-four years of age, but he had already
shown that he was brave and skilful. On the battlefield of Ticinus
he had by his prompt action saved his father’s life, and after the
slaughter at Cannæ he had prevented a band of young knights from
forsaking their country.

In Rome, Scipio was a favourite with the people, partly, perhaps,
because of his good looks, and partly because, although he was so
young, he was grave and dignified, and his serious ways became him well.

His offer to serve in Spain was accepted, the people electing him for
the post with goodwill. The few who were anxious lest he was too young
for so great a charge were soon reassured, for his speech, when he
addressed them, was wise as well as confident. And the trust of the
people was justified.

Scipio arrived in Spain about 210 B.C., and finding that a town,
which the enemy had named New Carthage, was of great importance, he
determined to attack it.

Although the Carthaginians had three armies in Spain, each of their
camps was at some distance from New Carthage.

So confident, too, were the Punic generals of the strength of the town,
that it was guarded by a garrison of only one thousand men. As for the
inhabitants, they knew little of the use of arms, being for the most
part fishermen and mechanics.

Yet New Carthage was supremely important. She was the nearest port to
Carthage, and it was at her harbour that reinforcements and stores from
Africa were landed. Here, too, the Carthaginians kept their magazines,
their money, and their Spanish hostages.

The city was surrounded by high, strong walls, save at one place, where
it was protected by an inland sea or lagoon. Here the walls were low
and guarded less vigilantly, for the sea was believed to make the city
secure from attack.

But Scipio had been talking in his grave and pleasant way with the
fishermen of New Carthage, and he had learned quite simply what he
wished to know--that the sea was shallow enough at times to make it
possible to reach the low and well-nigh unguarded wall.

When Scipio, his plan determined, ordered his soldiers to march, they
knew nothing of what their young leader meant to attempt. Only to
Lælius, his most trusted friend, did he confide his scheme, bidding him
take the Roman fleet to the harbour of New Carthage on a certain day.

Lælius was to join in the assault upon the city; if it failed, he was
to be ready to carry off the troops in his ships.

Scipio’s orders were obeyed. The fleet reached the harbour at the same
time that the Roman army encamped without the city walls.

Mago, who was in command of the garrison, was surprised when he saw
the Roman fleet in the harbour, the Roman army close to his gates. He
at once ordered the walls to be manned, and about two thousand of the
citizens to be armed.

A party of soldiers then sallied out to drive off the enemy, the armed
citizens joining in the attack. They were, however, beaten back by the
Romans. In a panic the citizens crowded together in the narrow gateway,
each trying to regain the safety of the streets. So foolish was their
haste, that many of them were trampled underfoot and wounded, if not
killed.

The Roman soldiers all but succeeded in pushing their way into the
city, along with the desperate citizens. They did not quite succeed,
but they managed to fix the scaling ladders against the walls. This
proved, however, of little use, for the ladders, they found, were too
short for the height of the walls, while they suffered greatly from
the arrows and missiles which fell in their midst.

It was afternoon when the Romans withdrew, and the garrison believed
that they were safe for another day. But a few hours later the
besiegers again attacked the walls.

This second attack was only a ruse to distract the defenders of the
city from a more serious undertaking.

Scipio had seen that the water in the lagoon was ebbing, and would soon
be shallow. So he now ordered his men to step boldly into the water and
carry their ladders to the low and carelessly guarded wall.

His order was speedily carried out. The ladders were soon in position,
and the next moment the Roman soldiers were climbing up into the city.

Meanwhile the garrison was busy repulsing the attack upon her high and
strongly guarded walls.

But the Roman soldiers, having scaled their ladders, leaped into the
city, killing the few guards whom they encountered. Quickly they made
their way toward the gate, which was being assaulted from without. When
they reached it they flung it open, and their comrades poured into the
city, the garrison was overcome, and New Carthage was in the hands of
Scipio.

The young general was modest, and refused to claim all the glory of the
victory. Part of it, at least, was due to Neptune, the god of the sea,
for he, said Scipio, had come to him as he slept and bidden him enter
the city by the lagoon.

There was much booty to be gathered in the conquered city, and in the
harbour a fleet of both warships and merchant vessels was captured.

But the chief value of the victory was that the Romans had now
possession of a town in the very centre of the enemy’s country, as well
as of its best port.

In 206 B.C. Scipio returned to Rome, able to say that he had left no
Carthaginian soldier in Spain.

But Scipio had done more than drive the enemy out of Spain. He had
tried to win two powerful allies for his country, in Africa, and he had
succeeded in gaining one.

Syphax, King of Western Numidia, had been now on the side of Rome,
now on that of Carthage. Scipio sailed to Africa to visit Syphax, and
before he left him he believed that he had secured his fidelity to Rome.

But although the king was charmed with the Roman, and said of him that
he was ‘even more admirable in conversation than in war,’ when Scipio’s
influence was removed he proved fickle as ever. In the end he went over
to, and remained on, the side of the Carthaginians.

The ally whom Scipio gained was an African prince named Masinissa. He
had come to Spain with a body of Numidian cavalry, and promised that it
should be at the service of Scipio when he landed in Africa.

For this was now the young general’s great ambition--to carry the war
with the Carthaginians into their own country.




CHAPTER LXVIII

SCIPIO SAILS TO AFRICA


It was not usual to award a triumph to a Roman citizen who had been
neither a prætor nor a Consul.

Yet it may be that when Scipio returned to Italy in 206 B.C. he hoped
to receive this honour, for he had served the State loyally and
successfully.

The people clamoured for the honour to be given to their favourite. So
the Senate assembled in the temple of Bellona, which stood outside the
walls of the city, to meet Scipio, and hear what he had accomplished in
Spain.

If a triumph was to be awarded to him, he must, as was the custom,
stay without the city gates until he entered it to celebrate the great
occasion.

It was a noble record to which the Senate listened. Scipio had fought
with four generals and four armies, and had been victor in every battle
and over each general. Nor was a single Carthaginian soldier left in
Spain.

In spite of the splendour of his achievements a triumph was not decreed
to the young soldier. Partly, perhaps, because among the senators were
some who did not care to forsake old customs, while others did not wish
to encourage so ambitious a youth as Scipio. They did not know to what
his ambitions might lead, and they were afraid.

But although Scipio entered Rome as a private citizen, he did so with
all the pomp and splendour that he could muster. And the people flocked
around him, and cheered him, it may be, the more lustily that he had
been denied the triumph which would have been his had he held the rank
of Consul.

Soon after this the election of Consuls for the year 205 B.C. took
place.

From far and near the people flocked to Rome, not only to vote, but to
see the man who had driven the Carthaginians from Spain.

In spite of the opposition of the Senate, Scipio was one of the Consuls
chosen. The Senate feared that he would now persist in his wish to
carry on the Carthaginian war in Africa. They had already done their
utmost to discourage this, his great ambition.

Still, as the colleague of Scipio had duties which would keep him in
Rome, it was plain that if one Consul was sent to a foreign province
that one must be Scipio.

Some of the senators hesitated to let the province be Africa. It seemed
to them too great a risk to send an army to Africa while Hannibal was
still in Italy. At the head of those opposed to Scipio was Fabius the
Delayer, who was as cautious as of old.

To those who feared Hannibal’s presence in Italy, Scipio explained,
that to carry the war to Africa would be the quickest and surest way
to get rid of the great general. For he would certainly be recalled to
help in the defence of his own country. And in this, as you will hear,
Scipio proved correct.

So determined was the new Consul to go to Africa that at length he
declared that if the Senate refused to send him, he would appeal to the
people in a popular Assembly.

With this threat, for such it really was, the Senate was indignant. It
knew too well what the result of an appeal to the people would be.

After violent debates between Scipio’s friends and those who were
opposed to him, the Senate reluctantly gave the province of Sicily to
the young Consul. And with Sicily he was given permission to cross into
Africa, should he think ‘the best interests of the State demanded it.’

The permission was shorn of all graciousness, for the Senate refused
to allow Scipio to levy troops. Only the soldiers already serving in
Sicily were put under his command.

But Scipio was not easily thwarted by difficulties. The Senate could
not refuse to let him enrol volunteers. And no sooner was it known that
the Consul wished for soldiers, than many flocked to his standard.
For to fight under so brave and gallant a captain as Scipio was an
adventure all good soldiers welcomed.

A year was spent in Sicily, where Scipio trained his volunteers. In
the spring of 204 B.C. his ambition was fulfilled, for he set sail for
Africa.

In his fleet the Consul had four hundred transports and forty warships,
while his army was said by some to consist of twelve thousand five
hundred men, by others, to reach any number within thirty-five thousand.

The fleet had assembled at the seaport town of Lilybæum, and the
citizens were full of interest and excitement at the novel sight.

A great crowd gathered in the harbour in the early morning of the
day fixed for the departure of the fleet. Then as a herald commanded
silence, a sudden hush fell upon the people while the Consul offered a
solemn prayer to all the gods and goddesses of Rome, beseeching them to
grant him ‘protection, victory, spoils, and a happy ... return, after
inflicting on the Carthaginian people all those evils with which they
had threatened the Commonwealth of Rome.’

When the prayer ended, trumpets sounded, and the fleet sailed away amid
the cheers of the onlookers.

The Carthaginians knew that Scipio was sailing to their country with
an army, yet they sent no fleet to stay his course. Unhindered by the
enemy, undelayed by any storm, Scipio landed on the coast of Africa at
the Fair Promontory, close to the port of Utica.




CHAPTER LXIX

THE ROMANS SET FIRE TO THE CAMP OF THE NUMIDIANS


No sooner did Scipio land in Africa, than he was joined by his ally
Masinissa, with about two hundred of his famous Numidian cavalry.

Masinissa had been expelled from his lands by Syphax, and he was glad
to throw in his fortune with the Romans. To Scipio he was a valuable
ally, for he knew the war tactics and habits both of the Numidians and
Carthaginians.

The Carthaginians had gathered a large army to oppose the invaders. It
was led by Hasdrubal, the son of Gisco. King Syphax with his Numidian
troops had joined Hasdrubal, and the two armies were encamped near
Utica, to which town Scipio had laid siege.

The Roman general, pretending that it might be possible to arrange
terms of peace, sent ambassadors, during a short truce, to the camp of
Syphax. But his true reason for doing so was that they might find out
something of the numbers of the enemy and of the position of its camp.

As was therefore to be expected, the negotiations were of no use, and
were soon broken off.

The Punic army believed that the attack on Utica would at once be
renewed. It did not dream that its camp was in danger.

But Masinissa knew that the camp was guarded carelessly. He also knew
that the tents in the camp were huts, built of wood, and covered with
branches of trees or with rushes. So he advised Scipio to plan a night
attack on the camp, and to set fire to the huts.

One night Scipio resolved to do as Masinissa had suggested. He ordered
his men to have supper early. The bugles sounded at the hour usual for
the evening meal, that the enemy’s attention might not be attracted by
any departure from the daily routine. But on this night the bugle was
not the signal for supper, but the call to march.

It was cold and dark when, soon after midnight, the whole Roman army
drew near to the camp of the Carthaginians, having marched a distance
of seven miles.

Masinissa at once ordered every exit to be closely guarded, then he
stealthily set fire to the huts on the edge of the camp.

The flames spread rapidly from one wooden hut to another until, before
the Carthaginians were aware, their whole camp was in a blaze.

Late as it was, some of the officers were still feasting when the smoke
and the noise of crackling wood roused them to a sense of danger.

They rushed out, still carrying in their hands the cups out of which
they had been drinking, to see the tents blazing fiercely.

Others sprang out of bed and hastened toward the tents, and although
all were startled and dismayed, none of them seemed to think that an
enemy had done this thing. They simply imagined that the fire was an
accident, caused perhaps by some careless soldier.

The whole camp was now in confusion. Many perished in the flames, while
many others were trampled to death in the crowd.

Those who tried to escape were seized by Masinissa and his men and were
slain, almost before they realised that they were in the hand of the
enemy.

Hasdrubal and Syphax saw that it was hopeless to try to save the camp
or the soldiers. Accompanied by a few horsemen, they succeeded in
slipping away unnoticed by Masinissa or his soldiers.

Carthage was angry with Hasdrubal when she heard of the loss of
her army, and condemned him to death. But he had ridden into the
neighbouring districts, and was already enrolling volunteers, for he
was determined still to serve his country. In thirty days another army,
under the same leaders, was ready to meet the enemy.

Scipio, leaving troops to support the fleet, which was now blockading
Utica, at once marched against Hasdrubal and Syphax. On the Great
Plains a terrible battle was fought, in which the Romans were
victorious. Hasdrubal escaped from the field, and Syphax hastened away
to his own kingdom of Numidia.

When Hasdrubal at length ventured to enter Carthage, his enemies tried
to take him prisoner. But he hid himself in the mausoleum or tomb of
his family. Then, determined never to be taken alive, he took poison
and died.

The people, in their rage at being thus cheated of their victim,
dragged Hasdrubal’s body into the street and placed his head in triumph
on the top of a pole.

King Syphax was followed to Numidia by Masinissa and a detachment of
Roman soldiers.

The king again faced his enemies, but once more he was defeated, and
being captured he was taken to the Roman camp. Masinissa now recovered
his own dominions, as well as part of the kingdom that had belonged to
Syphax.

From this time the African prince grew more and more powerful. Led by
him, the Numidians now fought for the Romans, so that Carthage found
herself left alone to fight against two powerful enemies.




CHAPTER LXX

HANNIBAL LEAVES ITALY


Carthage might now have despaired, had not Hannibal been alive. His
name, she knew well, could still inspire the Roman legions with terror,
his presence would, she believed, ensure their defeat. So messengers
were sent to Italy to bid him hasten to Carthage.

The great general left Italy sorrowfully, for the hopes with which he
had entered her had not been fulfilled.

In spite of all the great victories he had won, Italy had slipped from
his grasp. Perhaps it was true, as Maharbal had said, ‘Hannibal knows
how to win victories, but not how to use them.’

But if Hannibal left the country reluctantly, the people rejoiced at
his departure. They could never feel secure while he was in their land.
His name, indeed, still made the Romans tremble.

Before the great general left, he ordered bronze tablets to be made,
and on these he ordered to be engraved the battles he had fought in
Italy, as well as a full account of the war. These records were written
both in the Greek and the Punic language.

A famous historian, who was a boy when Hannibal was fighting in Italy,
saw these tablets when he grew to be a man, and so he was able to write
a true account of the second Punic war.

But all the history that Polybius wrote was not carefully preserved. So
that after the battle of Cannæ we have no records save those given to
us by Roman historians. And what they, in their pride, wrote, was not,
many people think, the same as Hannibal recorded on his bronze tablets.

After the capture of King Syphax, a short truce had been arranged
between the two powers, while an embassy went from Carthage to Rome to
try to obtain peace.

But the truce was broken by the Carthaginians, and for this the Romans
made them suffer heavily.

Some ships, laden with provisions for the Roman army, were on their
way from Sardinia to join Scipio’s fleet, when a storm blew them on to
an island in the Bay of Carthage. The Carthaginians seized some of the
ships, being unable to resist the temptation to get food, of which they
had had but little for some time.

Scipio was indignant at this breach of the truce, and he at once sent
to Carthage to demand that the booty should be restored.

But there were some in Carthage who wished the war with Rome to go on,
and they were more powerful than those who longed for peace. So the war
party arranged that the Roman ambassadors should be sent back by ship
to Scipio, with a safe conduct, indeed, but without an answer to his
demands.

They were taken safe to within sight of their own ships, then their
escort withdrew, while the admiral of the Punic fleet, having been
secretly instructed, at once tried to take the ambassadors prisoners.

Two of the crew were injured, some were even killed, while the
ambassadors escaped with difficulty.

After so evident an insult to the messengers of Rome, Scipio at once
prepared to carry on the war.

By the autumn of 203 B.C. Hannibal was in Carthage, and the people,
full of confidence in their great general, were eager that he should at
once take the field.

But Hannibal roughly bade the citizens ‘attend to their own affairs,
and leave him to choose his own time of fighting.’

He then begged for an interview with Scipio, and tried to arrange
terms of peace. But the Consul refused to have anything to do with such
terms, saying that the truce had been broken, his envoys insulted, and
the Carthaginians must suffer the consequences of such deeds.

Scipio was indeed impatient to fight, that the war might the sooner
come to an end.

It was already the month of October, 202 B.C., and although the people
of Rome had decreed that Scipio should still continue in Africa, the
Senate was anxious that one of the new Consuls should be sent to join
him, and share his power.

Claudius, the hero of Metaurus, was one of the new Consuls, and he was
ordered to cross to Africa with a fleet of fifty quinqueremes.

Scipio resented this, for if the war with Carthage ended successfully
after Claudius reached Africa, it was he, as Consul, who would enjoy
the triumph at Rome.

Now the invasion of Africa had been Scipio’s own scheme, and he wished
to have the glory of its success himself alone. So before the end of
October he hastened to lead his army to battle in the neighbourhood of
Zama.




CHAPTER LXXI

THE BATTLE OF ZAMA


Hannibal was not ready for battle when the Roman army drew near to him
at Zama. He had but just determined to change his camp and move to a
better position in which to face the enemy.

Before he had time to carry out his plan, the enemy was upon him, and
he was forced to fight in a position with which he was not satisfied.

The elephants belonging to the Punic army no longer terrified the
Romans as they used to do, for they had grown accustomed to the animals
on many an Italian battleground.

Besides, they had now learned how to elude the onslaught of the heavy
beasts, by simply leaving spaces between their companies, through which
the elephants could run without causing much damage. These spaces were
at the beginning of the battle filled with soldiers, who irritated the
elephants with darts and then stepped swiftly aside.

But at Zama, the elephants did not even attack the enemy. Startled
by the noise of trumpets and the blowing of horns, they rushed back,
instead of forward, upon the Numidian cavalry, which was stationed on
Hannibal’s left wing. Masinissa seized the opportunity, and before the
cavalry had rallied from the shock of the elephants, he charged and put
it to flight. The Carthaginian cavalry on Hannibal’s right was at the
same time routed by Lælius.

Two bodies of heavily-armed troops still faced the Romans.

First came the mercenaries hired by Hannibal. Fiercely they fought and
well, although they were no match for their enemy. Nor did they once
falter until they began to fear that the Carthaginians were failing to
support them.

Then they turned, stricken by sudden panic, and anxious only to force
their way through those behind, who they believed had betrayed them.

As the Romans followed them in their flight, all was soon in confusion,
the mercenaries and Carthaginians being slain, not only by the Romans,
but by each other.

Hannibal, meanwhile, was with a band of veterans whom he had held in
reserve.

Those soldiers who had escaped from the Romans now tried to steal in
among these veterans, but Hannibal, who had no mercy for cowards,
ordered his men to lower their spears and push them away. The desperate
wretches then escaped from the battlefield as best they might.

Scipio was now ready to advance against the veterans, and here the
struggle was long and stern. For these Carthaginian soldiers were
inflexible against every attack. Not one man flinched, but each stood
steadfastly at his post until he was killed. Only when Lælius and
Masinissa returned from pursuing the enemy’s horse and fell upon
Hannibal’s rear was the battle won.

The number of the slain was terrible. Twenty thousand Carthaginians
were said to have fallen, and almost as many to have been taken
prisoner, while the Romans did not lose more than fifteen thousand men.

Hannibal escaped to Carthage, leaving his camp to be seized by the
enemy.




CHAPTER LXXII

SCIPIO RECEIVES A TRIUMPH


After the battle of Zama, in 202 B.C., the war was at an end, for the
Carthaginians had no longer any army.

They had, indeed, no choice now, save to accept the terms Rome might
offer, unless they were prepared to see Carthage itself besieged.

Since submission was inevitable, the Carthaginians resolved to yield
with as good a grace as possible. So they decked one of their ships
with olive branches, and sent ambassadors on board to sail toward
Utica. They hoped that the ambassadors would thus meet Scipio, who was
on his way to the town of Tunes.

But the Roman general haughtily refused to receive them until he
reached his destination. Then his interview with the suppliants was
brief, his answer to their petition for merciful terms, proud.

‘You deserve nothing at our hand but condign punishment’, he told them,
‘yet Rome has determined to treat you with magnanimity, on condition
that you receive the terms offered to you.’

The crestfallen ambassadors had no retort to such imperious words, for
they knew that they were helpless to resist, however hard the terms
might prove. But the conditions, although severe, yet at least still
left Carthage a free nation.

To begin with, the Carthaginians were made to suffer for their rashness
in breaking the truce.

The ships and provisions which they had taken must be restored. All
captives and runaway slaves must be sent back. The elephants, without
which the Carthaginians would feel uneasy on a battlefield, were
all to be given up to the Romans, as well as the warships, save only
twenty. But this was not all. The conquered people must promise to wage
no war in foreign countries; and, more bitter still, they must not even
fight in Africa itself without first asking Rome for permission to do
so. Masinissa was to have all his land and property given back to him.

These, with a few other conditions, completed the demands of Rome.

Among the Carthaginians there were some bold, reckless spirits who
would have refused to accept such terms. For these would cripple their
commerce, and also leave them powerless to resent the encroachments
which Masinissa would certainly make upon their frontier.

But Hannibal was present at the conference that was being held, and he
told his rash countrymen that they should be grateful that the terms
were not even more severe.

When one of the senators still urged that the Romans should be defied,
Hannibal caught his robe and pulled him to his seat while he was
speaking. His only apology for such conduct was to say: ‘I have been so
long with my army that I have forgotten the habits of civil life.’

Since no other way was possible, the terms were accepted, and Scipio,
having finished his work in Africa, was now ready to return to Rome.

When he reached Italy his progress was as that of a king. In towns
and villages he was hailed as the deliverer of Rome. Had he not
forced Hannibal to leave Italy, and had he not even defeated the bold
conqueror of Cannæ?

His triumph was the most magnificent that had ever yet been seen.
For several days, too, games were held in the city, and for these
festivities Scipio himself supplied the money.

That his great victory might not be forgotten, Scipio was now given the
name of the country which he had conquered, and he was henceforth known
as Scipio Africanus.

[Illustration: His progress was as that of a king.]




CHAPTER LXXIII

FLAMININUS IS COVERED WITH GARLANDS


Ten years before the struggle with Hannibal ended, Rome had declared
war against Philip, King of Macedonia. This was the beginning of a war
that ended with the conquest of the East.

But the Romans soon found that, with Hannibal in Italy, they would have
neither time nor troops to spare for Macedonia. So for a time King
Philip was left undisturbed, although he had dared to defy the Romans,
and in 215 B.C. to make a treaty with Hannibal. Before the battle
of Zama too, he sent four thousand Macedonian soldiers to help the
Carthaginians in their struggle against Rome.

But when peace was made with Carthage, the day of reckoning with King
Philip speedily came. A Roman army of twenty thousand men was sent
across the Adriatic to punish him.

The Consul Flamininus was made commander of the Roman army in Greece
in 198 B.C., and in the autumn of the following year he met Philip at
Cynoscephalæ, where a great battle was fought.

In the morning, before the struggle began, a thick mist hid the armies
from one another. Flamininus, wishing to find out the position of the
enemy, sent a detachment of cavalry and infantry to reconnoitre.

Suddenly the detachment found itself face to face with the Macedonian
reserves, which were stationed on the ridges of the hill named
Cynoscephalæ, or Dogshead, as the difficult name is translated in our
language.

The Macedonians, being on a higher slope of the hill than the Romans,
were at first the more successful.

In their triumph at having worsted even a detachment of the Romans,
they sent messengers to tell King Philip of their success, and to urge
him to bring up the main body of his army without delay.

The king hesitated. He had not expected to meet the enemy that day, and
had sent off a large number of his men to forage. His army, too, was
on rough and even precipitous ground, which was quite unsuitable for
the movement of the phalanx, which needed a wide open space in which to
move.

The Macedonian phalanx was as important a part of Philip’s army as
the elephants had been in that of Hannibal. It was formed by sixteen
thousand men in close order, sixteen rows deep, and the men were armed
with long spears. These spears were held in such a way that those of
the first five ranks reached to the front row, so that a wall of solid
steel seemed to stare the enemy in the face.

The eleven ranks behind held their weapons in a slanting position over
the heads of those before them, and thus shielded their comrades from
the darts aimed at them.

Now the men forming the phalanx marched so close together that they
could turn neither to flank nor rear, but must move straight forward.
Their spears, which varied from sixteen to fourteen cubits, could only
be used for the one forward movement.

In the days of Pyrrhus, the Romans had dreaded the attack of the
phalanx, but now they had lost all fear of this body. They were lightly
armed, could move swiftly, and had grown used to annoy and defeat it.

On this misty autumn morning, then, in 197 B.C., Philip reluctantly
yielded to the wishes of his soldiers, and ordered his army to move to
the ground, from which the advance guard of the Romans had already been
driven.

Here he arranged his right wing in the form of a phalanx, and himself
led it to charge the left wing of the enemy.

As the solid mass of men moved down the slope of the hill, it gathered
force, and struck with such weight against the Romans that they were
scattered.

Before, however, Philip’s left wing could form, owing to its steep and
difficult position, Flamininus was upon it, and his men fought with
such vigour and determination that the Macedonians were put to flight.

Then one of the tribunes ventured on a daring deed, one which, as it
proved successful, really settled the battle.

Instead of joining the rest of the army in pursuit of the left wing of
the enemy, he led his men to the rear of King Philip’s right wing.

All at once the king saw that something was wrong. His men, who had
scattered the left wing of the Roman army, seemed in difficulty. They
began to throw away their weapons, to fly from the field. And not only
so, but the Romans, who shortly before had been worsted, had now once
again turned to face the foe.

Quickly Philip climbed higher up the hill, and then he understood what
had happened. For he saw that his men had been attacked in the rear by
the Roman tribune, and that they had been seized with panic at finding
themselves attacked both before and behind.

It was soon plain that the battle was lost. Rallying the remnant of his
cavalry, King Philip put spurs to his horse and fled from the fatal
hills of Cynoscephalæ.

The king foresaw that this defeat would strike a great blow at the
influence of Macedonia in Greece. Henceforth Greece would be more
likely to appeal to Rome than to Macedonia when she was in need of help
against her foes.

He therefore saw little good in prolonging a struggle which he felt to
be useless. So, collecting the remnant of his army, Philip withdrew to
his own dominions.

When Rome heard of the victory of Cynoscephalæ she was greatly
pleased, but perhaps her people were even more delighted that after the
victory peace was proclaimed. They were growing weary of incessant war.

Flamininus stayed in Greece during 196 B.C., to arrange terms of peace,
with the aid of commissioners sent from Rome. It was determined that
his decision should be announced at the Isthmian games, which were held
at Corinth in the month of July.

Crowds always flocked to see the games, but this year the number of
people was greater than ever, for the decree of Rome was awaited with
anxiety.

On the appointed day, while the people stood idly talking to one
another in the Stadium or racecourse, the herald’s trumpet suddenly
rang out. When silence was secured this is what he read:--

‘The Senate of Rome and Quinctius Flamininus, pro-Consul and Imperator,
having conquered King Philip and the Macedonians, declare the following
peoples free, without garrison or tribute, in full enjoyment of their
respective countries.’

The list of names which followed was drowned, for the people, hearing
that freedom was to be granted to many of their towns, burst into loud
shouts of joy, which could not be controlled.

At length there was a pause, and the herald again read the names of the
favoured towns.

Then in their gratitude the people pressed around Flamininus, until
he was in danger of being crushed to death. Garlands and flowers were
showered upon him, so that he was forced to beg the people not to
smother him in their wild delight. But it was long before the Roman
could escape from the expressions of their joy.

Two years later Flamininus, having finished his work in Greece,
prepared to return to Rome. Before he left he summoned the free states
of Greece to meet him at Corinth, that he might bid them farewell.

Wisely he spoke, telling them to live in ‘harmony and moderation.’
Then, as a farewell gift, he promised to remove the Roman garrisons
from three other towns.

As at the Isthmian games in 196 B.C., so now again, the easily moved
people overwhelmed Flamininus with their gratitude. But when at length
the tumult grew less, the Roman said that there was a practical proof
of their goodwill which he would like them to give to him.

Many Romans had been taken prisoners and sold as slaves in Greece
during the wars with Hannibal. These he begged them to set free.

The Greeks were eager to show that their gratitude was sincere. So when
Flamininus reached the coast of Epirus, where his fleet was lying,
he found a great band of Roman captives awaiting him. They had been
ransomed by the grateful citizens.

In Rome, when Flamininus celebrated his triumph, he had in his
procession no more splendid trophies than these prisoners, who had been
redeemed by his unselfish thought.




CHAPTER LXXIV

THE DEATH OF HANNIBAL


The Ætolians were once a wild and savage race who lived among the
mountains of Greece and ate raw food. After long years, when they had
left many of their more savage customs behind them, they became one of
the most powerful peoples in Greece.

In the wars with Macedonia, of which you have just read, the Ætolians,
believing that they were used unfairly by King Philip, fought on the
side of the Romans. After the battle of Cynoscephalæ, they haughtily
said that the victory was due to them.

They disliked Flamininus, and grumbled that they had gained nothing
by helping him against the Macedonians. They had, so they said, but
changed one master for another, when Flamininus conquered Philip.

In their foolish discontent they resolved to free themselves from Roman
influence, but to be able to do this they must, they knew, seek the aid
of a foreign prince. So they turned to Antiochus III., King of Syria,
and begged him to liberate Greece from Roman influence.

Antiochus had already, in Egypt, had his ambitions frustrated by Rome,
and knowing her strength, he hesitated to respond to the appeal of the
Ætolians.

But as he hesitated, the great Carthaginian general Hannibal arrived at
the court of Ephesus, and placed his sword at the service of the king.

It was now seven years since Rome had made peace with Carthage, and
during that time Hannibal had been working for the welfare of his
country. In spite of the terms by which Rome had crippled her, his
genius had succeeded in making the city once again both wealthy and
prosperous.

Rome began to grow jealous of the restored fortunes of the city she
chose to consider her rival. Influenced by Cato, of whom I will tell
you in another chapter, she began to think that until Carthage was
destroyed, Rome herself would never be safe.

Certainly Hannibal was a menace to Rome, so an embassy was sent to
Carthage to demand that he should be given up.

Like other reformers, Hannibal had many enemies, and he knew that he
must escape from Carthage if he would not fall into the hands of Rome.
So he fled from his own country, and after some adventures by the way,
he at length reached Ephesus, where he offered his services, as I told
you, to Antiochus.

It was perhaps the arrival of the Carthaginian that determined the king
to join the Ætolians in their defiance of Rome. But although Antiochus
welcomed Hannibal, it was soon evident that he did not care to follow
the great general’s advice.

Hannibal, when he saw the troops of the king, knew that they were not
fitted to cope with the well-trained legions of Rome. In his blunt
soldier fashion he told Antiochus so, and advised him to attack Italy
by sea, offering to command the fleet himself.

But the king was quite sure that his soldiers were able to meet the
Roman forces. Nor, in any case, did he wish to place Hannibal at the
head of his fleet, lest, should a victory be won, the glory of it
should be given to the Carthaginian.

It seemed as though Antiochus was jealous of his new officer.

Hannibal saw that the king had not cared to adopt his first plan, so he
proposed another.

‘Make Philip of Macedon your ally,’ he said, ‘or the Romans will
certainly do so.’

Antiochus was not inclined to follow this suggestion either, and, as
Hannibal had foreseen, the Romans secured the help of King Philip.

Meanwhile, in 193 B.C., envoys from Rome arrived at the court of
Antiochus. The king was absent, mourning the loss of a son whom, so
ran the report, he had himself poisoned from jealousy. But Hannibal
was there, and he and the Romans appeared to be so friendly that the
courtiers grew suspicious, and by their tales made the king also
suspect the good faith of the Carthaginian.

When Antiochus returned to his court Hannibal did all he could to allay
his suspicions, telling him of the vow he had taken when a child--the
vow of undying hatred to Rome.

It is said that one of the Roman ambassadors was Scipio Africanus, and
that one day as he chatted with Hannibal he asked him who he thought
was the greatest general that had ever lived.

‘Alexander,’ said Hannibal, meaning Alexander the Great, who died in
323 B.C.

‘Who next?’ asked Scipio.

‘Pyrrhus,’ was the answer.

‘Who third?’ then demanded the Roman.

‘Myself,’ answered Hannibal.

‘What should you have said, then,’ asked Scipio, ‘if you had conquered
me?’

‘I should have said that I was greater than either Alexander or
Pyrrhus,’ was the quick retort.

Early in the spring of 192 B.C. the ambassadors had an interview with
the king. He, however, refused to listen to their demands, which were,
that he should not molest the Greek towns which had appealed to Rome to
save them from the interference of the King of Syria.

War was now inevitable, but before it actually began his officers had
persuaded the king not only to ignore any advice Hannibal might give,
but to offer him no responsible command in the campaign that was before
them.

‘If you follow Hannibal’s advice,’ said one of the king’s officers,
‘the glory will all be his, and not the king’s, while if he fails, the
fleet and the army will be fatally weakened. Hannibal is but a soldier
of fortune, and may usefully be employed as a subordinate, but in a
position of supremacy he would be intolerable.’

To such foolish words Antiochus listened, and was so influenced by them
that he gave the general who had led so many armies to victory only a
subordinate naval command.

I need not tell you of all the battles that were fought in this war,
but in the end the King of Syria was defeated. Peace was made, and one
of the conditions of the Roman Senate was, that ‘above all, Hannibal
the Carthaginian should be given up.’

So once again the great soldier was forced to flee, or fall into the
hands of his lifelong enemies.

He reached Crete in 190 B.C., and before long he was at the court of
Prusias, King of Bithynia. Here he won a great victory for the king,
with whom he had taken service. Unfortunately his victory happened
to be over one of the allies of Rome, and she at once demanded that
Prusias should deliver the Carthaginian into her hands.

Prusias may have been grateful to Hannibal, but he was too weak to defy
Rome, and he promised that the general should be surrendered.

Escape was impossible, for the king had ordered his guards to watch
Hannibal’s house before he was aware of his doom.

But death was better than to be dragged to Rome, to take part as a
prisoner in a triumph. How the Romans would gloat over such a captive!
The Carthaginian determined that they should never have such a
chance, so he took poison, which he is said to have carried about with
him--ever since his fortunes began to fail--concealed in a ring.

Thus, in 183 B.C., at the age of sixty-four, died the great warrior
whose name had made Rome tremble for so long.

Twelve years later Antiochus was stirring up strife in Egypt, whereupon
the Ptolemies (Ptolemy was the name of the Macedonian Kings of Egypt)
asked Rome to protect them from the King of Syria.

So in 168 B.C. Popilius was sent from Rome to remonstrate with
Antiochus.

Four miles from Alexandria the Roman met the king. Antiochus hoped to
disarm the ambassador by his courtesy, so he greeted him with his royal
hand outstretched.

But the Roman did not seem greatly affected by such condescension. He
took no notice of the king, save to offer him a tablet, on which the
Senate of Rome had engraved an order, forbidding Antiochus to threaten
or to attack Egypt.

The king read the tablet, and although he knew that he would be forced
to obey the mandate, pride dictated his words to Popilius.

‘It is necessary that I should consult my council,’ said the king,
‘before I can send an answer to the Senate.’

Then Popilius quietly stooped, and with a staff which he carried he
drew a circle in the dust, in which the king stood enclosed.

‘Before you step out of the circle I have drawn I must have your
answer, O King,’ said the Roman.

Antiochus seems to have been fascinated by the boldness of Popilius,
for without more ado he gave up the struggle.

He was rewarded by being greeted by Popilius with as great ceremony as
though he had just arrived, and been granted an audience with the king.
He was then politely asked to arrange a time to withdraw his troops to
his own dominions.




CHAPTER LXXV

THE HATRED OF CATO FOR CARTHAGE


When Scipio sailed with his fleet from Lilybæum, Cato was on board one
of the ships as quæstor, under Lælius.

It may be that his hatred of Carthage began at this time. But in any
case, in years to come his dislike to the city was bitter, and it grew
to be his one desire that it should be destroyed.

Cato had served his country as prætor in Sardinia, and when he was
Consul Spain was his province. Wherever he went he was known as a just
and honest Roman, who had a contempt for luxury, and himself lived
frugally.

In 184 B.C. he was appointed Censor, and in that position he came to be
dreaded, so severe was he in his judgments. His speech, too, was often
bitter, and stung his hearers into indignation.

Scipio, the Censor disliked. For he encouraged Greek culture, and by
his advice many Roman youths were taught by Greek tutors, and for this
new learning Cato had little care.

He loved the quiet, old-fashioned ways in which his countrymen had
been used to live. Cincinnatus was his ideal of a Roman citizen, and
he would fain have the nobles still live on their farms, plough their
lands, and leave them only when the State demanded their service. The
service rendered, Cato would have liked to see them hasten back to
their homes, to plough, to sow, to reap.

This was the man who, often as he spoke in the Senate, never failed to
refer to Carthage before he ended. ‘Every speech which I shall make in
this house,’ he sternly announced, ‘shall finish with these words,
“Carthage must be destroyed.”’

One day as he spoke in the Senate he plucked some fresh figs from
the folds of his toga. Holding them out that all might see, he said:
‘This fruit has been brought from Carthage. It grows but three days’
sail from Rome. I say that it is not well to have so prosperous and so
strong a city near to us. Carthage must be destroyed.’ The reiteration
of these words had its effect.

But a reason for proclaiming war on the Carthaginians was necessary
before Rome could send her armies to destroy their city. In 149 B.C.
she found the pretext she wished.

By the treaty made after the battle of Zama the Carthaginians had been
bound not to take up arms against any ally of Rome. Yet Masinissa was
left to harass them as he pleased, and he proved as troublesome a
neighbour as the Carthaginians had foreseen.

For half a century Carthage was true to her bond and raised no army
even for her own defence.

In spite of Masinissa’s raids upon her territory, the city had again
become rich and populous. So it was now a simple matter to form an army
and send it against their troublesome and greedy neighbour. Their army
was led by a general named Hasdrubal. Rome knew all that was going on
in Carthage, but for the time she did not interfere. She was watching
for the time when the city would be worn out by her struggle with
Masinissa.

In 151 B.C. the army of Carthage took the field against her foe, and
a great battle was fought. It lasted for the whole of one day, yet
neither side gained a decisive victory.

Masinissa, although now an old man of about ninety years of age, was
still a clever general. Soon after the battle he succeeded in enticing
the enemy into a tract of desert country.

Here he surrounded it with his troops, who watched so closely, that
it was impossible for a soldier to go out to search for succour or for
provisions. Hunger and sickness soon compelled the Carthaginians to
surrender at discretion.

Hasdrubal and those of his men who had not perished were allowed to
return to Carthage, Masinissa promising that they should go in safety.

But he did not scruple to break faith with the soldiers, who were weak
for want of food and unarmed, after having passed beneath the yoke.
His son Gulussa was allowed to surprise the miserable men as they
crept along toward Carthage, and scarcely one escaped to tell what had
befallen.

Masinissa was triumphant, for now he believed that he had gained all
Africa for himself. The Carthaginians would certainly not be able to
dispute his sway. He would join Numidia and Carthage, and become a
great king.

But, although he might well have known better, he forgot to wonder what
the Romans would have to say to his plans. He was soon to learn.

Rome sent a peremptory order to her former ally, just when he was at
the zenith of his happiness. Carthage was not to be joined to Numidia;
she was to be left alone, for the Senate itself would now see that she
was destroyed.




CHAPTER LXXVI

THE STERN DECREE


Carthage soon learned that it was with Rome, and no longer with
Masinissa, that she had now to deal.

That she would be punished for having taken up arms against her
troublesome neighbour she knew. So she determined if possible to disarm
the anger of Rome.

She therefore condemned Hasdrubal and the leaders of the war party to
death, and sent ambassadors to Rome to say that they only were guilty
of breaking the treaty. We do not know if Hasdrubal and his fellows
were content to be made the scapegoat of their people.

In Rome, the ambassadors were coldly treated, and told that not only
the leaders, but Carthage herself, must atone for the broken treaty.

Meanwhile, to the dismay of Carthage, Utica, which was strongly
fortified and almost as rich and powerful as the capital, surrendered
to Rome.

With Utica in their hands, the Romans had a convenient port at which to
land their forces, and they at once declared war. The two Consuls for
the year 149 B.C. were sent to Sicily with a large force, and ordered
to sail from Lilybæum to Africa, nor were they to think that their work
was ended until Carthage was destroyed.

When the Carthaginians received the declaration of war, they decided to
send another embassy to Rome, with an offer to surrender.

If the offer was accepted, Carthage could be treated as a town
conquered in war. But this right was often put aside when a town
surrendered of its own free will. It was in the hope that Rome would
prove merciful that Carthage now offered to submit.

The Roman Senate accepted the surrender of Carthage, demanding that
the city should send three hundred hostages to Sicily within thirty
days. Then these ominous words were added: ‘Carthage must also obey the
further commands of the Consuls.’ When they had obeyed these ‘further
commands,’ Rome promised that the Carthaginians should be granted
liberty, and that their possessions should not be taken away.

It was with a sinking heart that Carthage complied with the first
condition. Three hundred hostages were sent to Sicily within thirty
days. Many of them were but children, whose mothers were in despair at
being separated from them.

When the ships which were to carry the hostages away were ready to
sail, the miserable parents gathered at the water’s edge. In their
agony, scarce knowing what they did, some of the mothers ran into the
sea and held on to the ropes which tied the ships to the harbour.
Others, as the ropes were loosened and the ships began to move off,
swam after the vessels, weeping and uttering pitiful cries that their
children might be restored to them. But the ships sailed relentlessly
on their course.

In spite of the arrival of the hostages, the Consuls sailed from
Lilybæum and landed at Utica.

Here ambassadors from Carthage came to learn the meaning of the words
that had sounded ominous in their ears. What were the further commands
to which they must bow?

‘The Carthaginians must disarm,’ was the sentence that fell like lead
on the hearts of the ambassadors.

But the Romans had their reason for this demand, and saw no hardship in
it.

‘How,’ said the Consuls, ‘could those want arms who were resolved to
live in peace, who were protected from their enemies by the strong
arm of Rome, and had their liberty, independence, and possessions
guaranteed them?’

It was a hard decree. Yet to appease the wrath of Rome the ambassadors
agreed that this condition also should be fulfilled. They did not dream
that worse could be in store.

So one day a long procession of wagons set out from Carthage, laden
with suits of armour and catapults. Not catapults as you think of them,
small and easily handled, but great heavy slings for hurling stones at
the walls of besieged cities. Two hundred thousand suits of armour were
carried away and two thousand catapults, and the walls of Carthage were
left defenceless.

The procession was a solemn one. Ambassadors, priests, members of the
Senate, most noble citizens, all went with the wagons to the Roman camp
to deliver their contents to those who claimed this mighty sacrifice.
‘Surely now,’ they said to one another, ‘Rome will be content, and we
shall be able to go back with glad tidings of certain peace to our
defenceless town.’

But a still more bitter blow was to fall upon the ambassadors, a
blow bitter as death itself. The ‘further commands’ had not yet been
exhausted.

Rome now decreed that the Carthaginians should leave their town, nor
would they be allowed to settle within ten miles of the sea. Carthage
herself must be destroyed.

When the ambassadors heard this last terrible sentence, their distress
was profound. No humiliation was too great could they but obtain mercy.

They threw themselves at the feet of the Consuls, with tears streaming
down their cheeks, and with cries of anguish pleaded that they might be
spared this last bitter ordeal.

But no cries, no tears could change the stern decree. Nor was Carthage
even allowed again to send messengers to Rome to plead her cause before
the Senate.




CHAPTER LXXVII

THE CARTHAGINIANS DEFEND THEIR CITY


The ambassadors of Carthage had a hard task before them, a task it
needed all their courage to perform.

Some of them, indeed, were not brave enough to face their countrymen
with the dire tidings of the city’s doom, and these did not go back to
Carthage.

Others begged the Consuls to send a squadron to the mouth of their
harbour, that the citizens might see how impossible it was to defy
Rome. This the Consuls agreed to do.

Then the ambassadors who had not shirked their mournful task went back
to the city with downcast and gloomy faces. They knew that the fury of
the inhabitants would be roused when they heard the last cruel demand
of Rome.

Even as they entered the gates, the people thronged around them,
and seeing their stricken faces, they clamoured to be told what had
happened. But the ambassadors pushed their way in silence through the
crowds until they reached the Senate-house. Here, in faltering tones,
they told the cruel sentence that had been pronounced upon their city.

As they listened, a great cry burst from the lips of the assembly, and
was heard by the people without. Then silence, desperate, despairing
silence, settled down upon the senators, until, unable longer to
bear the suspense, the crowd thrust open the door, rushed into the
Senate-house, and demanded to be told the truth.

It was told. Then the citizens in their anger abused the senators who
had first advised the city to submit to Rome, while many of them
rushed into the streets and ill-treated every Italian whom they could
find. An outlet for their passion they needs must find.

Some hastened to close the city gates, as though the Roman legions were
already marching upon them, others crowded into the temples to pray, or
to curse the gods who had failed to save them from this great disaster.

Little by little the frenzy of the rabble died away, and then senators
and people met, and with one voice declared that they would die in
defence of their city, rather than give her into the hands of their
enemy.

It is true that they had no allies to help them, no arms, no ships. Yet
it was better far to die within the walls of Carthage than to live in
exile.

No sooner was their decision made than the people, knowing that there
was not a moment to spare, set to work.

Day and night men and women toiled without ceasing, until the whole
city seemed turned into a huge workshop.

One hundred shields, three hundred swords, five hundred missiles, and
a large number of catapults were made each day by the untiring labours
of the citizens. It is said that the women in their zeal cut off their
hair and twisted it into cords for the catapults.

The slaves in the city were all set free, that they might fight the
more whole-heartedly in the struggle that had now begun in grim earnest.

Hasdrubal, who had been condemned to death in an attempt to pacify the
Romans, but whose sentence had not been carried out, was now reinstated
in favour, and given the chief command of the army.

Although he had been so harshly treated by the Senate, Hasdrubal had
been, all this time, working for his country, and had raised an army of
twenty thousand men.

Meanwhile, the Consuls had yet to learn that Rome, by the severity of
her conditions, had passed the limits of Carthaginian endurance.

They made no haste to march to the capital, deeming that it was already
theirs. The last thing they expected was that the citizens, who had no
arms, would offer any resistance when they appeared before her gates.

But when at length they reached the town they were speedily undeceived.

Arms the Carthaginians seemed to have in plenty, and as missiles were
hurled at the Roman troops, and a heavy rain of arrows descended
upon them, the Consuls were forced to attack the town which they had
imagined was defenceless, and ready to receive them.

Twice the Roman army was repulsed. It was plain that the city would
have to be besieged.

For a whole year the Consuls did their utmost to take the town, but it
defied all their efforts. Even on the battlefield the Roman arms had no
greater success than before the walls of Carthage.

Cato died while the city was still being bravely defended by its
inhabitants. Masinissa who, like Cato, had been a bitter enemy of
Carthage and the source of much of the evil that had befallen her, was
also dead, and still the Romans remained without the walls of the city.

The year 148 B.C. passed, and the Senate at Rome began to grow
impatient. It was plain that the Consuls would never be able to take
the city, and it determined to find a general who could, and place him
at the head of the army.

There was, indeed, even then, a soldier serving under the Consuls who
was fitted to command. This was Scipio, the adopted grandson of the
great Scipio Africanus.

Already the army was devoted to him, for he had shown his courage and
skill more than once in helping the Roman legions out of difficult
positions in which they had been placed by their incompetent leaders.

Before his death Cato had heard of the exploits of the young soldier,
and while he scorned his commanders, he admired Scipio.

‘He alone has the breath of life in him, the rest are but flitting
phantoms,’ said the old man, who had begun to learn Greek and to love
Homer, from whom he was now quoting, only when he was about seventy
years of age.

According to Roman law, Scipio was still too young to be elected
Consul. Nevertheless he returned to Rome in 147 B.C., and in spite
of his youth was chosen Consul, and given the command of the army in
Africa.




CHAPTER LXXVIII

THE DESTRUCTION OF CARTHAGE


Under the rule of the previous Consuls the discipline of the army had
been slack. When Scipio returned to Africa, his first work was to
restore strict discipline.

The soldiers were no longer allowed to stray out of the camp when they
chose in search of plunder; while bands of traders and a crowd of idle
folk who had followed the army, also in hope of plunder, were banished.
Luxuries which had abounded in the camp were forbidden by the young
commander. Plain fare and regular drill soon made the army more anxious
to meet the enemy than to plunder and waste its days in idleness.

Now Carthage stood on a peninsula, a narrow isthmus joining it to the
mainland. Beyond this isthmus lay Megara, a suburb from which Carthage
procured most of her provisions.

When his army was ready for work, Scipio determined to cut Carthage off
from Megara, so that she might no longer be able to get food for the
city.

Across the narrow isthmus the Consul therefore ordered trenches to
be dug, three miles in length. Along the trenches, fortifications
and towns were speedily built, and when these were finished it was
impossible to get a morsel of food into the city by land.

Megara was then taken, and Hasdrubal was forced to retire with his army
into Carthage itself, of which he was at once made governor.

The Carthaginians could now only bring food into the city by sea, and
this was no easy task.

But with a strong wind blowing, there were many brave sailors daring
enough to risk being able to run past the Roman cruisers, and thus to
carry food into the harbour. So, although Megara was taken, the city
was able still to hold out against the enemy without being starved.

Scipio saw that he must now block the sea passage as he had already
blocked the land, if he meant to starve the city into submission, and
he ordered a strong barricade to be built across the mouth of the
harbour.

The Carthaginians mocked at the Roman soldiers as they watched them
bringing great stones to the harbour, for they thought that the enemy
had undertaken a task it would never be able to complete.

But as they saw that the Romans worked night and day, and as the huge
embankment rose before their eyes, they mocked no more. Perhaps after
all the Romans would succeed in blocking the harbour, and if that were
done they must starve.

So they, too, set to work, but in secret, to make a new opening from
the harbour to the sea.

Men and women, and even children, joined in the work, and at the same
time workmen in the city built a new fleet. It is true the ships had to
be built of old timber, or any wood that could be found, but this was
not enough to daunt the indomitable courage of the besieged.

Noiselessly the work was done, so that Scipio knew nothing about what
was going on, until one day when his barricade was almost finished.

Then, to his astonishment, he saw a fleet of fifty ships, which was
plainly but just built, sail out of a newly-cut passage from the
harbour.

The Roman was ill-pleased to be thus outwitted by his foe, yet perhaps
he also felt that here was a people worthy of his skill.

Three days later a great battle was fought at sea. From morning until
evening the battle raged, but neither side could claim the victory.

At length the Carthaginian fleet attempted to sail back to its harbour.
But the smaller vessels blocked the passage so that the large ships
were forced to stay without.

The Romans seized their chance, and attacked the enemy in this position.

A desperate struggle followed, and the Carthaginians, who were as used
to the sea as to the land, fought with unfailing courage. But at length
they were beaten, and the greater part of the new fleet was destroyed.

Winter was approaching, and Scipio had at length succeeded in closing
every approach to the city. Neither by sea nor by land could the
wretched people now get food.

As the weeks dragged slowly by, the misery in the besieged city grew
terrible. Many of the citizens killed themselves rather than endure a
day longer the pangs of hunger, while others in their desperate need
even ate the dead bodies of their fellows. Some gave themselves up to
the Romans, and were then sold as slaves.

In the early spring of 146 B.C. the Carthaginians were so exhausted
that they had little strength left to withstand the attack which Scipio
now made upon the town. Yet still they would not yield.

Hasdrubal, seeing that the enemy could not be repulsed, ordered the
outer harbour to be set on fire.

But as the flames leaped up, Lælius succeeded in scaling the wall, and
entered the city with his men, unnoticed in the confusion caused by the
fire. They soon reached the gates, and opened them to their comrades,
and in a short time the Forum was in the hands of the Romans.

From the Forum, three narrow streets led up to the Byrsa or Castle of
Carthage. The houses on either side of these streets were six storeys
high, and to these the inhabitants of the city rushed.

As the Romans pushed their way along the narrow streets, the
Carthaginians flung down upon them from windows and roofs every missile
or weapon on which they could lay their hands.

At length Scipio ordered his men to storm the houses. Then a terrible
hand-to-hand fight began with the starving citizens.

Clambering on to the roofs, which were flat, the soldiers stretched
boards or beams across from one house to another, and hurled out of the
way those citizens who still tried to hinder their progress.

For six days and nights the desperate townsfolk continued to baffle the
efforts of the Romans to reach their last stronghold, the Byrsa.

During this awful struggle, Scipio himself sent forward continually new
companies of men, and in his anxiety he scarcely found time to sleep or
to eat.

At length, however, the foot of the citadel was reached, and Scipio
ordered the narrow streets to be set on fire.

Then the Carthaginians knew that they could do no more, and those who
had taken refuge in the Byrsa surrendered, on being promised that their
lives should be safe.

Fifty thousand men, women, and children, pale and haggard with all that
they had gone through during the long drawn out siege, left the castle
and were carried off as prisoners.

Hasdrubal, who had defended the city so bravely, was still untaken.
He, with his wife and children, as well as about nine hundred Romans
who had deserted their own camp, now took refuge in the temple of
Æsculapius, and set fire to it themselves.

But Hasdrubal, feeling, it may be, that he could not help his country
by his death, resolved to save his life.

He escaped from the burning temple, and, with an olive branch in his
hand, threw himself at the feet of Scipio, begging for life. And the
Roman commander granted his request.

It is told that the wife of Hasdrubal stood on the roof of the temple
and cursed her husband as she saw him crouching at the feet of the
conqueror.

Calling aloud to him that he was a traitor and a coward, she flung
first her two sons and then herself into the flames before the eyes of
her horror-stricken husband.

Meanwhile, with all speed a ship was sent to Rome, laden with the
spoils of Carthage.

Great was the rejoicing in the city when it was known that her ancient
rival was in ruins. Orders were at once sent to Scipio, bidding him
complete his work by destroying the town.

So Carthage was given to the flames, and for seventeen days the
fire blazed untiringly. Scipio, as he watched the doomed city,
thought of other great countries that had been destroyed by their
enemies--Assyria, Persia, Macedonia. In the unknown future would Rome
fall even as these?

Thinking thus, Scipio murmured the lines of Homer:

   ‘The day shall come when holy Troy shall fall,
    And Priam, lord of spears and Priam’s folk.’

When the flames had at last died out, a plough, drawn by oxen, was
driven over the site of the town, and Scipio uttered a solemn curse
against any one who should venture to build a new city on the ancient
site of Carthage.




CHAPTER LXXIX

CORNELIA, THE MOTHER OF THE GRACCHI


Cornelia and her two sons, Tiberius and Gaius, are famous in the annals
of Roman history.

The mother of the Gracchi was the daughter of the first Scipio
Africanus. With her father’s consent, Cornelia married a young
plebeian, named Tiberius Gracchus.

Her husband died while her children were still young, and from that
time Cornelia lived to train and educate her boys.

Princes in foreign countries heard of the wisdom and goodness of the
noble matron, and journeyed to Rome to beseech her to bestow her hand
upon them. Even King Ptolemy of Egypt wished to make her his queen.

But Cornelia steadfastly refused each suitor, that she might be free to
watch over her sons. From their childhood she taught them to love their
country, telling them tales of those who had served Rome well, and had
even given their lives for love of her.

And so the lads grew up longing that they too, like the heroes of old,
might live and die for their country. But their mother taught them
lessons the heroes of old had never learned, and one of these lessons
was to care for the poor and oppressed.

One day, while her children were still young, a lady came to visit
Cornelia. She was a rich lady, and proud of her jewels and her wealth.

[Illustration: The City was given to the flames.]

Cornelia listened quietly as her guest told her of the precious stones
and ornaments she possessed. When at length she grew tired of talking
of her own beautiful things, she said she would like to see the
treasures of her hostess.

So Cornelia led the lady to another room. There, in bed, fast asleep,
lay her children. Pointing to the little ones, she said to the
bewildered visitor, ‘These are my jewels; the only ones of which I am
proud.’

Tiberius was nine years older than his brother Gaius. The elder boy was
gentle and deliberate, both in his ways and in his speech, the younger
was vehement and impetuous. As they grew up, the differences between
them grew more marked.

Both were great orators, but Tiberius spoke without gestures, and
seldom stirred from one spot while he addressed his audience.

Gaius, on the other hand, was never still for a moment. His quick,
passionate words were emphasised by his gestures, and as he talked he
would walk up and down, sometimes in his excitement throwing his gown
off his shoulders.

The two brothers were known as ‘The Gracchi.’ They had a sister who
was named Sempronia, and she had married the younger Scipio. Tiberius
served under his brother-in-law in Africa, and he was the first to
mount the wall when the suburb of Megara was attacked.

In 137 B.C., soon after he returned to Italy, he was sent to Spain to
serve with the army there.

On his way he passed through Etruria, where the land was divided into
large estates. These estates belonged to rich people, who employed
gangs of slaves to cultivate their fields.

Tiberius saw the slaves at work as he journeyed through the country. He
noticed that they were loaded with chains and bent with the hard tasks
that their masters forced them to do.

The young man looked at these poor creatures with pity, for Cornelia
had taught her boys that slaves were human beings, and should be
treated justly and kindly.

Why should the land belong only to the rich? Tiberius wondered. Had
these very fields and estates not been won for Rome by her citizen
soldiers? Yet many of the soldiers were now struggling with poverty,
instead of owning part of the soil for which they had fought.

As he thought of the slaves, and of the unfair division of land,
Tiberius remembered that the old Licinian laws forbade any one man to
own large tracts of land.

So he determined that when he went back to Rome he would plead with the
Senate to enforce these old laws, that the poor might share the land
with the rich.

After he had made this resolution, Gracchus went on his way with happy
thoughts.

Soon no chained slaves would be seen toiling in the fields, but citizen
farmers, like Cincinnatus of old, would live on their own land and
till their own fields. And he, Tiberius Gracchus, would have freed his
country from a great evil.

The dreams of the young Roman that night were happy dreams.

When the time came for Tiberius to return to Rome, his mind was still
full of reform. No sooner did he reach home, than he told to his noble
mother his plans for helping the slaves and the poorer citizens of
Rome, and begged for her advice.

Cornelia was full of interest in all that her son had to tell. She was
pleased that he should wish to help the oppressed, and she knew that it
was she herself who had taught him to be thus pitiful.

‘I have been called the daughter of Scipio, but in days to come I shall
be known as the mother of the Gracchi,’ she told Tiberius, for Cornelia
believed that both her boys would be honoured by the country they
sought to serve.

So in 133 B.C. Tiberius offered himself as one of the people’s
tribunes. He was young, it was true, but already the citizens knew that
he was their friend, and he was elected without difficulty.




CHAPTER LXXX

TIBERIUS AND HIS FRIEND OCTAVIUS


The Senate and the wealthy landowners were displeased that Gracchus had
been chosen as one of the tribunes. They knew that he was eager for
reforms, which they had no wish to see carried out.

But Tiberius was too wise not to try to please those in authority. So
his first measure was not so sweeping as his opponents had expected
it to be. The young reformer even said, that those who would lose
great estates, if the old Licinian laws were enforced, should have
compensation.

But although the landowners had not expected this concession, they were
very angry with Tiberius, and they did all that they could to make the
people misunderstand him. If his wishes were made laws, the lot of the
poor would only become more difficult, they told the plebeians, who did
not know what to believe.

Then, lest the people should begin to think that the landowners knew
better than he what was for their good, Tiberius determined to tell
them plainly what he thought about their struggles and their poverty.

In the Assembly of the people his fervent words rang out.

‘The wild beasts of Italy,’ he said, ‘have their caves and lairs, but
to the men who fought and bled for Italy nothing remains except the
open air and the light of heaven. Bereft of home and shelter, they
wander about with their wives and families. It is a mere mockery and
a delusion in a general to exhort his warriors before a battle by
bidding them fight for the graves of their ancestors and for their
household altars, for not one of them owns an altar bequeathed him by
his father, nor the ground where his fathers are laid. They fight and
fall that others may enjoy affluence and luxury; they are called lords
of the earth, and have not a single clod which is their own.’

These words, so full of pity for the treatment that they suffered,
touched the hearts of the people, and they would no longer listen to a
word against their tribune.

Among his fellow-tribunes, Tiberius scarcely looked for support, save,
perhaps, from his friend Octavius.

At first, indeed, Octavius refused to oppose the bill Gracchus now
brought forward, but in the end he yielded to the enemies of Gracchus,
and promised to do so.

This was fatal to the success of the bill, for it was the rule that if
one tribune disapproved of a measure, the others were powerless to do
any more in the matter. It was allowed to drop out of sight. Tiberius
was too much in earnest to be willing that this should happen. He met
his friend and begged him not to persist in opposing the bill.

Octavius himself was a landowner, and Gracchus, careless, as it seemed,
of his friend’s feelings, even offered to compensate him for what he
would lose if the law was passed.

But Octavius was neither to be persuaded nor bribed. He refused to do
as Tiberius wished, and so it was still impossible to pass the bill.

Then Tiberius, who as tribune had exactly the same power as his friend,
resolved to use it.

He opposed every measure brought before the State, just as Octavius
had opposed his bill. He also put his seal on the treasury, so that no
money could be obtained, and thus it was soon impossible to carry on
public business.

The landowners knew that Tiberius would not rest until he had gained
his end. To show their distress they put on mourning, and walked up and
down the streets with a melancholy mien, for their estates were dear to
them.

But they did more than parade their grief; they called together their
followers that they might be ready to resist Gracchus by force, if it
became necessary. Plots, too, were laid against his life, but Tiberius
heard of these, and from that time he carried a dagger beneath his robe.

The landowners were right in believing that Gracchus would never be
content until his bill had been voted either for or against by the
people.

Not only did the tribune intend to have the vote taken, but he was
resolved that it should be taken without delay. For the people had
crowded into the city from all parts of the country to support him, and
he feared lest they should have to go back to their homes before their
vote had been given.

So he made another attempt to bring his bill before the popular
Assembly, but again Octavius interfered, while some haughty nobles led
their followers into the Assembly and overturned the urns in which the
votes were placed.

Again Gracchus appealed to his friend, this time in the presence of the
Senate, but once again his friend refused to yield to his entreaty.

Tiberius felt that he had done his utmost to win Octavius by kindness.
He now determined to appeal to the people to remove his friend from the
tribuneship.

This was to go in the face of law and justice, for a magistrate when
appointed by the people was free to do as he thought right during his
year of office, without interference from those who had given him
authority.

But the influence of Gracchus was so great that seventeen out of
thirty-five tribes had already voted that Octavius should be deposed,
when Gracchus stopped the proceedings.

He saw that he was going to win, and he wished to give Octavius the
chance to resign of his own free will.

But when Octavius disdained to accept this suggestion, the voting was
continued, and Octavius was soon declared to be no longer tribune.

The unfortunate man was then dragged from his seat by the servants of
Tiberius, and it was not without trouble that he escaped with his life
from the fury of the people.

Now that the obstinate tribune was out of the way, Gracchus had no
difficulty in passing his bill. But he was so angry with the landowners
for the opposition with which they had treated it, that he dropped the
clause saying they should have compensation for their loss.

Tiberius, his father-in-law Appius Claudius, and his brother Gaius were
now appointed to survey and divide the land in accordance with the bill.

Summer passed, and soon Tiberius would no longer be tribune, and his
enemies rejoiced. For when he was once more a private citizen they
hoped to punish him for deposing Octavius.

But Tiberius did not mean to become a private citizen at the end of his
year of office, if it was possible to avoid doing so.

It was true that it was against the law for a tribune to be re-elected
for a second year. But the people had before now ignored this law, and
Tiberius hoped that they would do so again for his sake. It may be that
Tiberius was anxious to retain his authority, lest the new land law
should suffer were he not able to see that it was enforced.

But the country folk had got what they wished, and would not flock to
the city for the coming elections in such crowds as they had done when
the passing of the law had depended on their presence.

Gracchus would have to depend, for the most part, on the city populace
to vote for him. It was influenced, he was well aware, by the
Optimates, that is, by the party that supported the Senate, so that
Gracchus knew that the chance of re-election was small.

On the day of the election two tribes had, however, already voted for
Gracchus, when the Optimates broke in upon the Assembly, saying that
the proceedings were illegal.

The other tribunes sided with the Optimates, or at least they opposed
the re-election of Gracchus, and, much against his will, Tiberius saw
the election put off until the following day.




CHAPTER LXXXI

THE DEATH OF TIBERIUS GRACCHUS


Tiberius did all that was possible to influence the people in the short
time that was his before the votes were to be taken. He appeared before
them clad in mourning, and bade them guard his young son should he not
escape from the coming contest with his life.

The citizens were easily moved, and his eloquent words and sombre garb
appealed to their imagination. They flocked to his side, escorted him
to his home, and promised to give him their support on the morrow.

That night Tiberius arranged to give his friends a sign--to raise his
hand to his head--should he think it necessary to use force.

Early the next morning the people assembled on the Capitol, and
Gracchus left his house to join them, although he was warned that
danger would overtake him.

Omens of ill were rife. As he left his house, Tiberius stumbled and
wounded his great toe so severely that the blood dripped from his
shoe. In spite of this accident he went on, and before long he noticed
two ravens fighting on the top of a house. Gracchus was at the moment
surrounded by people, yet a stone struck from the building by one of
the ravens fell at his feet.

Even the boldest of his friends was daunted by such occurrences. It was
plain that it would be wise for him to return to his home after such
distinct warnings of disaster.

But Gracchus went on toward the Capitol, where he was joyfully greeted
by his friends.

The voting began almost immediately, but again and again it was
interrupted by the enemies of Gracchus, until at length he determined
to settle the matter by force.

He gave the signal he had arranged with his followers, and they flew to
his aid. Before long a riot had begun, and the opponents of Gracchus
were driven away by a fierce attack of stones and cudgels.

The Optimates were enraged by this rebuff. They declared in their anger
that Gracchus wished to overthrow the nobles that he might become king.

They had seen him raise his hand to his head. It was the signal he had
arranged to give his friends, but they said that it was a sign to the
people that he hoped to wear a crown. Some even asserted that he had
already been presented with a royal diadem and a purple robe.

The Consul, they agreed, ought to employ force to scatter the followers
of Gracchus.

But Mucius Scævola was a wise Consul, and refused to kill a single
citizen without a trial.

‘Since the Consul betrays the republic,’ cried Scipio Nasica, ‘I call
upon those men to follow me who desire to preserve the laws of our
country.’ Then, drawing his toga over his head, Nasica marched against
the followers of Gracchus at the head of a band of senators and knights.

The people saw the officers of state marching towards them, and
stricken with fear they fled, leaving Gracchus, whom they had promised
to defend, alone and unprotected.

Tiberius hastened toward the temple of Jupiter, thinking that he would
find shelter there, but the priest had closed the door.

As he turned away he stumbled for the second time that day. But he
quickly raised himself, only, however, to be struck brutally on the
head by one of his enemies. Before he could recover from the blow, a
second stroke ended the life of the unfortunate man. Three hundred of
his followers were slain before the tumult ended, and the bodies of the
victims were thrown into the Tiber.

Gaius begged that he might be allowed to bury his brother, but his
request was refused, and the body of Tiberius was also dragged to the
river and flung into the tide.

Tiberius had paid with his life for his reforms, but he had been
successful in wresting the land laws from the patricians, and in
shaking the power of the Senate by his appeal to the people. Nor was
the law repealed after his death.

The place left empty on the committee by the murder of Tiberius was
filled by Publius Crassus, the father-in-law of Gaius, and the division
of land for the good of the people was slowly carried on.




CHAPTER LXXXII

THE DEATH OF GAIUS GRACCHUS


There were some citizens who did not fear to show their regret for the
death of Tiberius Gracchus, and one of these was named Carbo.

That the populace was sorry that it had forsaken Gracchus at the
critical moment was proved by the sympathy it gave to Carbo, and by its
choice of him as their tribune in 131 B.C.

Carbo determined to carry on the reforms of Tiberius Gracchus, and his
first measure was to try to make it legal for a tribune to be elected
for two years in succession.

In the Assembly of the people Scipio Africanus opposed this, and also
declared that Tiberius was put to death justly for trying to be elected
tribune a second time.

Ominous mutterings were heard among the crowd at these words.

But Scipio was always masterful, and, annoyed at the interruption, he
sternly said: ‘Let no man speak to whom Italy is but a stepmother.’

He said this to remind the people that many of them had been conquered
by the Romans, and had not even the full rights of citizens.

Not to have the full rights of citizenship was a sore point with the
Italians, and at so bitter a taunt they grew the more threatening.

‘Do you think,’ added Scipio scornfully, as he noticed their attitude,
‘do you think I fear the men whom I brought here in chains now that
they are set free?’

The influence of Scipio was so great that Carbo’s bill was rejected.

In 129 B.C. Scipio was at the height of his power, and more popular
than ever before. Crowds gathered to watch and admire him as he went to
and fro from his house to the Senate.

One day as he left the Forum his progress was like a triumph. He left
his admirers early that evening, and took his writing tablets to his
room to prepare a speech which he intended to give the next day. But
when morning came he was found dead in bed. At his funeral it was plain
that he had been respected not only by his friends but by those too who
did not agree with his views. His great success at Carthage was never
forgotten, and in him Rome knew that she had lost one of her truest and
noblest citizens.

Meanwhile, after the murder of his brother, Gaius Gracchus lived
quietly in his own home.

The enemies of Tiberius began to hope that Gaius would prove unlike his
brother, and be willing to leave the laws of his country alone. But
they forgot that Cornelia had trained Gaius even as she had trained her
elder son. Gaius never dreamed of letting his brother’s fate keep him
from serving his country. He was but waiting for the best opportunity
to follow in his footsteps.

In 123 B.C. Gaius was elected tribune. The Optimates, it is true, did
their utmost to defeat him. But, as in the time of Tiberius, the people
flocked from all parts of Italy to vote for him.

In the place of Assembly many could find no room. But, rather than
be thwarted, the excited people climbed on to the roofs of the
neighbouring buildings, and raised their voices in favour of Gaius.

The younger Gracchus was even more eloquent than his brother, and his
quick, passionate words swayed the people this way or that, as he
willed.

Sometimes in his earnestness he lost control of his voice, and spoke
more loudly than was pleasant, and he had invented a curious way to
check this habit.

When he spoke in public a slave always stood near to him, a flute in
his hand. Should his master’s voice rise, the slave would strike a few
soft notes on his flute, and Gaius hearing, would remember, and strive
to regain control of his voice.

After his election Gaius reminded the people of his brother’s cruel
death, and they wept. He told them that he meant to carry on the
reforms for which Tiberius had died, and they applauded.

The first effort of the young tribune was to try to punish Octavius for
having opposed his brother.

He brought forward a bill proposing that any man who had been deposed
from one office should henceforth be incapable of being elected to
another.

Octavius had been deposed, and if this bill became law he could no
longer hope to serve his country in a public position.

But Cornelia was wiser than her son, and knowing that such a law would
only anger the people, she persuaded Gaius to withdraw his bill.

In many ways Gaius tried to keep the affections of the people. He built
bridges, and ordered milestones to be erected for their benefit. He
brought in laws making grain cheaper for the poor, and this greatly
increased his popularity. Above all, he was eager to give the full
rights of citizenship to all Italians.

The laws passed for these and other measures were called the Sempronian
laws, as Sempronius was the name of the family to which the Gracchi
belonged.

Meanwhile the Senate was growing alarmed. Gaius Gracchus promised to
give more trouble even than his brother had done. Reforms were being
carried out too rapidly to please either the Senate or the patricians.
His enemies resolved not to kill him as they had killed his brother,
for they believed that they could injure him in a more subtle way.

From that time, if Gaius proposed a measure for the good of the people,
one of the Optimates would suggest another, that would be sure to
please them more than that of Gaius.

Drusus was the man employed by the enemies of Gracchus to undermine his
influence in this way. He was rich, and eloquent as Gaius himself, and
little by little he wormed his way into the favour of the people. The
more Drusus grew in favour with the plebeians, the less popular became
Gaius.

Now Gracchus believed that if the poor people in Italy were sent out to
settle in the new lands which the Romans had conquered they would soon
grow more prosperous than was possible at home.

His colleague had proposed to make Carthage, in Africa, one of these
new colonies, for a city was being built on the old site, in spite of
the curse that had been pronounced over it by Scipio.

The Senate agreed to make Carthage one of the new colonies, and gladly
sent Gaius out to take charge of the scheme. He would be forgotten by
the people while he was away.

During his absence, which, after all, only lasted for sixty days,
Drusus introduced a much greater scheme for the settling of the people
in colonies. His colonies were not to be far away, as were those of
Gracchus and his colleague, but in Italy herself. Besides, Drusus
promised that there should be no taxes to pay in his colonies, while
Gracchus had made no such concession.

It did not matter to the people that it was unlikely, if not
impossible, that Drusus’s plan could be carried out. That he had
proposed it was enough. When Gracchus came back from Africa he at once
saw how coldly the people welcomed him, how little they trusted him.

But he determined not to be disheartened. He would yet win back the
confidence of the people. So he left his house on the Palatine, where
the nobles lived, and dwelt near the Forum, in the midst of the poorer
citizens of Rome.

But Gaius was too impetuous to be wise, and his next move did not win
the favour of the citizens, although it may have pleased the rabble.

One day he noticed that stands were being put up round the ground where
public games were to be held. These stands were for the rich, who could
afford to pay for them. As they took up a great deal of room, and would
spoil the view of many of the poorer folk, Gaius begged that they might
be removed. But his request was refused, and he himself was ridiculed
by his enemies.

Then Gaius took the matter into his own rash hands.

The evening before the games were to take place he ordered workmen to
pull down the stands and level the ground, so that on the morrow rich
and poor would be forced to stand side by side if they were to see the
games.

Soon after this the election of tribunes took place, and although Gaius
had done much for the sake of the people’s welfare, they showed no
gratitude. In 121 B.C. he was not again chosen as their tribune.

What was even more serious was that the Consuls for the year, Fabius
Maximus and Opimius, were leaders of the Optimates, so that the enemies
of Gaius were now powerful enough to attack him publicly.

First they worked upon the superstitious fears of the populace. They
reminded the people that the site of Carthage had been cursed, yet here
were Gracchus and his friends venturing to build a new city on the very
spot.

Omens, too, had been ignored. His enemies told how the boundary stones
of the new city and the measuring poles had been torn out of the ground
by wild beasts and carried away. Such things, they said, must portend
the wrath of gods.

Thus they paved the way for the blow which they hoped to inflict upon
Gracchus. For they now called the tribes together and asked them to
repeal the law permitting the building and colonising of Carthage. The
people themselves had passed the law only the year before.

Gracchus and his friends determined to fight against the repeal of this
law. But while Gracchus hoped to avoid violence, his friends were ready
to use force to gain their ends.

The anger of both parties was roused, and lest one side should take
advantage of the other, both took up their position on the Capitol,
meaning to spend the night on the hill. But it was unlikely to be a
quiet night. Any moment a spark might set the flames of anger alight.

As Gracchus walked up and down, speaking to one and another, the
servant of the Consul came from the temple carrying away part of the
sacrifice that had just been offered, and shouting in a rude manner to
the people to leave room for him to pass.

When he drew near to Gracchus the people imagined that he threatened
their leader.

At once the mob was in a panic. Some one cried that the life of Gaius
was in danger, and in a moment the insolent servant was killed.

Gracchus was deeply grieved that one of his party should have been so
rash. It gave to his enemies the very opportunity which they wished.

The Senate, indeed, showed great horror at such a deed of violence, and
ordered the body of the dead man to be held up to the people. ‘This
is how Gracchus and his friends treat the poor,’ was what the Senate
wished the people to think. It then denounced Gaius and his party as
enemies of the republic.

After this both the parties left the Capitol, Gracchus and his friends
taking up their position on the Aventine hill early the following
morning.

Before he left home Gaius refused to wear armour, but put on his gown
as though he were simply going to an Assembly of the people. He did,
however, wear a short dagger beneath his tunic.

As he reached the threshold his wife rushed after him and caught him
with one hand, while with the other she clasped one of her children.

‘You go now,’ she said to her husband, ‘to expose your body to the
murderers of Tiberius, unarmed, indeed, and rightly so, choosing rather
to suffer the worst of injuries than do the least yourself.’

But Gaius would listen to no more. Gently he withdrew himself from her
hold, and stricken with grief, his wife fell to the ground.

When Opimius, the Consul, heard of the gathering on the Aventine, he
declared that it was an act of war to seize a position within the city
and hold it against the Senate. He ordered it to be proclaimed that he
would give its weight in gold to any one who brought him the head of
Gaius Gracchus. Then, with a troop of soldiers and archers, Opimius
prepared to march against those whom he had declared rebels.

The leader of the mob, for indeed it was little else, was Fulvius, who
had been both tribune and Consul.

He now sent his young son, of eighteen years of age, to propose to the
Senate that peace should be arranged without having recourse to arms.

The lad was sent back to say that the rebels must disperse, and
Gracchus and Fulvius appear before the Senate to answer for what they
had done, before it was possible to think of terms.

Gracchus would have agreed to do this, but Fulvius refused to give way,
and sent his son back to the Senate with other proposals.

This time the messenger was not sent back, but was kept prisoner by
Opimius, who without further delay went forward toward the Aventine
hill.

Fulvius had not courage to face the troops of the Consul, and he
fled and hid himself in a bath, from which he was soon dragged
ignominiously, and put to death.

Gracchus did not attempt to lead his followers against the soldiers. He
may have felt it was hopeless to do so.

His friends urged him to escape, but he, it is said, first fell upon
his knees, and in the bitterness of his heart besought the goddess
Diana to punish the fickle, ungrateful people of Rome by sending them
into unending slavery.

Then he fled down the hill toward the river Tiber, followed by two of
his most faithful friends and a slave.

One of his friends fell and sprained his foot. He quickly rose and
faced the pursuers, resolved to hinder them as long as might be. But he
was soon put to death.

At the bridge that crossed the Tiber the other friend stopped. Here it
would be possible, he thought, to hold the enemy at bay for a time.
Perhaps as he stood at his post he thought of the old Roman hero,
Horatius Cocles, who had so nobly held the bridge against the foes of
Rome. But ere long he too was slain.

Then Gaius, knowing that all hope was at an end, called for a horse.
But his enemies were watching, and no one dared to answer his request.

Yet taken alive he would never be! So with desperate speed he ran on
until he reached a little grove, which was consecrated to the Furies,
and here for a few brief moments he was hidden from his pursuers. Then
in a stern voice he bade his slave, who was now alone with him, to kill
him before he was discovered by his enemies.

His slave obeyed, and, faithful to the end, slew himself as well as his
master.

Here in the grove his enemies found the body of Gaius Gracchus, covered
by that of his devoted slave.

[Illustration: Here it would be possible, he thought, to hold the enemy
at bay.]

The head of the dead man was cut off, and to increase its weight was
filled with lead. This was done, it is told, by one who was once his
friend. But this we cannot easily believe. It was, however, taken to
the Consul, who gave for it the promised reward--its weight in gold.

The body of Gaius was then dragged through the streets, and thrown into
the Tiber.

And Cornelia, the mother of the Gracchi?

She bore the loss of her two sons as she had borne all the disasters of
her life, with an undaunted spirit.

Her friends marvelled to hear her speak of her sons with no outward
sign of grief, but Cornelia was too proud of the service they had
done for Rome to weep. Yet she left the city and lived in retirement,
for, with all her fortitude, she could not bear to meet those who had
approved of the murder of her sons.

In after years the Romans learned to be ashamed of their treatment of
the Gracchi, and in reverence for the noble matron who had borne them
they erected a bronze statue in the Forum. On it were inscribed these
simple words: ‘To Cornelia, the mother of the Gracchi.’




CHAPTER LXXXIII

THE GOLD OF JUGURTHA


Jugurtha was king, King of Numidia. It is true that he had stolen
his kingdom, or at least the greater part of it, from his two young
cousins, the grandsons of Masinissa, yet he was safely seated on the
throne.

One of the princes Jugurtha had murdered, the other had escaped to Rome
and claimed her help.

But Jugurtha was rich, and he knew that at Rome gold could purchase
what he wished. So now he sent large sums of money to some of the
senators, and these could not resist the wealth that was offered to
them.

In this way justice went awry, to the bewilderment of Adherbal the
prince, for the senators who were bribed, voted that Jugurtha should
keep the wealthiest and strongest part of Numidia, while Adherbal might
claim what was left.

But even this was not enough to satisfy the ambition of the king. He
now wished to wrest from the prince even the small dominion that had
been allotted to him.

Again and again Adherbal appealed to Rome, but her hands were filled
with the gold of the tyrant, and she would do nothing to help his
victim.

At length Jugurtha besieged his cousin in his capital town of Cirta.

The prince was not strong enough to defy his enemy, and there was no
choice but to surrender, and this Adherbal did, on condition that his
life and that of the inhabitants should be spared.

But it was vain to trust Jugurtha. He cared little for the promise he
had given, and no sooner had the prince left the city than his cousin
ordered that he should be put to death, while the inhabitants, Italians
as well as Numidians, were also slain.

The treachery of Jugurtha was known in Rome, but it was ignored. How
could it be otherwise when those who should have rebuked and punished
him were spending his money.

But among the tribunes there was one man whose hands were clean, and
he, in the Assembly of the people, denounced the nobles for taking
bribes and allowing Jugurtha to go on his treacherous way unchecked.

So earnest were the words of Memmius that the people were roused, and
the Senate dared no longer refuse to call the tyrant to account. War
was therefore declared against the King of Numidia in 112 B.C.

But it was useless to send an army to Africa unless the officers were
honourable men.

Bestia, the Consul, when he reached the enemy’s country, did at first
attack and capture several towns, as well as take many of Jugurtha’s
men prisoners.

Then, all at once, the activities of the Consul came to an end. He
fought no more against the enemy. For Bestia had been offered the gold
of Jugurtha and had accepted it, and the tyrant was again left to use
his power as he chose.

At home, however, Memmius did not scruple to expose the conduct of
Bestia, and to denounce it as unworthy of a Roman. His persistence won
the day.

In 110 B.C. Jugurtha was brought to Rome under a safe conduct, that he
might give evidence against those who had accepted his gold.

But even now the king still found some willing to handle his money, and
justice was delayed, if it was not altogether turned aside.

One of the Consuls meanwhile wished to depose Jugurtha and make a young
prince King of Numidia.

When Jugurtha heard this he did not hesitate to order his slave to go
at once to put his rival to death.

Such a deed was more than Rome could tolerate, and Jugurtha found it
necessary to escape from the city.

The Senate saw that the war in Africa must be carried on. But to do so
with any hope of success it was necessary to find a general who would
scorn to take a bribe.

In the summer of 109 B.C. such a man was found in the Consul Metellus,
who was now sent to Numidia as commander of the army. With him, as his
lieutenant or legate, he took Gaius Marius, of whose boyhood I must
tell you.




CHAPTER LXXXIV

GAIUS MARIUS WINS THE NOTICE OF SCIPIO AFRICANUS


Gaius Marius was born in 157 B.C. His parents were humble folk, who had
to work for their daily bread.

Marius grew up knowing nothing of the indolence and luxury that
surrounded so many Roman youths of noble birth.

His boyhood was lived in a mountain village, where, if his training
made him rough and uncouth, it also taught him to endure hardness, and
to eat and drink only what was needful for his health. It was many long
years before Marius knew anything of the polished manners and indulgent
ways of the city.

From his youth Gaius Marius was bold and active. As he grew older, his
temper would often flash out in ungovernable passion when there was
little to provoke it.

The lad first served as a soldier under the younger Scipio Africanus.
He was used to frugal fare, and to him the simple manner in which
Scipio insisted that his soldiers should live seemed only natural.

The young soldier’s bravery gained the attention of his commander more
than once, and it is easy to believe that such notice awoke his pride
and roused his ambition.

One evening, as he sat at supper, Scipio was asked where the Romans
would find another leader when he was no longer with them.

‘Perhaps here,’ answered Scipio, and as he spoke he touched Marius
lightly on the shoulder.

At these words the ambition of Marius leaped to greater heights than
ever before.

When he was thirty-eight years of age he became a tribune, and he at
once set himself to win the favour of the people by bringing forward a
measure to keep the election of magistrates free from bribery, but the
Senate refused to allow the bill to be put to the vote.

Marius, nothing daunted, threatened that the Consuls should be
imprisoned if they did not compel the Senate to let the bill take its
course. So determined was he that he gained his end. The bill came
before the people, and they, well pleased that Marius had compelled the
Senate to yield, voted for it, and the bill became law.

In 115 B.C. he became a prætor, and was sent to service in Spain. Here
he showed that he was a leader of men, for under him the Roman army
speedily cleared the land of the robbers that had for long infested it.

At this time those who rose to fame in Rome were almost always either
rich or eloquent.

But Marius was poor, and he had no gift of speech, yet these things did
not prevent him from looking forward to the days when he, too, would be
famous.

And already the people believed in him. He worked so hard and lived so
simply that they looked on the uncouth soldier with goodwill.

A little later he married into the family of the illustrious Cæsars,
and this improved his position, and added to his growing influence in
the State. His wife Julia was the aunt of the great Roman, Julius Cæsar.

This was the lieutenant Metellus took with him to the war against
Jugurtha.




CHAPTER LXXXV

GAIUS MARIUS BECOMES COMMANDER OF THE ARMY


When Metellus reached Africa, he found that the discipline of the army
was so lax that it was unfitted to fight with any hope of success.

So he drilled and trained his men with great strictness and
persistency, until he believed that they were again worthy to fight for
their country.

Meanwhile Jugurtha found that here at length was a Roman who scorned
to touch his gold. This same Roman, too, had so disciplined his troops
that Jugurtha now distrusted his power to meet them. He therefore
offered to submit, if Metellus would promise to spare his life and the
lives of his children.

But the general paid no attention to this offer, and led his army into
Numidia. Gaius Marius was with the Consul, in command of the cavalry.

Now Marius did not love his general, and he cared less that Metellus
should be successful in battle than that he himself should win glory by
his deeds.

But already the soldiers adored Marius, for he shared their life,
giving up his own comfortable quarters to sleep, as did they, on a
rough camp bed; often, too, eating their hard bread. When they found
him even digging in the trenches their enthusiasm knew no bounds.

Jugurtha, meanwhile, had encamped in a strong position, but Metellus
dislodged him, and at length defeated him, so that he was forced to
flee.

The king determined that he would not risk another battle, so for a
time he took refuge among the hills of his native land.

But even as he had bribed the Romans, so now he found that Metellus had
won some of his officers from their allegiance, either with gold or
with promises. This made him gradually suspicious of all who surrounded
him.

Growing more and more uneasy, Jugurtha at length marched across the
desert to a town named Thala. Metellus, however, hastened after him and
besieged the town, which after forty days was in his hands. But the
Roman general was not satisfied, for it was Jugurtha himself whom he
wished to capture, and the king and his children had escaped from the
town by night.

Jugurtha knew that Metellus was more than a match for him alone, but if
he could secure a powerful ally the Romans might yet be driven from his
land.

So, in 108 B.C., Jugurtha persuaded his father-in-law, Bocchus, King of
Upper Numidia, to join him, and together they marched upon Cirta, near
which town the Romans were encamped.

It was here that Metellus learned that he had not been elected Consul
for the following year.

Meanwhile, Marius had begun to show his dislike of his commander.

The general had entrusted the care of an important town in Numidia to a
friend of his own named Turpulius.

Turpulius was honest and kind, but he was not clever, and he did not
see that the inhabitants of the town were taking advantage of his
kindness.

Before he was aware, they had succeeded in betraying the town into the
hands of Jugurtha, while he, owing to the goodwill of the townsfolk,
was allowed to escape uninjured.

Among the Roman officers there were some ready to blame Turpulius, not
only for negligence, but for actually giving the town up to Jugurtha.

A council of war was held, and on this council was Marius. He attacked
Turpulius more fiercely than any other officer, and this he did knowing
that he was the trusted friend of Metellus.

It was due to the influence of Marius that the other members condemned
Turpulius, and Metellus was forced to sentence his friend to death.

Soon after the unfortunate man was executed it was clearly proved that
he was innocent.

Metellus was overpowered with grief, and his officers did what they
could to comfort him, all save Marius. He was heard to boast that he
had caused the catastrophe, and he showed no sympathy for the distress
of his general.

It was natural that from this time Metellus should look on Marius
with aversion, and the two men were soon open enemies. Marius did not
disguise that he hoped some day to supplant the general in his command.

During the winter of 108 B.C., Marius applied for leave, that he might
go home to stand for election as Consul.

Metellus was indignant at what seemed to him the presumption of his
officer, and he refused to let him go.

Marius was not disturbed by the refusal. He knew that in due time he
would go to Italy, and meanwhile he wrote home unfavourable reports of
his general, hinting, too, that if he had been in command of the army,
Jugurtha would have been captured long ago.

The soldiers, he knew well, adored him, and when they sent messages
home would say nothing but good of him.

After some time had passed, Marius again asked for leave to go to Rome.

Then Metellus scoffed at his desire, saying: ‘Will you not be content
to wait and be Consul with this little son of mine?’

As the son of the general was a lad of about twenty, and as Marius was
already forty-nine years of age, the taunt was not easy to bear.

But at length, as Marius persisted in asking leave, Metellus was
forced to let him go. Only a short time was now left before those who
intended to stand for the Consulships must be in Rome.

The journey from the camp to the coast was a long one, but Marius
accomplished it in two days and a night.

In spite of the need for haste, he waited to offer a sacrifice before
he sailed. And it seemed to him well that he had done so, for the
priest bade him go his way, assured that success, greater than he had
dreamed, would be his.

So in great good temper Marius went on board ship, and in four days
landed on Italian soil.

In Rome he was received with favour, and before long his ambition was
satisfied. He was elected Consul, and given the command of the army in
Africa.

When Marius returned to take up his new position in Africa, Metellus
had already left the army in charge of an officer. His pride would not
let him stay to receive his erstwhile subordinate, who, as he said in
anger, had now usurped his command.

Soon after this Metellus sailed for Rome, with the miserable feeling
that he had been disgraced. He was, however, surprised by the welcome
the people gave to him. They had not forgotten that he had refused to
touch the gold of Jugurtha.




CHAPTER LXXXVI

THE CAPTURE OF JUGURTHA’S TREASURE TOWNS


Jugurtha and Bocchus knew that they had cause to dread the new Roman
general. Certainly he would move swiftly, so the king and his ally
resolved to march in different directions, in the hope that one of them
would be able to fall upon Marius when he was least expecting an attack.

But it was Marius who in the end surprised Jugurtha, near the town of
Cirta, and after a skirmish forced him to fly.

Bocchus, at no time an eager ally of his son-in-law, hearing that he
was defeated, determined to forsake him and make peace with Rome. But
Marius was too anxious to capture Jugurtha to pay much attention to the
advances of King Bocchus.

As the kings had foreseen, Marius moved swiftly. He marched first to
Capsa, a city in which Jugurtha kept many of his royal treasures.

It was taken without much difficulty and burned, while the inhabitants
were either killed or sold into slavery.

City after city, fort after fort, fell into the hands of the untiring
general, until at length he reached another of the king’s treasure
forts.

The name of the fort is unknown. It was not a town, but a mere border
citadel in the far west of Numidia, and was built on the top of a high
rock, which looked impossible to scale. The one way of approach to the
fort was by a steep and narrow path.

Marius besieged the fort, but it was strongly defended, and had a large
store of arms, as well as of food and water.

It was here that a reinforcement of Italian cavalry joined him, under
the command of Cornelius Sulla. As Marius had proved a thorn in the
flesh to Metellus, so Sulla was to prove to his commander. In days to
come he was his rival and his most bitter enemy.

Marius had at length decided to give up the siege of the border fort,
when a way was found to take it.

A soldier from the Roman camp was one day looking at the steep rock
which sloped down from the fort, when he noticed a ledge on which there
were a number of snails.

As snails happened to be his favourite food, he climbed up to gather
them, then clambered farther in search of more.

Higher and higher he mounted, until at length he found himself near the
top of the cliff.

He now saw that he was close to an oak tree, the root of which was
embedded deep in a crevice.

The soldier mounted to the topmost branch, and looking over into the
fort he saw that no sentinels were near. He had made a great discovery.

Down the rock he clambered as quickly as he dared, and hastening back
to the camp, told Marius that it was possible to scale the cliff at a
point where the citadel was not guarded.

Marius promptly ordered some soldiers to follow the mountaineer up the
face of the cliff.

It was no easy task, for the soldiers were cumbered with weapons,
but by the help of their guide they reached the top in safety. Not a
sentinel was to be seen.

Marius waited until he thought the soldiers had had time to accomplish
their hazardous climb, then he ordered an attack to be made at the
front of the fort.

The garrison rushed to the walls to repel the assault, but in the midst
of their struggle they were startled to hear behind them the noise of
trumpets, the clash of arms.

The soldiers who had scaled the rock had entered the fort, and the
garrison and the wretched inhabitants were seized with sudden panic at
their appearance and fled.

Then the Romans pursued the fugitives, cutting down all who resisted,
and soon the citadel, which had so nearly defied them, was in their
hands.

But Marius was not yet satisfied, for Jugurtha was still free, and he
had promised the Roman people that he would speedily capture or kill
the king.




CHAPTER LXXXVII

THE CAPTURE OF JUGURTHA


Sulla, who joined Marius in Numidia, was nineteen years younger than
his commander.

The young officer was a patrician, while Marius was a plebeian, and he
had had many advantages which had been denied to Marius.

But if the Consul was envious of his subordinate’s accomplishments, he
successfully hid it, and even scoffed at the attainments he did not
possess.

As Sulla had ridden into the Roman camp the soldiers had looked at him
with sudden interest. He was so unlike a soldier, and indeed he had not
then been on a battlefield. But although he had looked to the troops
like a man who had spent his days in pleasure, they had noticed that
his blue eyes were keen, and gazed at them with fierce mastery.

That he was clever and quick was soon evident to all, and Marius
speedily found that he could count on Sulla’s brains and on Sulla’s
strength. As for the soldiers, they learned to respect him, although he
was so unlike their own rough, uneducated hero.

Jugurtha had meanwhile again persuaded Bocchus to join him, although to
do so he had been forced to promise him a large part of his kingdom.

The Roman army soon knew that Jugurtha was again supported by an ally,
for the two kings, each with his army, followed and harassed it as it
marched away from the border-fort towards Cirta.

Twice, indeed, the enemy had been in front, and the Romans had found
their road blocked, and twice, before they could go forward, they had
been forced to fight with their foes.

The latter time it was Sulla, who, by a skilful movement, saved the
army from a disastrous defeat. He had proved an apt pupil in the art of
war.

At length, after a tedious and difficult march, Marius reached Cirta,
where he meant to remain during the winter.

But the campaign of 106 B.C. had convinced him that it would be well to
treat with King Bocchus, if he was to redeem his promise to Rome and
capture or kill Jugurtha.

So when Bocchus again sent to ask Marius to enter into negotiations
with him, the Consul agreed to do so, and sent Sulla and his legate
Manlius to treat with him.

But Bocchus himself was so treacherous that he distrusted other people,
and after hearing from the Consul’s officers what he was willing to
do, he dismissed them. For he had determined to send an embassy to the
Senate at Rome, lest it should refuse to confirm the promises of the
Consul.

The ambassadors returned with a reassuring answer, at least King
Bocchus seemed to think it was such, although the annalists couch it
in Rome’s most arrogant manner. ‘The Senate and the people of Rome are
wont to remember kindness and wrong. They pardon the offence of Bocchus
because he repents it, and will grant him alliance and friendship when
he shall have deserved them.’

This sounds as though it were a reproof as well as a pardon offered to
a wilful child, and historians tell us it is not the answer that was
actually sent to the king.

However that may be, Bocchus now determined to cast in his fortune with
Rome, and to betray Jugurtha to his enemies.

To do this would be no easy task, for Jugurtha was sure to be on his
guard, knowing that his father-in-law had been negotiating with Marius.

So Bocchus asked the Roman general to send Sulla again to his tent,
that he might ask Jugurtha to meet him. He intended to tell his victim
that Sulla wished to discuss with him the terms offered by Rome.

Sulla set off for the camp of Bocchus, escorted by a body of the best
Italian soldiers.

On his way he was met by the son of Bocchus, with a large troop of
cavalry. As Jugurtha and his Numidian army were not far off, Sulla knew
that it would be easy to take him prisoner, should Jugurtha play him
false. However, the Numidians allowed him to pass unharmed, and Sulla
was soon seated in the tent of Bocchus.

Even here he was in greater danger than he knew. For the king hesitated
whether, after all, he would not give Sulla to Jugurtha, rather than
Jugurtha to the Roman.

But it would have been no easy matter to play fast and loose with Rome,
and Bocchus determined to keep to his first plan.

So he invited Jugurtha to meet Sulla in his tent, and made the king
believe that Sulla was to be given into his hands.

Jugurtha’s suspicions had been laid to rest entirely, and he came to
the tent of his father-in-law unarmed, with only a few servants.

But almost at once he found himself surrounded by troops, and before
he had recovered from his surprise, he and his son were secured. Sulla
then ordered them to be taken to the Roman camp and delivered to Marius.

Jugurtha was at last in chains, but the joy of Marius in his capture
was spoiled.

[Illustration: Jugurtha came to the tent of his father-in-law unarmed.]

It was he, he said to himself, who had made it possible to secure the
dangerous enemy of Rome, yet Sulla seemed to claim the glory as his
own. Marius felt bitter as he thought of it. And as the days passed
his anger against Sulla grew.

He, Sulla, had dared to have a seal made, with a picture of Jugurtha
being delivered into his hands stamped upon it. Nor did he scruple to
use the seal to stamp his letters, so that all the world might see.

Moreover, those who were jealous of Marius tried to take away from his
renown, muttering to one another: ‘The chief battles of the war were
fought by Metellus, and its end is achieved by Sulla.’

These things chafed the pride and ambition of Marius.




CHAPTER LXXXVIII

JUGURTHA IS BROUGHT TO ROME IN CHAINS


In 106 B.C., the same year that Jugurtha was captured, Rome was
disturbed by the rumour that a great army of barbarians was approaching
Italy.

They were tall and blue-eyed, these hordes of barbarians, and were
believed to come from the shores of the North Sea, where the German
races had their home.

The Senate sent brave generals and strong armies against these terrible
foes, but the barbarians scattered the Roman legions and shamed the
brave generals.

Their victories made the Teutones and Cimbri insolent and proud.

‘We can destroy the Roman legions,’ they said, ‘so it will be an easy
task to plunder Italy, and destroy even Rome herself.’

The Senate and the people grew more and more alarmed, while those who
had sought to belittle the fame of Marius repented. For was he not the
only general who could save them now?

So Marius, although he was still in Africa, was elected Consul a second
time.

It is true that the law forbade the election of any one who was absent
from Rome. But necessity knows no law, said the Romans, and Marius was
elected.

When Marius was told of the honour that had been conferred upon him
he was well pleased. It was another step in the ambitious path he was
ascending. He at once sailed for Italy, that he might be ready to
defend his country from the barbarians.

By the 1st January 104 B.C. Marius had reached the gates of Rome and
celebrated a splendid triumph, Jugurtha and two of his sons being led
in his procession loaded with chains.

Jugurtha had been a dangerous foe, and the people of Rome could
scarcely believe, until they saw, that he was actually a captive and in
chains.

When the triumph was over, many of them ventured to approach him, to
put out their hand to touch the broken-spirited king. In wanton cruelty
they snatched the clothing off his body, and even wrenched the gold
rings from off his ears.

But soon he was led away and thrust into the prison at the foot of the
Capitoline hill. His misery had confused his mind, and as he was left
alone his foolish laughter echoed through his prison, while he cried,
‘O Hercules, how cold your bath is.’

For six days he endured the pangs of hunger, for his gaolers gave him
no food, and so at last the king, shorn of his strength and power, died.

After his triumph Marius at once set out with his army to fight against
the barbarians. But the Teutones and the Cimbri had turned away from
Rome, and it was a long time before Marius encountered them.

He was not, however, the kind of general to let his troops be idle. He
kept them at work, and the discipline of the camp was strict.

If the soldiers marched, each was made to carry his own baggage, and
each had also to cook his own food.

Soon the men, if they carried their loads without grumbling, were
nicknamed ‘Marian mules.’

Another story tells that this nickname arose in quite a different way.

When Marius first joined the army under Scipio, the general on a
certain day inspected not only the arms and horses of his men, but
their mules and wagons as well.

Both the horse and mule belonging to Marius were in perfect condition,
and had evidently received more care than those of his comrades.

Scipio commended the beasts, and often reminded the soldiers of their
well-groomed appearance, until at length, half in scorn and half in
mirth, any man in Marius’s army who worked harder and more persistently
than his neighbour was called by his comrades ‘a Marian mule.’

A year passed, and the barbarians had not yet appeared.

Marius was elected Consul for the third time, for the Senate still
dreaded the appearance of the enemy, and wished him to be in command
when it did descend into Italy.

Another year passed, and still they did not come.

At the end of 103 B.C. Marius went back to Rome. It was time for the
new elections, and Marius pretended that he did not wish to be Consul
again.

But Saturninus, one of the tribunes, said that if he refused office
when his country was in danger he would be a traitor.

This was strong language, but it did not displease Marius, who in
reality would have been greatly disappointed had he not been elected.

So now he promised to accept the office if it was the wish of the
people that he should do so. Then for the fourth time Marius was chosen
Consul, with Catulus as his colleague.




CHAPTER LXXXIX

MARIUS CONQUERS THE TEUTONES


Soon after Marius had been chosen Consul for the fourth time, the
Teutones, and the Ambrones, another of the fierce barbarian tribes
which Rome had feared, did actually approach Italy.

So Marius marched toward the Rhone, and here, not far from the river,
he set up his camp. His first work was to secure a safe passage to the
sea, so that he could be sure of getting provisions for his army.

As the mouth of the Rhone was choked with huge banks of sand and mud,
Marius ordered his soldiers to clear the bank away, and then set them
to work to dig a great canal.

Now soldiers would usually rather fight than dig, and as the summer
passed, and still their general did not lead them to battle, they began
to grumble.

‘Has Marius found us cowards,’ they cried, ‘that he should thus like
women lock us up from encountering our enemies? Come on, let us show
ourselves men, and ask him if he expects others to fight for Italy.
Does he mean merely to employ us to dig trenches and cleanse places of
mud ... and turn the course of the river?’

These complaints reached the ear of Marius, but they did not at all
displease him. He wished that his soldiers should be eager to fight,
and bade them wait but a little longer and he would lead them against
the enemy.

The Teutones were encamped not far off, and they, seeing that the
Romans did not attack them, began to wonder if these legions, of which
they had heard so much, were, after all, as brave as they had been
told. They would at least find out what the enemy was worth, and they
determined themselves to attack the Roman camp.

But their attempt was discouraging. Many of them were killed and
wounded, and this although the Romans were restrained by the orders of
their general from rushing out upon the foe, and could only hurl upon
them any missile on which they were able to lay their hands.

The barbarians now resolved to take no more notice of the Romans. Since
the enemy would not fight, they determined to break up their camp,
cross the Alps, and invade Italy, as had been their intention before
Marius placed his army in their path.

So the vast hordes of Teutones and Ambrones began to march slowly past
the Roman camp. For six days, it is said, Marius refused to let his men
stir, while the great procession filed past their tents.

The Roman soldiers were like caged lions, and when some of the
barbarians jeered at them as they passed, asking if they had any
message for their wives in Rome, they all but broke loose.

At length the long line of the barbarian hosts came to an end, and then
Marius broke up his camp, and to the undisguised relief of his soldiers
marched after the enemy.

The barbarians had encamped a few days’ march from the pass into Italy,
at a place called Aquæ Sextiæ.

Marius set up his camp near to the enemy, but while he had not enough
water for his army, the barbarians were close to a river, and had a
plentiful supply.

When the Roman soldiers complained that they were thirsty, Marius
pointed to the river which flowed past the camp of the enemy.

‘There,’ said he, ‘you may have drink if you will buy it with your
blood.’

‘Why, then,’ answered the soldiers, ‘do you not lead us to it before
our blood is dried up in us?’

‘Let us first fortify our camp,’ replied the general, and reluctantly
the men began to obey.

But the servants and slaves belonging to the Roman army determined
to get water at once for themselves and for the horses. So, carrying
pitchers in one hand, and swords and axes in the other, they went
boldly down to the edge of the river.

On the bank sat a band of the enemy. It had been bathing, and was now
carelessly eating and drinking.

But seeing the Roman servants, the barbarians sprang to their feet, and
with loud shouts fell upon them.

Their cries and the clash of their weapons were heard in both camps,
and, hastily arming, Romans and barbarians alike rushed to the river.
Soon the Ambrones and the Romans were engaged in a fierce battle.

But the Ambrones were not a match for the strictly-trained soldiers of
Marius. Numbers of them were cut to pieces, while others turned and
fled to the wagons which surrounded their camp, hotly pursued by the
enemy.

When the Ambrones reached the wagons, they met with neither welcome nor
help.

The women, in anger that their men had turned their back upon the foe,
had climbed into the wagons, carrying with them the first weapon which
they had been able to find. And now, shouting the wild war-cry of their
peoples, they attacked with sword or hatchet all who came within their
reach, were they friends or foes.

The arms of the women were bare, and as they fought they received many
wounds. Then they tried to pull from the Romans the shields with which
they protected themselves.

Still the battle raged, and only when night fell did the Romans retire,
leaving the field strewn with the dead bodies of the Ambrones.

But there was no rest for the Roman soldiers that night, nor did
they dare to rejoice as though the barbarians were vanquished. For
the Teutones were not yet beaten. Even then their wild cries and
lamentations over the dead, mingled with threats against their enemy,
reached the ears of the Romans. In the darkness the strong soldiers
trembled, lest they should be attacked that night, while their camp was
defended by neither trench nor rampart.

But although the terrible cries never ceased, the Teutones did not
attempt to attack their enemy.

Next morning Marius saw that it would be easy to set an ambush beyond
the camp of the Teutones.

So he ordered Marcellus, one of his officers, to take three thousand
men and hide them in the thickly wooded hills behind the camp of the
enemy. His orders were strict, that Marcellus should not stir from the
hill until the Teutones were in the thick of the battle with the main
body of the Romans.

The Roman camp was on a hill, and Marius now ordered his cavalry to
ride down to the plain.

But when the Teutones saw the horsemen coming toward them, they threw
prudence to the winds, and dashed up the side of the hill to meet the
enemy.

Marius, who had followed his cavalry with the main body of his army,
saw that the steepness of the ground would make the foothold of the
Teutones uncertain and their blows less strong than they would have
been on the plain.

So he bade his troops to stand and await the attack of the barbarians,
and then, after hurling their javelins into the midst of the foe, to
force them steadily backward with sword and shield.

Marius himself stood by the side of his men, ready to fight where the
danger was greatest.

Against the solid front of the Roman army the Teutones threw themselves
in vain. They could not break its ranks. Slowly and in disorder they
found themselves being pushed back toward the plain.

At length they were once more on level ground, and immediately they
attempted to form their front ranks anew, meaning again to attack the
enemy.

Suddenly those in front heard behind them wild cries of despair. Swords
flashed in the air, javelins seemed to fall among their ranks as
thickly as a storm of hail.

Marcellus, with his three thousand men, had dashed out of his ambush,
and had fallen upon the rear of the Teutones.

This was more than the barbarians could bear. With the terrible enemy
before and behind, they yielded to panic, broke their ranks, and fled.

The Romans followed, determined that the enemy should not escape, and
cut down more than one hundred thousand men.

For long months the bones of the barbarians were left in the field,
until at length, bleached clean, they were used by the neighbouring
folk to fence their vineyards.

After this great victory, Marius chose the most splendid treasures from
the spoil and laid them aside, to grace his triumph when he returned to
Rome.

He then ordered the rest to be gathered into one great heap, to be
sacrificed to the gods.

Around the huge pile the soldiers were presently gathered, their arms
in their hands, their clothes decked with garlands. In their midst
stood Marius, wearing a robe with the purple border, and holding aloft
a lighted torch with which to set fire to the sacrifice.

But at that moment horsemen were seen in the distance spurring their
horses toward the assembled army.

What tidings did they bear? No one in the great gathering stirred until
the horsemen rode up, and crying that Marius had been elected Consul
for the fifth time, handed him letters from the Senate to tell him of
this new honour.

The soldiers were well pleased that their general should be so
distinguished, and clashed their shields to show their delight, while
the officers crowned him with a wreath of laurel.

Marius then touched the pile of treasures with his lighted torch. The
flames leaped up, crackled, and soon the sacrifice was consumed.




CHAPTER XC

MARIUS MOCKS THE AMBASSADORS OF THE CIMBRI


While Marius was carrying all before him, his colleague Catulus was in
a sorry plight.

He had found it impossible to hold the passes of the Alps against the
Cimbri, and had been forced to descend into the plain of Northern
Italy. Here he crossed the river Adige, and encamped on its bank.

The Cimbri never doubted that they would be able to conquer the Romans.
Already they were elated to find that the passes were not guarded. No
tidings of the terrible battle of Aquæ Sextiæ had yet come to daunt
their courage.

And so, in the sheer pride of their strength, they flung aside their
clothing, and naked, climbed through falling snow and over ice-clad
rocks to the top of the mountain passes. Then, turning their broad
shields into sledges, they boldly shot down the slopes on the other
side.

When they reached the Adige they saw the Roman camp across the river.
Before attacking it they determined to dam the stream.

The Roman soldiers, as they watched the barbarians at work, were amazed
at their strength.

Giant trees were uprooted and flung into the river as though they were
saplings. Huge rocks, too, that seemed beyond the strength of man to
move, were hurled into the bed of the Adige as though they were stones.
Who could fight with such men as these barbarians seemed to be?

To the dismay of Catulus, his army decided that they could not face
such foes, and they began to steal out of the camp. It was evident
that soon the whole army would take to flight before it was attacked.

But the Consul could not let the soldiers so disgrace their fame.
Rather would he take upon himself the blame of having ordered a
retreat. So, seizing the Roman eagle, he hastened with it to the front
of his men, and himself led them away.

When the Cimbri saw that most of the Romans had left their camp they
crossed the river and captured it, in spite of the brave defence of
those who had scorned to turn their backs upon an enemy.

The barbarians showed that they could respect courage, for they spared
the lives of these brave soldiers. But before they let them go they
made them swear upon their brazen bull to observe certain conditions.
Now the brazen bull was to these barbarians sacred as a god.

When, a short time after this, the Cimbri were defeated, the bull was
carried away with other spoil, and treasured by Catulus in memory of
his victory.

After taking the Roman camp, the barbarians wandered through the plains
of Lombardy, burning and plundering wherever they went.

Marius, meanwhile, after his victory over the Teutones and Ambrones,
was recalled to Rome, and voted a triumph.

Hearing, however, that Catulus was in danger from the barbarians, he
would not stay to celebrate it, but hastened to join his colleague.

The two Consuls met near the river Po, and crossing the river they
found the Cimbri at Vercellæ.

Here the barbarians expected each day to be joined by the Teutones and
Ambrones.

As they did not wish to fight until their allies arrived, they
pretended that they were anxious to make terms with Marius, and sent to
ask him to give them land for themselves and their brethren.

‘Who are your brethren?’ the Consul asked the ambassadors who stood
before him.

‘The Teutones,’ answered they.

Those who surrounded Marius laughed, for well they knew what had
befallen the Teutones.

‘Do not trouble yourselves for your brethren,’ replied Marius, taunting
them, ‘for we have already provided land for them, which they shall
possess for ever.’

Then the ambassadors understood that their brethren lay slain upon the
ground, and their anger rose. Fearless of danger, they hurled threats
at the Consul, saying that the Cimbri and those Teutones who were still
left alive would avenge the death of their fellows.

‘Their rulers are not far off,’ cried Marius. ‘It will be unkindly done
of you to go away before greeting your brethren.’

Then the kings of the Teutones, who had been captured, were brought
before the ambassadors, loaded with chains.

Seeing how these mighty chiefs had been humbled, the ambassadors were
silent, and soon after they went back to the Cimbri to tell them what
they had heard and seen in the Roman camp.

The Cimbri could not restrain their rage when they knew what had
befallen their allies. Three days later they were on the plains of
Vercellæ, impatient to avenge their defeat.

Marius, too, was eager for battle. His cavalry, strong as ever, wore
that day strange helmets. Each one looked like the head of some strange
beast, while above the head waved a lofty plume, that added to the
height of the soldier. Their white shields gleamed in the sun, and
their breastplates were of iron.

The day began in discomfort for the Cimbri. Cold and frost they could
endure, as they had shown when they crossed the Alps, but heat soon
made them weak and stupid.

In vain they tried to shelter their faces with their shields. The sun
shone in their eyes, beat upon their heads. Clouds of dust, too, were
blowing, and hiding them from the Romans, who, not seeing the great
numbers arrayed against them, fought the more fearlessly.

To help them to keep their ranks unbroken, the front rows of the Cimbri
were fastened together by long chains, which were slipped through their
belts. But when the battle went against them these chains were a source
of danger.

On this day the Cimbri were worsted, and when the Romans began to cut
them down, the chains made it impossible for those in the front to
escape.

Those in the rear fled to their camp. But here, as in the camp of the
Ambrones, the women, clad in black, mounted upon the wagons and slew
their own husbands, brothers, sons, if they ventured to seek refuge
from the enemy.

Rather than fall into the hands of the Romans, many of the men and
women hanged themselves, after first killing their little children.
Although many of the Cimbri died in this terrible way, more than sixty
thousand were taken prisoners.

Catulus claimed the victory of Vercellæ as his, and was dissatisfied
with Marius, who, he said, did not wish to share the honour with any
one.

However that may be, when the Consuls returned to Rome, Marius was
offered two triumphs, but he would only accept one, and that one he
shared with Catulus.




CHAPTER XCI

METELLUS IS DRIVEN FROM ROME


Marius had been Consul five times already, but he was not yet content.
He wished to be elected for the sixth time, and he determined to do all
he could to gain his end.

But it was no easy task, for now that no enemy threatened Rome, she was
ready to cast Marius aside.

Moreover, although on the battlefield Marius was brave above all
others, in the Senate or the Assembly of the people his courage
deserted him. He knew that he was not eloquent, and he no sooner stood
up to speak than he grew timid and ill at ease.

Yet he did his best, and to the people he tried to behave more
pleasantly than he felt, and that is at no time an easy thing to do,
nor even, it may be, a right thing to attempt. But Marius smiled when
he would much rather have frowned, and spoke kindly when a cross answer
was hidden in his heart.

Metellus, from whom he had wrested the command of the army, was the man
he feared most, and he thought if only he could have him banished from
Rome all would be well. Although Marius at once began to plot and plan,
it took a long time to get rid of Metellus. But this is how in the end
he succeeded.

First, Marius joined Glaucia and Saturninus, who were popular with the
people, but too daring not to be hated by the Optimates.

Saturninus had been tribune in 101 B.C., and wished to be re-elected
for the following year. When he found that the people had not voted for
him, he was so angry that he did not scruple to order his successful
rival to be put to death.

The people, subdued by the violence of Saturninus, then gave him the
post he coveted without more ado.

Glaucia became prætor for the same year, while Marius achieved his
ambition, and was made Consul for the sixth time.

Saturninus now brought forward a bill regarding the division of land.
The people would, as usual, be asked to vote for or against this bill,
but the tribune added an important clause to his measure, saying that
whatever the people voted, to that the senators must take an oath to
agree.

Marius, as Consul, pretended to be very angry with Saturninus for
adding this clause to his bill, and he said that he, for one, would
never take such an oath. The senators, he added, needed to take no oath
to make them agree to anything that was for the good of the State.

The other members, among whom was Metellus, were equally indignant,
and swore that they would never take the oath demanded by Saturninus.
Marius was now satisfied that he had entrapped Metellus.

He himself had promised Saturninus secretly that he would take the
oath, and as soon as the people had voted in favour of the bill he did
so. Nor did he make any worthy excuse for breaking his word, but, as
Consul, advised the other members of the Senate also to agree to the
clause which before they had sworn to reject.

When Marius took the oath the people could not control their delight,
but broke out into loud applause. But the nobles were angry with the
Consul for saying one thing and doing another, yet, because they were
afraid of the people, they took the oath, all save Metellus, who
refused to break his word.

This was just what Marius had hoped would happen, for he knew that
Metellus was too upright a man to stoop to act as he and the other
senators had done.

Saturninus now demanded that the Consul should punish Metellus for
refusing to confirm the vote of the people. He wished that the senator
should be forbidden to stay under the shelter of any roof in the city,
that he should be refused the use of fire or water.

The mob went even further, and would have killed Metellus had his
friends not defended him.

But Metellus would not allow his friends to fight, telling them that he
would leave the city rather than cause strife. ‘For,’ said he, ‘either,
when the position of affairs is mended and the people repent, I shall
be recalled, or if things remain in their present position it will be
best to be absent.’

Thus Marius, with the help of Saturninus, succeeded in driving Metellus
from the city. But the price he had to pay for his success was heavy.

For Saturninus and Glaucia were determined that the bills which they
brought forward, for the good of the people as they believed, should be
passed. If any one ventured to oppose their measures or to become their
rivals, they speedily perished. Saturninus hired assassins to slay such
insolent folk.

At length even the people grew angry with the tribune and with Glaucia,
and threatened to put them to death, so that the two men were forced to
flee for refuge to the Capitol.

The Senate at once condemned them and their followers as public
enemies, and called upon the Consuls to punish them.

Marius was now in a difficult position. He did not wish to punish those
who had helped him to banish Metellus, yet as Consul he could not
ignore the crimes that these men had committed. So at length he ordered
them to be arrested, but he still hoped to save their lives.

Saturninus and Glaucia, however, continued to defy the Senate, until
Marius was forced to order the water-pipes on the Capitol to be cut,
and their thirst soon compelled the rebels to surrender.

Marius sent them for safety to the Senate-house. But it was useless to
try to protect such evildoers. The Consul found that he was but turning
the people’s rage against himself, without doing his friends any good.
For the mob broke in the door and took the tiles off the roof of the
Senate-house, and rushing in, killed Saturninus and his friends.

The Senate not only did not punish the people for this deed, it
approved of it.

Marius had now made himself hated by the nobles, because he had taken
the oath he had declared he would never take, and by the people,
because he had been the friend of Saturninus, and had tried to protect
him from the just punishment of his cruel deeds.

When the Consul found that the people were clamouring for the return of
Metellus, of whose honesty they had had proof, he left Rome. He could
not bear to see the return of his rival.

He journeyed to Asia, and here he tried to rouse Mithridates, King of
Pontus, to fight against an ally of Rome. For he thought that if war
broke out he would once more be called upon to deliver his country from
her foes.




CHAPTER XCII

SULLA ENTERS ROME WITH HIS TROOPS


During the absence of Marius the influence of Sulla grew by leaps and
bounds. It was this, it may be, that drew Marius back to Rome.

He came, hoping once again to win the goodwill of the people, and he
even took a house near the Forum so as to be in their midst.

But the people paid little attention to the general whom in time of war
they had courted and admired. In time of peace they had no use for one
who was above all else a soldier.

Sulla, too, had proved himself a great general, but he, unlike Marius,
was an educated man and an Optimate, and was useful in time of peace as
in time of war.

The ever-ready jealousy of Marius was roused when he noticed that Sulla
was now much more powerful in Rome than was he.

Nor were his feelings soothed when he saw on the Capitol a new statue
of victory, which had been erected by Bocchus, King of Numidia. By the
side of the chief figure were others in gold, representing Bocchus
delivering Jugurtha to Sulla.

To Sulla! Marius was very angry when he saw that. Jugurtha would never
have been captured but for him. It was he, Marius, who should have
stood in the place Sulla had been given!

The old general determined to pull down the statue. But Sulla heard
what Marius meant to do, and refused to allow it, so that a struggle
between them was inevitable. But at this very time a new war broke
out, and all private quarrels were laid aside.

The war that began in 89 B.C. was called the Social War. It was caused
by the discontent of the Italian people, to whom the full rights of
Roman citizens had not been given. Marius and Sulla both fought in this
war.

As of old, Marius was never to be enticed to fight against his will.
So slow, indeed, was he to lead his men to battle, that one of the
generals on the other side doubted his courage. ‘If you are indeed a
great general, Marius,’ he said, ‘leave your camp and fight a battle.’

But all Marius answered was: ‘If you are one, make me do so against my
will.’

Although Marius was now sixty-six years of age, he was as good a
commander as ever, and won a great battle, in which six thousand of the
enemy was slain. But at the end of a year, although the war was not yet
over, Marius resigned his command, saying that his health was not good.

Sulla also gained many victories in this Social War, which came to an
end in 88 B.C., for the Senate then granted the Italians the rights
of citizens, and to obtain this had been the object of the war. But
while all the Italian cities enjoyed new privileges, Rome was still to
continue the centre of the Republic, where magistrates were elected and
laws were ratified.

Sulla returned to Rome in time to be elected Consul for the year
88 B.C. He was also appointed by the Senate to take command of the
army which was now to go to Asia. For war had broken out against
Mithridates, King of Pontus.

Now one of the tribunes, named Sulpicius, was not satisfied that Sulla
should have this honour, and he proposed that Marius should be made
pro-Consul and general of the war.

Marius, you remember, had laid down his command in the Social War on
account of his health. So now those who wished Sulla to be commander
of the army jeered at Marius, bidding him stay at home to tend his
worn-out frame.

Marius was too eager to oust his rival to give heed to these taunts. He
laid himself, indeed, open to more. For now he was to be seen out each
day taking exercises with the youths of the city.

He had grown stout and heavy, but he soon showed that, in spite of this
and of his infirmities, he could vault lightly enough into his saddle,
and could claim still to be ‘nimble,’ even when he wore his armour.

Sulpicius now brought forward a series of laws, bribed, so said some,
by Marius. It is certain that one of the laws proposed that Marius
should be commander of the war.

As these laws, if they were passed, would make the Populares, or party
of the people, powerful, the Optimates determined to overthrow them.
But Sulpicius was not a man to yield without a struggle. He sent armed
men to attack the Consuls, for they were on the side of the Optimates.

Rufus, the colleague of Sulla, escaped from the city, but in the riot
raised by the people his son was killed.

Sulla saved his life only by hiding in the house of Marius, where no
one dreamed of looking for him. When the riot was over, he escaped to
the camp at Nola.

With the Consuls absent, and the Optimates for the time cowed, the laws
which had caused all this trouble were passed, and became known as the
Sulpician Laws.

By one of these laws Marius became commander of the army, and he at
once sent two tribunes to Nola to warn Sulla that he would soon arrive
at the camp to take over the command.

But, as Marius might have foreseen, Sulla did not mean to submit to
such a defeat.

He, Sulla, had been appointed by the Senate, while it was by violence
that Marius had been proclaimed commander.

Sulla knew that the army was devoted to him, and would do anything to
win his favour. So he assembled the troops, and told them the story of
his defeat, and how Marius was coming to lead them to Asia.

They at once broke out into loud shouts of protest, crying that none
but he should be their leader. If it was his will they would follow him
to Rome and overcome his enemies. In the meantime, they would put to
death the two tribunes who had been sent by Marius to the camp.

Thus it was that before long Sulla was marching toward Rome, at the
head of his troops, being joined on the way by Rufus.

Marius and Sulpicius, when they heard that Sulla had appealed to the
army, had at once tried to raise a force to oppose him, even offering
freedom to the slaves if they would fight faithfully.

But their efforts were vain, and they fled from the city before Sulla
entered it.

From the people Sulla received but a sorry welcome, for so angry were
they with him for bringing his army within the walls of the city, that
they climbed to the roofs of the houses and flung stones and every
missile that they could find upon the troops. But the Senate welcomed
the Consuls with open arms.

Marius, Sulpicius, and twelve of their followers were at once declared
public enemies. This meant that it was not only the right, but the
duty, of every one to kill them.

Sulpicius, who had found shelter in a house in the country, was put to
death by a slave.

Sulla gave the slave his freedom, and then, in dislike of his
treachery, he ordered him to be hurled from the Tarpeian Rock.




CHAPTER XCIII

THE FLIGHT OF MARIUS


When Marius fled from Rome, he hastened to Ostia, a seaport at the
mouth of the Tiber. So eager was he to escape that he sailed without
waiting for his son, young Marius, whom he had sent to procure
provisions.

Young Marius, meanwhile, had reached the farm where his father-in-law
lived, and had spent the night there undisturbed.

But when morning dawned a servant rushed into the house, saying that he
had seen soldiers riding in the direction of the farm. The steward at
once ran to his barn, dragged out a wagon full of beans, and hid young
Marius under them. Then, without any apparent haste, he yoked his oxen
to the wagon and drove off toward the city.

Before he had driven far he passed the search party, which, unconscious
that it had missed its prey, went on at a sharp trot toward the farm.
In this way Marius reached the coast safely, and sailed to Africa.

But Marius, the father, was no sooner on board the ship, in which he
had so hurriedly embarked, than difficulty after difficulty beset him.

Before he had sailed far along the coast of Italy a violent storm arose
and blew the vessel to the shore.

Here Marius and his few followers were forced to land, and to wander
about in a desolate country in search of food and shelter.

At length they met some herdsmen, but they had neither roof nor bread
which they could share with the fugitives.

The herdsmen warned them, however, that horsemen were scouring the
country; so, almost fainting with hunger, they struggled on, until
they came to a wood, and here they hid themselves for the night.

In the morning, weak as he was, and still famished for want of food,
Marius dragged himself along in the direction of the sea, for there lay
his one hope of escape.

The old soldier still carried with him a brave spirit, and he
believed that he would yet overcome his misfortunes. He begged his
companions not to forsake him, telling them that he would reward their
faithfulness. Had not the diviners assured him that he would be Consul
a seventh time?

The poor little company struggled on, encouraged, it may be, by the
promises of Marius. They were now only about two miles from the sea,
and not far off the coast, ships under sail were visible. Surely now
they would soon be safe on board one of these vessels!

But just as their hopes began to rise, the sound of horses’ feet struck
upon their ears. The sound grew nearer and nearer.

In desperate fear the wanderers, feeble as they were, began to run, and
at length actually reached the shore, and plunging into the water, swam
toward the ships.

Marius had to be helped by two of his followers, for he was too heavy
to swim with ease. He was only just safe on board when a troop of
soldiers on horseback reached the edge of the water.

The soldiers shouted to the crew of the vessel on which Marius had
found refuge, bidding them either to send the fugitive back to the
shore, or to throw him into the water.

With tears streaming down his cheeks Marius implored the sailors to
save him from his enemies.

At length, after thinking now that it would send the unfortunate man to
shore, now that it would sail away with him, the crew made up its mind
and put off to sea.

But even then the troubles of Marius were not ended.

In a very short time the sailors again changed their minds. They were,
after all, afraid to keep the man whom Rome had banned, so, although
they had not given him up to the enemy, they now determined to desert
him.

They therefore put in to land near a town called Minturnæ, and bidding
Marius go on shore, they told him to rest until a more favourable wind
arose.

Marius had no suspicion that the sailors intended to desert him.
Perhaps he was too bewildered with the hardships he had already endured
to think of others that might yet befall him.

But the sailors had no sooner got rid of their unwelcome guest than
they sailed away, leaving Marius alone. His companions had, it seems,
gone on board another ship.

When at length Marius realised that the sailors had played him false,
he struggled to his feet and looked around. The ground was full of bogs
and marsh, but he stumbled on, for shelter he must find. In time he
reached the hut of an old man who worked in the fens.

Marius begged the old man to hide him, and he appeared willing to do
so, for he led the stranger to a secret place in the fens and covered
him with rushes.

Even here, however, Marius was not safe. The horsemen succeeded in
tracing him to the hut, and Marius could hear their loud voices as they
threatened to punish the old man for concealing an enemy of Rome.

He must escape, and that without delay! So, hastily stripping off his
clothes, Marius plunged deep into the thick and muddy bog, hoping to
find a ditch into which he might slip and yet baffle his pursuers. But
his hope was vain.

The horsemen had dismounted, and were searching everywhere for their
prey. At last one of them caught sight of the desperate man, and
darting into the bog, pulled Marius out, covered with mire.

Thus, naked and begrimed, he was carried to the magistrates at
Minturnæ.




CHAPTER XCIV

THE GAUL DARES NOT KILL GAIUS MARIUS


As you know, Marius had been proclaimed a public enemy, and it was the
duty of any one who captured him to put him to death. The magistrates
of Minturnæ resolved to do their duty.

But no citizen was to be found who would undertake to put Marius to
death, for his fame made him still terrible in their eyes.

At length a Gaul, who had seen him as he fought with the Cimbri, was
sent, sword in hand, to kill the prisoner.

Marius had been thrust into a dimly-lighted room. As the Gaul opened
the door he saw nothing save two eyes which gleamed like fire. As he
advanced the eyes seemed to follow his every movement, until he was
conscious of nothing save the terror of that burning gaze.

The next moment a loud voice cried: ‘Fellow, darest thou kill Gaius
Marius?’ and in a flash the Gaul knew that in truth he dared not.
Throwing down his sword, he rushed from the room in a frenzy of terror,
crying: ‘I cannot kill Gaius Marius.’ So the magistrates and citizens
of Minturnæ had the prisoner once more on their hands.

It may be that something of the same awe that had overpowered the Gaul
took possession of them, for now they determined to help their prisoner
to escape.

Marius was brought out of his gloomy prison and taken once more to the
seashore and placed on board a ship.

A favourable wind carried the vessel swiftly to Africa, where Marius
landed, to find his son already there and awaiting him.

After young Marius had listened to the tale of his father’s
adventures, he was sent to Hiempsal, King of Numidia, to beg for
protection for his father and himself.

Marius, meanwhile, went to Carthage. But scarcely had he reached it
when Sextilius, the Roman governor, sent an officer to bid him leave
the province.

‘Sextilius forbids you to stay in this province,’ said the officer. ‘If
you do, he declares he will put the decree of the Senate in execution,
and treat you as an enemy to the Romans.’

After all he had gone through, must he be persecuted still? In grief as
well as in anger Marius sat silent and dismayed.

At length the officer asked what answer he should take back to
Sextilius. ‘Go tell him,’ answered he, ‘that you have seen Gaius Marius
sitting in exile among the ruins of Carthage.’

Meanwhile, young Marius had reached the King of Numidia, and was
treated by him with kindness.

But each time that he proposed to go back to his father, Hiempsal had
some polite reason for not allowing him to leave his court.

The king, indeed, was hesitating as to whether or not he would send the
exiles back to Sulla, and so win the favour of Rome.

But young Marius grew impatient of these delays, and one day he made
his escape and went back to his father.

It was plain that the King of Numidia could not be trusted, and that
there was no safety for the exiles in Africa. So father and son
hastened to the coast, and hiring a little fishing-boat, they sailed to
an island named Cercina, which was not far from the continent.

It was well that they had not lingered in Carthage, for soon after
they had embarked in their little boat, horsemen, sent by the King of
Numidia, reached the shore, expecting to capture both Marius and his
son.




CHAPTER XCV

MARIUS RETURNS TO ROME


Sulla, you remember, entered the city with his troops as Marius fled
from Rome. He at once revoked the laws of Sulpicius, and ruled in his
own way.

But he was impatient to go to war against Mithridates, and so, in the
summer of 87 B.C., he set out with his army for Greece.

No sooner was he gone than Cinna, one of the Consuls, proposed that
Marius and his friends should be recalled. But Octavius, his colleague,
was greatly opposed to this, and determined to frustrate Cinna’s
schemes.

The Consul soon gave Octavius the opportunity he wished. For when the
citizens assembled to vote for or against the return of the exile,
Cinna led a band of armed men to the Forum, that they might be too
frightened to vote save as he wished. He drove away, too, the tribunes
who attempted to speak against him.

This was against all laws of justice, and Octavius did not hesitate to
go to the Forum at the head of an armed force to punish Cinna’s men.

In the struggle many of the rioters were killed, while Cinna himself
was forced to flee. The Senate then declared that he was no longer
Consul, but had become a public enemy.

When Cinna heard of the Senate’s decree he was very angry, and
determined to gather together troops to fight against Octavius. He was
speedily joined by Marius, who was no sooner told what had happened in
Rome than he hastened back to the city.

[Illustration: Gaius Marius sitting in exile among the ruins of
Carthage.]

When he arrived Cinna received the exile with great honour, and urged
him to wear the robes of a pro-Consul.

But Marius pretended to be too humble to don such garments, and he
persisted in wearing old and shabby clothes.

His hair, which had not been cut since his banishment, he left still
untouched, although it now reached to his shoulders, while he walked as
though bent with the weight of his seventy years. It did not seem, to
judge from his pitiable appearance, as if the old man could be of much
use to Cinna.

But his enemies muttered that Marius was only trying in these ways to
make the people sorry for all he had suffered. They needed only to look
in his face to see that he was harbouring grim thoughts of revenge on
those who had ever shown themselves to be his enemies.

Soon Cinna had four armies ready to march on Rome. One was under
Marius, another Cinna himself intended to lead, while two more were
under his legates, Sertorius and Carbo.

The city walls were in no fit state to stand an attack, for in many
places they were even broken down. Octavius ordered these weak places
to be repaired and strengthened by fortifications, while at the same
time he sent messengers to the lieutenants of Sulla, bidding them
hasten to the aid of the city.

Two of these officers, Metellus and Strabo, hastened to obey Octavius.
But they did, perhaps, more harm than good, so many of their troops
deserted and joined Cinna’s army.

Metellus did not stay in the city long, and refused to take the command
of the troops, as Octavius wished.

Strabo did his best, for although his men were suffering from fever he
attacked Sertorius. But the battle was undecided, and soon after this
Strabo was killed by lightning. Octavius was thus left without the
officers on whose help he had relied.

Marius, meanwhile, had, as it seemed, thrown off the weight of his
years. He was as active and as successful as in his earlier battles.

Ostia, the port of Rome, was taken by his troops, and this, as he meant
it to do, kept the corn supply from reaching the city, and Rome began
to fear that famine was before her.

Before long Cinna and Marius were able to meet on the Janiculum. Large
numbers of the troops under Octavius continued to desert and to join
their army.

Then the Senate saw that they would gain nothing by continuing to defy
the successful generals. So they bent their pride, and invited Cinna
and Marius to meet them within the city.

When the generals arrived, the Senate begged that they would spare the
lives of the citizens, even if they saw fit to punish them.

Cinna did not scruple to promise that all should be as the Senate
wished. Marius, who stood close to the chair of Octavius, said not a
word, but his face was stern and forbidding. And again those who looked
at him foresaw that dire punishment would overtake his enemies.

Marius and his followers were still under the ban of exile, so the
first thing Cinna demanded was that the sentence should be withdrawn.

But Marius was now within sight of his revenge, and he was too
impatient to begin his cruel work to wait for the decision of the
people.

When only a few tribes had voted, he dashed into the Forum, closely
followed by a band of slaves, which band he called his bodyguard.

The slaves were ruffians hired to do his bidding, and now, at a word or
sign from their master, they began to murder the citizens. The glance
of Marius was enough to show them whom to slay. Soon they did not even
look to him for a sign, but simply fell upon all whose greetings Marius
did not return.

Octavius was cut down as he sat in his consular chair, and his head was
taken to Cinna.

Catulus, too, who had fought side by side with Marius against the
Cimbri, was doomed, although his friends begged that his life might be
spared. Marius answered their petitions roughly, saying only, ‘He must
die.’

But Catulus did not wait for the cruel sentence to be carried out.
He shut himself up in a room, and making a huge fire, he suffocated
himself.

These were days of terror in Rome, for no man knew if his life was safe.

At length even Cinna grew ashamed of the cruelty of Marius’s slaves,
and he and Sertorius put a number of the ruffians to death. After this
the citizens’ lives were in less danger.

The time had now come to elect Consuls for the year 86 B.C. As usual
the people assembled, but they had no choice save to vote for Marius
and Cinna. To do otherwise would have been to court death.

Thus, as Marius had believed would happen, even during the miserable
days of his flight, he became Consul for the seventh time. But he did
not live many days to enjoy the new honour, if honour it could be
called, when fear alone had bestowed it upon him. Worn out with the
passion of revenge to which he had yielded, and attacked by fever, he
died on the 13th January 86 B.C.

Cinna was now the most powerful man in Rome. He had no difficulty in
making the people elect himself and Carbo Consuls for the years 85 and
84 B.C.

There was but one name Cinna dreaded, and that was the name of Sulla.
But he thought that, if he proclaimed that the great general who was
fighting for Rome in the East was a public enemy, he soon would have
no reason to fear him. So he did this, and at the same time ordered
Sulla’s house in the city to be pulled down.

Cinna, however, had now gone too far. Many of the Optimates, who
belonged to the best families in Rome, at once left the city and fled
to Greece to the camp of Sulla. So many senators also joined the
general, that Sulla could act in the name of the Senate more truly than
could his rival in Rome herself. He therefore proclaimed that when the
war was over he would come back to Rome with his army and overthrow
Cinna and his government.

The Consuls, when they heard this, at once began to enrol troops, that
they might be prepared to hold the city against Sulla when he came.

But Cinna, after all, was not alive to meet his dreaded enemy. For in
84 B.C. the soldiers of the Consul mutinied and murdered him. Sulla did
not return to Italy until the spring of 83 B.C.




CHAPTER XCVI

THE ORATOR ARISTION


Mithridates, the king against whom Sulla went to fight in 87 B.C., was
a brave and skilful commander. His kingdom, Cappadocia Pontica, was a
district on the south shore of the Black Sea.

The king who ruled before Mithridates came to the throne had tried to
enlarge his kingdom, but more than once the Romans had thwarted his
ambitious plans.

When Mithridates began to reign in 111 B.C., he knew that no one save
the Romans would be strong enough to keep him from adding to his
kingdom.

The king proved himself so strong and so good a general that the Greek
towns in Asia Minor resolved to throw aside the friendship of Rome and
ally themselves with the King of Pontus. It was this revolt that Sulla,
with his five legions, went to Greece to subdue.

It was ungrateful of Athens to forsake Rome, for she had been treated
most honourably by her in the past, and still was enjoying many
privileges when she rebelled.

But the Athenians wished their city to be more glorious in the future
than she had been even in the past, and they believed that Mithridates
would help them to achieve this better than Rome. So an ambassador
named Aristion was sent to the King of Pontus to offer him the
friendship of Athens.

The king received Aristion with great respect, and gave to him gifts of
gold. Above all, when he took leave of Mithridates, he was presented
with a ring, on which was engraved a portrait of the king himself.

When the ambassador returned to Athens and showed the gifts which he
had received, the enthusiasm of the people knew no bounds. He was
escorted by crowds to the Peiræus, the port of Athens. Here, in the
citadel, he was asked to tell what had taken place at the court of the
king.

Now Aristion was a great orator, and he knew that his words would
influence the people to do as he wished.

So first he reminded them of all the wrongs that Athens had suffered
from the Romans, and if these wrongs were not all real, Aristion made
them seem so by his eloquence.

Then he spoke of Mithridates, and of the king he had nothing but
good to tell, while the magnificence of his court, Aristion modestly
declared, baffled even his powers of description.

Before Aristion had finished his oration, the magistrates of Athens had
determined to proclaim their republic restored, and to form an alliance
with Mithridates. Aristion was appointed chief minister of war, and you
shall hear how sadly he failed to do his duty when trouble befell the
city.

Sulla having landed with his army at Epirus, at once marched to Athens,
for by this time both the city and the Peiræus were strongly fortified,
and held by Archelaus, the general of Mithridates.

The Roman commander determined to besiege the citadel, and to surround
Athens with soldiers, to prevent the citizens from escaping, or
provisions from being sent to their relief.

As he had neither money nor material for the siege, Sulla robbed the
temples of Greece of their treasures.

Timber was brought from far and near in carts drawn by mules, ten
thousand, it is said, in number. When even this was found not to be
enough, Sulla ordered the sacred groves to be cut down, as well as the
trees which surrounded the famous academy of Athens.

But, in spite of the forts he built and the trenches he dug, Sulla
could not take the Peiræus.

As they worked, the Roman soldiers were often interrupted by Archelaus,
who with his troops would sally out of the citadel to attack them.

At length Sulla was convinced that without a fleet he need not hope
to take the citadel, for the harbour was commanded by the ships of
Mithridates.




CHAPTER XCVII

SULLA BESIEGES ATHENS


The Peiræus could not, indeed, be starved into submission as long as
the king held the harbour, but Athens was already suffering from famine.

Now the Athenians were a gay and careless people, little accustomed to
endure hardships, yet no one grumbled at the lack of food, but each
bore his hunger manfully, or tried to stay its pangs as best he could.

Some fed on herbs, which they gathered painfully, for they had grown
feeble with long fasting. Others hunted for old leather shoes or pieces
of oilskin, and when they found them, soaked them in oil, and so made a
sorry meal.

But while the inhabitants of Athens starved, Aristion, the orator and
minister of war, who was largely responsible for the misery of the
people, lived at his ease, and ate and drank as much as he pleased. Nor
did he feast in secret, but before the eyes of the famished folk, for
he was as careless of their sufferings as of his own responsibilities.

At length the senators and priests went to the tyrant, for such had
Aristion proved, and begged him to make terms with Sulla before the
citizens died of hunger. But Aristion did not wish his pleasures
interrupted by such solemn messengers. He drove them from his presence,
bidding his servants to send a flight of arrows after the procession as
it turned sadly away.

A little later, however, he appeared to yield to the wishes of the
senators, and sent two or three of his gay companions to meet the Roman
general.

But they had no serious terms to propose, and were not commissioned to
accept any. All they seemed able to do, was to talk eloquently about
their ancient towns and games, until at length Sulla grew impatient and
said: ‘My good friends ... begone. I was sent by the Romans to Athens,
not to take lessons, but to reduce rebels to obedience.’

Soon after this, Sulla, by chance, found out how the city might be
taken.

Two old men were talking to each other of Aristion’s follies, and Sulla
overheard them blame him for leaving a certain weak part of the city
walls unguarded.

The Romans at once set to work to find out the weak spot in the
defences, and when it was found an attack was made at that point.

Only a few sentinels were on duty, and they fled at the approach of the
enemy, so a breach was soon made, through which Sulla marched into the
city at the head of his troops.

In their triumph at having taken the city the soldiers ran wild,
plundering and slaying the wretched inhabitants, many of whom killed
themselves rather than fall into the hands of their cruel conquerors.

Sulla looked on, heedless of the fate of the citizens, careless, too,
of the destruction of the beautiful city. Only when two citizens, who
had refused to give up their friendship with Rome, flung themselves at
his feet and begged him to spare the city for the sake of her ancient
renown and her famous Athenians, did he yield.

Even then it was with ungracious voice and sullen face that he bade his
soldiers desist from further plunder. Then, turning to those who had
pleaded with him to save the city, he said: ‘I forgive the many for the
sake of the few, the living for the dead.’

Soon after this the Peiræus also fell, and Sulla ordered it to be
destroyed, and the docks and magazines to be burnt.

In the same year as Athens and the Peiræus fell, Sulla met the troops
of Mithridates at Chæronea, where a great battle was fought. Archelaus
was defeated, although he had nearly four times as large a force as
Sulla.

Greece now began to repent of her folly in having rebelled against
Rome. Mithridates seemed unable to help them as much as Aristion and
their own hopes had led them to expect. So, many of the Greek cities in
Asia Minor left the king and submitted to the Romans.

But Mithridates determined to make one more great effort to regain his
power. He met the Romans at Orchomenus, and here another great battle
was fought in the autumn of 86 B.C.

At first the Romans began to give way before the fierce attack of the
king’s troops. But Sulla saw the danger, and leaping from his horse he
seized a standard and rushed into the thick of the fight, shouting: ‘To
me, O Romans, it will be glorious to fall here. As for you, when they
ask you where you betrayed your general, remember to say at Orchomenus.’

Stung by their general’s words his men rallied, and after a desperate
struggle the battle was won, and the power of Mithridates broken.

In 84 B.C. the king was forced to make terms with the Romans, while
those cities which had fought by his side had to pay enormous sums of
money to Sulla.

The victorious general was now anxious to go back to Rome, to punish
those who had declared him a public enemy. So, in the spring of 83
B.C., he set out for Italy with his army.




CHAPTER XCVIII

SULLA SAVES ROME FROM THE SAMNITES


Sulla returned to Italy three years after the death of Marius. During
that time the popular party had been in power. But now it feared that
its reign was nearly at an end, for Sulla was in Italy, and was coming
to Rome, and coming not alone, but with his army.

Carbo was the leader of Sulla’s enemies. He had gathered together a
large army, but it was scattered over Italy, under his lieutenants.
Pompey, who was soon to be known as Pompey the Great, was fighting for
Sulla, and he, with three legions, kept Carbo’s forces from uniting.
This made Sulla’s victory the easier.

But while Romans fought with Romans, a new danger threatened the
city. An army of Samnites, under a leader named Pontius, slipped past
both the army of Sulla and the scattered troops of Carbo, and marched
straight toward Rome.

The citizens were in despair. They remembered the Samnites who long ago
had entrapped their army at the pass of the Caudine Forks, and their
leader Pontius, who had made Roman officers and soldiers pass beneath
the yoke, and they trembled. What if the enemy proved as powerful as of
old?

Private quarrels were forgotten, while all those of military age in the
city armed for her defence.

In their walls the people had no confidence, for here and there they
were broken down and unfit to stand a siege.

So out of the city to meet the terrible foe marched the valiant band
of Romans, only to find the enemy too strong for it.

When it was known in the city that the army so hastily enrolled had
been defeated, the despair was profound. Women ran about the streets
crying aloud to their gods and shrieking in terror. At any moment, they
believed, the Samnites might enter their city.

Then, just when hope of relief was faintest, a large company of cavalry
was seen approaching the gates. It was the vanguard of Sulla’s army,
and he himself was close behind with the main body of his troops.

For the time a feeling of immense relief was felt in the city. At least
the Samnites would not enter Rome now unopposed.

Sulla’s officers begged him to allow his troops to rest before
attacking the enemy. But he refused, ordering the trumpets at once to
sound for battle.

Crassus commanded Sulla’s right wing, and, unknown to the general, beat
the enemy. The left wing of the Romans was all but repulsed, when Sulla
rode to its help, mounted on a swift white steed.

He was recognised by the Samnites, and two of them prepared to fling
their darts at the great Roman general. They thought that if he were
slain the battle would soon be at an end.

But Sulla’s servant saw his master’s danger, and gave his steed a
touch that made him start suddenly forward. The darts fell harmless
to the ground close to the horse’s tail, so that the servant had just
succeeded in saving his master’s life.

Darkness fell, and the battle was still undecided. But during the night
messengers from Crassus stole into Sulla’s camp for provisions, and the
general heard that the enemy had been driven to Antemnæ, three miles
away, and that Pontius, the Samnite leader, had been slain. He at once
resolved to join Crassus. In the morning the Samnites were surprised
to find a large army ready to attack them. But their leader was dead,
so they were afraid to fight, and three thousand offered to submit to
Sulla.

The general promised these their lives on one condition--that they
should attack their own comrades. This the Samnites actually agreed to
do, and a large number were killed in the unnatural struggle.

Six thousand who survived were taken to Rome, and by Sulla’s orders cut
to pieces. The cruelty of the Roman commander seemed to increase the
nearer he drew to Rome.




CHAPTER XCIX

THE PROSCRIPTIONS OF SULLA


After his victory over the Samnites, Sulla met the Senate in the temple
of Bellona, without the walls of the city.

Ominous thoughts stole into the minds of the senators and distracted
them, as the general’s speech was suddenly interrupted by terrible
shrieks as of those in agony.

Sulla alone remained undisturbed. But seeing that the senators were not
listening to his speech, he sternly bade them ‘not to busy themselves
with what was doing out of doors.’

The cries were those of the six thousand Samnite prisoners, who were
being ruthlessly slain by Sulla’s orders.

At this time, too, young Marius, who had fought against Sulla, killed
himself rather than fall into the hands of his father’s enemy.

His head was brought to Sulla at Rome. ‘One should be rower before one
takes the helm,’ said the tyrant, looking with unconcern at the hideous
trophy. For he was angry that young Marius had been chosen Consul when
he was only twenty-seven years of age.

The forebodings of many were now justified, for Rome became as a city
of the dead. Sulla had determined to kill all who had been his enemies
while he was absent in Greece.

Day after day the cruel slaughter went on. Forty senators and sixteen
hundred of the citizens were condemned, and to add to the consternation
among those who had escaped, there were others yet to be punished.
Sulla said that he could not remember their names. The suspense in the
city was terrible.

One senator, bolder than the others, said to Sulla: ‘We do not ask you
to pardon any whom you have resolved to destroy, but to free from doubt
those whom you are pleased to spare.’

‘I know not as yet whom I will spare,’ grimly answered the general.

‘Why, then,’ persisted the senator, ‘tell us whom you will punish.’

Sulla promised to do this, and henceforth lists of those who were
doomed were hung up in the Forum. These lists were called the
‘Proscriptions of Sulla.’

In the first list eighty persons were proscribed, and for a moment Rome
dreamed that there would be no more dread uncertainty, that the end of
the death sentences had at least come in sight.

But the horror in the city was but heightened by the proscriptions,
when the first list was followed by another, and yet another.

Moreover, an edict was published, saying that if any one dared to give
shelter or food to a proscribed person he would be punished with death.
While, if any one killed a person whose name was on the list of the
condemned, he would be rewarded. The property of those who perished was
forfeited, and in this way Sulla and his friends soon grew rich. These
cruel proscriptions remain for ever a blot on Sulla’s fame.

For one hundred and twenty years there had been no Dictator. But now
Sulla determined to become the ruler of Rome under that name.

In other times a Dictator was elected only for six months, but Sulla
had no intention of abdicating in so short a time. He meant to remain
Dictator as long as he wished.

The tyrant was of course elected, for no one dared to resist his will.
He took the title toward the end of 82 B.C., and held it for about
three years.

But there was one man in Rome whose influence was fast increasing, and
he was not afraid of Sulla. This was Pompey.

Pompey had been sent to Africa by Sulla, and in forty days had defeated
the enemies of Rome, and restored the King of Numidia to his throne.

When the successful general returned Sulla went out to meet him at the
head of a great procession, and welcomed him as Magnus, or the Great.
And the name clung to him, for from that time he was known as Pompey
the Great.

But when Pompey claimed a triumph, Sulla was not pleased, and refused
to grant it.

Pompey knew that he was liked by the people, while Sulla ruled only
because he had inspired them with terror. It would not be long in the
Dictator’s power to refuse his claim.

‘More worship the rising than the setting sun,’ he murmured, and those
around him who heard these bold words were startled. Sulla, seeing
their amazement, demanded what Pompey had said.

On being told, he cried out testily: ‘Let him triumph, let him triumph.’

In 79 B.C. Sulla, to the surprise and relief of Rome, laid down his
Dictatorship, and retired to a beautiful villa he had built near Cumæ.

Here he employed his time in entertaining men of letters and artists,
and in writing his memoirs. He died in 78 B.C., while his memoirs were
still unfinished.

[Illustration: Lists of those who were doomed were hung up in the
Forum.]




CHAPTER C

THE GLADIATORS’ REVOLT


Six years after the death of Sulla, while Pompey was in Spain, putting
down an insurrection, the gladiators revolted.

The gladiators were first heard of in 264 B.C., when their shows were
given only at funerals. Usually they were criminals or prisoners of
war, who, in any case, were condemned to death. To give them arms and
make them fight until one or other was killed in the arena of some
great building, for the amusement of a crowd of spectators, was cruel,
but not so cruel as what was done in later years.

For the shows of the gladiators came to please the people so well that
they forsook for them theatres and other places of amusement. And then
rich citizens who wished to win the favour of the people began to keep
bands of gladiators and train them as in a school.

Each citizen who kept one of these schools vied with one another to
find the most powerful and muscular barbarians, for the stronger and
better trained the gladiator the more exciting and pleasing to the
people was the show. So the unfortunate men who were forced now to
slaughter one another for the amusement of the people were no longer
criminals already condemned to death.

In one of these large schools at Capua there was a great number of
Gauls and Thracians. Two hundred of these men resolved to escape, but
their plot was discovered, and only about eighty succeeded in getting
away. They first rushed into a cookshop and frightened the owner,
until he let them take his knives as weapons, so only that they would
depart. Then, seizing a wagon-load of arms, they made Spartacus, a
Thracian, their leader, and encamped on a spur of Mount Vesuvius.

Other gladiators and slaves soon joined the camp, and Rome, in fear of
what these trained barbarians might do, sent out two armies against
them.

But Spartacus was a skilful general, and the Romans were defeated,
while the army of the gladiators still increased each day.

Again the Romans sent troops against these rebels, and one of their
leaders was slain. But Spartacus speedily avenged his comrade’s death,
defeating the Roman army, and forcing three hundred prisoners to fight
as gladiators at the funeral of the barbarian whom they had slain. This
is the one cruel deed of which we are told Spartacus was guilty.

After this the rebels moved across Italy unmolested. Spartacus wished
to cross the Alps and go back to his native land, but his followers for
the most part wished to stay in Italy to fight and plunder.

During the winter of 72 B.C. Spartacus led his troops near to the town
of Thurii. Here his followers busied themselves forging weapons for the
great adventures they meant to achieve in spring.

But before spring came, Crassus, the richest man in Rome, determined
to subdue the rebels. He himself trained and disciplined the soldiers
Spartacus had beaten, until they were fit to face the foe.

The rebels were now driven to the Bruttian peninsula, in the extreme
south of Italy, and here Spartacus shut himself up with his followers
in the town of Rhegium. Yet he managed to send messengers to the
pirates, who at that time roamed the seas, and often sailed along the
coast of Italy. With heavy bribes he tried to persuade them to take his
army in their vessels to Sicily.

The pirates accepted the money, but proved faithless, and sailed away
from the coast without taking the gladiators on board.

Crassus thought that Spartacus could not now escape. He dug trenches
and built fortifications across the narrow neck of land that shut off
the Bruttian peninsula from the rest of Italy. But in spite of all that
Crassus could do, the rebel leader, with a third part of his army,
succeeded in crossing the trenches and climbing the fortifications, and
so escaping from the trap in which the Roman had hoped to capture him.

Then Crassus, finding that his prey had escaped, had a moment of panic,
lest the gladiators should march on Rome, and he asked the Senate to
recall Pompey from Spain, that he might be ready to help should his
fears be realised.

Soon after this, however, Crassus won a great victory over the rebels,
killing, it is said, twelve thousand. Out of this great number only two
had wounds in their back.

Spartacus was still undaunted. He had withdrawn to the mountains,
but dashed down unexpectedly upon the Roman forces, and in his turn
defeated them.

His followers were so proud of this victory that they longed to face
the foe again, and bade their captain lead them once more to battle.

Spartacus believed it would be wiser to keep to the hills and woods,
yet he yielded to the wishes of his followers. But as he advanced
towards Crassus at the head of his troops, he found that another army,
under Lucullus, had cut him off from the sea.

Victory or death was now before the rebels. Spartacus killed his horse
as a sign that he would scorn to fly.

Then, leading a desperate charge, he attempted to cut his way through
the Roman soldiers. But his followers proved less brave than was their
wont, and deserted him. In this desperate plight he was struck by a
javelin.

Even then his courage did not fail. Though the pain of his wound forced
him to his knees, he still went on fighting, until at length he fell
and was covered by the slain.

Thousands of his followers fled to the mountains. But Pompey, who was
on his way home from Spain, followed the fugitives, and killed them in
great numbers. He boasted indeed, that although Crassus had beaten the
gladiators in battle, it was he who had brought the rebellion to an end.

Six thousand slaves were captured and put to a cruel death, being
crucified along the Appian Way.

Spartacus, the barbarian, had been more merciful than the Romans showed
themselves to be. For in his camp were thousands of prisoners, none of
whom had been unkindly treated.




CHAPTER CI

THE PIRATES


Pompey the Great returned to Rome in 71 B.C., to celebrate his second
triumph, and to be elected Consul for the following year.

The people were eager to see the great general return, yet they were
afraid as well.

Suppose Pompey should do as Sulla had done, and bring his army to Rome!
Suppose he should make himself Dictator, and destroy his enemies!

But these fears proved groundless, for no sooner had Pompey reached
Italy than he disbanded his army, bidding his soldiers to go home until
he recalled them to grace his triumph.

He was at once elected Consul, while his colleague was the wealthy
Crassus. The two Consuls did not agree well, for Pompey’s sympathies
were, in these days, with the people, while Crassus was anxious to
please the Optimates.

The general who had just returned victorious endeared himself to the
populace in many ways, but in none, perhaps, more than by his respect
for their ancient customs.

It was usual for each Roman knight, after having served his appointed
time in the wars, to lead his horse to the Forum, and there, in the
presence of two Censors, tell under what generals he had served and in
what battles he had taken part. According to his achievements he was
then discharged, either with praise or blame.

Pompey, as Consul, might easily have ignored this custom. But to the
delight of the people he was one day seen among the other knights, clad
in his Consul’s robes, indeed, but leading his horse to the Forum.

As he drew near to the Censors, Pompey bade his lictors go aside, while
he went to stand before the judges.

The Censors were well pleased to be thus honoured by the Consul, but
they behaved as though he were like any other knight.

‘Pompeius Magnus, I demand of you,’ said one of the Censors, ‘whether
you have served the full time in the wars that is prescribed by the
law?’

‘Yes,’ answered Pompey, and his voice rang out clear in the Forum,
‘Yes, I have served all, and all under myself as general.’

The citizens clapped their hands and shouted with pleasure at the
answer of their favourite, while the Censors rose to accompany him to
his house.

When his Consulship came to an end, Pompey spent two years quietly in
his own home, and during this time he was seldom seen in the Forum.
Those who admired him went often to his house, where he entertained his
guests hospitably.

But at the end of two years Pompey was again called upon to serve his
country.

The pirates, who for long years had ravaged the Mediterranean, were
troublesome foes. Of late these sea-robbers had seemed more numerous
than ever, and there was no doubt of their increasing boldness.

No vessel, unless its crew was armed, need hope to escape these
desperate men. The coasts of Asia, Greece, Epirus, and Italy had all
suffered from the attack of the pirates; no temple, no property was
safe from their raids.

Two Roman prætors had been carried off by these same bold robbers, and
even Roman ladies of high rank had been captured, and kept until a
heavy ransom had been paid for their release. In recent days they had
even been seen at the mouth of the Tiber, and in the harbour at Ostia
Roman ships had been set on fire.

King Mithridates had sometimes employed these men, and encouraged them
by gifts to plunder his enemies.

The pirates’ ships were adorned with the spoils which they had stolen.
Their sails were of costly silk, the colour of which was a rare purple
which in time to come was used only for royal robes. Their oars as they
dipped in the water shone as silver, their masts were gilded with gold.
At their banquets the rough sailors sat down before dishes of silver.

To thus flaunt their booty before the eyes of those they had plundered
was foolish, for it roused the Italian cities, at last, to demand
revenge.

Besides, there was cause for alarm lest the supply of grain from Africa
and Sicily should be captured, unless the pirates were banished, and if
the grain supply were stopped, famine would stare Rome in the face.

One day a tribune proposed to the Senate that some one should be sent
to the Mediterranean with absolute power to deal as he thought fit
with the pirates. That the pirates might be finally banished, the
appointment was to be made for three years, and be not only over the
sea, but fifty miles inland as well.

The Romans would give such great powers to no one but to Pompey, who
had already shown that he knew how to use them without crushing the
people.

So, amid the cheers of the citizens, Pompey was appointed to this
great trust. Julius Cæsar, of whom you are soon to hear, voted for the
favourite, perhaps to gain the goodwill of the people.

With a large fleet Pompey set out to perform the task entrusted to him,
and his success was speedy.

He divided the sea coast into separate districts, and sent his officers
to sweep the pirates from these regions, while he himself went in
pursuit of them to the shores of Sicily and Africa. Within the short
space of forty days the pirates were scattered, and west of Greece
their dreaded sails were no longer to be seen.

But in the Archipelago there were many useful inlets in which the
pirates could seek shelter, and thither Pompey hastened and thoroughly
searched and emptied these natural hiding-places.

Then the pirates assembled all that was left of their fleet at Cilicia,
to make one last stand against the enemy. But there they were finally
defeated by the great Roman general.

Those who were left alive after the battle surrendered, with their
strongholds and islands. These had been so well fortified that Pompey
would have found them difficult, if not impossible, to storm.

Many prisoners had been taken, and these the Romans did not kill.
Pompey, indeed, spent the winter in Cilicia to look after their
welfare. For he founded cities in which the pirates could settle, and,
if so they willed, work honestly to earn their livelihood.




CHAPTER CII

POMPEY GOES TO WAR WITH MITHRIDATES


When the Romans heard that the pirates had been scattered and forced to
submit to Pompey their joy knew no bounds.

No longer need they live in dread of the sudden appearance of the ships
with scarlet sails and silver oars along the Italian coasts, no longer
need they fear the sudden capture of their corn. And this was due to
Pompey! In Rome at this time no one was so popular as he.

His success determined the Senate to send him to take command of the
war that was going on in the East, against Mithridates.

Lucullus had been in the East at the head of the army for some time.
But the Senate refused to send him money to pay or to clothe his men,
and they had grown rebellious, and had begun to grumble at his strict
discipline. They wished Pompey the Great to come to take command of
them, and then they would do great deeds. So in 66 B.C. Pompey was
appointed commander of both army and navy in the East, to the delight
of soldiers and sailors alike.

Pompey himself seemed none too pleased at the honour conferred on him.

‘Alas, what a series of labours upon labours,’ he cried, frowning as
he spoke. ‘If I am never to end my services as a soldier ... and live
at home in the country with my wife, I had better have been an unknown
man.’

These were unsoldierly words, but his friends paid little attention
to them, believing that he did not mean them seriously. And his deeds
were proof that he longed to win glory for himself and his country,
although he never risked any great adventure on the battlefield.

Mithridates had little hope of withstanding Pompey, when he had barely
been able to hold his own against Lucullus. However, he encamped in a
strong position on a hill, and hoped that this would make an attack
difficult, perhaps even impossible.

Pompey, leaving his fleet to guard the seas, marched into Pontus, but
not before the king had been driven from the hill on which he had
entrenched himself, by lack of water for his army.

The Roman general had more discerning eyes than the old king. For he,
noticing that the plants were green and healthy, encamped on this same
hill, and when his soldiers complained of thirst he bade them dig
wells. As he expected, there was soon abundance of water in the camp.

But Pompey did not linger long on the hill, for he was eager to follow
Mithridates, and soon after this the king found his camp besieged so
closely by the Romans that it was impossible to get supplies for his
army. It was plain that he and his soldiers must either starve or
escape.

So one night Mithridates ordered the sick and wounded to be killed,
for they would have hampered the army in its flight. The king did not
hesitate to give such a cruel order, for he and his followers had not
been taught to pity the weak and helpless.

The watch-fires were lighted at the usual time, that the suspicions of
the Romans might not be roused. Then when the camp seemed quiet for
the night, Mithridates and the main body of the army slipped out into
the dark, and somehow succeeded in passing unnoticed through the Roman
lines.

In dread of pursuit, they hid themselves by day in forests, at night
they marched as quickly as possible toward the river Euphrates.

When Pompey found that Mithridates had escaped, he blamed his own
carelessness and followed swiftly in pursuit. As he marched by day as
well as by night, he was soon in advance of the king. So it happened
that when Mithridates encamped by the banks of the river Euphrates, the
Romans were already there, and determined that the enemy should not
again escape.

But the very first evening as it grew dark Pompey became restless. He
had set a strict watch, it was true, yet Mithridates had already shown
himself skilful in evading sentinels. It would be safer to attack the
camp without delay. Pompey summoned his officers, and arranged that the
assault should take place at midnight.

Meanwhile, Mithridates lay asleep in his tent, worn out with fatigue
and anxiety. As he slept, his troubles slipped from his mind, and the
old king dreamed pleasant dreams. He thought that he had reached the
sea, and was in a ship. The winds blew soft and fair, wafting the
vessel quietly along toward a harbour where no foes could touch him.

In his dream the king began to tell his friends how pleased he was to
have reached so safe a haven, when suddenly the wind rose, lashing the
sea into fury. The king grasped a spar, but his strength failed, and he
was beginning to sink, when he awoke, and lo! it was a dream.

At that moment his officers rushed into his tent, to tell him that the
Romans were preparing to attack them.

Swiftly the king shook off the effects of his dream, and ordered his
troops to defend their camp to the last.

Now, as the Romans approached the enemy, the moon rose behind them and
cast their shadows on the ground.

The soldiers of Mithridates saw the black flitting forms and grew
bewildered. In the indistinct light they thought the shadows were the
real soldiers, and they flung their darts at these imaginary foes.

Then with a great shout the Romans rushed in upon the puzzled enemy,
fear was at once added to their confusion, and in sheer panic they
turned and fled. But more than ten thousand were killed, and their camp
was taken.

Mithridates himself once more escaped. At the head of about eight
hundred horse he made a desperate charge through the enemy’s lines, and
then in the darkness of the night he was seen no more.

Pompey did not follow the king further. But he stayed in the East to
fight, and by his skill he won many new territories for Rome.

He even marched to Palestine, where the city of Jerusalem soon
surrendered to the powerful enemy that had surrounded her walls. But
the Jews refused to give up their temple, and for two or three months
they defended their holy place bravely against every attack.

In December 63 B.C., however, it was taken, and Pompey, who had entered
many temples and seen many pagan gods, now entered the temple of the
Jews.

Nor would he be content until he had penetrated into the Holy of
Holies, where the High Priest alone might enter once every year. Here
he saw the golden table and the golden candlesticks, of which you
have read in Old Testament stories. But the Roman, although he felt
a Presence there, looked in vain for the God of the Jews, for His
dwelling is in a house ‘not made with hands.’

While Pompey was still in Palestine, he heard that the king whose
rebellion had brought him to the East was dead.

Forsaken by his allies, deserted by the one son who was still alive,
Mithridates had cared to live no longer, and had taken poison, which he
had carried with him in the hilt of his sword.

After his death there was no one to lead an army against the Romans. So
the rebellion in Asia came to an end, and Pompey the Great was free to
return to Italy.

Once again the Roman citizens wondered what would happen when he came.
Would his many victories have changed the conqueror into a tyrant? But
once again the people found that their fears were groundless. For as
soon as he landed in Italy Pompey disbanded his army and set out for
Rome, attended only by a few friends.

When the Italian cities saw Pompey the Great journeying in this simple
guise they determined to send him to Rome in more suitable fashion.

So, in happy, careless mood, the citizens crowded around him, and
themselves became his escort. In such multitudes did they follow him
that they were more in number than the troops which he had disbanded.

Never was such a triumph as Pompey held! Although, indeed, he had to
wait more than nine months before he was allowed to hold it.

His long list of victories was written on tablets that all might read.
Kings, princes, chiefs were led in chains in his procession, while the
temples of Rome were enriched by the treasures that he had brought from
the East.

Plutarch, who writes the life of Pompey, says, that he seemed to have
led the whole world captive, for his first triumph was over ‘Africa,
his second over Europe, and his third over Asia.’




CHAPTER CIII

CICERO DISCOVERS THE CATILINARIAN CONSPIRACY


The excitement caused by Pompey’s return to Rome was soon over. Then
the great general found that, in spite of all that he had done for his
country, and in spite of the splendour of his triumph, there were many
in the city who did not welcome his return.

His very first request to the Senate was refused, and it may be that
Pompey thought half regretfully of his disbanded army. To it his
slightest wish had been law. The Optimates, too, had grown used to his
absence, and were ready to thwart or ignore him.

So Pompey determined to join the two most powerful men in Rome at that
time. One of these was the wealthy Crassus, the other was Julius Cæsar,
who was destined to become the greatest man Rome had ever known.

Pompey did not like Crassus, and he soon became jealous of Julius
Cæsar. But in the meantime these three men formed a secret union, for
they thought that then they alone would govern Rome. This union was
afterwards called The First Triumvirate. When Pompey married Julia, the
beautiful daughter of Cæsar, it seemed probable that the father and
husband would share many interests.

For a time another great man named Cicero threw in his lot with the
three leaders. It is of him that I wish to tell you now.

Cicero was a great orator and man of letters. In 63 B.C. he was chosen
Consul. During the lifetime of Sulla, Cicero’s influence was used on
behalf of the plebeians. But before long his reverence for the Rome
of the past made him ready to denounce any side which threatened to
disregard the ancient laws.

In the end he joined the Optimates, because he believed that if they
would cease to live only for pleasure, and would learn to govern the
provinces with justice, the old order of things might be restored.

By eloquent speeches he tried to rouse the nobles to live more useful
and upright lives. But they paid little heed to his words, partly,
perhaps, because they did not find that his teaching rang true. For
they knew that he did not always act justly although he bade them do
so, that he often used his eloquence to defend his friend or his party,
when it was plain that the cause of neither was just. And so his words
had not the power which true words always have.

Two years before Cicero became Consul, Rome had been greatly disturbed
by the discovery of a plot to kill the Consuls, to seize the
government, and even to burn Rome.

This plot, which was never proved, was known as The First Catilinarian
Conspiracy, for Catiline, who had belonged to Sulla’s party, was said
to have planned it.

In 63 B.C. Cicero declared that a new plot was being prepared by the
same leader.

Catiline had gathered around him a band of the wildest of the popular
party. His followers hoped that Catiline would be elected Consul, and
that then he would reward them. One of the ways in which he could do
this would be by passing a law for the abolition of debts.

But Catiline was not chosen Consul, while Cicero was. It was then,
in his rage and disappointment, that Catiline was said to have made
a deliberate plot to assassinate Cicero, to attack the houses of the
senators, and to burn the city. While this was being done, an invading
army was to march into Rome.

Now there seemed reason to be alarmed, for it was known that troops
were assembling near Fæsulæ, a small town about three miles from
Florence. And not only so, but their captain was Manlius, an old
officer of Sulla. Since the terrible proscriptions, it was natural that
any one who had been connected with Sulla was feared as well as hated.

Although Cicero had no doubt that a plot was on foot, he could not find
proof enough to arrest the conspirators. Yet at a meeting of Senate,
early in November, the Consul rose, and in a vehement speech denounced
Catiline, who was present. The conspirator sat apart from the other
senators, for he knew that they were suspicious of him.

When Cicero’s speech ended, Catiline begged the Senate not to judge him
hastily, and then he left the Assembly.

That same night the conspirator left Rome apparently for Marseilles,
where, if a Roman chose to live in exile, he could escape being
impeached by his fellow-citizens.

On his journey, Catiline wrote a letter to a friend, begging him
to protect his wife, and at the same time he assured him that he,
Catiline, was innocent, ‘save only that he wished to help his
countrymen who were poor and downtrodden.’

The following morning Cicero made another speech against Catiline, and
as the people clamoured to know why the conspirator had been allowed to
escape, the Consul confessed that he had not proof sufficient to arrest
him.

Before long the city was startled to hear that the fugitive had not
gone to Marseilles, but to the camp at Fæsulæ, where he was now in
command of the army.

[Illustration: The following morning Cicero made another speech against
Catiline.]




CHAPTER CIV

THE DEATH OF THE CONSPIRATORS


The Senate no sooner knew that Catiline was with the army than it
proclaimed both him and Manlius public enemies.

A messenger was sent to the camp to offer pardon to any who should
leave it within a certain time. But no one took advantage of this
offer, while many soldiers continued to crowd into it. Rome grew more
and more alarmed.

Antonius, the colleague of Cicero, was sent at the head of an army to
Fæsulæ. As he was a friend of Catiline he pretended to be ill, and his
army did the conspirators no harm. Cicero himself stayed to guard the
city, for it was suspected that there was treachery within her walls.

Soon after this the Consul unexpectedly received the proof of the
conspirators’ guilt.

A Gallic tribe that had been forced to pay a heavy tax to the Romans
now sent envoys to Rome to beg that the tax might be removed.

As it chanced, the conspirators in the city saw the envoys, and tried
to persuade them to hasten back to their tribe and send a troop of
cavalry to the help of the camp at Fæsulæ. They were assured that if
they would do this Catiline would see that the money tax was removed.

The envoys promised to aid the conspirators, but they had scarcely left
the city when they changed their minds.

Catiline’s plot might fail, they said to one another, and then what
would happen to their tribe for sending soldiers to his aid, while, if
they told Cicero all that they knew, the Consul would certainly reward
them well? So they went back into the city and told Cicero what they
had been asked to do.

The Consul knew that he now possessed the proof he had so long sought
in vain. Moreover, the whole city would rise in fury when she heard
that the conspirators had wished to invade Rome with the aid of Gallic
troops. So he promised to reward the envoys well if they would do as he
bade them.

They were again to leave Rome, and to appear to be faithful to
Catiline. But when they had gone a little distance they would be
arrested. Nor were they to resist overmuch, while the letters they
carried were to be given up after a mere show of reluctance.

The envoys agreed to do as the Consul wished, and soon the letters
which betrayed the four conspirators within the city were in the hands
of the Consul. They were at once arrested and put under guard, while
one of them, being a prætor, was forced to resign his office.

Cicero then assembled the people, and delivered his third speech
against Catiline and his fellow-conspirators.

When the people heard of the attempted league with Gaul they were
roused to a frenzy. Their own leaders had betrayed them, and they were
loud in their praise of Cicero for detecting the traitors’ schemes.

The Consul had power to pronounce sentence of death on evil-doers, if
it seemed necessary for the good of the State. But he did not use his
power, begging the Senate rather to counsel him as to what sentence
they should suffer.

Many of the senators urged that the four guilty men should be put to
death, but Julius Cæsar was more merciful.

‘Their crimes,’ he said, ‘deserve the severest punishment, but when the
excitement is over, severity beyond the laws will be remembered, the
crimes forgotten.’

He then proposed that the four men should be imprisoned for life, and
that their property should be confiscated.

Cæsar’s words almost won the day. But Cato, the great-grandson of the
Censor, spoke violently against mercy being shown to the conspirators.

Cato was one of the sternest of the Optimates, and his influence was
great enough to sway the Senate. It now voted by a majority for the
death of the prisoners, and the Consul at once ordered the four men to
be strangled.

As Cicero left the Senate-house and hastened through the crowd in the
Forum, he said to the people: ‘They are dead.’ The citizens seemed
satisfied that their city would now be safe, while Cato and Catulus
commended Cicero as the ‘Father of his country.’

Early in 62 B.C. Catiline tried to march into Gaul with the troops that
had remained faithful to him. But the Roman army was watching for him.
He was forced to fight, and nearly all his men were slain.




CHAPTER CV

JULIUS CÆSAR IS CAPTURED BY PIRATES


Julius Cæsar was born in 100 or 101 B.C., and belonged to one of the
most illustrious patrician families of Rome.

From his boyhood, Cæsar was a favourite with the people. They liked his
frank, bright ways, and then he spent money lavishly, and that was what
they thought the young nobles ought to do.

But they never dreamed that this youth was different from the other
pleasure-loving youths of Rome, that in his heart he hid great
ambitions, and had already, in his own way, begun to pave the way
toward their fulfilment.

That he was fearless and not easily turned away from his purpose he
soon showed. Even of Sulla in his most powerful day he felt no dread.

When Sulla commanded that all those who were connected with the party
of Marius by marriage should send their wives away, Cæsar, who was then
only nineteen years of age, refused to obey. So Cornelia stayed with
her husband in spite of the danger they both knew they would incur by
defying one of Sulla’s commands.

Cæsar would indeed have lost his life, had not powerful friends begged
Sulla to be merciful, adding that it was surely not necessary to put a
mere boy to death.

But Sulla was a reader of character, and he believed that Cæsar was too
clever not to be dangerous to the State.

To those who begged for his life, he said, ‘You know little if you do
not see more than one Marius in that boy.’

When Cæsar heard what Sulla had said, he escaped to the Sabine hills
and hid himself, until Rome should become a safer city.

Some time after this the young patrician was on his way to Rhodes to
study rhetoric, when he was captured by pirates. For this was before
Pompey had cleared the seas of the terrible sea robbers.

The pirates did not know how great a prize they had captured when they
took Julius Cæsar prisoner, and they demanded merely twenty talents for
his ransom.

Cæsar laughed, for he valued himself at more than that modest sum, and
offered them fifty talents.

He then sent his followers away to raise the money, while he stayed
alone with the pirates, save for one friend and two attendants. And
this he did, although he knew that they often put their prisoners to
death.

For thirty-eight days he lived with them, sometimes amusing himself
by joining in their sports, sometimes reading to them poems he had
written, or rehearsing speeches he had prepared.

To these they would listen, indeed, but without giving any applause.
Then Cæsar would grow angry with them, calling them names, saying that
when he was free he would crucify them.

At other times, if he wished to sleep and the pirates were making a
noise, he would send to bid them be quiet.

The pirates laughed at the strange ways and words of their captive,
and paid no heed to his threats. But Cæsar was in earnest when he was
angry, and no sooner was his ransom paid and he set free, than the
first thing he did was to hire ships to go in search of these very same
pirates.

He soon found and captured them, and in the end he crucified them, as
he had more than once threatened to do when he was their prisoner.

Cæsar then went to Rhodes to study rhetoric. And he profited by his
studies, for on his return to Rome his eloquence won him fame.

As for the citizens they still loved him, for he was kind to them and
feasted and spent money as before. But that he would prove a great
soldier, one who would astonish not only Rome, but the whole world,
there was nothing yet to tell.

Cicero, indeed, as Sulla had done before, saw that Cæsar was ambitious.
Beneath his pleasant smiles and ways, Cicero sometimes thought that the
young patrician had a hidden purpose, which he would not easily lay
aside. At other times the orator thought that, after all, Cæsar was a
trifler and nothing more. ‘When I see his hair so carefully arranged,’
says this wise man, ‘and observe him adjusting it with one finger, I
cannot imagine it should enter into such a man’s thoughts to subvert
the Roman State.’

But whatever others thought, there was no doubt that to the people
Cæsar had become an idol. And he was pleased that this should be so,
for he liked well to be popular and beloved.

About the year 67 B.C., Cæsar was appointed to superintend the repairs
of the Appian Way. On these repairs he spent large sums of his own,
and the people whispered to one another that this was done for their
welfare, and they smiled more warmly than ever on the young noble.

But he looked after their pleasures as well as after their more
practical welfare. For he held a show of gladiators in which six
hundred and forty took part, to the delight of the citizens, while the
games he celebrated were more magnificent than those usually seen in
Rome.

The height of his popularity in these early days was reached, however,
when he restored the statues of Marius and of his triumph over Jugurtha
and the Cimbri. These had been banished from the Capitol during the
time that Sulla ruled the city.

In 63 B.C. Cæsar determined to put his popularity to the test. The high
priest had died, and Cæsar wished to succeed him. It was true that
Catulus and another Roman of influence were known to expect that the
appointment would be given to one of them. But in spite of this Cæsar
insisted on letting the people know that he too was a candidate.

Catulus, dreading a contest with one who was so popular, offered Cæsar
a large sum of money if he would withdraw.

But Cæsar, although he had spent all his money and was deep in debt,
scornfully refused the offer of Catulus. ‘I would borrow a larger sum
to carry on the contest,’ he said, with proud defiance.

On the day that the votes were to be taken, his mother accompanied him
to the door of their house, her tears betraying her anxiety. But he, as
he embraced her, said, ‘To-day you will see me either high priest or an
exile.’

The excitement ran high as the different tribes gave their votes, but
it was Cæsar, the idol of the people, who won the day.

It was what, in his proud confidence he had expected, but he was
pleased, while the people were elated.

But the nobles were exceedingly annoyed. What would the citizens do
next? Would they not be content until Julius Cæsar reigned supreme in
Rome?




CHAPTER CVI

CÆSAR GIVES UP HIS TRIUMPH


The Senate and the nobles now began to fear the ambition of Cæsar.
And they were glad to give him the command of the army in Spain, so
that he might, for a time at least, be away from Rome. They hoped that
the people, who were always fickle, would find a new favourite in his
absence, one whom they might be able to influence. Already they knew
that they could not move Cæsar to do their will.

So in 61 B.C. Cæsar went to Spain. With new duties he quickly developed
new powers. There was now no time spent in idle pleasures, or even on
the more serious joy of composing poems. His whole energy was devoted
to his soldiers. Soon he had added to the numbers of his army, and
marched into districts as yet unconquered by Rome.

Everywhere he went he was victorious, and when he returned to Rome it
was to claim a triumph.

Now he had arrived before the city gates just in time for the election
of Consuls. To stand for the Consulship it was necessary to enter
the city and proclaim oneself a candidate. To enjoy a triumph it was
necessary to stay outside the walls until the Senate has decreed that a
triumph was deserved.

Cæsar was thus in a strait, and of this his enemies were not slow to
take advantage. For when he asked the Senate to allow him to stand for
the Consulship without entering the city, it refused. And more than
that, it would not decide that he should enjoy a triumph until it was
too late to have it and stand for the Consulship as well.

Which should he give up? Cæsar himself, being wise, had no doubt. But
the Senate and the nobles hoped that he would choose the triumph. That
was a glory that would soon be forgotten, while if he became Consul he
would be more powerful than they cared to think.

But Cæsar gave up the triumph and proclaimed himself a candidate for
the Consulship. And his enemies were forced to look on as he walked to
the assembly of the people between Pompey and Crassus, the two most
powerful men in Rome. With their support he was elected Consul with
unusual honours.

It was now that Pompey, Crassus, and Cæsar formed the secret union
which became known as The First Triumvirate.

The laws the Triumvirate brought forward were framed chiefly to please
the people and to win their support. One was regarding the vexed
question of allotments of land for Pompey’s veterans, another was about
the distribution of corn.

When some of the senators and the Optimates tried to hinder these
measures from becoming law, Pompey took an armed force to the Campus,
to keep order it was said. But every one knew that the real reason was
to make the voters afraid to oppose the Triumvirate.

A year passed and Cæsar’s Consulship came to an end. He then demanded
that the Senate should give him Gaul as his province. As a rule a
province was allotted to an officer for a year, but Cæsar insisted that
he should have Gaul for five years.

The Senate, again thinking it would be well that he should be absent
from Rome, granted his request. And so in 58 B.C. Cæsar left Rome to
begin his new duties in Gaul.

But before he left the city he arranged that the chief offices of the
State should be held by friends of his own, so that his enemies might
not grow too powerful during his absence.

Cicero had shown himself no friend to Cæsar, and he was now forced
either to leave Rome or be brought to trial for executing the four
Catilinarian conspirators.

Rather than be brought to trial Cicero went into exile. But in sixteen
months he was again in Rome, trying to win Pompey from his secret
agreement with Cæsar.




CHAPTER CVII

CÆSAR PRAISES HIS TENTH LEGION


The years which Cæsar spent in Gaul were so full of hard-fought battles
and well-earned victories, that even his love of adventure and glory
must surely have been satisfied.

Gaul at this time was divided into two parts, Cisalpine and Transalpine
Gaul.

Cisalpine Gaul was the name given to the Gallic settlements in northern
Italy, and here Cæsar spent only a short time.

It was in Transalpine Gaul, or Gaul beyond the Alps, that Cæsar’s great
work lay, and the countries that we now call France and Switzerland
were included in this part of Gaul.

When the Roman army reached Transalpine Gaul it found that two tribes,
the Helvetians and the Ligurini, had burnt their villages and towns
because the land around their dwellings was covered with marsh and
forest.

They were now going to journey in search of a better country, even
thinking that they might invade Italy and settle there.

The tribes were fierce and brave, but Cæsar determined to meet them
and keep them from setting foot in Italy. So he sent his chief officer
against the Ligurini and they were defeated. But the Helvetians
succeeded in surprising Cæsar as he was marching, and fell upon him
before he had time to arrange his men in a good position.

As the Romans prepared to repulse the Gauls, Cæsar’s horse was brought
to him, but he refused to mount, saying, ‘When I have won the battle I
will use my horse for the chase.’ He then led the charge on foot.

The struggle was fierce, for the Helvetians were fighting for all that
they counted most dear. But at length the Romans drove them from the
field and pursued them to their wagons.

Here, not men alone, but women and children joined in the fight, and
fiercely the battle raged once more. It was only after a desperate
onslaught that the Gauls resolved to submit.

Many of the Helvetians had fallen in the battle, but Cæsar sent for
those who had escaped, and bade them go back to the country from which
they had come, and rebuild their towns and villages.

The conquered people had expected to be cut to pieces or to be made
slaves for the rest of their lives, and they could scarcely believe
what they heard.

Cæsar saw that they were bewildered, so again he told them to go and
live peacefully in their old homes. And this he did because he did not
wish the Germans, who were a powerful people, to seize the district the
Helvetians had forsaken and make it theirs.

This victory over the Helvetians made the other Gallic tribes afraid
of Cæsar. Yet perhaps, they thought, as he was so brave and strong, he
would be willing to protect them from Ariovistus, king of the Germans,
who was their most terrible foe. So some of the tribes sent messengers
to Cæsar to beg for his protection.

This Cæsar promised to give them, but when he had conquered Ariovistus,
he determined that he would next subdue the tribes that had just
appealed to him and make their land a province of Rome.

Some of the Roman officers were very angry when they heard that Cæsar
meant to march against the German king. They were young nobles who had
been brought up in luxury and had joined the army, dreaming of the
riches that they would gain, and the victories which would make their
names famous. Of the long terrible marches that would be necessary,
of the hardships of the camp, they had not thought, and so now they
grumbled.

And what was worse, they not only grumbled themselves, but they tried
to make the soldiers dissatisfied. The example of their brave commander
should have shamed these cowards.

Cæsar was not strong, yet he was always to be found where the danger
seemed the greatest. Nor was he ever heard to say that because his
health was poor he must have more comfort than his men enjoyed.

Indeed when his soldiers marched, he marched at their side, if they
ate coarse food, he made the same his daily fare, and often he would
share their rough camp bed. He was much more than the commander of his
men, he was their friend. It was he who taught them too to care for the
wounded and the sick.

Once a fierce storm drove him to seek shelter in the cottage of a poor
man. When he saw that there was only one room, he ordered it to be
given to an officer who was ill, while he and the troops slept in a
shed.

For deeds like this, the soldiers worshipped their brave general, and
were ready to follow where he chose to lead.

But the pleasure-loving officers grumbled. Cæsar had no need of such
men in his army, and he determined to teach them a lesson.

So, first assembling the army, he sent for the discontented nobles,
and when they came, he bade them, before all the soldiers, to go back
to Rome, if they were afraid of difficult marches and battles with
barbarians.

‘As for me,’ he added, ‘I will take only the Tenth Legion with me, and
with it I will conquer the barbarians, for I do not expect to find them
more terrible than the Cimbri whom Marius conquered, nor am I a general
inferior to him.’

The Tenth Legion was proud indeed as it listened to these words. It
never forgot how Cæsar had boasted of its courage and had trusted
its devotion. Some of the members of the Legion were sent to thank
him for the words he had spoken. And from that day, as you will
easily understand, it fought with unfaltering zeal and such fierce
determination that the enemy could seldom withstand its fury.

After the foolish young officers had listened to Cæsar’s rebuke they
were ashamed, and begged him to allow them to march with him against
Ariovistus, that they might redeem their honour in the eyes of the army.

As for the other legions they had not waited for orders from their
officers, but had already begun to prepare for the march. For the
soldiers had never wished to desert Cæsar, and now after listening to
his praise of the Tenth Legion, they were more than ever anxious to
win his approval. So it was a united army that set out on the long and
perilous march to the camp of Ariovistus.




CHAPTER CVIII

CÆSAR WINS A GREAT VICTORY OVER THE NERVII


Ariovistus was a great warrior and he was not afraid of the Roman army,
but he was startled by the speed with which it reached his camp. He had
thought that the marshlands through which it must go, and the forests
through which it must penetrate, would have delayed it long on its way.

But if Ariovistus was unafraid, it was easy to see that his soldiers
were not over glad to see the Roman army. If they might have attacked
the enemy at once, they would have felt less gloomy. But there were
soothsayers in the camp, and these went from tent to tent, bidding the
soldiers wait until the new moon appeared before they fought.

Cæsar may have known what the soothsayers had said, but in any case,
he saw that the Germans were not ready to fight, so he determined to
attack their camp.

When the Romans began to advance, the Germans were roused to fury. They
forgot the words of the soothsayers, or, if they remembered, they paid
no heed to them, for they dashed furiously upon the enemy and tried to
break its ranks.

Again and again they hurled themselves upon the foe, but Cæsar’s
legions stood firm, and at length they, in their turn, attacked the
Germans with irresistible force. The Germans could not stand the
onslaught; they broke their ranks and fled.

If they could but reach the river Rhine and cross it they would be
safe, but the river was about thirty-five miles away.

Still that was the direction in which they fled, followed and cut down
not only by the Romans but by the Gauls, whose enemies they had always
been.

Ariovistus himself was almost captured, but he at length succeeded in
crossing the river with a few troops, and was then soon beyond the
reach of the Roman legions. This was Cæsar’s second great victory in
Gaul.

The Nervii, with whom he fought his next battle, were perhaps the most
terrible foes he encountered during the many years he spent among the
barbarians.

So determined were the Nervii to fight, that they did not even wait to
see if the Romans meant to attack them, but assembled in great numbers
on the left bank of the river Sambre, a tributary of the Meuse.

The home of this fierce tribe was in the thick forests of their
country, and here they had hidden their wives, their children, and
their property, when they set out to seek for the Romans.

Cæsar soon reached the right bank of the Sambre, opposite the enemy,
and ordered his men to encamp on a hill which sloped toward the river.

The Romans had put up their tents and were preparing to fortify the
camp, when suddenly a party of the Nervii, that had been in ambush,
dashed upon them. Almost at once they were followed by overwhelming
numbers, who had crossed the river and now swarmed up the hill and
passed into the camp.

Amid the wild confusion Cæsar was calm and undismayed. He ordered the
bugle to be sounded to recall those who had gone in search of wood,
then speedily gathering his men together he gave the signal to advance.

Bravely the Tenth Legion fought that day. Once, when it was posted on
the hill, it saw that its beloved general was in danger, and swift as
an arrow it sped to his side.

When it seemed as though the battle must indeed be lost, Cæsar snatched
a buckler from one of his men and himself led them on to victory. For
seeing their general before them the soldiers fought with new and grim
determination.

They could not indeed force the Nervii to flee, for the barbarians
scorned to turn their back to an enemy, but they could cut them down as
they stood at bay. Out of 60,000, only 500, it is said, were left alive
after the terrible slaughter on the banks of the Sambre.

Belgium and the whole of the north-west of France was now in the hands
of the Romans, for one of Cæsar’s officers had conquered Normandy and
Brittany.

Rome was jubilant with delight when she heard of Cæsar’s great victory
over the Nervii. The Senate resolved to celebrate it with unusual
festivities. For fifteen days the city was ordered to give itself up to
rejoicing, and the people, who adored Cæsar, were able to show their
pleasure in his success. Feasts and games followed each other day after
day, while bounteous sacrifices were offered to the gods.

Winter had now come and Cæsar resolved to go to Lucca, a town near to
the river Po. Here he was near enough to Rome to find out all that had
been going on in the city during his absence.

Many Romans too went to Lucca to visit the victorious general, and at
one time he entertained 200 senators.

Among his visitors in 56 B.C. came Pompey and Crassus, to renew the
Triumvirate.

It was agreed that Pompey and Crassus should be Consuls the following
year, while Cæsar should hold Gaul as his province for five years
longer, from 53 B.C. to 48 B.C.

Toward the end of that time he was to stand for the consulship and be
permitted to do so, without, in the usual way, first entering the city.




CHAPTER CIX

CÆSAR INVADES BRITAIN


In 55 B.C. Cæsar resolved to invade our own island home. He knew little
about Britain, save that she was on good terms with the Gauls, and
carried on trade with them.

When he questioned the traders, they told him that he would find tin
and lead in the ground, as well as precious stones scattered over the
land.

Curiosity, the desire for booty, as well as the wish to punish all who
aided the Gauls, drove Cæsar to the adventure, and he ordered a fleet
to be prepared for the great enterprise.

It was autumn when he set sail for Britain, with eighty vessels and an
army of 12,000 men. He had not taken a larger fleet, as he thought that
he would have little trouble in conquering the barbarians of the island.

Rumours had reached Britain of the coming of the great Roman general
with a fleet, and the natives crowded to the shore, eager to keep the
strangers from landing in their country.

As he drew near to Deal, where he hoped to land, Cæsar saw that his
ships were too big to sail close in to shore, so he ordered his
soldiers to jump into the sea and make their way to land as well as
they could.

The Romans looked at the sea and their hearts misgave them, brave
soldiers as they were, for they were not used to the sea, nor did they
love it as the Britons seemed to do.

They were already in the water, some on foot, some on horses, and they
seemed to the astonished Romans as undisturbed as though they were on
land.

And Cæsar had bidden them jump into the sea. Still they hesitated.

Then the officer who carried the eagle of the tenth legion jumped into
the water, crying, ‘Leap, soldiers, unless you wish to betray your
eagle to the enemy.’

The soldiers could not risk their standard being captured by the
barbarians, so now they hastily leaped into the water and followed
their officer.

Then a fierce struggle began, many of the Romans falling before the
battle axes of the Britains, many others slipping on the treacherous
sand and being drowned.

But at length the Romans reached the shore, and the Briton chiefs were
soon forced to submit to Cæsar.

The Roman general was disappointed to find little booty on the island
which he had taken so much trouble to invade, and to see nothing of the
precious stones which he had been told were strewn in plenty on the
ground. And so he soon sailed back to Gaul.

In the following spring, however, Cæsar again returned to Britain. This
time, instead of eighty vessels his fleet consisted of eight hundred,
while his army numbered many thousands.

The Britons had again gathered in great strength to repel the invaders,
but when they saw so many ships they grew afraid and fled to their
forests. So Cæsar landed without difficulty at Romney marsh.

At length, led by a brave chief, called Cassivellaunus, the tribes
determined to try to drive the Romans from their shore.

Cassivellaunus did not conquer the Romans, but he proved a brave and
skilful commander, and constantly harassed them. At last, however, his
capital was taken, and he then sent messengers to treat with Cæsar.

Cæsar received the envoys and demanded from them hostages, and the
promise that their tribes would pay a yearly tribute to Rome.

Then in September 54 B.C., when his fleet, which had been damaged by a
storm, was repaired, he again went back to Gaul.

Here he was greeted with the sad news that his daughter Julia was dead.

Julia had often smoothed away the jealousies of her husband, the
irritations of her father, and both Pompey and Cæsar mourned for her
loss.

Their friends also were troubled. They foresaw that now the beautiful
Julia was no longer alive, it would not be long before the two great
generals quarrelled. And that was a grave thought. For the peace of
Rome depended on the friendship of Pompey and Cæsar.

Cæsar’s work in Gaul was not yet finished. In 52 B.C. the tribes in the
south made one more desperate stand against the power of Rome, which
seemed to be pressing more and more heavily upon them.

The rebellion was led by a young chief named Vercingetorix, who had
seized the town of Gergovia, the capital of his tribe and his own
birthplace.

Cæsar, when he heard that Gergovia was in the hands of the barbarians,
hastened to the town and at once laid siege to it. But to his surprise
the town withstood every effort he made to take it. For the first time
Cæsar was unable to capture a Gallic town, and not only so, but he was
forced to raise the siege.

When Vercingetorix saw the Romans retreating, he believed that now was
the time to attack them, and he led his followers against the foe.

But on the battlefield the Gauls were no match for the legions of Rome,
and Vercingetorix was forced to flee from the field with only a remnant
of his army.

The young Gaul succeeded in reaching the town of Alesia, which he at
once began to fortify.

Cæsar speedily followed the enemy to Alesia, and when he saw the Gauls
within the walls of the town, he determined to keep them there. He at
once ordered his men to set to work to dig trenches, and to build forts
round the walls, that no one might escape.

But one night, when it was dark, the young Gaul sent messengers to
summon the neighbouring tribes to come to his aid.

The messengers passed the enemy’s lines in safety, and galloped swiftly
away to rouse their people. In a short time a large army of 300,000 of
the bravest men in Gaul were marching to the aid of Vercingetorix.

Thus it was that one day, as the Romans worked at the trenches and the
forts, they were unexpectedly attacked by a new Gallic army.

Vercingetorix seized the same moment to sally out of Alesia with his
men, and the Romans were caught between two foes. For four days a
terrible struggle raged, and then, as was almost always the way, Cæsar
and his legions proved victorious.

To save his army, Vercingetorix gave himself up to the Romans, flinging
first his arms and then himself at the feet of the conqueror. But Cæsar
had no pity for the foe he had vanquished, and carried off the brave
young Gaul to Rome to adorn his triumph.

For two years longer Cæsar stayed in Gaul, and although he fought some
battles and put down some rebellions, his chief work was to pass laws
that would make the Gauls content to live under the protection of Rome.

By the end of the two years Cæsar had shown that he was not only a
great general, but that he was also a great ruler of men.




CHAPTER CX

CÆSAR CROSSES THE RUBICON


While Cæsar was winning glory for himself and for his country in Gaul,
Crassus was also fighting against a foreign foe, and in 53 B.C. he was
tricked into leading his men into an ambush and was slain. Pompey was
the only member of the Triumvirate in Rome.

The more the Senate approved of Pompey’s rule, the more he wished that
there was no Cæsar to come home to share his power. And however the
Senate might receive the victorious general, Pompey knew that Cæsar was
still remembered and adored by the people.

He himself had gradually withdrawn his sympathy from the popular party,
and he now threw his influence wholly on the side of the Optimates, who
disliked Cæsar, and like Pompey himself, dreaded his return.

Meanwhile Rome was in need of a strong ruler, for disorder and
lawlessness was rife within the city, and the Senate seemed unable to
restore order.

In the streets riots took place, which often ended in bloodshed. And
while there was violence among the people, among the nobles there was
bribery.

The Senate in despair determined to appoint only one Consul for the
year 52 B.C. If only one person was responsible for law and justice,
it thought that order might be restored. The choice of the Senate
naturally fell upon Pompey, and through its influence he was appointed
sole Consul. But the people were not pleased, and muttered that Cæsar
should have been elected as the colleague of Pompey.

To avoid this, for he was determined not to share his power with Cæsar,
Pompey, after ruling alone for six months, arranged that Metellus
Scipio should be chosen as second Consul.

There was no beautiful Julia now at hand to persuade Pompey to be true
to Cæsar, and from this time the Consul showed plainly that he meant
to separate his fortunes from those of his father-in-law. And what was
worse was that he used his power to undermine the influence of the
absent general to whom his faith was pledged.

Cæsar, who was always in touch with Rome, knew what was being done. His
friends, too, warned him that Pompey would soon be too strong for him
unless he speedily returned to the city. But Cæsar was not yet ready to
leave Gaul.

The Senate soon showed how it meant to treat the absent general. It
proposed, more than once, that Cæsar should dismiss his army before
being elected Consul for the year 48 B.C.

Pompey heard these proposals and at first said nothing, although he
must have remembered the arrangement he and Crassus had made with Cæsar
at Lucca.

When the Senate repeated its wish more decidedly, he said only, that
what the Senate ordered Cæsar would doubtless do. But this he could
scarcely have found it easy to believe.

While the Senate still hesitated to order Cæsar to lay down his
command, Pompey fell ill. It was believed that his life was in danger,
and throughout Italy prayers were offered for his recovery. In time
Pompey grew better, but he was deceived by the anxiety the people had
shown, and believed their affection for him was greater than it really
was. He found it pleasant to think that they had forgotten Cæsar and
were devoted to him alone.

Some foolish person told him that even his soldiers were ready to
desert Cæsar. Pompey seemed to believe this also, and remarked
complacently that he, if he but stamped his foot, would find soldiers
ready to follow him from every town and village in Italy.

At length, in the autumn of 50 B.C., the Senate determined to act,
and accordingly it sent a message to Cæsar, bidding him lay down his
command and dismiss his army.

Cæsar answered without the least hesitation, ‘If Pompey will give up
his command and dismiss his army, I will do the same.’ But this, as
you know, Pompey had not the least intention to do. The people of Rome
began to tremble at the thought that civil war was drawing near. For if
neither of the two great generals would yield, it seemed inevitable.

‘There is no hope of peace beyond the year’s end,’ wrote a friend to
Cicero. ‘Pompey is determined Cæsar shall not be chosen Consul till he
has given up his province and army. Cæsar is convinced that he cannot
leave his army safely.’

In Rome, the strife between Pompey’s friends and those of Cæsar grew
daily more bitter. At length the Senate boldly proposed that Cæsar
should be told to give up his province on a certain day, otherwise he
would be denounced as a traitor.

Mark Antony and another tribune, both of whom were friends of Cæsar,
rose to their feet to protest against such a decree. But the Senate was
in no mood to listen to them, and the tribunes were expelled from the
house.

In the city, they soon found that their lives were not safe. So they
disguised themselves, dressing in old clothes that had belonged to
slaves. Then hiring carts they lay in the foot of them, covered with
sacking, and thus passed safely through the city gates. Still in this
strange garb they at length reached Cæsar’s camp at Ravenna.

It was at Ravenna, in January 49 B.C., that the great general was told
of the decree of the Senate.

He had only one legion with him, but leaving orders for the others to
follow, he at once began to march toward the Rubicon. The Rubicon was
the stream which divided his province from Italy.

Should he cross the stream with his army, it would be a declaration
that he had determined on war.

So momentous was the decision, that as Cæsar drew near to the Rubicon
he hesitated. Looking down upon the stream, he stood for a time deep in
thought, while his soldiers watched him anxiously from the distance.

Turning at length to his officers, he said, ‘Even now we may draw back.’

At that moment, so it is said, a shepherd on the other side of the
stream, began to pipe carelessly upon his flute.

Over the stream dashed some of the soldiers, perhaps to dance to the
shepherd’s lilting measure.

It was an omen! Cæsar at once made up his mind. ‘Let us go where the
omen of the gods and the iniquity of our enemies call us,’ he cried.
‘The die is cast.’

Then at the head of his army, on the 16th January 49 B.C., Cæsar
crossed the Rubicon.

So important was the decision, that the words, ‘to cross the Rubicon,’
grew into a proverb. And still to-day, when one takes the first step
towards a great undertaking, one is said to have ‘crossed the Rubicon.’




CHAPTER CXI

CÆSAR AND THE PILOT


As Cæsar marched through Italy, town after town threw open its gates
to welcome the general who had at last returned from Gaul, where his
victories had covered him with glory.

What Pompey thought as he heard of the triumphal progress of his rival
we do not know. But he could not fail to see how he had been deceived
when he believed that the affection of the people had been centred on
himself alone.

Not a single battle did Cæsar have to fight before he reached the gates
of Rome. Even here he was free to enter the city, for Pompey, although
his army was as large as that of his rival, had fled.

The defence of the city had been left in the hands of the Consuls. But
they felt unable to face the general, who came with his army behind
him, so they also escaped from the city and joined Pompey. In their
fear they did not even stay to open the treasury to take from it the
money that would be needed to help Pompey to carry on the war.

Pompey meanwhile crossed the Adriatic Sea and reached Epirus. He knew
that in the East his name was still powerful, and would draw many brave
warriors to fight for him.

And so it proved, for ere long the numbers of his army were nearly
doubled. But the warriors of the East, even when they were brave, had
neither the discipline nor the experience of Cæsar’s faithful legions.

[Illustration: Looking down upon the stream, he stood awhile deep in
thought.]

Cæsar did not stay long in Rome, but after adding to his army many
strong soldiers from Gaul and from Germany, he went to Spain. Here he
found that Pompey had left officers to guard the Roman provinces, but
he forced them to withdraw and soon won over their troops.

Yet, although he was successful in this, the time he spent in Spain was
beset with difficulties. Often he had not food enough for his army,
while he himself was in danger from ambushes and from plots that were
made by his enemies, to take his life.

After securing Spain, Cæsar went back to Rome, where he was at once
made Dictator. He only held the position for eleven days, but during
that time he used his power to recall the exiles whom Sulla’s cruelty
had driven away, and to restore to them, or to their children, their
privileges as citizens of Rome. He also passed a law for the relief of
debtors, which was sure to please the people.

Then having resigned his Dictatorship and been elected Consul, Cæsar
hastened to Brundisium, where he had commanded his troops to assemble.

Here he found that there were not nearly enough ships to take his army
across to Epirus. But no obstacle could turn him from his purpose,
which just then was to pursue Pompey. So he determined to sail at once
with seven legions, leaving the others, under Mark Antony, to follow as
soon as a sufficient number of ships could be found.

It was only with great difficulty that Cæsar, with his seven legions,
was able to land, for the coast of Epirus was being closely watched by
Pompey’s fleet.

But by sailing to the south he eluded its vigilance, and succeeded in
landing at a town called Oricum. Here, day after day, he watched for
Mark Antony, with the legions he had left behind. Months passed and
still he did not come. For after Cæsar had landed, Pompey bade his
fleet guard the coasts still more closely, and Antony was afraid to set
sail.

Cæsar, at length, determined that he would wait no longer. He would
himself go back and bring his army to Oricum. So he disguised himself
as a slave, and hiring a small boat was rowed away, although the sea
was covered with the ships of the enemy.

Not only his enemies, but Nature herself, threatened to endanger the
life of the great commander. For a storm arose, and the wind blew more
and more violently. The current too was strong against the boat, and at
length the pilot, thinking that it was impossible to proceed, ordered
the rowers to return.

Then Cæsar went to the pilot, and taking his hand he said, ‘Go on, my
friend, and fear nothing. You carry Cæsar and his fortune on your boat.’

Cæsar! The name was as magic, and the sailors forgot their fears, and
once again they pulled their hardest against waves and wind. But their
efforts were vain, while each moment the danger became greater.

When the boat began to fill with water, even Cæsar had to yield, and
bade the sailors pull for the shore.

As he reached the land, his soldiers, who had missed him, eagerly
helped him from the boat, and chid him for risking his life so
heedlessly.

Moreover, it seemed that their pride was hurt, for why, they said,
should he go into danger for the legions who were at Brundisium? Could
he not trust them to gain the victories he desired?

With the spring, Antony and the legions at length arrived, and Cæsar
determined to force Pompey to fight without delay.




CHAPTER CXII

THE FLIGHT OF POMPEY


In the camps of both Pompey and Cæsar there was great suffering. The
chief strength of Pompey’s army was its cavalry, which was 7000 strong,
and the horses had begun to die for want of food.

Pompey had many officers of noble rank in his camp, and they urged him
to fight at once, or there would be no horses left for the soldiers to
ride.

But Pompey knew that his large army was undisciplined, that many of the
soldiers were rebellious, and he wished to avoid a battle. He hoped
that the difficulty of providing food for his army would force Cæsar to
retreat.

It was indeed true that Cæsar’s legions were suffering from hunger,
but they would have died rather than let the enemy know that this was
so. They tried their utmost to mislead them. To stay their hunger
they gathered a root which they found in the fields, and made it as
palatable as they could by adding milk to it.

Sometimes they made the root into loaves of a kind, and some of these
they threw into the enemy’s camp, as though to say, ‘Whatever you may
think, we have food enough and to spare.’

Not a murmur was heard in Cæsar’s camp. Every man remained loyal to his
general, and cheerful, even when suffering intensely from the pangs of
hunger.

It had been spring when Mark Antony joined Cæsar. It was now nearly
the end of summer, and still the two armies were encamped near to each
other, but no battle had been fought.

Then, at length, it happened, that Pompey discovered a weak point in
Cæsar’s lines, which he believed he could attack with success.

His army, pleased to be at last in action, advanced with alacrity as
soon as the order was given.

As Pompey had hoped, Cæsar’s troops were soon driven back toward their
camp in utter confusion, while the camp itself was in danger of being
taken.

In vain did Cæsar try to rally his forces, heedless of his own danger,
if he could but stem the flight of his men. As one strong active
soldier ran past, Cæsar caught hold of him, to make him turn to face
the foe.

Mad with terror, and scarce knowing what he did, the fugitive raised
his sword. He was going to strike his general.

But, quick as lightning, Cæsar’s armour-bearer struck off the soldier’s
arm, and his sword fell harmlessly to the ground. Cæsar had narrowly
escaped with his life.

Had Pompey followed up his attack, he might have captured the camp and
won a decisive victory, as Cæsar himself was aware. But Pompey sounded
a retreat, and the decisive battle had still to be fought.

Cæsar wasted no time in bemoaning the losses of the day, although he
must have felt that evening that his fortunes were at their lowest ebb.

He determined to march without delay into Thessaly, and so to entice
Pompey away from the sea. For then he would not be able to get
provisions for his army and would be forced to fight. And Cæsar was
eager to meet his enemy fairly on the battlefield.

When Pompey’s officers saw that Cæsar was retreating, they could
scarcely believe their eyes, but their confidence in their own prowess
was confirmed.

They begged Pompey to follow, and he reluctantly yielded, but for that
day alone. Knowing well the strength of Cæsar’s veterans, he had no
wish to fight a regular battle, and so he ordered his soldiers to set
up their camp again.

The patrician officers were exasperated with the indecision of their
general. They did not cease to taunt him for not fighting, or to urge
him still to follow Cæsar, until at length Pompey made up his mind
that they should have their way and pit themselves against Cæsar’s
well-disciplined officers and troops.

Both armies accordingly reached Thessaly, although by different routes,
and soon they were encamped on the plain of Pharsalia, where, in August
48 B.C., a great and decisive battle was fought.

Pompey’s confidence was placed chiefly on his splendid cavalry, and he
believed that his 7000 horsemen would speedily scatter the 1000 which
was all that Cæsar had to oppose to his great force.

But if his body of cavalry was small, Cæsar had supported it well by
his infantry and archers.

His horsemen were, it is true, driven back before the brilliant charge
of the enemy, but the infantry and archers attacked Pompey’s cavalry so
furiously, that soon it was forced from the field in utter confusion.

Cæsar’s infantry then advanced against the main body of Pompey’s army.
The soldiers first hurled their javelins at the enemy and then closed
in upon them, doing deadly havoc with their swords.

Before long Cæsar sent a reserve troop of soldiers to their aid, and
soon the army of Pompey was put to flight. For the patrician officers
had not proved skilful on the battlefield, nor had they now any control
over their undisciplined followers.

When Pompey saw that his cavalry was scattered at the beginning of the
day, he lost hope and hastened to his tent, where he sat, amid the
confused noise of battle, bewildered and dismayed.

Only when the victorious army began to attack the camp did he seem to
realise that he must bestir himself, unless he would be captured by the
enemy.

‘What, into my camp too,’ he is said to have cried indignantly as
he heard the clash of arms and shouts of victory drawing nearer and
nearer. Then swiftly laying aside his military dress, the defeated
general slipped into a simple garment, and hurrying from the tent,
mounted a horse, and with a few followers fled toward the coast. It was
useless for him to think of meeting Cæsar again, for his army was slain
or scattered. So he resolved to seek shelter in Egypt.

It was a sad voyage on which Pompey embarked, for he had been
overthrown, and that by his rival, who would reign supreme.

As the ship drew near to land, Pompey sent a messenger to Alexandria to
beg for shelter.

The king, Ptolemy XII., was only a boy of thirteen, but the royal
council, when it heard Pompey’s request, proved cruel. It neither
welcomed him nor sent him elsewhere to seek for safety. At first some
of the members spoke on his behalf, but in the end they all agreed that
he must die.

But they did not tell him their decision, they merely sent a boat to
bring him to shore. In the boat was Septimius, a military tribune of
Rome, who had once served in Pompey’s army.

As Pompey prepared to step into the boat his wife clung to him, and
filled with foreboding would hardly let him go. But he bade her and his
followers farewell, and seated himself in the stern of the boat. As he
did so he noticed Septimius and spoke kindly to him.

But Septimius had no answer to give to his former general. He had been
unjustly degraded by him in former days as he believed, and he still
owed him a grudge.

In response to Pompey’s words, he only nodded sullenly and with averted
face.

Did a swift dread of what lay before him flash across Pompey’s mind as
he heard the Roman’s gruff response to his greeting.

He had at least no time to brood over the future, for, now they had
reached the shore, and as Pompey stepped out of the boat, Septimius,
who was behind him, drew his sword.

As Pompey felt the touch of the steel he swiftly drew his toga across
his face, and then, without a cry for help, he fell to the ground.

When Cæsar reached Egypt ten days later, he was shown the head of his
rival and his signet ring. From the first sight he turned away in
horror, while, when he saw the ring, he wept.




CHAPTER CXIII

CATO DIES RATHER THAN YIELD TO CÆSAR


Cæsar found that a civil war was raging in Egypt, between the followers
of the boy king and his sister Cleopatra. So the Roman general sent for
the brother and sister, and said that he would settle their dispute.

Cleopatra was beautiful and charming, and this may have helped Cæsar to
decide that she should reign along with her brother, Ptolemy.

The brother and sister might have been content with this arrangement,
but the king’s minister was dissatisfied, and he persuaded the army to
side with him, and to besiege Cæsar in Alexandria.

But Cæsar had not enough troops to defend the city, so he sent to Asia
for reinforcements. While he awaited them he withdrew from Alexandria
to Pharos, which was quite close to the city, and connected with it by
a drawbridge.

King Ptolemy, who was with Cæsar, begged one day to be allowed to go to
Alexandria, where Cleopatra’s sister had now been established as queen.

Cæsar granted the boy’s request, and he went off gleefully as if for
a holiday. But he did not go to the city. Instead he joined the army
which was fighting against Cæsar, and tried his boyish best to prevent
provisions reaching the Romans by sea.

But in March 47 B.C., the reinforcements for which Cæsar had sent
arrived in Egypt.

Ptolemy did not hesitate to march with his troops against this new
army before it had joined Cæsar, whereupon the Roman general hurried
swiftly after him. He speedily took Ptolemy’s camp, and the young king
was forced to flee. In his attempt to escape from the enemy he was
drowned.

Soon after this Cleopatra’s sister abdicated, and Cleopatra became
queen.

Cæsar’s troubles in Egypt were now over and he was able to return to
Rome, where he had already been appointed Dictator for a year, and
Consul for five years.

But although the Dictator’s presence was needed in Rome, he could only
stay three months in the city, for he was still more needed in Africa.
For the leaders of the Pompeian party had gathered together a new army
and were ready to war against Cæsar.

After Julia’s death, Pompey had married again, and his father-in-law,
Scipio, was at the head of the army. Pompey’s two sons too, Gnæus
and Sextus, were eager to avenge their father’s death. Cato was in
possession of Utica. It was a formidable army, and Cæsar had not as
large a number of men as the Pompeians. Moreover, he was hampered by
having his supplies intercepted by the fleet of his enemy.

Until reinforcements arrived, Cæsar therefore contented himself with
taking towns that did not make any serious defence. But in January 46
B.C. his army was reinforced, and he was eager to draw Scipio into
battle.

One day, early in February, Cæsar began to march toward the town of
Thapsus, meaning to attack it. Scipio followed him, and soon found
himself in such a position that he was forced to fight.

The battle was fierce, but Cæsar in the end defeated Scipio with great
loss. Leaving an officer to carry out the assault he had planned upon
Thapsus, Cæsar himself then marched towards Utica, which town was held
by Cato.

Now Cato might be a philosopher, and indeed such he was, but he had not
the qualities of a soldier.

No sooner did he hear that Cæsar was on his way to Utica, than he
decided that any attempt to hold the town would be useless, and he made
none.

But the philosopher was not afraid of death, and he determined to die
rather than to yield to the conqueror. So he withdrew quietly to his
own room and threw himself upon his sword. His friends, hearing him
fall, rushed to his aid; as the wound was not fatal, it was dressed and
bandaged.

No sooner was Cato again alone, than he dragged off the bandages and
let himself bleed to death.

Gnæus and Sextus Pompeius had gone to Spain, and Scipio escaped to a
ship and sailed away, hoping to join the lads.

But Cæsar sent a vessel in pursuit of the defeated general, and Scipio,
seeing that he must be captured, threw himself overboard and was
drowned.

Numidia was now made a Roman province, and Cæsar’s work in Africa was
ended. He returned to Rome in July 46 B.C. as ruler of the great Roman
Empire.




CHAPTER CXIV

CÆSAR IS LOADED WITH HONOURS


When Cæsar reached Rome in July 46 B.C., he found that he had already
been appointed Dictator for ten years.

In the Senate there was now not a member who was not eager to agree to
his slightest wish. Yet it was but a year or two since many of them had
been ready to brand him as a traitor. But Cæsar had crossed the Rubicon
now, and was king in all but name.

The conqueror had, however, no wish to remind those who had been his
enemies of their unkindnesses. His return to Rome was made a joyous
season, and was not spoiled by the punishment of those who had been
opposed to him, much less by their murder.

Indeed, Cæsar not only pardoned those who had been the friends of
Pompey, but he gave them positions of trust in the State.

If they were still half afraid of his true feelings, suspicion vanished
when the Dictator ordered the statues of Pompey, which after his defeat
had been thrown down, to be again erected.

His faithful soldiers Cæsar rewarded with gold, and to the citizens he
gave feasts and gifts of corn as well. Games and shows also celebrated
his return.

From this time his birthday was kept each year as a holiday, and to the
month in which it fell was given his name, Julius, or as we say now,
July.

His triumphs were the wonder of the citizens for many long days to
come, for he celebrated his victories over Gaul, Egypt, Pontus, and
Numidia. Many were the strange and marvellous treasures that adorned
the processions.

Of his war with Pompey, as it was against a Roman, nothing was said,
nor was it celebrated in a triumph.

For six or seven months Cæsar now stayed in Rome, making many good
laws. As of old he was loved by the people, for he proved himself still
their friend, taking from the Optimates the power they often used
harshly or carelessly and giving it to them.

His friends often begged him to have a bodyguard, for although he was
so beloved, he still had enemies. But Cæsar would take no precautions,
saying in answer to the fears of his friends, ‘It is better to suffer
death once, than always to live in fear of it.’

About this time the Dictator ordered Carthage and Corinth, which had
been destroyed at the same time, to be rebuilt. When the cities were
ready, he sent many of his soldiers to settle in them, as well as many
Italian citizens.

Thus many of those who had lived in poverty had a new chance given to
them, while the overcrowded towns in Italy became healthier and less
full of poverty. Wise men, too, came from Egypt at Cæsar’s command, and
among other reforms they altered and improved the Roman Calendar.

In December 45 B.C., Cæsar was again forced to leave Rome to put down a
rebellion in the south of Spain, raised by Pompey’s two sons, Gnæus and
Sextus.

Now it chanced that popular as Cæsar was in most countries, he was not
so in the south of Spain. This was because he had sent to the province
a governor who, unfortunately, had treated the people badly, and for
this Cæsar was held responsible.

So Pompey’s sons had found it easy to stir up rebellion, and they had
soon gathered together a large army, while the Pompeian leaders who had
escaped from Africa had joined the lads.

When Cæsar reached Spain, he found Gnæus encamped in a plain near to
the town of Munda.

Here a great battle was fought, Roman fighting against Roman, for the
soldiers in Gnæus’s army were nearly all veterans who had been trained
in the legions of Rome.

At one time it seemed as though Cæsar’s troops were giving way. Then
he himself ran from rank to rank of his men, asking if they were not
ashamed to let their general be beaten by boys.

Urged by Cæsar’s words to fresh efforts, his brave veterans fought
desperately until the day was theirs.

Gnæus fled, but a few weeks later was captured and put to death.
Sextus, however, escaped, and for many years was at the head of a fleet
that caused great trouble along the coast of Italy.

When the hard-fought battle of Munda was won, Cæsar said to his
friends, ‘I have often fought for victory, but this is the first time I
have ever fought for life.’

At Rome the tidings of the victory was received with an outburst of
enthusiasm. No honour was too great for the victor. He had already been
made Dictator for ten years; he was now appointed Dictator for life.

The Romans could not do enough to show their affection and pride.
Honour after honour was heaped upon the victorious general. He was made
Consul for ten years, was given entire control of the treasury. And to
crown all, the title of Imperator, which carried with it the entire
control of the army, was also bestowed upon him.

Rome had no honour left to give now, unless she gave to her Imperator
the title of King.

There were already some among his friends who said that it would be
well that he should wear the supreme title in the provinces, if not in
Rome.




CHAPTER CXV

THE NOBLES PLOT AGAINST CÆSAR


Since the days of Tarquin the Proud, the people of Rome had hated the
very name of king. In some strange and subtle way, their love for
Cæsar and their pride in his achievements began, from this time, to be
touched with the suspicion that he wished to bear the title Rex, rex
being the Latin word for king.

Slowly but surely the thought grew. Suppose Cæsar should claim the
supreme title and then forget his gracious ways, and become like
Tarquin of old, proud and cruel!

Cæsar’s enemies were not slow to take advantage of the mood of the
people, and they did all that they could to encourage their suspicion
and dread.

His friends, too, foolishly played into the hands of his enemies, some
of them one day saluting him as Rex.

Cæsar, whether he was pleased or not, was quick to see that the people
standing near were angry. So he replied, as though to reprove his
friends, that his name, as they knew, was not Rex but Cæsar.

Rex, as well as meaning king, was also the surname of a well-known
Roman family.

It was all very well for Cæsar to pretend that his friends had mistaken
who he was, but rumours were soon rife in the city--that Cæsar really
wished the title, and had not been well pleased at the evident dislike
of the people to hear him saluted as Rex.

And so gradually his words and movements came to be watched by his
enemies and by the people too, always with this thought of kingship in
their minds.

When, on his return from Spain, the consuls and senators went to tell
Cæsar of the new honours that had been heaped upon him, he did not, as
was his custom, rise to receive them, but remained sitting.

Not only the Senate, but the people, were indignant at such haughty
behaviour, and Cæsar himself was quick to see that he had made a
mistake.

He tried to excuse himself, saying that his health was not good, but
few believed that that accounted for his action.

It is said that he really was going to rise as usual, had not one of
his flatterers pulled him to his seat, saying, ‘Will you not remember
you are Cæsar, and claim the honour which is your due?’

Soon after this, in February 45 B.C., an ancient festival called the
Lupercalia was celebrated on the Palatine.

Cæsar sat, clad in a triumphal robe, in a golden chair to watch the
games.

Mark Antony was taking part in the festival, and as he ran hither and
thither amid the merrymakers, he reached the Forum and saw Cæsar seated
on the chair of gold as on a throne. He stepped before him and held out
a crown wreathed with laurel.

A few persons had been placed near Cæsar, with orders to applaud when
Antony proffered the crown to the Dictator, and so some feeble cheers
rose on the air, while the crowd looked on coldly and in silence.

But when Cæsar moved the crown aside, loud cheers burst from the
multitude. There was no doubt that the Dictator’s action had pleased
them.

Again Antony offered the crown, while a few persons clapped their
hands, but when once more Cæsar put it aside, cheer after cheer rent
the air.

A third time Antony tried to force the crown upon Cæsar, but the temper
of the people had been shown too plainly, and the Dictator now bade
the crown to be taken to the Capitol and dedicated to Jupiter, for he
alone was king.

A few days later, those who passed the statues of Cæsar found them
adorned with crowns.

This roused the anger of two tribunes, who pulled off the crowns and
arrested those who, they believed, had first called Cæsar Rex, and sent
them to prison.

Whether Cæsar really wished to be king or not, he was angry with the
tribunes for their hasty conduct, and ordered them to be suspended from
the tribuneship.

As I told you, Cæsar’s every act was now watched with suspicion. He had
no sons to follow him, so he began to bring his great-nephew Octavius,
who was eighteen years of age, to the front, and treat him as a prince
and his heir should be treated. It seemed to the nobles that Cæsar was
acting as a king, who claimed for his heir the respect due to royalty.

In this, and many other ways, the Dictator incensed the patricians.
Little by little their hatred grew, until some among them began to
think that it would be well if Cæsar were dead. For as long as he was
alive it was not possible for them to be as powerful as they had been
before he ruled in Rome.

But others, like Decimus Brutus, who was loved by Cæsar and who loved
him, did not wish the Dictator out of the way, in order to satisfy
their own ambitions. They truly believed that it would be better for
Rome not to be ruled by one man, but by the Senate and the people, as
had been the way of old.

So while different nobles had different reasons for plotting against
Cæsar, they all had agreed at length that Cæsar must be put to death.

The chief conspirator was Cassius, who like Brutus had fought for
Pompey, and had been pardoned and even favoured by Cæsar.

Cassius was crafty and ambitious, and his dark lean face smiled as he
thought how soon Cæsar’s power would now be at an end. Brutus, too, was
one of the most active conspirators.

Before long the plot was complete, and the conspirators determined that
it should be carried out quickly, lest it should be discovered. For
already more than sixty or seventy people had been told the terrible
secret.




CHAPTER CXVI

THE ASSASSINATION OF CÆSAR


An important meeting was arranged to be held in the Senate house on the
15th March 44 B.C. The conspirators fixed this, the Ides of March, as
the day on which they would assassinate the Dictator. They knew that he
would come to the Senate unarmed and without guards, as was his custom.

On the evening of the 14th, as Cæsar sat at supper, the conversation,
strangely enough, was about the kind of death that one would wish to
die.

The Dictator glanced up from the letters he was reading and said
abruptly, ‘A sudden one,’ and then went on with his reading.

Rumours of the plot may have got abroad, but whether that was so or
not, Cæsar had for some days been told of evil omens, and had been
warned to beware of danger.

Among other warnings, a soothsayer had told him that evil would befal
him on the Ides of March. Now the Ides of March fell on the 15th of the
month.

The night before the 15th, Cæsar’s wife, Calpurnia, tossed in her
sleep, breaking out at length into sobs as though in great sorrow. She
was dreaming that she held in her arms the dead body of her husband.

In the morning she begged him with tears not to go to the Senate-house
that day.

At length her tears and the warnings that had reached him, made him
first hesitate and then yield to her entreaties.

Meanwhile the senators had assembled, among them the conspirators
armed with daggers which were concealed in the cases of their writing
stilus.

When Cæsar did not come they grew impatient. What had happened? Had he
perchance discovered their treachery? The conspirators were uneasy, and
they found it hard to conceal their uneasiness.

At length Decimus Brutus, one of their number, offered to go to see why
Cæsar had not come, and if necessary to entice him to the Senate.

Decimus found Cæsar at home, cast down by evil omens and by the fears
of Calpurnia.

Then Decimus pretended to laugh at the great Cæsar for being disturbed
by such forebodings. He scoffed at the soothsayer and his prediction
that evil would befall Cæsar on the Ides of March, he mocked at the
story of evil omens. ‘Will Cæsar let it be told that because of such
things he would not come to the Senate-house?’ said the false friend.

Perhaps Cæsar was half ready to laugh at his own fears, but in any case
the words of Decimus hurt his pride, and in spite of all that Calpurnia
could urge, he determined to go back with Decimus to the Senate.

It was now about eleven o’clock. As Cæsar crossed the hall of his
house, his bust fell and broke in pieces.

Afterwards it was said that perhaps this was done by some friend or
servant to warn him what would befall him should he leave the house. At
the time, the broken bust seemed but another of the omens of evil with
which of late he had been surrounded.

But he left the house and stepped into the street. As he walked along
he passed the soothsayer, and with an attempt at gaiety he called to
him, ‘The Ides of March have come.’

‘Yes,’ answered the wise man, ‘they are come, but they are not past.’

As was ever the way, the crowd pressed close to offer petitions to him
as he passed along the street.

One man seemed more eager even than the others to hand a paper to the
Dictator, and when at length he succeeded, he said hurriedly, ‘Read it
without delay, Cæsar, for it concerns your safety.’ But the paper was
never read, for the Dictator handed it with others to his attendant.

No sooner had Cæsar reached the Senate-house and taken his seat than
the conspirators crowded around him, one of them, named Cimber,
offering him a petition.

It was one which the Dictator had already refused to grant, and he was
annoyed at the persistence shown by Cimber.

Moreover, the other conspirators joined him in his entreaties, pressing
ever closer and closer around the Dictator, until only those in the
plot were near to him.

Cæsar was now really angry and turned away from Cimber, again refusing
his request. As he did so, Cimber pulled Cæsar’s toga down from his
neck. It was the signal upon which the conspirators had agreed.

Casca, who was to give the first blow, thereupon drew his dagger and
struck Cæsar on the shoulder. Either through fear or haste he did
little harm by his stroke.

In a moment Cæsar had sprung to his feet, and seizing hold of Casca’s
weapon, he cried, ‘Vile Casca, what does this mean?’

But immediately daggers were drawn on every side of him, and blow after
blow descended upon his body, while angry faces looked into his.

Unarmed as he was, Cæsar yet struggled desperately with the assassins,
until he caught sight of Decimus Brutus, whom he loved, among his
murderers, ready to strike.

Then crying, ‘Et tu, Brute?’ ‘Thou, too, Brutus?’ he covered his face
with his toga and fell to the ground, his body covered with many wounds.

Cæsar was dead. And it is said that nature herself mourned for the
great man stricken to death by those whom he had befriended. For, for
a whole year the sun shone dull and faint, while grey clouds were
stretched across the sky like a funeral pall. Cæsar was dead.




CHAPTER CXVII

BRUTUS SPEAKS TO THE CITIZENS


When the terrible deed was done, Brutus wished to tell those senators,
who had known nothing of the plot, why it had been necessary to murder
the Dictator.

But they, horrified with the murder, and dismayed that they had been
unable to aid Cæsar, were in no mood to listen to the conspirators.
They fled indeed from the Senate-house, not knowing what fate awaited
them, and too sad perhaps to greatly care.

Not far from the Senate-house they met Mark Antony, Cæsar’s most
faithful friend, who had been purposely kept away from the meeting.
They told him what had befallen Cæsar, and he and many others of
Cæsar’s friends hid themselves, lest the conspirators should wish to
murder them also. But they need not have feared, for it was Cæsar’s
life alone that had been doomed.

As the senators had not stayed to listen to their explanations, the
conspirators now determined to tell the people that Cæsar was dead.

So they marched through the streets crying that the tyrant had been
killed, and bidding all those who loved the Republic to join them.

But the citizens turned away, with scarcely concealed horror, and
hurrying into their shops and houses, shut the doors.

They had seen Cæsar that very morning. It could not be true that he
was indeed dead, as Brutus said. In awed whispers they spoke of him to
one another, and many wept, for now they forgot their suspicions, and
remembered only that they had loved Cæsar, and that he had been their
friend.

The next day, when the people assembled in the Forum, Brutus spoke to
them. He told them, not of the dead Cæsar’s faults, but of the Republic
and its needs, and the people listened in silence.

But when Brutus sat down, another of the conspirators began to speak,
accusing Cæsar of one crime after another. This was more than the
people could bear. The interruptions grew louder and more threatening
every moment, until at length the conspirators, fearing that a riot
would take place, fled to the Capitol for safety.

On the following morning the Senate met, and Antony, caring no longer
to hide, was seen walking through the streets toward the Senate-house.
The people feared for his safety, because he had been the friend of
Cæsar, and begged him to beware, lest he too was murdered. But he
lifted his toga that they might see that he was clad in armour.

Even to meet the Senate, the conspirators did not venture to leave the
Capitol, but they sent Cicero to be their spokesman.

Cicero’s eloquence may have moved the senators. In any case, Mark
Antony, who was one of the Consuls, agreed that the conspirators should
be received in peace.

It was also arranged that Cæsar should be given a public funeral.

Antony was now content. As Consul, he would speak at Cæsar’s funeral,
and he did not doubt his power to rouse the passions of the people
against the murderers of his friend. Cassius foresaw what Antony would
do, and tried to stir the fears of Brutus. But in this he failed.

As the Senate had agreed to receive the conspirators, and as the people
were in the meantime pacified, they now ventured to leave the Capitol,
and even to enter the Forum.

When the funeral day arrived, before Antony brought the body of his
friend into the Forum, Brutus spoke once again to the assembled
citizens, seeking this time to tell them why he had had anything to
do with the murder of Cæsar whom he had loved. Here are his words, as
Shakespeare tells them to us:--

    ‘Romans, countrymen, and lovers! hear me for my cause, and be
    silent that you may hear. If there be any in this assembly,
    any dear friend of Cæsar’s, to him I say, that Brutus’ love
    to Cæsar was no less than his. If then that friend demand why
    Brutus rose against Cæsar, this is my answer:--Not that I loved
    Cæsar less, but that I loved Rome more.

    ‘As Cæsar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I
    rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honour him: but, as he was
    ambitious, I slew him. There is tears for his love; joy for his
    fortune; honour for his valour; and death for his ambition.’

With these and many other words Brutus so pleased the people, that it
did not seem likely that they would care to listen to what Antony had
to say.

‘Live Brutus, live Brutus!’ shouted the crowds, well content for the
moment with the defence which he had made.




CHAPTER CXVIII

MARK ANTONY SPEAKS TO THE CITIZENS


The people were still shouting ‘Live Brutus!’ when Mark Antony entered
the Forum with the dead body of Cæsar.

Brutus at once prepared to go, bidding the citizens listen to what Mark
Antony had to say.

The body of Cæsar, covered with a purple cloth, had now been placed
where all might see.

Close to Antony lay the toga which his friend had worn as he went to
the Senate-house on the Ides of March. It was torn and stained, where
the daggers had done their deadly work. It too could be seen by the
crowds.

A wax figure of Cæsar, with each wound which he had received, plainly
marked, was placed near the dead body.

Antony, clad in robes of mourning, then began to read Cæsar’s will
aloud. The people listened spellbound. Was it true that Cæsar had cared
for them so much?

What did Antony say? That to each Roman citizen Cæsar had left a sum of
three pounds!

His garden too, his beautiful garden! It also was left to them and to
their children, to walk in when it pleased them, to be there at all
times a retreat from the heat and the dust of the streets.

To some of those who had slain him too, Cæsar had willed large sums
of money. Already the people were muttering in a way to fulfil the
forebodings of Cassius. It had certainly been unwise to leave the
people alone with Mark Antony.

They had forgotten that they had applauded Brutus but a few moments
before. Now they were declaring that the conspirators had killed, not a
tyrant, but a friend of the people, one who had ever served his country
well. The conspirators deserved to be punished for their cruel deed,
and they would see to it that----

But hush! Antony was speaking, was trying to make himself heard. They
must certainly listen to what he had to say. And here are his words, as
Shakespeare tells them to us:--

   ‘Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;
    I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him.
    The evil that men do lives after them;
    The good is oft interred with their bones;
    So let it be with Cæsar. The noble Brutus
    Hath told you Cæsar was ambitious:
    If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
    And grievously hath Cæsar answer’d it.
    Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest--
    For Brutus is an honourable man;
    So are they all, all honourable men--
    Come I to speak in Cæsar’s funeral.
    He was my friend, faithful and just to me:
    But Brutus says he was ambitious;
    And Brutus is an honourable man.
    He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
    Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill:
    Did this in Cæsar seem ambitious?
    When that the poor have cried, Cæsar hath wept:
    Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
    Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
    And Brutus is an honourable man.
    You all did see that on the Lupercal
    I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
    Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition?
    Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
    And, sure, he is an honourable man.
    I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
    But here I am to speak what I do know.
    You all did love him once, not without cause:
    What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him?
    O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,
    And men have lost their reason! Bear with me,
    My heart is in the coffin there with Cæsar,
    And I must pause till it come back to me.’

As Antony finished speaking, he turned to pull away the cloth that
covered Cæsar’s body, so that the people could see his wounds.

Already as they listened to Antony’s words and looked at the wax figure
of Cæsar, with its painted wounds, the fierce anger of the people had
been roused. But now, when they saw the real wounds in Cæsar’s own
body, their passion knew no bounds.

They shouted that they would be revenged on the murderers of Cæsar,
that not one of the conspirators should live, that they would burn the
houses of Brutus and Cassius.

But first they would themselves make Cæsar’s funeral pyre. So they
rushed into the houses and shops in the Forum, and pulled out chairs,
tables, benches, anything on which they could lay their hands.

Then they placed these together in a great heap, and when all was
ready, they laid the body of Cæsar reverently on the top. A moment more
and they had set fire to the funeral pyre with torches.

As the fire blazed, the citizens armed themselves with faggots which
they lighted at the flames. Then they hurried away to the houses of
Brutus and Cassius, shouting and waving their fiery brands in a frenzy
of rage.

But the houses they found guarded, the conspirators fled.




CHAPTER CXIX

THE SECOND TRIUMVIRATE


For a short time Brutus had seemed a hero to the citizens of Rome, but
Antony’s speech had speedily changed their feelings.

It was now Mark Antony whom they wished to rule, and with the help of
the people he soon made himself master of Rome.

But he was not left long to enjoy his power undisputed. For Cæsar’s
heir Octavius came to Rome in the month of May, to claim his
inheritance.

Octavius was only eighteen years of age, but he had a will resolute
beyond his years. He had already made up his mind to punish the
assassins of Cæsar, and to make himself as powerful as might be in the
State.

At first he threw his influence on the side of the Optimates, who were
doing all they could to curtail Antony’s power.

To support his claim to the first place in the kingdom, Antony soon
found it necessary to place himself at the head of an army. He
determined to besiege Decimus Brutus, who had threatened to seize the
province of Cisalpine Gaul, which Antony wished for himself.

Octavius also gathered together an army, with which to attack Antony.

The Senate now declared Antony a public enemy, for taking up arms. When
Octavius attacked his camp and forced Antony to flee, the Senate was
greatly pleased.

But it was soon disappointed to find that Octavius would not support
the claim of Decimus Brutus to Cisalpine Gaul. It had forgotten, if
it ever knew, that the young general had vowed to punish all who had
betrayed Cæsar, and had not this man enticed the great Dictator to his
fate?

Octavius even refused to pursue Antony, but demanded that the Senate
should now see that he, Cæsar’s heir, was elected Consul.

When the Senate hesitated, Octavius marched at the head of his army to
Rome, first sending a message to Antony to suggest that they should
meet and agree to lay aside their quarrel.

With his army to support him, Octavius had no difficulty in being made
Consul, or in gaining from the Senate other powers. He then forced it
to withdraw the decree which had made Antony a public enemy, before he
set out to meet him and Lepidus, who was also at the head of an army.

The three commanders met on a small island in the river Po, and there
they formed an alliance which was known as The Second Triumvirate. They
then gravely divided among themselves the Roman Empire.

One of the agreements made by the three commanders was this terrible
one, that each should be free to put to death those senators or
Optimates who had displeased them.

The murderers of Cæsar were already doomed, but a list of seventeen
names was drawn up, and in this list was the name of the great orator
Cicero.

Cicero had befriended Octavius it is true, but that could not save him
after the Second Triumvirate had been formed. For he had drawn upon
himself the fierce anger of Antony, by many bitter speeches. So, one
day, early in December 43 B.C., Cicero was seized by a band of soldiers
and executed by the order of Antony.

When the Triumvirate returned to Rome a reign of terror began. As in
the time of Sulla lists were again hung in the Forum, with the names of
proscribed persons, until at length two or three thousand were either
put to death or forced to flee from the city.

Many of these fugitives joined Brutus and Cassius, who had escaped to
the East, and had each assembled a large army. Others fled to Sicily,
where Sextus Pompeius was still at the head of a fleet, and threatening
to stop the corn supply which reached Rome from Sicily, Africa and
other countries.




CHAPTER CXX

THE BATTLE OF PHILIPPI


The Triumvirs began to rule on the 1st January 42 B.C. But neither
Antony nor Octavius was able to stay long in Rome, for Brutus and
Cassius had still to be pursued and punished. So Antony with a large
army set out for Greece to fight against the conspirators, while
Octavius, also with an army, went to Sicily to attack Sextus.

Lepidus was left in Rome to watch over the welfare of the city.

Octavius did not conquer Sextus, but in August he left Sicily to join
Antony in Greece. They found Brutus and Cassius, each with his army,
encamped in a strong position at Philippi in the north of the country.

The rebels, for such Rome now called the two conspirators, were in
no haste to fight, for they had a plentiful supply of food for their
armies, which was constantly renewed by the fleet which they commanded.

Antony and Octavius had no fleet, and their supply of provisions was
uncertain; for it was brought to them by the country folk, who were not
able to give them easily all that was necessary.

Before the armies met, Brutus was one night sitting alone in his tent,
after his soldiers had gone to their quarters.

It was late and the light was dim, for he was not working, but
brooding, as he had begun to do since the death of Cæsar.

Suddenly he felt that he was no longer alone in the tent, and looking
up, he saw that a strange figure was standing close beside him. In
silence Brutus and his unknown guest gazed the one at the other, until
at length Brutus spoke.

‘What are you,’ he demanded, ‘of men or gods, and upon what business
come to me?’

‘I am your evil genius, Brutus,’ a sombre voice replied, ‘you shall see
me at Philippi.’

The words sounded almost as a threat, but Brutus answered steadily,
‘Then I shall see you.’

As he spoke the figure vanished. Brutus at once called his servants and
asked them if they had heard any one enter the camp, but none of them
had either heard or seen the mysterious stranger.

Soon after this Brutus and Cassius resolved to put their fortune to the
test. They hung out a scarlet coat in their camp as a signal of battle.

The soldiers of Antony were at the time busy digging trenches, which
they hoped would stop provisions from the sea reaching the enemy.

Cæsar, as Octavius was now called, was not with Antony, but being
ill, was in his camp, a short distance away. His soldiers seem not to
have seen the scarlet coat in the camp of the enemy, for they made no
preparations for battle. Even when they heard shouts and the clash of
arms coming from the direction of the trenches, they paid no attention
to the confused noises. If they had bestirred themselves, the result of
the battle might have been different.

Cassius had fallen upon Antony’s men as they worked in their trenches,
but he had been repulsed. Then, following up their advantage, the
soldiers of Antony had captured his camp.

Meanwhile Cassius had drawn up his soldiers behind the camp, but when
the enemy attacked his cavalry, it suddenly gave way and fled toward
the sea.

When his infantry also began to waver, Cassius snatched an eagle from
a standard-bearer who had turned to flee, and himself thrust it in the
ground and tried to rally his men.

But his troops refused to be rallied, and in a short time Cassius found
himself deserted, and was forced to ride off the field with only a few
followers. He halted on a hill from which he could see the battlefield.

Brutus meanwhile had attacked Cæsar’s army, and all but captured Cæsar
himself. For he had been carried out of the camp only a few moments
before the soldiers of Brutus dashed into it.

The first thing their eyes fell upon was the litter in which Cæsar had
been resting. Supposing that he was still lying there, the soldiers
hurled their darts at it, and a rumour at once arose that Cæsar was
killed. But it was soon discovered that the general had fled, that his
litter was empty.

And now a sad mistake took place. Brutus, eager to tell Cassius of his
victory, sent off a body of cavalry to find him and tell him the good
tidings.

Cassius saw the horsemen riding across the plain, and thinking that it
might be the enemy in search of him, he sent one of his followers to
reconnoitre.

When the messenger reached the horsemen he was greeted heartily. Some
hastily dismounted to gather around him and tell the story of their
triumph, others shouted or clashed their arms.

Cassius was watching anxiously from the distance, and he imagined that
his follower had been captured by the enemy. Then he thought that
Brutus must have been defeated, perhaps even had been slain, and he
determined that he himself would live no longer. Without waiting to
learn the truth, Cassius stole into an empty tent and stabbed himself.

When the sad news was told to Brutus, he was greatly grieved. ‘The
last of the Romans has fallen,’ he cried in his sorrow, ‘for it is not
possible that the city should ever produce another man of so great a
spirit.’




CHAPTER CXXI

THE DEATH OF BRUTUS


The battle of Philippi had decided nothing, as one general on each side
had been victorious.

Cæsar and Antony would willingly have fought again without delay, for
they were finding it always more difficult to provide food for their
armies.

But Brutus seemed loth to take the field, and for fourteen days his
soldiers vainly begged him to lead them against the enemy. Their
persistence at length forced him to yield, and he placed himself at
their head and advanced against the foe.

A desperate struggle followed, and while the division led by Brutus was
again victorious, the main body of the army was scattered and put to
flight.

As Brutus himself fled with a few friends, a band of horsemen followed
him, determined if possible to capture him and bring him alive to
Antony.

With Brutus was his comrade Lucilius, and he, seeing what the horsemen
wished, determined that he would save his friend although he himself
should perish in the attempt.

As the enemy drew near, Lucilius, apparently unnoticed by Brutus,
dropped behind, and when the horsemen seized him, he let them believe
that they had indeed captured Brutus. So in great good temper the
horsemen carried Lucilius to Antony. He, hearing that Brutus was a
prisoner, was mightily pleased, and ordered him to be brought before
him.

The prisoner no sooner saw Antony than he said without any trace of
fear, ‘Be assured, Antony, that no enemy has taken or ever shall take
Brutus alive.... As for me, I am come hither by a cheat that I put
upon your soldiers, and am ready ... to suffer any severities you will
inflict.’

But Antony turned to the crestfallen horsemen and said, ‘You have
brought me better booty than you sought. For indeed I am uncertain how
I should have used Brutus if you had brought him alive, but of this I
am sure, it is better to have such men as Lucilius our friends than our
enemies.’ From that day Antony and Lucilius were friends.

Brutus meanwhile had ridden on until he reached a little stream, and
here, sheltered by steep cliffs he sat down to rest. His heart was sad,
for many of his friends were slain. He murmured the long list of their
names, sighing heavily as he did so.

Hour after hour passed, and his people grew anxious lest the enemy
should overtake them, and they urged Brutus to fly.

‘Yes indeed we must fly,’ answered the stricken general, ‘but not with
our feet, but with our hands.’ Then he went aside with only his friend
Strato, and flinging himself upon the point of his sword, he died.

Antony, when he found the dead body of Brutus, ordered it to be covered
with a beautiful purple mantle of his own.

A soldier, too full of greed to show reverence to the dead, dared to
steal the mantle. Antony did not rest until the thief was discovered
and put to death.

[Illustration: Here, sheltered by steep cliffs, he sat down to rest.]




CHAPTER CXXII

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA


Now that Brutus and Cassius were both dead, there was no one to dispute
the division of the empire between Cæsar and Antony.

Lepidus, although one of the Triumvirs, was not consulted when the new
arrangement was made, for he was suspected of having joined Sextus in a
plot to overthrow Cæsar.

If it proved that he had been loyal, Antony agreed to give up Africa to
him; if he were proved to have been disloyal he would have no share in
the empire.

Six weeks later, in 36 B.C., Lepidus was accused again of plotting to
slay Cæsar, and from that time he no longer belonged to the Triumvirate.

After the second battle of Philippi in 42 B.C., Cæsar took Spain and
Numidia as his share of the empire, Antony Gaul and Africa. Italy was
to belong to both, for it was the centre of the kingdom.

When this was settled, Antony went to Asia to put down rebellion in the
different provinces, while Cæsar returned to Rome.

Now Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, had sent generals and troops to help
Cassius in his war against Cæsar and Antony. One of Antony’s duties
was to demand an explanation of this act. So when he was in Tarsus in
the summer of 41 B.C., he summoned the queen to come and explain her
defiance of Rome.

At first Cleopatra paid no attention to the letter Antony sent to
summon her to come to Tarsus. Other letters came and apparently she
heeded them not. But all the while she was making great preparations
for her journey, and at length ‘as if in mockery of the orders she had
received, she came sailing up the river Cydnus, in a barge with gilded
stern and outspread sails of purple, while oars of silver beat time
to the music of flutes and pipes and harps. She herself lay all along
under a canopy of cloth of gold, dressed as Venus in a picture, and
beautiful young boys, like painted Cupids, stood on each side to fan
her. Her maids were dressed like sea nymphs and graces, some steering
at the rudder, some working at the ropes.’

Crowds ran along on either bank of the river to gaze at the magnificent
barge. As it drew near to the city, the people left their work and play
and ran to the harbour to see the marvellous beauty of the Queen of
Egypt.

Antony did not run to the river. He stayed where he was, sitting on the
tribunal in the deserted market-place, but when the queen had arrived,
he sent a message asking her to supper. But Cleopatra refused, begging
him rather to come to the barge to sup with her.

Then Antony, wishing to appear courteous, went to the barge, and
Cleopatra began to weave the spell that was to be his undoing.
Bewitched by her charm, he forgot Rome, his wife, his duties in the
East, and when she went back to Alexandria he followed her.

In Egypt he became her most favoured courtier, while, to please her, he
laid aside his Roman garb and dressed as did her people. For a year he
lived thus in a mad whirl of gaiety.

And while Antony wasted his time in Egypt, Cæsar grew daily more
trusted and more beloved in Rome.

Fulvia, the wife of Antony, saw how Cæsar was winning the hearts of the
people, and she determined that she would alienate them from him, if
that were possible. For then she thought that the people would turn to
Antony again.

So she raised an army, and Cæsar was forced to send his general Agrippa
against her.

Fulvia had hoped that Antony, when he heard of her efforts, would
hasten to support her, as he would know that it was for his sake she
had taken up arms.

But her husband still lingered in Egypt. It was not until the autumn
of the year 40 B.C., that he came to Greece. Even when he did come he
showed no gratitude to Fulvia for what she had done; he even reproached
her. Nevertheless he determined to carry on the quarrel that she had
begun.

Rome was in despair, for it seemed that once again their land would be
distracted by civil war.

But Fulvia, whose influence might have kept Antony to his purpose,
died, while the soldiers themselves did not wish to fight against their
own countrymen. So Antony agreed to make terms with Cæsar. In this way
the Peace of Brundisium was arranged, and the empire was once again
divided between the Triumvirs.

Antony, to show that he meant to be true to the new agreement, now
married Octavia, the sister of Octavius. She was a beautiful woman, and
as wise as she was beautiful. Her love for her husband and her brother
caused her great suffering in the years to come. For a time, however,
her influence helped to strengthen the bonds between the two men.

Soon after the Peace of Brundisium, peace was also made with Sextus,
Cæsar and Antony going to meet him on one of his own vessels. On being
granted certain privileges, Sextus promised no longer to interfere with
the corn trade, and thus Rome was freed from a long-continued evil.

Antony and Octavia then went to Greece, where Antony stayed for two
years. He gained little credit in his wars with the Parthians, who had
invaded Syria, while he behaved so treacherously in his battles against
Armenia, that the people at home said that he had disgraced the Roman
name.

But he grew more and more disliked in Rome because of his unkindness to
Octavia. For after two years he sent her back to Octavius, pretending
that it was not safe for her to stay with him while he was engaged in
the Parthian War.

But she had no sooner left him than he went to Alexandria, where he
lived as he had done before with Queen Cleopatra.

The Romans were angry with Antony for making Alexandria his
headquarters. They began to fear lest he should try to found a new
empire in the East, of which this town would be the capital. And then
in time to come the greatness of Alexandria might eclipse that of Rome.

Cæsar meanwhile was in Rome, doing all that he could for the welfare
of the people. But Sextus had broken his promise, and was interfering
again with the corn trade, and so making the price of bread ruinous.
Thus, in spite of all Cæsar’s efforts, the distress of the people was
great.

At length Cæsar determined that Sextus should not be allowed to go on
injuring the corn trade, and he sent an army against him. But it was
not for three years that Sextus was at last defeated by Agrippa, the
general on whom Cæsar relied for his victories. Sextus then fled to
Asia, where he was at length captured and put to death.

For this and many other services rendered to the State, Cæsar was
loaded with honours by the Senate. One of these honours was, that he
was allowed to wear the triumphal robes when he pleased; another that
a public residence was set aside for him on the Palatine, while his
person was declared sacred.

When Antony heard of all that had been bestowed upon Cæsar, he thought
that it was time to bestir himself, unless he wished to be entirely
forgotten by Rome.

So he sent to the Senate an account of his Acta, that is, an account
of what he had been doing in Egypt. There was indeed little to tell,
save that he had been bestowing kingdoms on his and Cleopatra’s
children. He, however, asked the Senate to confirm his Acta. In his
anger and jealousy against Cæsar, he added that when the Triumvirate
came to an end in 33 B.C., he did not wish to renew it.

From this time the quarrel between Antony and Cæsar grew rapidly more
acute, and at length it was plain that only war would determine whether
Cæsar or Antony was to rule the empire.

Antony now began to gather together an army and a fleet, even preparing
to attack the coasts of Italy. But this was more than the Senate would
allow, and in 32 B.C., war was proclaimed against Cleopatra, who was
supporting Antony in his preparations, while Antony was now treated as
a public enemy.




CHAPTER CXXIII

THE BATTLE OF ACTIUM


The great battle which was to decide who was to rule over the Roman
Empire was fought at Actium, on the west coast of Greece, in 31 B.C.

Here Cæsar and Antony arrived, each with a great fleet and a great
army. Antony was not accustomed to fight at sea, nor were his generals
or soldiers. Yet to please Cleopatra he had decided that the first
battle should be between the fleets.

The queen herself was at Actium, and had sent sixty of her own vessels
to join Antony’s fleet.

Several skirmishes took place, in which Cæsar was successful, and
Cleopatra grew impatient and anxious. Then she tried to persuade Antony
to withdraw without risking a battle.

In Alexandria, she said, they would be safe, for her towers were
strong, and could be well garrisoned. If Cæsar followed and attacked
them there they could easily defy him.

To withdraw should have been impossible to a soldier, yet so strong
was the influence of Cleopatra that Antony at length promised to do as
she wished. But for four days a gale blew so fiercely that it was not
possible to leave Actium.

Early on the morning of the 2nd September, Cleopatra saw with delight
that the weather was favourable. She knew no rest until the signal was
given, and Antony’s fleet began slowly to sail out of the bay.

Cæsar saw that the enemy’s fleet was moving, and he at once ordered his
vessels to follow, and if possible to surround it.

By yielding to Cleopatra, Antony had really only provoked battle, and
he was now forced to give the signal to attack. Then as he knew that
his soldiers were uneasy at having to fight at sea, he went in a small
boat from one ship to another and urged them to think of their large
decks as solid earth and to fight for victory.

Antony’s ships were larger than those of Cæsar, and proved difficult to
manage when the sea was heavy, as it was that day. The smaller vessels
of Cæsar were able to move swiftly, and after hurling darts on to the
enemy’s deck, they could easily withdraw out of reach of Antony’s
missiles. Fiercely the battle raged, but when morning had passed,
neither side had gained the victory.

Cleopatra was not used to the strain of battle, and her anxiety made
her fretful and peevish. She determined to endure the miserable
uncertainty no longer. It was intolerable. Away from the noise and the
confusion, she could forget that Antony was fighting for an empire.

With no thought save the desire to escape, she gave the signal for
retreat. Her sixty vessels at once hoisted their sails, and struggling
past the ships that were engaged in battle, they fled for safety and
for home.

Antony saw the ships with their sails filled, speeding away, and he
knew that Cleopatra had deserted him.

Perhaps he thought that this would seal the fate of the battle, that
the sight of the flying vessels would soon spread a panic through the
entire fleet, perhaps his one desire was to follow the queen. In any
case, Antony sprang into a galley and set off in pursuit of Cleopatra.

But when he reached the vessel in which the queen was seated, happy now
and at her ease, and was taken on board, the thought of his dishonour
suddenly took hold of him. Without a word to Cleopatra or even a
look in her direction, he walked to the prow of the ship, and there,
covering his face with his hands he bemoaned his dastardly deed. He
thought that in the eyes of his army he was disgraced even now, and he
did not hide from himself that he had become unfit to be a leader of
men.

But the soldiers could not believe that the general who had often led
them to battle had fled, and they fought bravely on, thinking that at
any moment he would be among them to lead them to victory.

And so firm was their faith in Antony, that when the fight was over,
they refused, for seven days, to surrender to Cæsar, lest their own
general should yet appear. The officers were less loyal than the men,
or perhaps they knew Antony better. They did not hesitate to leave
their troops and to submit to Cæsar. Only then did the soldiers believe
that Antony had indeed gone, and they also went over to the conqueror.

When the battle of Actium ended, Cæsar had won a decisive victory. He
did not, however, go to Egypt until winter was over.

Antony, who had resolved if it were possible to redeem his flight, at
once began to gather together an army ready to oppose Cæsar. But at the
same time, both he and Cleopatra were trying to pacify the victorious
general.

The queen sent him a gift of a gold crown, and offered to abdicate if
Cæsar would allow her sons to reign. Antony also sent a gift of money,
and begged to be allowed to live in Athens as a private citizen. If
Cæsar proved ungracious they both hoped to be able to flee beyond his
reach.

To Antony’s request Cæsar paid no heed. But he encouraged Cleopatra to
believe that he would do all that she wished for herself and for her
children, if she would put Antony to death, or send him away from Egypt.

But even if she proved faithless to Antony and betrayed him to his
enemy, Cæsar still meant to take the queen to Rome to adorn his
triumph.




CHAPTER CXXIV

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA DIE


When Cæsar at length came to Egypt with his army, he landed at
Pelusium. Before the soldiers had rested after the fatigue of their
journey, Antony fell upon them and won a slight victory, which
encouraged him to face a general battle.

The night before the battle, he feasted with his friends, in gayer mood
than since his flight from Actium, for now he hoped to conquer or to
die honourably on the battlefield.

Early in the morning he led his infantry to a position from which he
could see his fleet, for he believed that two battles would be fought
that day, one on sea and one on land.

But to his dismay, as his fleet drew near to Cæsar’s vessels, he saw
that his men saluted the enemy and then joined it. A moment later his
cavalry also went over to Cæsar’s army, while his infantry was soon
after utterly beaten.

Crushed and humiliated, Antony tried to escape on board a vessel, but
finding that he was watched by the enemy he stabbed himself to death.
Such, say the history books, was the sad end of Mark Antony, but
Plutarch, who writes his life, tells us of his last days in another way.

After his defeat, Plutarch says that Antony went back to Alexandria,
complaining that he had been betrayed by Cleopatra into the hands of
Cæsar.

His anger against the queen was so fierce that she was afraid and
hastened to shut herself into the mausoleum or tomb which she had built
in preparation for her death.

She then bade servants go tell Antony that she was dead. Such tidings
would, she knew, speedily change his anger into sorrow.

But she had not stayed to think to what desperate step his grief
might drive Antony. He no sooner believed that she was dead, than he
determined that he too would die.

‘I am not troubled, Cleopatra,’ he said, ‘to be at present bereaved of
you, for I shall soon be with you, but it distresses me that so great
a general should be found of a tardier courage than a woman.’ Then he
called his servant Eros, who had sworn to put him to death when he
should demand it, and bade him now fulfil his promise. Silently the
faithful servant drew his sword, not to kill his master--that he found
he could not do--but to slay himself.

When Antony saw that his servant was dead, he cried, ‘It is well done,
Eros; you show your master how to do what you had not the heart to do
yourself.’ He then threw himself upon his sword, but the wound did not
at once cause his death.

As Antony lay dying upon his couch, a messenger came from Cleopatra to
tell him that she was not dead, but alive and in the mausoleum.

The dying man begged to be taken to her, and his servants carried him
to the door of the tomb.

Then the queen, looking out of her window, saw him lying below wounded
and near to death.

She had only her two women Iras and Charmian with her, and so, instead
of tarrying to open the heavy door with its numerous bolts, she let
down cords from the window.

When these had been fastened round Antony, Cleopatra and her two women,
slowly and painfully pulled up the wounded man and dragged him through
the window into the mausoleum.

Gently the queen laid Antony on her bed and wept over him, calling him
her Emperor and her Lord.

But Antony, after drinking a little wine, bade her not to mourn for
him, for he had ‘fallen not ignobly, a Roman by a Roman overcome.’ With
these words upon his lips he died.

When Cæsar heard of the death of Antony, he wept, for he thought of the
many dangers that they had shared together, and of the friendship that
Octavia had tried to foster between them.

Then he quickly sent one of his officers named Proculeius to Cleopatra,
bidding him see that she was safe, for he still cherished the wish to
take her alive to Rome, that she might adorn his triumph.

When he reached the door of the mausoleum Proculeius found that it was
barred, so he took a ladder, fixed it on to the window and climbed up,
and entered the room before the queen was aware.

‘Miserable Cleopatra, you are taken prisoner,’ cried one of her women.

Then quick as lightning the queen drew a dagger which she had hidden in
her dress, and would have stabbed herself had not Proculeius seized her
hands, at the same time reproaching her for not trusting Cæsar to prove
a generous foe.

He then took away the dagger, and shook her clothes lest she had hidden
poison in them.

A few days later, Cæsar himself came to see the queen. She, grown wise
since the visit of Proculeius, deceived him, making him believe that
she had now no desire save to live. So artful was she that she told
Cæsar that she had kept some of her treasures that she might have gifts
to bestow on Livia his wife and on Octavia his sister, when she went
to Rome. Then Cæsar left her, satisfied that she would yet adorn his
triumph.

Now by the queen’s desire, a basket of figs was brought to her from the
country.

The guards stopped the countryman who brought it to the gate of the
mausoleum, asking to see the contents of his basket.

He, pushing aside the leaves that lay on the top, showed them the figs.
The men admired their size, and bade him take them to the queen.

But at the foot of the basket, although the guards did not suspect it,
there lay concealed under the fruit, an asp, whose bite was deadly
poison.

When Cleopatra had the basket safe in her possession, she wrote to
Cæsar to beg that she might be buried beside Antony. Then she bade her
women array her in her royal robes and set her diadems upon her head.

And when this was done she lifted the asp from the basket and placed it
upon her arm.

No sooner did the queen’s letter reach Cæsar, than he sent in great
haste to the mausoleum, for he feared that Cleopatra had found a way to
die, although she had neither poison nor a dagger in her possession.

When Cæsar’s messengers reached the guards, they asked if all was well.
‘All is well,’ answered the soldiers, but ‘when they had opened the
door they found Cleopatra stark-dead, laid upon a bed of gold, attired
and arrayed in her royal robes, and one of her women, called Iras,
dead at her feet, but her other woman, called Charmian, half dead and
trembling, trimming the diadem which Cleopatra wore upon her head.

One of the soldiers seeing her, angrily said unto her, ‘Is this well
done, Charmian?’

‘Very well,’ she said again, ‘meet for a princess descended from the
race of so many noble kings.’ She said no more, but fell down dead,
hard by the bed.

The queen’s last request was granted, for she was buried with royal
splendour by the side of Antony.




CHAPTER CXXV

THE EMPEROR AUGUSTUS


The Roman Republic came to an end after the Battle of Actium.

Henceforth until his death Cæsar ruled over the great Roman Empire, and
he was now known as the Emperor Augustus. His reign began in 30 B.C.,
and ended in 14 A.D.

If he did not add much to his great dominions, he saw to it that,
during his long reign of forty-four years, those within his realm were
able to live at peace with each other and with foreign peoples. Once
again, and for the third time since Romulus built the city of Rome, the
gates of the temple of Janus were closed.

The Emperor came to be adored by the people of Rome, because his rule
was kind and just. His magistrates were not allowed to oppress or rob
the poor, while his merchants’ ships were able to ply their trade
without fear of pirates.

At one time Augustus was away from Italy for three years. His people
longed for his return. Here are the very words in which the poet Horace
expressed their desire.

‘O best guardian of the race of Romulus,’ he wrote, ‘return ... your
country calls for you with vows and prayers ... for when you are here
the ox plods up and down the fields in safety; Ceres and bounteous
blessing cheers our farms: our sailors speed o’er seas infested by
no pirate; credit is kept unspotted; crime is checked, family life
purified, none fears the invasion of the Parthian or German ... each
man closes a peaceful day on his native hills, trains his vines to the
widowed trees, and home returning, light of heart, quaffs his wine and
blesses you as his god.’

When Augustus knew that the people really believed what the poet said
in language more beautiful than they could frame, he must surely have
felt rewarded for all the labours which he had undertaken for the sake
of his country.

The Emperor died in 14 A.D. His wife Livia was with him to the end, and
as he kissed her for the last time he said, ‘Good-bye, never forget our
married life.’ Nor was she likely to do so, for Cæsar had ever loved
her well, and treated her with respect. His adopted son, Tiberius,
succeeded him.

Thus from the single city founded by Romulus in the Palatine Hill in
753 B.C. there grew up through struggle and victory, the mighty Empire,
over which Augustus first ruled as Emperor. And this mighty Empire held
within its bounds the whole of Europe South of Germany and the Danube,
Asia Minor, Syria, Egypt, as well as a large part of the northern
district of Africa.

‘Thine, Roman, be the task to rule the nations with thy sway. These
shall be thine arts--to impose the laws of peace, to spare the humbled
and to crush in war the proud.’




INDEX


  Actium, battle of, 418.

  Æmilius, 200.

  ---- Gauls defeated by, 169, 170.

  Æneas, story of, 1, 2.

  Æquians, the, 73, 86.

  Albans, the, war with Rome, 28, 31.

  Allia, battle of, 97.

  Ambrones, the, 197, 299.

  Amulius, King, 4, 5, 7, 8, 10.

  Ancus Marcius, 32, 33.

  Anio, battle of the, 111.

  Antiochus, King of Syria, 238.

  Appian Way, the, 130.

  Appius Claudius, 78, 130, 149.

  Ariovistus, 364, 366, 367.

  Aristion, the orator, 325.

  Ascanius, 1, 3.

  Augustus, Emperor, 425. _See also_ Octavius Cæsar.

  Aulus Postumius, invocation of Castor and Pollux, 63.


  Bocchus, King, 284, 287, 290, 291.

  Books of the Sibyl, story of, 46.

  Brennus, King of the Gauls, 97, 103, 104.

  Brutus, and the Delphian oracle, 48, 49.

  ---- avenger of Lucretia’s wrong, 50.

  ---- treachery of his sons, 52.

  Brutus, Decimus, 394.

  ---- assassination of Cæsar, 399.

  ---- death at Philippi, 408, 411.

  ---- Second Triumvirate allied against, 406.


  Camillus, at battle of the Anio, 111.

  ---- capture of Veii by, 88.

  ---- destruction of Volscians’ camp by, 109.

  ---- recalled to Rome, 101.

  ---- war with Falerians, 94.

  ---- war with the Gauls, 97, 112–115.

  Cannæ, battle of, 200.

  Capitol, founding of the, 36.

  Carthage, siege of, 246–257.

  Carthaginian wars, 155–231.

  Cassius, death of, 410.

  ---- plot against Julius Cæsar, 394.

  Castor and Pollux, invoked by Aulus, 63.

  Catilinarian conspiracy, the, 350–355.

  Cato, 243, 251.

  ---- death of, 387.

  Catulus, campaign against the Cimbri, 303.

  ---- death of, 323.

  Caudine Forks, disgrace of Romans at, 124.

  Celeres, the, 22, 25.

  Censors, the, 341.

  Cicero, 350, 358, 362, 406.

  Cimbri, conquest of the, 303.

  Cincinnatus, defeat of Æquians by, 74, 86.

  Cinna, war with Octavius, 320.

  Claudius Nero, defeat of Hasdrubal by, 208, 213.

  Cleopatra, 386.

  ---- and Mark Antony, 413 _et seq._

  ---- at battle of Actium, 418.

  ---- death of, 421.

  Clœlia, story of, 60.

  Clœlius, Æquian chief, 73.

  Collatinus, 49, 52.

  Consuls, the, 52, 84.

  Coriolanus, story of, 68.

  Cornelia, mother of the Gracchi, 258, 260, 270, 271, 277.

  Crassus, 332, 341.

  ---- defeat of the gladiators by, 338.

  ---- member of First Triumvirate, 361.

  ---- Pompey’s rivalry with, 350.

  Curiatii, feud with Horatii, 29.

  Curtian Lake, the, legend of, 116.

  Cynoscephalæ, battle of, 233.


  Decemvirs, the, 77, 85.

  Decius Mus, 121–123.

  Dentatus, 139.

  Drusus, colonial policy of, 272.


  Ecnomus, battle of, 159.

  Epirots, the, war with Romans, 141.

  Etruscan wars, the, 31.


  Fabius, the delayer, and Minucius, 197–199.

  ---- campaign against Hannibal, 192.

  ---- defeat of the Samnites, 131–134.

  ---- his son, defeat of, 130.

  Falerians, war with, 94.

  Faustulus, 6.

  Flaminius, war with Philip of Macedon, 233.

  Fleet, the Roman, 155.

  Forum, the, 37, 45.


  Gabii, siege of, 43.

  Gaius Gracchus, 264, 268, 269, 270–277.

  ---- Mucius, story of, 60.

  Gauls, the, conquest of, 168.

  ---- sack of Rome by, 97, 99, 113, 117.

  Geese, the Sacred, 99.

  Gladiators’ revolt, the, 337.

  Glaucia, land reforms of, 307.

  Gnæus, 388, 390.

  Gracchi, the, 258.


  Hamilcar, 158, 159.

  ---- Barca, 172.

  Hannibal, story of, 172–242.

  ---- death of, 238.

  ---- departure from Italy, 226.

  ---- invasion of Italy by, 176.

  Hasdrubal, 207, 208, 224, 225.

  Heraclea, battle of, 145.

  Horatii, the, feud with the Curiatii, 29.

  Horatius, story of, 57.


  Jugurtha, King of Numidia, story of, 278.

  Julius Cæsar, 343, 354.

  ---- appointed ruler of Gaul, 361, 369.

  ---- assassination of, 396.

  ---- captured by pirates, 356.

  ---- conquest of Helvetians and Ligurini, 263.

  ---- conquest of the Nervii, 367.

  ---- crossing of the Rubicon, 374.

  ---- honoured in Rome, 389.

  ---- in Egypt, 385, 386.

  ---- invasion of Britain, 370.

  ---- member of First Triumvirate, 361.

  ---- nobles’ plot against, 392.

  ---- rivalry with Pompey, 350, 375 _et seq._

  ---- Tenth Legion of, 363.

  Juno, the statue of, 92.


  Lars Porsenna, siege of Rome by, 56, 60.

  Latins, the, 2, 33.

  Lavinium, 2, 3.

  Licinian laws, the, 107.

  Lictors, the, 52.

  Livius, defeat of Hasdrubal by, 208, 213.

  Lucius Furius, 111.

  Lucretia, the Roman matron, 50.

  Lucumo and the eagle, 35.


  Macedonian Wars, the, 233.

  Mælius, friend of the people, 85.

  Manipulares, the, 9.

  Manlius, Father of the Commons, 102, 106.

  Marius, Gaius, 280, 281.

  ---- alliance with Cinna against Octavius, 320.

  ---- and the Cimbrian ambassadors, 303.

  ---- conquest of Teutones by, 297.

  ---- defeat of King Jugurtha by, 283–296.

  ---- flight of, 315.

  ---- jealousy of Sulla, 311.

  ---- return to Rome, 320.

  ---- rivalry with Metellus, 307.

  Mark Antony, 376, 379, 381, 393, 399.

  ---- his Acta, 416.

  ---- and Cleopatra, 413 _et seq._

  ---- claim to Cisalpine Gaul, 405.

  ---- death of, 421.

  ---- funeral oration for Cæsar, 402.

  ---- member of Second Triumvirate, 406.

  ---- war against Brutus, 408.

  Masinissa, 219, 223, 224, 225.

  ---- in Carthage, 244.

  Metellus, 307.

  Mettius, 29, 31.

  Minucius, 73, 75, 85, 192, 194, 197, 198, 203.

  Mithridates, King, 312, 325.

  ---- defeated by Sulla, 329.

  ---- Pompey’s war against, 345.

  Mucius, Gaius, 60.


  Nervii, the, conquest by Julius Cæsar, 367.

  Numa Pompilius, 24.

  Numitor, King, 4, 7, 8, 9.


  Octavius, and his friend, Tiberius, 261 _et seq._

  Octavius Cæsar, 394.

  ---- Emperor of Rome, 425.

  ---- measures for welfare of Rome, 416.

  ---- member of Second Triumvirate, 406.

  ---- war against Antony and Cleopatra, 405, 418.

  Octavius, war with Brutus, 408.

  ---- war with Cinna, 320.

  Optimates, the, 264.


  Papirius Cursor, 129.

  Patricians, the, 66, 77.

  ---- Licinian laws relating to, 106, 107.

  Philippi, battle of, 408.

  Pirates, the, 341.

  Plebeians, the, 66, 77–79, 83.

  ---- Licinian laws relating to, 107–108.

  Pompey, 331, 336, 340.

  ---- expedition to Palestine, 348.

  ---- his flight, 381.

  ---- member of First Triumvirate, 361.

  ---- Pirates defeated by, 341–344.

  ---- rivalry with Cæsar, 375.

  ---- war against Mithridates, 345.

  Pontius, Gaius, Samnite leader, 124, 126, 128, 129.

  Prætors, the, 108.

  Proculus, vision of, 23.

  Proscriptions of Sulla, the, 334.

  Punic War, the First, 155 _et seq._

  ---- The Second, 172 _et seq._

  Pyrrhus, King of the Epirots, 141.

  ---- at battle of Asculum, 151.

  ---- at battle of Heraclea, 145–148.

  ---- defeat of, 153.

  ---- his elephants, 147, 150, 154.


  Quirinalia, the, 23.


  Regulus, story of, 158, 161, 165–167.

  Regulus (son of above), war with Gauls, 169, 170.

  Remus, story of, 5, 7.

  ---- death of, 13.

  Roma, story of, 2.

  Rome, founding of, 1, 12.

  ---- Republic founded, 52.

  Romulus, story of, 5–7.

  ---- founding of Rome by, 11, 12.

  ---- his end, 22.

  ---- war with the Sabines, 14–21.


  Sabine War, the, 14–21.

  Samnite wars, the, 119 _et seq._

  Samnites, the, defeated by Sulla, 331.

  Saturninus, land reforms of, 307.

  Scipio, Cornelius, _or_ Africanus, 203.

  ---- death of, 270.

  ---- campaigns against Hannibal, 178, 183, 220.

  ---- and Gaius Marius, 281, 295.

  ---- New Carthage captured by, 215.

  ---- triumph of, 231.

  Scipio (grandson of above), 251.

  ---- destruction of Carthage by, 253.

  ---- Publius, 215.

  Schoolmaster of Falerii, the treacherous, 94.

  Sentinum, battle of, 135.

  Servius Tullius, story of, 38–42.

  Sextus, expedition against Rome, 63, 65.

  ---- Gabii taken by treachery of, 43–45.

  ---- and Lucretia, the Roman matron, 49.

  Silvia, story of, 4, 5, 9.

  Social War, the, 312.

  Spartacus, the Gladiator, 338.

  Sulla, 356.

  ---- campaign against King Jugurtha, 290.

  ---- Cinna’s fear of, 323.

  ---- death of, 336.

  ---- enters Rome, 311.

  ---- Mithridates defeated by, 329.

  ---- Proscriptions of, 334.

  ---- rivalry with Marius, 311.

  ---- Samnites defeated by, 331.

  ---- Siege of Athens by, 328.

  Sulpician laws, the, 313.

  Sutrium, siege of, 110.

  Syphax, King, 219, 224.


  Tanaquil, 35, 38, 39.

  Tarentines, the, war with Romans, 141, 143, 144, 152.

  Tarpeian Rock, story of, 17.

  Tarquin the Proud, alliance with Lars Porsenna, 56, 61.

  ---- attempt to enter Rome, 56.

  ---- death of, 65.

  ---- downfall of, 48–51, 52–54.

  ---- Gabii taken by, 43–45.

  ---- revolt against Servius, 41, 42.

  Tarquinius Lucius, 34, 35.

  Teutones, conquered by Marius, 297.

  Tiberius Gracchus, and Octavius, 261.

  ---- death of, 266.

  ---- reforms of, 259–268.

  Torquatus, 120.

  Trasimenus, Lake, battle of, 187.

  Trebio, battle of, 183.

  Tribunes, the, 66.

  Triumvirate, The First, 350, 361, 369.

  ---- The Second, 405.

  Tullia, 41, 42, 51.

  Tullius Hostilius, 28.

  ---- war with the Albans, 28.

  ---- war with the Etruscans, 31.


  Valerius, 50, 54, 63.

  Valerius, _or_ Corvus, fight with the Gaul, 118.

  Varro, 200, 203, 205.

  Veii, siege of, 88.

  Vercellæ, battle of, 304.

  Vercingetorix, 372.

  Verginia, death of, 80.

  Veturia, mother of Coriolanus, 68.

  Volscians, the, 109.


  Xanthippus, 163, 164.


  Zama, battle of, 229.



Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty at the
Edinburgh University Press




Transcriber’s Notes


Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they
were not changed.

Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced quotation
marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left
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Illustrations in this eBook have been positioned between paragraphs
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