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Title: Hannibal's daughter

Author: Andrew Haggard

Release date: November 20, 2023 [eBook #72182]

Language: English

Original publication: London: Hutchinson & Co, 1898

Credits: an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HANNIBAL'S DAUGHTER ***





 Hannibal’s Daughter

 BY
 LIEUT. COL. ANDREW HAGGARD, D.S.O.

 _Author of
 “Tempest Torn,” “Under Crescent and Star,” etc., etc._




 LONDON
 HUTCHINSON & CO.
 PATERNOSTER ROW
 1898




 Dedication.

 _TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS LOUISE,
 MARCHIONESS OF LORNE._

_Madam,_

_Surely never, in the history of the world, have events more romantic
been known than the career of Hannibal and of his eventual conqueror,
the youthful Scipio. Therefore, under the title of “Hannibal’s
Daughter,” it has been my humble effort to present to the world in
romantic guise such a story as may impress itself upon the minds of
many who would never seek it for themselves in the classic tomes of
history._

_Having been commenced on the actual site of Ancient Carthage, the
local colouring of the opening chapters may be, with the aid of
history, relied upon as being correct. Throughout the whole work,
moreover, the thread of the story has been interwoven with a network
of those wonderful feats that are so graphically recorded for us in
the pages of Polybius and Livy._

_To Your Royal Highness, with the greatest respect, I have the honour
to dedicate my work. Should there appear to be aught of art in the
manner in which I have attempted to weave a combination of history and
romance, may I venture to hope that a true artist like Your Royal
Highness, of whose works the nation is justly proud, may not deem the
results of my efforts unworthy._


                                _I have the honour to be,
                                                   Madam,
                              Your most obedient servant,
                                    ANDREW C. P. HAGGARD._

_Alford Bridge, Aberdeenshire, May, 1898._




 CONTENTS

 PART I.
  I. HAMILCAR
  II. CARTHAGE
  III. HANNIBAL’S VOW
 PART II.
  I. ELISSA
  II. MAHARBAL
  III. FOREWARNED
  IV. FOUR CARTHAGINIAN NOBLES
  V. PLOTS AND COUNTER-PLOTS
  VI. CLEANDRA’S CUNNING
  VII. MELANIA’S MISERY
  VIII. LOVE FULFILLED
  IX. A LAUGH AND A LIFE
 PART III.
  I. SOSILUS AND CHŒRAS
  II. A GIGANTIC SCHEME
  III. HANNIBAL’S DREAM
  IV. FIRST BLOOD
  V. AT THE FOOT OF THE ALPS
  VI. OVER THE ALPS
  VII. HANNIBAL’S FIRST TRIUMPH
  VIII. EUGENIA
  IX. THRASYMENE
  X. FRIENDS MUST PART
  XI. ELISSA AS A WARRIOR
  XII. SOPHONISBA AND SCIPIO
  XIII. ON THE BRINK
  XIV. CANNÆ
 PART IV.
  I. AFTER THE BATTLE
  II. WIFE OR MISTRESS
  III. FIGHTING WITH FATE
  IV. THE FRUITS OF FOLLY
  V. MARS VICTORIOUS
  VI. CŒCILIA’S DEGRADATION
  VII. A RENUNCIATION
 PART V.
  I. TO SYRACUSE
  II. FROM SYRACUSE TO MACEDON
  III. A SACRIFICE
  IV. A LETTER FROM SCIPIO
  V. A SCENE OF HORROR
 PART VI.
  I. A SPELL OF PEACE
  II. ELISSA WRITES TO SCIPIO
  III. A TERRIBLE SEA FIGHT
  IV. ELISSA’S MISERY
  V. HIS LEGAL WIFE
  VI. A MOMENTOUS MEETING
  VII. ZAMA
  VIII. CONCLUSION




 HANNIBAL’S DAUGHTER.

 PART I.

 CHAPTER I.
 HAMILCAR.

On a point of land on the Tœnia, a hundred paces or so to the south
of the canal connecting the sea with the Cothon or double harbour of
Carthage, stood a palatial residence. Upon the balcony, which ran
completely round the house on the first storey, stood a man gazing
steadily across the gulf towards the north-east, past the end of the
Hermæan Promontory, to the left, of which the distant Island of
Zembra alone relieved the monotony of the horizon. His face was grave,
and his short hair and beard were slightly grey, but he was evidently
a man from whom the fire of youth had not yet departed. His eye was
the eye of one born to command; his straight-cut, sun-burned features
told the tale of many campaigns. Near him, on a stool covered with a
leopard skin, was carelessly thrown a steel helmet richly incrusted
with gold, and with the crest and the crown deeply indented, as if
from recent hard usage. The golden crest was in one place completely
divided by a sword cut, the brighter colour of the gold within the
division plainly showing that the blow had been but lately delivered.
On the floor of the balcony, at the foot of the stool, lay a long
straight sword. Although the hilt was of ivory, and the scabbard of
silver inlaid with gems, the blood-stains on the former and the
absence of many of the gems from their sockets, told that this was no
fair-weather weapon for state occasions, but a lethal blade which had
been borne by its owner in the brunt of many a combat. Only, the
armour which the warrior wore--consisting as it did merely of a bright
steel breast-piece, upon the breast of which was emblazoned in gold a
gorgeous representation of the sun, the emblem of the great god Baal
or Moloch, and the back of which was similarly inlaid with the
two-horned moon, the attribute of the glorious Astarte, Queen of
Heaven, and further studded with golden stars, the emblems of all the
other and lesser divinities--seemed on first appearance as if more
intended for the court than the camp. A closer examination, however,
revealed the fact that this also was no mere holiday armour, for it,
too, bore severe marks of ill-usage. The warrior’s arms were bare from
the elbow downwards, save for a couple of circlets of gold upon each
wrist, which from their width seemed more intended for defence than
ornament. Beneath the armour he wore a bright toga of pure white
cloth, the lower part falling in a kilted skirt below the knee, being
adorned with a narrow band of Tyrian purple. Upon his feet he wore
cothurns or sandals strongly attached with leather thongs, the thongs
being protected with bright chain mail. Some steel pieces for the
protection of the thigh and knee were lying close at hand.

Such was the attire of the great General Hamilcar Barca, as with an
ever-deepening frown upon his anxious brow, he gazed sternly and
steadily in deepest reverie across the sea.

At length his reverie seemed to be broken.

“Why gaze thus towards Sicily,” he muttered; “why dream of vengeance
upon the hated Romans, who now occupy from end to end of that fair
isle, where, for many years, by the grace of Melcareth, the invisible
and omnipotent god, I was able with my small army of mercenaries to
deal them so many terrible and crushing blows?

“Have they not almost as much cause to hate and to dread me, who did
so much to lower their pride and wipe out the memory of their former
victories? Did I not brave them for years from Mount Ercte, descending
daily like a wolf from the mountain crest, to ravage the country in
front of their very faces in strongly-fortified Panormus, from the
shelter of whose walls, for very fear of my name, they scarcely dared
to stir, so sure were they that their armies would be cut to pieces by
Hamilcar Barca?

“Did I not firmly establish myself in Mount Eryx, half-way up its
slope in the city on the hill, and there for two years, despite a huge
Roman army at the bottom, and their Gallic allies holding the
fortified temple at the top, snap my fingers at them, ay, laugh them
to scorn and destroy them by the thousand? For all that time, was not
their gold utterly unable to buy the treachery of my followers--were
not their arms utterly futile against my person? Did they not indeed
find to their cost that I was indeed the Hamilcar my name
betokens--him whom the mighty Melcareth protects?”

Proudly glancing across the sea with a scornful laugh, he continued:

“Oh, ye Romans! well know ye that had not mine own countrymen left me
for four long years without men, money, or provisions, Sicily had even
now been mine. Oh, Prætor Valerius! what was thy much boasted victory
of the Œgatian Islands over the Admiral Hanno but the conquest of a
mere convoy of ill-armed cargo vessels, whom mine economical
countrymen were too parsimonious to send to my relief under proper
escort. Where was then thy glory, Valerius? And thou, too, Lutatius
Catulus? how did I receive thy arrogant proposals that my troops
should march out of Eryx under the yoke? I, a Hamilcar Barca, march
out under the yoke!” The General’s swarthy cheek reddened at the
thought. “Did not I but laugh in thy beard and lay my hand upon this
sword--which I now lift up and kiss before heaven,” he raised and
kissed the blood-stained hilt. “Did not I, even as I do now, but
simply bare the well-known blade,” here he drew it from its sheath,
“and thou didst fall and tremble before me, and in thine anxiety to
rid Sicily of me didst willingly take back thine insult and offer to
Hamilcar and all his troops the full and free liberty to march out
with all the honours of war? Ah!” he continued, stretching forth his
sword menacingly across the sea, “for all that it hath been mine own
countrymen who were the main cause of my downfall, I yet owe thee a
vengeance, Rome, a vengeance not for mine own but for my country’s
sake, and, with the help of the gods, in days not long to come, those
of my blood shall redden the plains and mountains of Europe with the
terrible vengeance of the Barcine sword.”

The General returned his sword to its sheath with an angry clang, then
striding across the wide balcony to where it overlooked a beautiful
garden on the other side of the house, he shouted loudly:

“Hannibal, Hannibal!”

There was no reply, but down beneath the shelter of the fig trees
Hamilcar could plainly perceive three little boys engaged in a very
rough game of mimic warfare. They were all three armed with wooden
swords and small shields of metal. One of them was up in a fig tree
and striking downwards at the head of one who stood upon the crown of
a wall; while the third boy, who stood below the wall, was striking
upwards at his legs. The din of the resounding blows falling upon the
shields was so great that the boy at first did not hear.

“Hannibal, come hither at once,” cried out his father again in louder
tones.

Looking up and seeing his father, the boy on the wall threw down his
shield, a movement which was instantly taken advantage of by each of
the two other boys to get a blow well home. He did not, however, pause
to retaliate, but crying out, “That will I revenge later,” threw down
his sword also and rushed into the house and up to the balcony, for
even at his early age the boy had been taught discipline and instant
obedience, and he knew better than to delay. He appeared before his
father all out of breath and with torn clothing. Notwithstanding that
his forehead was bleeding from the result of the last cut which had
been delivered by the boy in the tree, he did not attempt to wipe the
wound, but with cast-down eyes and hands crossed over his breast,
silently awaited his father’s commands.

“What wast thou doing in the garden, Hannibal?”

“Waiting until Chronos the slave could take me up to see the burnt
sacrifice to Baal of the mercenaries whom thou hast conquered,” he
answered--then added excitedly, “Matho, who murdered Gisco and his six
hundred after mutilating them first, is to be tortured, thou knowest,
oh, my father, Chronos told me so, and I am going to see it done.”

Hamilcar frowned.

“Nay, it is not my will that thou shalt go to see Matho tortured and
burnt; now, what else wast thou doing down there?”

The boy’s face fell; he did not like to be deprived of the pleasure of
seeing Matho tortured first and burned afterwards, for, boy as he was,
he knew that if ever man in this world deserved the torture, that man
was this last surviving chief of his father’s revolted mercenaries.

But he made no protest at the deprivation of his expected morning’s
amusement, answering his father simply.

“I was playing with my brothers Hasdrubal and Mago at thine occupation
of the City on Mount Eryx, oh! my father. Mago was up in the tree and
represented the Gauls who had deserted and joined the Romans.
Hasdrubal was down below and took the place of the Roman Army.”

“And thou wast in thy father’s place between the two, and like thy
father himself, hast been wounded,” replied Hamilcar, smiling grimly.
“Come, wipe thy face, lad, and tell me why didst not thou, being the
strongest, take the part of the Romans at the bottom of the hill?”

Fiercely the youth raised his head, and, looking his father straight
in the face, replied:

“For two reasons, my father. First, I am much stronger than Hasdrubal,
and the war would have been too soon over; secondly, I hate the
Romans, and for nothing in the world would I represent them even in
play.”

“Ah! thou hatest the Romans! And wilt thou then fight them one day in
earnest and avenge the torrents of Carthaginian blood they have caused
to flow, the hundreds of Carthaginian cities whose inhabitants they
have put to the sword; avenge, too, our defeat and loss of forty-one
elephants before Heraclea; the sacking of Agrigentum and enslavement
of 25,000 of its citizens; the terrible loss of three hundred warships
at Ecnomos; the invasion of Carthaginia by Regulus; his sacking and
burning of all the fair domain between here and Clypea, across yonder
Hermæan Promontory; the capture by Cœcilius Metellus before Panormus
of 120 elephants from Hasdrubal, all of them slaughtered in cold blood
as a spectacle for the Roman citizens in the Roman circus; the fight
at--”

“Stop, father, stop!” cried the young Hannibal, stamping his foot. “I
can bear no more. By thy sword here, which I can even now draw--see I
do so--I swear to fight and avenge all these disasters. By the favour
of the great god Baal, whose name I bear, I will wage war against them
all my life as soon as ever I am old enough to carry arms.”

“Good,” said his father, “thou art a worthy son of Hamilcar, and this
very day shalt thou swear, not in the bloody temple of Moloch, but in
the sacred fane of Melcareth, the god of the city, the god of thy
forefathers in Tyre, and the god of the divine Dido, the foundress of
Carthage, that never wilt thou relax the hatred to the Romans thou
hast even now sworn by thy father’s sword. Never shalt thou, whilst
life lasts thee, cease to fight for thy native city, thy native
country. Look forth, my lad, upon all thou canst see now, and say, is
it not a fair domain? Let all that lies before thine eyes now sink
down deep into the innermost recesses of thy memory, for soon I shall
take thee hence; but I would not have thee, when far away, forget the
sacred city for whose very existence thou and I must fight. When thou
hast gazed thy fill upon all that lies before us, thou must perform
thine ablutions, arrange thy disordered dress, and then thou shalt
accompany me, not to see the sacrifice of the mercenaries in the pit
of fire before the brazen image of Moloch, but to make thy vow in the
temple of the invisible and all-pervading mighty essence of godhead,
the eternal Melcareth.”




 CHAPTER II.
 CARTHAGE.

The terrible war, known as the inexpiable or the truceless war, was
just at an end, after three years’ duration. The mercenaries who had
served so faithfully under Hamilcar in Sicily had by the bad faith of
the Carthaginian Government, headed by Hamilcar’s greatest enemy,
Hanno, been driven to a revolt to try and recover the arrears of pay
due to them for noble services for years past. When the effete Hanno,
after a first slight success, had allowed his camp to be captured, the
Government, at the last gasp, had begged Hamilcar to fight against his
own old soldiers. For the sheer love of his country, he had, although
much against the grain, consented to do so. But the towns of Utica,
the oldest Phœnician town in Africa, and of Hippo Zarytus were
joining in the revolt; the Libyans and Numidians had risen _en masse_
to join the revolutionists, and the Libyan women, having sold all
their jewellery, of which they possessed large quantities, for the
sake of the revolted mercenaries, there was soon so much money in the
rebel camp that the very existence of Carthage itself was at stake.
Therefore, although Hamilcar well knew that all the mercenaries,
whether Libyans or Ligurians, Balearic Islanders, Greeks, or
Spaniards, were personally well disposed to himself, he had been
forced to take up arms against them.

Under Spendius, a Campanian slave, and Matho, an African in whom they
had formerly placed great trust, the rebels had gained various
successes, and, on visiting them in their camp, had treacherously made
prisoner of Gisco, a general in whom they had previously expressed the
greatest trust, and whom they had asked to have sent to them with
money to arrange their difficulties. Hamilcar had been at first much
hampered by his enemy, Hanno, an effeminate wretch, being associated
in the command with himself; but when the Carthaginians found that, by
leaving Hanno to hamper Hamilcar, with all these well-trained soldiers
against them, they had got the knife held very close to their own
luxurious throats, they removed Hanno, and left the patriotic Hamilcar
in supreme military command. Their jealousies of him would not have
allowed the aristocracy and plutocracy to have done so much for the
man whom they had deserted for so long in Sicily had they not known
their own very existence to be at stake. For they ran the risk of
being killed both by the Libyans and mercenaries outside, and by the
discontented people inside the walls.

When Hamilcar assumed supreme command, the war had very soon commenced
to go the other way. He forced the easy, luxurious Carthaginian nobles
to become soldiers, and treated them as roughly as if they had been
slaves. And he made them fight. He got elephants together; he made
wonderful marches, dividing the various rebel camps; he penned them up
within their own fortified lines. Many deserted and joined him; many
prisoners whom he took he released; a great African chief named
Naravas came over to his side. All was going well for Carthage when
Spendius and Matho mutilated and murdered the wretched General Gisco
and his six hundred followers in cold blood. After that no more of
their followers dared to leave them for fear of the terrible
retaliation that they knew awaited them. But how Spendius and all his
camp were at length penned up and reduced to cannibalism, eating all
their prisoners and slaves, how Spendius and his ten senators were
taken and crucified, while Matho, at the same time issuing from Tunis,
took and crucified a Carthaginian general and fifty of his men, and
how at length, after slaughtering or capturing the 30,000 or 40,000
remaining rebels, Hamilcar took Matho himself prisoner, are all
matters of history.

On the morning of the opening of our story, there was to be a terrible
sacrifice offered up to the great Baal Hammon, the sun god Moloch, the
Saturn of the Romans: the terrible monster to whom in their hours of
distress the Carthaginians were in the habit of offering up at times
their own babies, their first-born sons, or the fairest of their
virgins, whose cruel nuptials consisted not in being lighted with the
torch of Hymen, but in being placed bound upon the outstretched,
brazen, red-hot hands of the huge image, from whose arms, which sloped
downwards, they rolled down into the flaming furnace at his feet. And
fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers, yea, even the very lovers
of the girls, looked on complacently, thinking that in thus
sacrificing their dearest and their best to the cruel god, they were
consulting the best interests of their country in a time of danger.
Nor were the screams of the victims, many of whom were self-offered,
allowed to be heard, for the drums beat, the priests chanted, and the
beautiful young priestesses attached to the temple danced in circles
around, joining the sound of their voices and their musical
instruments to the crackling of the fire and the rolling of the drums.

When Hamilcar bid his boy, Hannibal, look forth upon the city before
him, on the sea in front and behind him, and upon the country around,
it was a lovely morning in early summer. The weather was not yet hot;
there was a beautiful north-west breeze blowing down the Carthaginian
Gulf straight into the boy’s face, tossing up little white horses on
the surface of the sea, of which the white-flecked foam shone like
silver on its brilliantly green surface. Across the gulf, upon whose
bosom floated many a stately trireme and quinquireme, to the east side
arose a bold range of rugged mountains with steep, serrated edges.
Turning round yet further and facing the south, the young Hannibal
could see the same mountain range, dominated by a steep, two-horned
peak, sweeping round, but gradually bearing back and so away from the
shores of the shallow salt water lake then known as the Stagnum, now
called the Lake of Tunis. This lake was separated, by the narrow strip
of land called the Tœnia, from the Sirius Carthaginensis, or Gulf of
Carthage, upon the extremity of which is now built the town of
Goletta. There was in those days, as now, a canal dividing this
isthmus in two, and thus giving access for ships to Tunis, a distance
of ten miles from Carthage, at the far end of the Tunisian lake.

Turning back again and looking to the north and north-west, Hannibal
saw stretching before him the whole noble City of Carthage, of which
his father’s palace formed one of the most southern buildings within
the sea wall. Close at hand were various other palaces, with gardens
well irrigated and producing every kind of delicious fruit and
beautiful flower to delight the palate or the eye. Here waved in the
breeze the feathery date palm, the oleander with its wealth of pink
blossom, the dark-green and shining pomegranate tree with its glorious
crimson flowers. Further, the fig, the peach tree, the orange, the
lemon, and the narrow-leaved pepper tree gave umbrageous shelter to
the winding garden walks. Over the cunningly-devised summer-houses
hung great clusters of blue convolvulus or the purple bourgainvillia,
while along the borders of plots of vines gleaming with brilliant
verdure, clustered, waist-high, crimson geraniums and roses in the
richest profusion. Between these palaces lay stretched out the double
harbour for the merchant ships and war ships, a canal forming the
entrance to the one, and both being connected with each other. The
harbour for the merchant ships was oblong in shape, and was within a
stone’s throw of the balcony upon which the boy was standing. The
inner harbour was perfectly circular, and surrounded by a
fortification; and around its circumference were one hundred and
twenty sets of docks, the gates of each of which were adorned with
beautiful Ionic pillars of purest marble.

In the centre of this cup, or cothon as it was called, there was an
island, upon which was reared a stately marble residence for the
admiral in charge of the dockyards, and numerous workshops for the
shipwrights. All were designed and built with a view to beauty as well
as utility.

For that day only, the clang of hammers had ceased to be heard, and
all was still in the dockyards, for there was high holiday and
festival throughout the whole length and breadth of the City of
Carthage on the glad occasion of the intended execution, by fire, of
Matho and the remaining rebels who had not fallen by the sword in the
last fight at Tunis.

Just beyond the war harbour, there was a large open place called the
Agora, and a little beyond and to the left of it Hannibal could descry
the Forum placed on a slight elevation. It was a noble building,
surrounded by a stately colonnade of pillars, the capitals of which
were ornamented in the strictly Carthaginian style, which seemed to
combine the acanthus plant decoration of the Corinthian capital, with
the ram’s horn curves of the Ionic style. Between the pillars there
stood the most beautiful works of art, statues of Parian marble
ravished in the Sicilian wars, or gilded figures of cunning
workmanship of Apollo, Neptune, or the Goddess Artemis, being the
spoils of Macedon or imported from Tyre. The roof of the Forum was
constructed of beautiful cedar beams from Lebanon, sent as a present
by the rulers of Tyre to their daughter city, and no pains or expense
had been spared to make the noble building, if not equal in grandeur,
at any rate only second in its glorious manufacture to the magnificent
temple of Solomon, itself constructed for the great king by Tyrian and
Sidonian workmen.

A couple of miles away to the left could be seen the enormous triple
fortification stretching across the level isthmus which connected
Carthage, its heights and promontories, with the mainland. This wall
enclosed the Megara or suburbs, rich with the country houses of the
wealthy merchant princes. It was forty-five feet high, and its vaulted
foundations afforded stabling for a vast number of elephants. It
reached from sea to sea, and completely protected Carthage on the land
side. Between the city proper and this wall beyond the Megara,
everywhere could be seen groves of olive trees in richest profusion,
while between them and the frequent intervening palaces, were to be
observed either waving fields of ripening golden corn, or carefully
cultivated vegetable gardens, well supplied with running streams of
water from the great aqueduct which brought the water to the city from
the mountains of Zaghouan sixty miles away.

To the north of the Forum and beyond the Great Place, the city
stretched upwards, the width of the city proper, between the sea and
the suburbs, being only about a mile or a mile and a half. It sloped
upwards to the summit of the hill of the Byrsa or Citadel, hence the
boy Hannibal, from his position on the sea level in rear of the
harbours, was able to take in, not only the whole magnificent _coup
d’œil_ of palaces and temples, but also that of the high and
precipitous hill forming Cape Carthage, which lay beyond it to the
north, whose curved and precipitous cliffs enclosed on the eastern
side a glittering bay, wherein were anchored many vessels of
merchandise.

The summit of this mountain was, like the suburbs of the Megara to the
west of the city, studded with the rich country dwellings of the
luxurious and ease-loving inhabitants of Carthage.

But it was not on the distant suburbs that the lad fixed his eager
gaze, it was on the gleaming city of palaces itself. Here, close at
hand on the right, he could see the temple of Apollo with its great
golden image of the god, gleaming between the open columns in the
morning sun. Further away appeared the mighty and fortified buildings
of the temple of Ashmon or Æsculapius. To the left of the city the
fanes of Neptune, Diana, and Astarte glittered in the sun, while
occupying the absolute centre of the town, and standing apart in a
large and now crowded open space, was clearly visible the huge
circular temple of the awful Sun god--Saturn, Baal Hammon, or Moloch.
The drums and trumpets loudly sounding from the vicinity of this
temple, and the wreaths of smoke winding up between the triple domes
plated with solid gold, told that the terrible sacrifices had already
begun. Indeed, the yells of execration of the myriads of
brightly-robed populace, most of them women, as victim after victim
was dragged forward by the priests and thrown upon the dreadful
sloping arms of the god, a sight Hannibal could easily observe between
the rows of columns, often nearly drowned the blare of the trumpets
and the rolling of the drums.

Well, indeed, might they scream, these women of Carthage, for owing to
the cruelties and massacres of those upon whom they were now wreaking
their vengeance, all who had been their husbands or lovers were gone.
There were now scarcely any men left. Thus they saw themselves
condemned either to a perpetual virginity, with no hopes of ever
knowing the joys of motherhood, or fated at the best to a share with
many other women in the household of some rich and elderly noble,
since polygamy had been recently decreed as a means of repopulating
the State. All the young men remaining alive, Hamilcar had enrolled in
his army, and although a few of the more luxurious and ease-loving
might leave him and remain in Carthage, that army was, so rumour said,
about to start with him and the flower of Carthaginian manhood for
unknown battle-fields, whence it was improbable that they would ever
return. Thus, the older women screamed and yelled with fury at the
loss of husbands or sons, and the young women screamed with rage at
the loss of the once possible husbands, who never had been and never
could be theirs. Yet, all alike, having put off their mourning for the
day, were gaily attired for joy at the burning alive of their enemies.
They had even adorned their raven locks with the brilliant crimson
flowers of the pomegranate, as red as their own red lips, or the blood
which had been shed in torrents by Spendius and Matho, and which was
again to flow that very day on this joyful occasion of revenge.

Leading from the harbours and the Great Place up through the town to
all these temples were three streets--the Vicus Salutaris, on the
right, leading to the temple of Æsculapius; the Vicus Satyrnis, in
the centre, leading to the great brazen god Moloch; and to the left,
the Vicus Venerea or Venus Street, leading to the temple of the
Carthaginian Venus and Juno in one; Tanais, Tanith, or Astarte, the
Goddess of Love and the Queen of Heaven combined. These last two
streets swept round on either side of the hill of the Byrsa or
Citadel, and it was on this hill that the eye of the youthful Hannibal
chiefly rested, for within and above its walls he could see on the
summit of the hill the temple of Melcareth, the unknown and invisible
god of whom no image had ever been made. Melcareth was the great
Spirit of life and the protector of his father, before whom he was to
register his vow.

Plainly built of white marble, in simple but solemn simplicity, it was
surrounded with plain Doric columns of Numidian marble. This very
plainness made the exterior of the building more impressive; and as it
occupied the highest point in the whole city, the boy could see it
clearly.

At length, with a sigh, he took one last lingering look all round,
from the mountains of the Hermæan Promontory to the Gulf, from the
Gulf to Cape Carthage, and to the city from the hill of the Catacombs,
round and past the triple wall enclosing the Megara, away to the white
buildings of Tunis in the distance, and to the lake near at hand.

“I have seen it all, my father,” he said at length; “not a headland
nor a house, not a tree nor a temple, will ever fade away again from
my memory. It is all engraven on my heart.”

“It is well,” said Hamilcar; “now go and prepare thyself to accompany
me to the temple of Melcareth; thou shalt accompany me upon my
elephant, for I shall go in state. Here, Maharbal! Imlico! Hanno!
Gisco!”

A crowd of officers rushed in from the ante-chambers, where they were
waiting; the great General gave directions about the ceremony that was
to take place, and orderlies and messengers were soon galloping in
every direction.




 CHAPTER III.
 HANNIBAL’S VOW.

An hour later, a gorgeous procession started from the General’s
palace; for on this occasion Hamilcar, well knowing the hatred and
jealousy with which he was regarded by the other Suffete or Chief
Magistrate, Hanno, and, indeed, by more than half of the Council of
one hundred senators, the real holders of power in ordinary times, had
determined for once to assert the power which, in view of his recent
victories, he knew that he, and he alone, held in the city. Being a
great general, and just now, moreover, a victorious general, he
determined that, since fortune and his own ability had for the moment
placed him at the top of the tree, no sign of weakness on his own part
should give to his enemies in the State the opportunity of pulling him
down again from his pedestal. He had an object in view, and until he
had obtained that object and left Carthage with almost regal powers
over the army that he had got together, he was fully determined to
maintain his own potent position by all the force at his command.

It was a whole army with which he set forth to pay his homage to the
god Melcareth on that eventful June morning.

On the Great Place, just beyond the Forum, and about half a mile away,
were massed, in two lines, forty war elephants fully accoutred with
breastplates formed of scales of brass coated with gold. On the back
of each elephant was a wooden tower containing four archers, whose
burnished casques and breastplates glittered in the sun, also
musicians carrying trumpets and horns. In rear of them and in front of
the Forum itself was drawn up a body of a thousand Numidian cavalry,
under the Chief Naravas, who, with a gold circlet round his head,
which was studded with ostrich plumes, headed their van. Naravas, like
all his followers, bestrode a magnificent white barb, without either
saddle or bridle; the ornamental saddle cloth of golden embroidery,
fastened by a cinglet, being merely for show, for the Numidians had no
need for either saddles or bridles, but guided their horses with their
knees. The hoofs of the horses were gilded, and their manes and tails
had been newly stained with vermilion. Altogether, this band of
Numidian cavalry formed a remarkable sight. The chief himself and all
his men held a barbed dart in each hand, while a sheath or quiver
containing other darts hung upon their left breasts. On the right side
each carried a long, straight sword.

Following Naravas and his cavalry, the whole street up to Hamilcar’s
dwelling was filled with the soldiers of the “Sacred Band”--the
_élite_ of Carthage. This corps was comprised only of those belonging
to the richest and noblest families, and they more than equalled in
valour and determination the fiercest of the mercenaries against whom
they had been lately fighting. Their armour was of the most gorgeous
description; it seemed literally made of gold; while necklaces of
pearls and earrings of precious stones adorned their persons. On their
fingers they wore gold rings in number equalling the battles they had
been in--one for each fight; but many of them present on this eventful
morn had taken part in so many fights under Hamilcar that they were
unable to carry all their rings on their fingers. They had therefore
attached them by smaller rings of strong metal to the edges of their
shields, which shields were inlaid with gold and precious stones. With
each maniple, or company of a hundred of the Sacred Band, was
present--in rear--a hundred Greek slaves. These slaves wore collars of
gold, were gorgeously attired, and bore in state the golden wine
goblets from which the Sacred Band were wont to drink. Alone in the
army the Sacred Band were allowed to drink wine when on service; for
other soldiers to do so was death. Woe betide any soldier of any other
corps who should be discovered in purloining or even drinking from one
of these sacred cups. Crucifixion was the least of the evils that he
might expect to befal him.

The Sacred Band were commanded at that time by Idherbal, the son of
Gisco, the general who had been so barbarously murdered by Spendius
and Matho. He was a noble-looking young man, mounted on a splendid
chestnut barb. All his officers were however, like the men,
dismounted. Originally two thousand five hundred in number, there now
only remained eighteen hundred of Idherbal’s troops.

Eight hundred of these filled the streets from the rear of the
Numidian cavalry to Hamilcar’s palace, the remaining thousand were
massed behind the palace, and they in turn were to be followed by over
three thousand Gauls who had, fortunately for themselves, immediately
left the insurgent camp and joined Hamilcar on the first occasion of
his advancing against the mercenaries. These Gauls were naked to the
waist and carried long straight swords.

On each side of the road leading up to the citadel, for the whole
distance at intervals of a few paces, were posted alternately
“hastati” or spearmen, and cavalry soldiers to keep back the crowd.
These were all Iberians or Spaniards, some of whom had come across
with Hamilcar himself when he had left Sicily, while others had
through emissaries been since recruited. They were all absolutely
faithful to Hamilcar. The horses of the Spanish cavalry were saddled
and bridled, and the soldiers of both horse and foot alike wore under
their armour white tunics edged with purple. The cavalry carried a
long straight sword, adapted either to cutting or thrusting, and a
small shield on the left arm. There were about two thousand in number
of these guards placed to line the streets.

With the exception of the Sacred Band of nobles, upon whom Hamilcar
could perfectly rely, and whom, for State reasons, he wished to have
that day much _en evidence_ in his train, none of these troops, nearly
eight thousand in number, were Carthaginians. Orders had been
previously given that all the guard duties at the outposts and round
the city walls were that day to be taken by the recently raised
Carthaginian troops. All the guards within the city were therefore
held by troops to whom, as to these soldiers of his magnificent
escort--Hamilcar’s person was as sacred as that of a god.

Between the first and second detachments of the Sacred Band, in front
of the door of the palace, stood Hamilcar’s magnificent state
elephant, Motee, or Pearl--the highest in all Carthage. It was of
great age, and had been brought from India through Persia. The Mahout,
or driver, who was an Indian, was dressed in a crimson and gold
turban, with a loose silken jacket and pantaloons of the same colours.
The elephant, Motee, was protected on the forehead, neck, head, and
shoulders with plates formed of golden scales, while over all its body
hung a cloth of the most gorgeous Tyrian purple, edged with gold.
Round its legs, just above the feet, were anklets of silver, to which
were attached bells like sledge bells, made of bronze, gilded. The
tusks of the elephant were gigantic in size, and were painted in wide
rings with vermilion, leaving alternate rings showing off the white
ivory, the points of the tusks being left of the natural colour. Upon
the back of the elephant was a car of solid silver, each side being
formed of a crescent moon. It was constructed so as to contain two or
three persons only. The front and rear of this car were formed of
large shields, made so as to represent the sun, being of gold, and
having a perfectly smooth surface in the centre, which was burnished
as a mirror. Radiating lines of rougher gold extending to the edges of
the shields made the shields indeed blaze like the sun itself, when
the glory of the sun god fell upon them. Overhead was raised on silver
poles a canopy, supporting a sable curtain or awning, upon which was
represented in gold several of the best known constellations of the
stars. Thus did Hamilcar, by the symbolical nature of this howdah,
which he had had expressly made for this occasion in order to impress
the populace, seem to say that, although devoted to Melcareth, the
unseen god, of whom no representations could be made, he none the less
placed himself under the protection of Baal, the sun god, of Tanith or
Astarte, the moon goddess, and of all the other divinities whom the
stars represented. He knew that not only would the richness of this
new and unheard of triumphal car impress the Carthaginian populace,
always impressed by signs of wealth, but that the sacred symbolism of
his thus surrounding himself with the emblems of all the mighty gods
would impress them still more.

At length, all being ready, Hamilcar, accompanied by his little son,
Hannibal, issued from the house, being surrounded by a body of his
generals. Then the elephant was ordered to kneel, and a crowd of
slaves ran forward with a ladder of polished bronze to place against
its side. A body of “hastati,” placed as a guard of honour, saluted by
raising high above their heads and then lowering to the ground the
points of their polished spears, a movement which they executed with
the most absolute precision. Hamilcar looked critically at the
soldiers for a minute, to see if there were any fault to detect in
their bearing, then, when satisfied that nothing was wrong,
acknowledged the salute and turned to compliment the officer in
command. He happened to be Xanthippus, a son of him who had defeated
Regulus. The troops were a body of 200 Greeks who had fled to Carthage
from Lilybæum to escape slavery at the hands of the Romans. This
young officer himself had joined Hamilcar in Sicily, and done him good
service since.

“’Tis well! Xanthippus,” he said, “if thy soldiers are always as
worthy of thee as they are on this auspicious day, thou too shalt some
day be worthy of thy father.”

It was said so that all the band of Greeks could hear, and said in
Greek. The praise was just enough, but not too much. It was a great
deal from Hamilcar.

Without stirring an inch from the statuesque bronze-like attitudes in
which they stood, a simultaneous cry arose from every throat that rent
the air.

“Evoe Hamilcar!” Then there was silence.

Then instantly, on a signal made to him by Hamilcar, Xanthippus gave a
short sharp order. Once more the spear points being lifted
simultaneously from the ground flashed high in the air, then with a
resounding thud all the butt ends of the spears were brought to the
ground together, and the troops remained like a wall.

Hamilcar and his little son now mounted the elephant; the generals and
staff officers who had accompanied him from the interior of the
palace, also mounted the richly caparisoned horses which brilliantly
clothed slaves were holding, and placed themselves on each side of the
elephant. A blare of trumpets burst forth from musicians stationed
behind the Greek spearmen, and the triumphal procession began its
march towards the temple of Melcareth.

A trumpet note from a mounted herald now gave the signal to march to
the forty elephants and other troops stationed ahead on the Great
Place.

Here there was no delay. Hamilcar had given orders that the Vicus
Satyrnus, that passing by the temple of Moloch, was the one to be
followed, but the road was of course too narrow for a large number of
elephants to march abreast. But they were well trained; all the
elephants in both lines turned to the right into file, and every
second elephant then coming up, the whole body was formed instantly
into ten sections of four elephants each. The leading section of
elephants now wheeled to the left at a trot, and all the others
following at a trot, wheeled at exactly the same spot and the whole
marched up the Vicus Satyrnus. Thus the square was clear of their
enormous bulk soon enough to allow the Numidian cavalry of Naravas,
also moving at a trot, to clear the square in time to avoid checking
the advance of the Sacred Band marching behind on foot. When once the
whole line, both of elephants and cavalry, was clear of the square,
they assumed a walking pace, and then the musical instruments on the
elephants were played loudly with triumphant music, which brought all
of the inhabitants who, for it was still early, had not yet started
for the temple of Baal, to the windows, verandahs, and doors.

“Hamilcar! Is Hamilcar coming?” they cried excitedly to those on the
elephants and to the cavalry. But these were far too well trained to
pay the slightest attention, and pursued their way in silence.

When Hamilcar arrived, on his elephant, opposite the Forum, he saw the
whole of the hundred senators standing on the verandah facing the road
that he had to pass. All were dressed in purple togas, their necks
were adorned with heavy necklaces of pearls or of sacred blue stones,
large ear-rings were in their ears, their fingers were covered with
rings, their wrists were ornamented with bracelets, and their sandals
blazed with jewels.

Willingly or not, they, with one exception, saluted Hamilcar
respectfully as he passed. The exception was a fat, flabby,
middle-aged man with face and eyebrows painted. He was overloaded with
gems and jewellery, but not all the jewellery in the world could have
redeemed the ugliness of his face, or the awkwardness of his figure.
As the elephant bearing Hamilcar approached, this man was apparently
engaged in a wordy war with the soldiers lining the streets. He was
evidently trying to force his way between their ranks, but the foot
soldiers, smiling amusedly, placed their long spears lengthwise across
the spaces between the horse soldiers who separated them, and kept him
back. Gesticulating wildly, and perspiring at every pore, this
grandly-dressed individual was cursing the soldiers by every god in
the Punic calender, when the great General, the saviour of Carthage,
arrived upon the scene. He instantly ordered the herald to sound a
halt.

“Salutation to thee, O Suffete Hanno,” he cried. “Why, what ails thee
this morning? Art thou perchance suffering from another attack of
indigestion, and were not the oysters good last night, or was it the
flamingo pasties that have been too much for thee?”

“Curses be upon thy head, Hamilcar, and upon thy soldiers too,”
replied the other petulantly. “I but sought to cross the road to join
my family in my house yonder, when these foreign devils of thine
prevented me--me, Hanno, a Suffete of Carthage! It is atrocious,
abominable! I will not stand it. I will be revenged.”

Hamilcar glanced across the road to where, on a balcony within a few
yards of him, were standing a bevy of young beauties, all handsomely
attired. They were all smiling, indeed almost laughing, at the
exhibition of bad temper by the overgrown Suffete; or maybe it was at
Hamilcar’s remark about his indigestion, for Hanno was a noted
glutton. Seeing the young ladies, the General continued in a bantering
tone:

“Ay! indeed, it is a meet cause for revenge that thou hast, O Hanno,
in being thus separated, if only for a short space of time, from thy
lovely daughters yonder.”

“My daughters, my daughters!” spluttered out Hanno excitedly. “Why,
thou knowest I have no daughters, Hamilcar. Dost thou mean to insult
me?”

“I insult thee, noble Hanno! Are those noble young beauties, then, not
thy daughters? Surely thou must pardon me if I am mistaken, but
meseems they are of an appropriate age, and thou saidst but this very
minute that my soldiers, meaning, I suppose, the soldiers of the
State, had prevented thee from joining thy family yonder. Of what,
then, consists thy family?”

At this sally there was a loud laugh, not only among the young girls
on the balcony, but from all the assembled senators. For it was a
matter of common ridicule that Hanno, whose first wife had been
childless, had put her away in her middle age, and taken advantage of
the recent law permitting polygamy to take to wife at once half a
dozen young women belonging to noble families, whose parents were
afraid to oppose such a dangerous and powerful person. Hanno was
furious, but strove to turn the tables by ignoring this last remark.

“Whither goest thou, Hamilcar, with all this army? Hast come to
conquer Carthage?” he asked sarcastically.

“And how could I conquer Carthage when it contains a Hanno, conqueror
apparently of all the hearts therein? Could Lutatius Catulus have
conquered Lilybæum even had but the mighty Admiral Hanno remained a
little longer in the neighbourhood?”

This reference to Hanno’s defeat at the Ægatian Islands made him
furious. He could not bear the smiles he saw upon his young wives’
faces and the sneers he imagined upon the faces of the senators behind
him. He broke out violently:

“Whither goest thou, Hamilcar, with all these troops? As thy
co-Suffete I demand to know, lest thou prove to be plotting against
the State,” and he stamped upon the ground in rage. Hamilcar smiled
sarcastically.

“I go, Hanno, where all good Carthaginians should go on a day like
this, to offer a sacrifice to the gods.”

“Ah!” cried Hanno, seeing a chance, “’tis well that spite of all
former evasions thou hast at length determined to do thy duty to thy
country by frying yonder brat of thine as a thanksgiving to Moloch. I
would that I might be there to see the imp frizzle, and all the rest
of the Barcine tribe as well.”

Hamilcar was now angry, but he answered in apparent politeness and
good humour:

“There are some bodies that will frizzle far better than such a
morsel, Hanno; but since thou wouldst see some frizzling, thou shalt
even now accompany me as far as the temple of Baal. I have plenty of
room on the elephant.”

“Come hither, Idherbal,” he cried, the chief of the Sacred Band having
taken up a position near him, “tell some of thy men to assist the
noble Suffete on to the car beside me. He is anxious to see some
burning done to-day. He shall not be deprived of the pleasure of
assisting in person at the burnt sacrifices.”

Hanno turned pale. He tried to retract his words. The large tears fell
down his flabby cheeks. He attempted to resist. But resistance was
useless. In a few seconds the soldiers of Idherbal very roughly forced
“the soldier’s enemy,” as he was rightly termed, upon the car beside
Hamilcar, and the procession again started, leaving the hundred
senators and all the women on the balcony, not that these latter cared
much, trembling with fear; for they imagined, and with apparent
reason, that Hamilcar was about to offer Hanno as a burnt sacrifice to
Moloch, and the senators did not know if their own turn might not come
next. Therefore, raising their robes in dismay, they all rushed into
the Forum, not caring in the least as to what might be the fate of
Hanno, but only trembling for their own skins. Might not the time have
really come when Hamilcar was about to revenge himself upon all the
ancients for their long-continued neglect of him and all the best
interests of Carthage? And was not all the power in his hands? Thus
they reasoned.

There was no doubt about it that all the power was in the hands of
Hamilcar, and that, if he had been only a self-seeking man, he could
easily that day and at that hour have seized and burnt not only Hanno,
but also all those of the rich and ancients of Carthage, whom he knew
to be inimical to himself. He could with the greatest ease have
shattered the constitution, denounced the captured senators to the
people as equally responsible with the mercenaries for all the
miseries they had suffered, and caused them to be offered up wholesale
to Baal in that very same holocaust with Matho and Hanno. But Hamilcar
was not a self-seeking man, or he would that day, after first removing
all his enemies from his path, have declared himself King of Carthage.
And the people would have applauded him, and he would have ruled
wisely, and probably saved Carthage from the terrible destruction
which awaited her later as a reward for treating his son Hannibal, in
after years, with the same culpable neglect that she had shown
himself.

Hamilcar, however, did not imagine that his duty to his country lay in
making himself king. Nevertheless, he determined to show his power,
and to establish it over the senators, at least until such time as he
should have obtained from them what he wanted--what he considered
needful for his country’s welfare merely, and not for his own.

To the young Hannibal, who had from the time of earliest youth been
brought up to look upon his father’s foes as his own, every word of
what had taken place was full of meaning. Looking disdainfully at the
pale-faced Suffete, who, with the tears flowing down his fat cheeks,
looked the image of misery, he asked:

“Father, is it true that this man wanted you to offer me up as a
sacrifice to Baal? I have heard so before!”

“Yes, it is true, my son, and I should, owing to the pressure put on
me, doubtless have done so had I not thought that thou wouldst be of
far more use to thy country living than dead.”

“Ah! well,” replied Hannibal complacently, “now we will burn him
instead, and he will deserve it, and someone else will get all his
young wives. I am glad! But if I were going to be burned I would not
have blubbered as he is doing like a woman. Just look at his
disgusting tears! I suppose it is all the fat running out. Pah! how
soft he is!” and the boy disdainfully dug his finger into the soft
cheek of Hanno, just below the eye, where it sunk in the fat nearly up
to the knuckle.

“Do not defile thy hands by touching the reptile, Hannibal,” remarked
his father.

So the boy desisted, and sat silently and disgustedly watching the
wretched man as they moved on.

Meantime, as the procession advanced slowly along the crowded streets,
and the people saw the tear-stained and miserable-looking Hanno seated
on the grand elephant in the gorgeous shining car beside Hamilcar,
whose mortal enemy he had always shown himself to be, the word was
passed from mouth to mouth throughout the multitude, “Hamilcar is
going to burn Hanno! Hamilcar is going to sacrifice Hanno!” And the
fickle people shouted loudly cries of welcome and triumph for
Hamilcar, and gave groans and howls of detestation for Hanno. So
certain did his end seem to be, that the wretched man was dying a
double death beforehand.

At length the open place was reached by the temple of Moloch. Here all
the women who had heard the cry became perfectly delirious with
delight when they saw the fat Suffete in his miserable condition.
“Smite him, smite him,” they cried. “Tear him to pieces; let us drag
him limb from limb; the man who has caused the war; the man who has
deprived us of our lovers and murdered our husbands, but who has,
nevertheless, taken six young wives himself. Burn him! burn him!” And
before the guards lining the streets knew what was about to happen, at
least a hundred women slipped under their arms, and made a way
through. Then rushing to Hamilcar’s elephant, they endeavoured to
spring up into the car, with the hope of tearing the hated Suffete to
the ground.

Motee was the tallest elephant in Carthage, and they could not effect
their purpose, though one young woman, more agile than the rest, being
helped by others, got such a hold of the trappings, that she was able
at last to swing herself right up into the car.

“This kiss is for my lost lover,” said she, and seizing Hanno by the
ears, she made her teeth meet through the flabby part of his cheek;
“and this kiss for thy six wives,” she cried, and this time she made
her little white teeth meet right through the other cheek just below
the eye.

The soldiers overcame the other women and beat them back, and even got
hold of Hanno’s assailant by the legs; but for a while she could not
be dragged away, for Hanno himself was clinging with both hands to the
side of the car, and she had him tight by the ears and with her teeth.
At last, exhausted, she let go; but as she did so, she scored his face
all down on both sides with her long finger nails, leaving him an
awful picture, streaming with blood.

Meanwhile the drums and trumpets had ceased sounding, and the cries of
the miserable, tortured victims inside the temple could be plainly
heard as the priests ran out to see what was going on. The smell of
roasting flesh also filled the air with a sickening odour.

The women who had been beaten back from the elephant now remained
outside the line of soldiers, which had been reinforced by some of
Hamilcar’s escort. They could not possibly approach a second time;
but, like a group of hungry hyenas, they remained screaming and
gesticulating, thirsting for their prey. Many of them were beautiful,
most of them were young. Their raven tresses were raised above their
heads, and bound with fillets of gold. Their dresses displayed their
beautiful arms and bosoms, their necks were covered with jewels, their
wrists with bracelets, and their fingers were almost concealed by the
rings of precious stones. They were clothed in purple and fine linen;
but in spite of all these signs of womanhood gently nurtured, they had
already ceased to be women, and had become brutes. The burning, the
blood, the torture, the smell of the roasting flesh, the cries of the
victims, the sight of the dying agonies of men from an early hour that
morning, had completely removed all semblance from them of the softer
attributes of womanhood, and they had become panthers, wolves.

“Give him to us, Hamilcar!” they screamed; “give over to us the
wretch, who, by refusing to pay the mercenaries, caused the war. We
will burn him, torture him! Burn him! burn him!” They became fatigued
at length with their own screaming, until many fell upon the ground
fainting and exhausted. Then Hamilcar sent for all the musicians upon
the elephants in front. He also commanded the priests to bring all the
kettle drums forth from the temple of Baal, whose terrible brazen
figure could be plainly seen, red-hot and glowing, through the smoke.
Three separate times he commanded all the brazen instruments and the
drums to be sounded together. The horrible din thus raised drowned the
cries of the women; but no sooner did the blare of the trumpets cease,
and the roulade of the drums fall, than the women began shrieking once
more, “Give him to us, Hamilcar! Let us tear him in pieces, torture
him! Burn him! burn him!”

Then to enforce silence, Hamilcar, in addition to the awful sounds of
the musical instruments, ordered the drivers of the elephants to
strike them with the goads and make them trumpet. The trumpeting of
the elephants, in addition to the rest of the infernal din, at length
completely drowned the yells of the women. They subsided in complete
silence. Then, rising in his car, Hamilcar addressed the multitude:

“Oh, priests! men and women of Carthage! it is not meet that I decide
upon this man’s fate. He hath been mine enemy all my life as much, ay,
far more, than he hath been yours. His fate, whether we shall slay him
now or leave him to the future terrible vengeance of the gods, shall
not be left in either your hands or in mine. Here in this car with him
and me, a sacred car devoted as all can see to all the gods, is my son
Hannibal, the favoured of Baal. His young life, from jealousy of me
the father, this miscreant, Hanno, hath often tried to take; ay, even
this very day before the Hundred Judges he suggested openly that I--I
who have saved you all, and saved Carthage, should sacrifice my young
son in a common heap with the bloodthirsty malefactors who are,
rightly for their awful crimes, being sacrificed this day to the
mighty Baal Hammon.”

Here such a howl of execration against Hanno again burst forth from
the crowd that the elephants had once more to be made to trumpet, and
the musical instruments to raise their hideous din, to obtain silence.

Then Hamilcar continued:

“In the hands of this my son, whom I hope may be spared to protect
this country even as I have done, I leave the life of his would-be
murderer. Speak, Hannibal, my son, say, shall this Hanno, who would
have slain thee, die now for thy vengeance and for mine? Or shall he
be left in the hands of the gods, who doubtless for our punishment
have placed such a scourge here on earth among us?”

The boy Hannibal arose and regarded steadily, first the now silent
crowd, and then the bloated form of Hanno, who, with face all
bleeding, hung back upon his seat in the car, while stretching forth
his ring-covered hands to the child as if for mercy. Then he spoke
clearly, in the voice of a child but with the decision of a man:

“My father, and people of Carthage, I am destined from my birth to be
a warrior, one to fight for and protect my country. Do not then let my
first act, where the life of others be concerned, be that of an
executioner. It would not be worthy of one of the blood of Barca. Let
Hanno live. The gods are powerful; his punishment lies in their
hands!”

The boy sank back upon the cushions in the car, and a roar of applause
greeted the speech, for it met the fancy of the crowd. Henceforth the
life of Hanno was secure. He was taken off the elephant, placed in a
litter, and sent to his home under a small escort. But the escort was
not necessary. He was now looked upon as one under the curse of the
gods, and no one in the crowd, whether man or woman, would have
defiled their hands by touching him.

Meanwhile, Hamilcar and his son proceeded to the temple of Melcareth,
where, entering the sacred fane quite alone save for the priests, the
former sacrificed to his protecting deity a bull and a lamb. For no
human blood was ever shed in those days in the temple of the
Carthaginian unknown god. And in that solemn presence, on that sacred
occasion, the boy Hannibal plunged his right arm up to the elbow in
the reeking blood of the sacrifice, and solemnly vowed before the
great god Melcareth an eternal hatred to Rome and the Romans.

 * * * * * * * *

A few weeks later, Hamilcar, having won from the terror-stricken
senators all that he required--supreme and absolute command, and
sufficient money and war material--left Carthage with an army and a
fleet. He coasted ever westward, the army marching by land, and
subduing any malcontents that might still exist among the Numidians
and Libyans. At length, having reached the Pillars of Hercules, the
modern Straits of Gibraltar, he, by means of his fleet, crossed over
into Spain. And Hannibal accompanied his father.

 END OF PART I.




 PART II.

 CHAPTER I.
 ELISSA.

All the lower parts of Spain had been conquered and settled.
Hamilcar had died, as he had lived, fighting nobly, after enjoying
almost regal rank in his new country. Hasdrubal, who had succeeded
him, was also dead, and now Hannibal, Hamilcar’s son, a man in the
young prime of life, held undisputed sway throughout the length and
breadth of the many countries of Iberia that his father’s arms and his
father’s talents had won for Carthage.

In the delightful garden of a stately building reared upon a hill
within the walls of the city of Carthagena or New Carthage, a group of
girls and young matrons were assembled under a spreading tree, just
beyond whose shade was situated a marble fish pond, filled with
graceful gold and silver fishes. The borders of the pond were fringed
with marble slabs, and white marble steps led down into the basin for
bathing purposes. In the centre a fountain threw up in glittering
spray a jet of water which fell back with a tinkling sound into the
basin.

Upon the marble steps, apart from the other young women, sat a maiden
listlessly dabbling her fingers and one foot in the water, and
watching the fishes as they darted hither and thither after some
insect, or rose occasionally to the surface to nibble at a piece of
bread which she threw them from time to time. The girl, who was in her
seventeenth year, was in all the height of that youthful beauty which
has not yet quite developed into the fuller charms of womanhood, and
yet is so alluring with all the possibilities of what it may become.

Of Carthaginian origin on the father’s side, her mother was a princess
of Spain--Camilla, daughter of the King of Gades. She had inherited
from the East the glorious reddish black hair and dark liquid eyes,
and had derived from the Atlantic breezes, which had for centuries
swept her Iberian home, the brilliant peach-like colouring with its
delicate bloom, seeming as though it would perish at a touch, which is
still to be seen in the maidens of the modern Seville. For this city
of Andalusia had been, under the name of Shefelah, a part of her
grandfather’s dominions. Tall she was and graceful; her bosom, which
was exposed in the Greek fashion on one side, might have formed the
model to a Phidias for the young Psyche; her ivory arms were gently
rounded and graceful. Her rosy delicate foot was of classical
symmetry, and the limb above, displayed while dabbling in the water,
was so shapely, with its small ankle and rounded curves, that, as she
sat on the marble there by the fish pond in her white flowing robes,
an onlooker might well have been pardoned had he imagined that he was
looking upon a nymph, a naiad just sprung from the waters, rather than
upon the daughter of man.

But it was in the face that lay the particular charm. Above the
snow-white forehead and the pink, shell-like ear, which it partially
concealed, lay the masses of ruddy black hair bound with a silver
fillet. The delicious eyes, melting and tender, beamed with such hopes
of love and passion that had the observer been, as indeed were
possible, content for ever to linger in their dusky depths of glowing
fire, he might have exclaimed, “a woman of passion, one made for love
only, nothing more!” Yet closer observation disclosed that above those
eyes curved two ebony bows which rivalled Cupid’s arc in shape, and
which, although most captivating, nevertheless expressed resolution.
The chin, although softly rounded, was also firm; the nose and
delicious mouth, both almost straight, betokened a character not
easily to be subdued, although the redness and slight fulness of the
lips seemed almost to proclaim a soft sensuous side to the nature, as
though they were made rather for the kisses of love than to issue
commands to those beneath her in rank and station.

Such, then, is the portrait of Elissa, Hannibal’s daughter.

The other ladies, including her aunt, the Princess Cœcilia, widow of
Hasdrubal, a buxom, merry-looking woman of thirty, kept aloof,
respecting her reverie. For, notwithstanding her youth, the lady
Elissa was paramount, not only in the palace, but also in the New Town
or City of Carthagena during the absence of her father Hannibal and
her uncles Hasdrubal and Mago at the siege of the Greek city of
Saguntum, and had been invested by Hannibal, on his departure, with
all the powers of a regent. For, being motherless almost from her
birth, Hannibal, a young man himself, had been accustomed to treat her
as a sister, almost as much as a daughter. He had been married when a
mere lad, for political reasons, by his father Hamilcar, and Elissa
had been the sole offspring of the marriage. Since her mother’s death
he had remained single, and devoted all his fatherly and brotherly
love to training his only daughter to have those same noble aims,
worthy of the lion’s brood of Hamilcar, which inspired all his own
actions in life. And these aims may be summed up in a few words:
devotion to country before everything; self abnegation, ay, self
sacrifice in every way, for the country’s welfare; ambition in its
highest sense, not for the sake of personal aggrandisement, but for
the glory of Carthage alone. No hardships, no personal abasement
even--further, not even extreme personal shame, or humiliation if
needful, was to be shrunk from if thereby the interests of Carthage
could be advanced. Self was absolutely and at all times to be entirely
set upon one side and placed out of the question, as though no such
thing as self existed; the might, glory, and power of the Carthaginian
kingdom were to be the sole rule, the sole object of existence, and
with them the undying hatred of and longing for revenge upon Rome and
the Romans, as the greatest enemies of that kingdom, through whom so
many humiliations, including the loss in war of Sicily, and the loss
by fraud of Sardinia, had been inflicted upon the great nation founded
by Dido, sister of Pygmalion, King of Tyre.

These, then, were the precepts that Hannibal had ever, from her
earliest youth, inculcated in his daughter; and with the object that
she might learn early in life to witness and expect sudden reverses of
fortune, he had hitherto, since her twelfth year, ever taken her with
him upon his campaigns against the Iberian tribes. Thus she might from
early experience be prepared, should the cause arise, to fulfil a
noble destiny, even as he himself, having from his tenth year borne
arms under his father Hamilcar and brother-in-law Hasdrubal, had been
prepared for the mighty role which, with the siege of Saguntum, he was
now commencing to fill in the world’s history.

For the Greek city of Saguntum, on the eastern coast of Spain, was
strictly allied with Rome, and the fact of Hannibal’s attacking it
was, he well knew, equivalent to a commencement of a new war with
mighty Rome herself.

Upon Hannibal’s departure for the siege of Saguntum some eight months
previous, he had taken all the generals and captains in whom he could
put trust and the greater part of the army with him. Although not
styled a king, his power was at that time more than regal in all the
parts of Spain south of the Ebro, and his authority as regards the
care of the City of New Carthage itself he had, on his departure,
delegated under his sign manual and seal absolutely to his daughter
Elissa.

It is, then, no cause for wonder, if her female companions looked with
some degree of awe and respect upon this sixteen-years-old girl who
sat there so pensively dabbling her hands and feet in the marble
basin, while raising her head occasionally to cast a glance through
the embrasures on the battlemented walls surrounding the garden, upon
the gulf below and the blue sea stretching out far beyond. Elissa had
far sight, and it seemed to her once or twice as though she could make
out, shining in the evening sun, far away upon the horizon, the white
sails of ships. But they were no larger than specks, and soon
disappeared altogether; therefore the maiden, thinking that she had
been misled by some sea birds, soon gave up watching the sea, and
returned to the apparent contemplation of the fishes, but really to
the continuation of the reverie upon which she was engaged.

Meanwhile the ladies under the trees were chatting away merrily.

“Oh! dear me, how hot it is,” exclaimed the rotund little Princess
Cœcilia, fanning herself vigorously with a palm leaf fan. “I am sure
when my poor husband, Hasdrubal, built this city of New Carthage, he
must have selected it purposely as being the warmest site in all
Spain, just to remind him of his native country which he was so fond
of. Or else,” she continued, “it was to try and keep down my
inclination to fat. Oh! dear me!” and she fanned away at herself more
vigorously than ever.

“Don’t call it fat,” interposed Cleandra, a very handsome fair young
woman of about twenty, who was herself by no means inclined to be
thin--“say rather adipose deposit, it is a far more elegant way of
putting it.”

“Or plumpness, Cleandra, that is nicer still,” struck in Melania, a
dark young beauty with vivacious black eyes, who was a year younger.
“I wish I could call myself plump like thee, I am sure I should not
mind the heat,” she added, “instead of being the scarecrow that I am,”
and rising she surveyed with mock ruefulness her really very graceful
figure. She was the tallest of all the young women there, and was
perfectly well aware of the fact that her comparative slenderness was
most becoming to her willowy and lissome figure.

“A scarecrow, thou a scarecrow,” almost screamed the little Cœcilia.
“Oh! just listen to the conceited thing; why, thou hast a lovely
figure and thou knowest it; there is none in all New Carthage, save
Elissa yonder, who can compare to thee. But then, of course, no one
can compare with her in any way. But what a girl she is! how can she
sit out there in the afternoon sun like that? the worst kind of sun,
my dears, for the complexion, I can assure you. I am sure if I were to
remain like that for only five minutes I should lose my complexion
entirely, yes, become perfectly covered with freckles I am certain, in
even less than five minutes. Now what are you giggling at, you naughty
girls? I declare you are too wicked, both of you; I shall have to
report you to our Queen Regent yonder and ask her to put you both in
the dungeon if you make fun of an old lady like me. Alas! thirty years
of age, don’t you call that old?”

For with a sly glance at each other the two girls had mutually looked
at the lively little princess’s manifestly artificial complexion which
was trickling away in little runnels down her cheeks.

“I wonder what she is thinking about?” she interposed hastily, to turn
away the merry girls’ attention from herself, and glancing across
towards the lady Elissa.

“Who?” said Cleandra.

“Why, Elissa, of course,” replied that lady’s aunt. “Canst thou not
see that she hath been in a brown study for ever so long? She is no
more thinking of the fish than I am; her thoughts are miles and miles
away. But just notice how pretty the ruddy tints are in her dark hair,
lighted up like that by the afternoon sun.”

“Perhaps she is thinking of affairs of State,” answered Cleandra, “and
whether she is to put us in that black hole or no.”

“Or, perhaps,” said Melania with a grain of malice, “and far more
likely, she is thinking of the siege of Saguntum and whether a certain
young officer of cavalry called Maharbal will ever come back from the
war again to do what we girls cannot hope to do, that is cheer her in
her solitude. I really should like to go and disturb her, she reminds
me so of her namesake Dido--Elissa is Hebrew for Dido, thou knowest,
Lady Cœcilia--mourning on the heights of Carthage for her lost
Æneas.”

“I wonder what she sees in that Maharbal,” continued Melania, in a
tone of pique; “a great big mountain of a hobbledehoy, that’s what I
call him, and merely a prefect of the Numidian cavalry, too. Such
assurance on his part to be always making love to her! I wonder that
Hannibal allows it--a mere nobody!”

“A mere nobody! a hobbledehoy! nonsense!” said the princess, “thou’rt
jealous, Melania, because he never looks at thee. Why, he is own
nephew to Syphax, King of Massaesyllia, and cousin to the powerful
Massinissa, King of Massyllia, both great Libyan princes.”

“Mere vassals of Carthage! and the last named not very trustworthy,”
replied the other interrupting.

“Well then,” gabbled on the princess, “look at his strength, a
hobbledehoy indeed; Maharbal is a regular Hercules, and hath a
beautiful face just like the celebrated Hermes of Praxiteles. I think
Elissa will be a very lucky girl if she weds a magnificent fellow like
that; she will be the mother of a race of giants.”

“Shsh! Shsh!” cried both the girls, smiling in spite of themselves.
“Elissa is listening to all we are saying--just look at her.”

“Yes, yes, you wicked people, and she hath been listening for the last
quarter of an hour,” cried Elissa, springing to her feet as red as a
rose. “But really, my aunt is too bad, she maketh me ashamed; say,
what shall we do with her for punishment? put her in the fish pond I
think.” Bounding across the open space, she playfully seized upon the
merry little woman, and aided by the two others, dragged her in spite
of her cries, screams, and vigorous resistance to the very brink of
the marble basin. She struggled violently, and but with difficulty
escaped her fate.

“Oh, dear me! think of my complexion--cold water in the afternoon is
bad for it. Oh! I did not mean a word, dear Elissa. Oh, dear me, I
shall die,” and with a vigorous final effort for freedom, as she was
really a very strong young woman, suddenly she pushed both Elissa and
Melania together over the brink so that they fell with a splash into
the shallow pond. Then being left alone with the plump Cleandra, who
had no strength whatever, she speedily overcame her, and threw her in
after the others, remaining with torn garments and dishevelled hair,
shrieking with laughter, and panting for breath on the bank.

“Now there is naught for us but to have a bathe,” cried Elissa gaily;
and first drenching the princess with a shower of spray, and then
springing up the marble steps, the three girls quickly threw off their
thin, wet, clinging garments.

Standing there together in a pretty group for a brief minute or two,
poised on the top of the marble steps, with arms raised in graceful
curves while loosening the fillets of silver from the hair that fell
in masses to the hips, they seemed in all their youthful beauty like
the three graces personified.

At that very moment, from behind the trees, the sound was heard of a
horse’s hoofs galloping on the turf, and in a second an armed warrior,
mounted on a black charger covered with foam and utterly exhausted,
appeared upon the scene. At the same time, a great sound of shouting
was heard in the town without the garden walls, which shouting was
taken up again and again, till the clamour seemed literally to fill
the air. The shouting sounded like the cheers for victory.

The princess was the first to recover her composure.

“Why, it’s Maharbal,” she cried; “jump into the water, girls,
instantly. Fancy his coming like that!” Then, rushing in front of the
warrior, she wildly waved her hands at the horse, shouting, “Go back!
Maharbal, go away, thou wicked man, go back. Dost not see that the
girls are bathing?”

At that moment they all plunged into the water once more like
frightened swans.

“In the name of Hannibal!” cried the young warrior, “let me pass. I
must speak to Elissa, and instantly, or my head will fall,” and he
held up Hannibal’s signet ring before the dripping princess’s
astonished gaze.

“Oh!” screamed the princess, falling back affrighted. “Hannibal’s
ring! Yes, of course, Hannibal’s orders are law.”

Maharbal advanced to the edge of the shallow pond. In this the maidens
were now crouching and partially concealing themselves under some
flags, but in spite of all, their heads and shoulders remained
uncovered. Elissa and Cleandra faced Maharbal and strived to look
dignified. Melania, on the other hand, had turned her back upon him.

Curiosity and anger combined caused her to turn her head, and she was
the first to speak, as Maharbal, his charger beside him, stood upon
the steps. Both she and Cleandra, of noble Iberian families by birth,
were, although treated as of the family, but slave girls in Hannibal’s
household, therefore she had no right to speak in the tone she now
used, except the right of outraged modesty that every woman possesses.

“Begone! Maharbal, thou insolent wretch, begone instantly, or the Lady
Elissa will have thee scourged and beheaded for thine impertinence.
How darst thou insult us, thou ruffian? I wish that thou wert dead.”

At this instant, Maharbal’s war-horse, with a mournful kind of half
scream, half sigh, fell upon the ground at the edge of the pond, and
with a quiver of all its limbs expired. The warrior turned to watch it
for a second, then looking back, remarked sadly: “My best charger, and
alas! the third I have killed since yesterday morning. But there is no
time for talk. Lady Elissa, my business is with thee alone, and it
brooks absolutely not a moment’s delay. Wilt thou kindly direct thy
slaves,” and he looked hard at Melania, “to leave the water at once. I
must speak with thee alone. I obey the General’s strict orders.

“Pray be quick,” he added, “for I feel my strength rapidly failing me,
and if I have not fulfilled my duty before, like my horse yonder, I
die, I shall have failed in my vows to my General and to my country.”

He removed his helmet as he spoke, and all the three maidens noticed
not only that the young man was turning deadly pale, but that a wound
on the side of the head, which had been covered with coagulated blood,
had broken out, and was bleeding violently afresh.

But he had yet strength to hand a garment, the first he found to hand,
to Elissa, who, while attiring herself in the water, turned sharply to
her attendants, and addressed them authoritatively.

“Leave the water, maidens, and let no false shame delay ye for a
moment, for I see this is a matter of life or death. Begone at once,
and thou, mine aunt,” she cried.

Like startled deer, the two girls, having recovered some of the
scattered raiment, fled from the pond, and rushed within the palace,
followed by the dishevelled Princess Cœcilia. But whether from being
reminded thus forcibly that she was but a slave, or from a combination
of feelings, no sooner had Melania reached her apartment than she
burst into a flood of violent weeping. The princess was wringing her
hands as she went, and talking aloud.

“Oh, dear me! this is very odd and very dreadful, and most improper!
But poor Maharbal’s horse is dead, and he looks at death’s door
himself. Oh! what hath happened? I hope Hannibal is not dead as well,
or a prisoner, or anything awful. But nay! he hath sent his seal. But
I must prepare a room for poor Maharbal to die in; where shall I get a
bed big enough? what a long body he will be.” And so chattering to
herself, for want of anyone else to talk to, she left Maharbal, the
handsome young warrior, alone with the beautiful child of sixteen, the
Lady Elissa.




 CHAPTER II.
 MAHARBAL.

The young warrior had sunk down upon the grass, and was leaning
wearily upon his elbow by the time that, having partially robed
herself, Elissa was able to issue from the pond and fly to his side.
He seemed dying. Oblivious of all but the presence of the man whom in
her heart she loved with all the spontaneity of a youthful, ardent
nature, she not only thought of nothing but him, but she shewed it
clearly by the look in her eyes and by her actions.

“Oh, Maharbal! Maharbal! look not thus. Dost thou not know that I love
thee?”

She stooped over, seized his hand and pressed it to her lips, then,
with part of her raiment which was lying at hand, she repeatedly
bathed his brows with the cool water from the pond. But his eyes
closed as though he were in a faint; whereupon she leant over, and in
an agony of fear kissed him madly on the lips, muttering the while
some incoherent loving words, and cooing in his ear. They were the
first kisses that ever she had given to man, the virgin kisses of her
beautiful lips. Her embraces brought him to himself. Despite the
delight that shone in his eyes and the gratitude he felt at the
unlooked-for favour, the wounded warrior had not by any means
forgotten his duty. With returning consciousness he stretched out his
hand and gently pushed her back.

“This is no time for kisses, Elissa; there is other work to be done.
The State, thy father’s life, and thine own are to be considered; help
me to sit up and to rest against my poor dead charger. There, that
will do; now I feel better.”

For with all the might of her weak arms she had managed to drag rather
than help him into a sitting posture, and place him with his back
against the dead horse.

“Now sit by me and listen, and read what I have brought thee. First,
take this seal from my finger; it is a duplicate of Hannibal’s signet
ring. Here within my doublet I have a letter; canst thou get it? I
have no strength left.”

Elissa felt for some time beneath the doublet with trembling fingers,
but could not find the letter.

“Hold my hand and guide it,” he said, smiling faintly. Thus aided, he
produced a sealed letter from under his leather jerkin. “Take my
dagger and cut it open,” he said authoritatively.

She obeyed, trembling like the child she really was.

“Now read aloud, that I may know thou hast the meaning. But stay;
first bathe my face once more, for I must keep my senses about me.”

Once more she plunged her garment into the cool water, and for a few
minutes bathed his head and face. The young colossus gave a sigh, then
seemed restored: the colour partly came back to his cheek.

“Now read!” he said; “read.”

But Elissa’s eyes were filled with tears, so that she could not read
the triangular Punic characters.

“Read it to me thyself, Maharbal,” she answered at length, “for I
cannot. There! I will hold it for thee; will that do?”

So he began:


 “In the name of the Great God Melcareth, the Invisible God, the God of
 Tyre, of Sidon, the God of Carthage, Greeting. From Hannibal, the son
 of Hamilcar, Commander-in-Chief of the Carthaginian troops and
 Governor-General of Iberia, to his daughter Elissa, Regent and
 Governor of New Carthage.

 “My daughter, these words are written by the hand of my scribe and
 friend, Silenus, but they will be sealed with my signet, which thou
 knowest, and thou canst verify the seal if so be they arrive in thy
 hands.

 “They are sent by the hand of Maharbal, whose fidelity to me is
 assured. He also hath some liking for thee if I be not mistaken.
 Maharbal was wounded in yesterday’s action, but he is young, of great
 strength, and of a great courage; he may succeed in accomplishing the
 journey. No other but Maharbal in mine army could ride 2,000 stades
 without rest. Should he not succeed, the gods will not have willed it.

 “Yesterday, oh, my daughter, after a siege of over eight months’
 duration, we stormed and took the town and suburbs of Saguntum. The
 enemy fought to the last with the greatest courage, and our losses are
 very great.

 “Several of my generals, including Hanno, who was the Commander of the
 Numidian Cavalry--he was killed in the pursuit of the fugitives--are
 dead. Most of the tribunes are dead or disabled, and, in short, there
 is scarce an officer of either cavalry or infantry who is not either
 dead or wounded. I myself am seriously wounded, but not dangerously.
 Maharbal was, by the favour of Melcareth, the means of preserving my
 life. He will now succeed Hanno as Commander of the Numidian Cavalry.

 “Every male Greek in the city of Saguntum, no matter of what age, we
 have put to the sword. All the older women, that is all women over
 thirty, I have ordered to be sent out into the country to be an
 incumbrance to the tribes of their Iberian allies. All young matrons
 up to about the age of thirty, and all girls under that age, I have
 handed over to my troops to do with as they will. They will probably
 soon wish to sell them as slaves for the Carthaginian market. This
 refers to the Greek and also Roman women of all classes, from the
 wives and daughters of the generals and rich citizens down to the
 women of the lowest orders. For all are captives, and all are slaves
 in the hands of my officers and men. Every Iberian woman hath been
 allowed to go free. Every Iberian man hath likewise been granted his
 liberty. This clemency on my part will gain us many allies among the
 Celtiberians north of the river Iberus, whence most of these people
 came.

 “Our spoils of war are enormous, although the citizens foolishly
 attempted to burn themselves with their goods in the marketplace,
 which folly was prevented by our rapid advance when the breaches were
 stormed. In saying burn themselves, I intended to convey that the male
 inhabitants, being Greeks, tried to burn their women and save
 themselves; this is the usual Greek custom. But the women were saved,
 and are now being consoled by my army. It is the men who sought to
 burn them by fire because they could not carry them away with them who
 are dead. This is all the news.

 “Now, my daughter, I cease to write to thee as thy father, but as thy
 General I command thee. It is the Commander-in-chief writing to the
 Regent and Governor of New Carthage.

 “Maharbal is charged to deliver unto thee this letter if he be alive,
 and if thou be alive. He is to find thee, and not to quit thee until
 thou readest this letter in his presence. Should he fail in this duty
 of his own fault, he will lose his head. Shouldest thou cause him to
 fail by thine own neglect of duty, thine own life will be at stake.
 For as Regent and Governor of New Carthage thou hast many lives in
 thine hands, and thou art answerable for all to me, thy commanding
 officer, and through me to the State.

 “Now, know this, I have learned only this very day from some Roman
 emissaries captured by me, and since executed, that there is a plot
 against me in Carthage. Upon learning that I had attacked the city of
 Saguntum, contrary, it must be owned, to the treaty signed, from sheer
 inability to resist, after my father Hamilcar’s death, by my
 brother-in-law, thy late uncle Hasdrubal, the Roman Senate decided to
 send an embassy to Carthage to demand my surrender to Rome. That
 embassy departed quite recently, comparatively speaking, but found the
 party of Hanno, the late Suffete of Carthage, who was, in his
 lifetime, the enemy of Hamilcar, in the ascendant. Adherbal, the
 deceased Hanno’s eldest son, is now the head of that party. He
 entertained the Roman envoys handsomely, and, without any authority
 from the State, but merely in his private capacity as a citizen,
 promised them, when drunk, both the loss of my head, and the loss of
 thy virtue. He is a mere boaster, as was his father, who sought to
 have me sacrificed at the age of nine years to Moloch, and who, but
 for my own childish words, which saved him, would himself have been
 sacrificed instead. Yet, nevertheless, boasters sometimes succeed. For
 having boasted, they seek to make good their words, and the greatest
 success is often to those who attempt much. I am not, remember,
 writing now, oh! Elissa, as a father, but as thy Commander-in-chief,
 therefore hearken unto my words.

 “Should the sacrifice of my head benefit my country, the enemy or the
 country are welcome to my head.

 “Again! Should the sacrifice of thy virtue benefit thy country, the
 enemy or the country must be welcome to thy virtue. But here there is
 no sacrifice necessary. I therefore do not intend to lose my head, nor
 do I suggest unto thee that thou shouldst sacrifice thy virtue. Yet
 there is a deep-laid plot, and Melcareth alone, the great, the
 invisible God, knoweth whether Maharbal will reach thee in time to
 stay it.

 “Being a man of war myself, and accustomed to open warfare from my
 very earliest youth, I love not the torture. Yet for once I praise the
 rack, since by it I have gained the secrets of this plot.

 “Know then this. Without waiting for the decision in council of the
 Hundred, the party of Hanno are about to send, or have already
 despatched Adherbal, with a fleet strongly armed with rowers and many
 marines who are desperate, mere mercenaries drawn from the disbanded
 armies in Greece and Sicily, all ruffians of the very worst
 description. His intention is to obtain by fraud or force both
 possession of New Carthage and of thine own person, knowing me to be
 away at Saguntum. After that, through thee, he hopes to obtain
 possession of me also. I cannot tell if these words will reach thee in
 time or no, but thou art now, if they do reach thee in time,
 forewarned. Pay no attention to the false letters that Adherbal may
 bring thee; they are but a snare; he and all his accursed faction are
 but scheming against the State. In no case let him in mine absence,
 thou living, obtain possession of New Carthage or of thyself.

 “As for Hannibal, thy father and thy commander, fear not for him. Do
 but thy duty in this crisis, oh, my daughter and my delegate!

                                          “(Sealed) Hannibal.”


As Maharbal read the last lines of this letter, he pushed it back
towards Elissa, who held it.

“Go!” he said, “go at once, heed not me. I saw the sails of Adherbal’s
fleet as I rode up. Leave me instantly.”

“I saw them too!” cried the girl, “but I knew not what they were. Oh,
beloved Maharbal! what if thou shouldst not survive? How can I leave
thee thus?”

“Go! go at once,” replied Maharbal feebly, “send someone to me if thou
choosest, but it is immaterial; go thou at once, do thy duty. Art thou
not Regent and Governor of Carthage? Stay, kiss me once, an’ thou
wilt, for indeed ’tis sweet, Elissa, my beloved, thus for once to feel
thy kiss. Ah! now I can die in peace, but go, go! thine own honour,
thy country, and the safety of Hannibal are all at stake.”

Leaving the imprint of her fervent kisses on his lips, she hastily
departed.

The instant she had left him, Maharbal, the self-reliant young giant,
who had hitherto kept himself up by mere force of will, went off into
a dead swoon. For the blood had been continually oozing from the wound
above his temple while he had been reading Hannibal’s letter, and
moreover, he had not been out of the saddle or tasted food for
forty-eight hours.

Thus it came to pass that when, shortly after, the lively little
princess came out again, accompanied by Melania, they found the
beautiful young man lying all alone, quite inert and apparently dead,
by the side of his horse. And under his head was a large pool of
blood. They had brought wine with them, and sought to force it between
his lips, but the attempt was useless. They then strove to move him
from where he was lying, but in vain. No assistance could be obtained
from any of the men, for Elissa had issued orders to double all the
guards, and placed every available man on duty on the ramparts or the
quays. And so poor Maharbal lay bleeding and unconscious.

Meanwhile two bodies of men had been hastily employed in placing booms
across the entrances to the harbour; other armed forces were drawn up
in detachments upon the island and wharves, and on all sides of the
entrances to the harbour, and a large fleet of vessels, flying the
Carthaginian flag of a white horse on a purple ground, and consisting
of fifty-two stately quinquiremes and twenty-two splendid hexiremes,
all crowded with armed marines, in addition to the full crews
averaging three hundred rowers apiece, being disappointed at finding
the entrance to the harbour closed, was just heaving to, and casting
its anchors in the open sea.




 CHAPTER III.
 FOREWARNED.

The City of New Carthage, built by Hasdrubal, the son-in-law of
Hamilcar, with whose second wife and now disconsolate widow we have
just made acquaintance, was most excellently situated, whether from an
æsthetic or a strategic point of view.

It was built upon a hilly promontory jutting out into a gulf which lay
towards the south-west. The two entrances to this gulf, which were
separated by an island, were at a distance of about two thousand yards
from the walls of the town, and were narrow enough to be easily
commanded by a small body of defenders. The whole of the interior of
the gulf formed a magnificent harbour.

At the back of the city, on the north-western or land side, there was
situated a long lagoon. This had formerly been separated from the sea
by a narrow isthmus, but Hasdrubal, who had, before his assassination,
been aiming at royal power, had determined to make New Carthage his
royal city, and in consequence as nearly impregnable as possible.

He had therefore cut a channel through this narrow isthmus, thus
allowing the sea and the lagoon to join. And then he had bridged the
channel with a wide and excellent bridge. This bridge was a short way
from the gates of the city, and was the sole means of land
communication with the rest of Spain. The gates were strongly
fortified, and inside and near the walls were erected commodious
barracks for the troops; a little beyond these barracks rose, on an
eminence, a well-designed and formidable-looking citadel, above which
proudly floated the Carthaginian ensign.

The town, as has been said, was hilly, and its designer had taken
advantage of the natural features by making it as beautiful as
possible. On every hill top stood a magnificent marble temple. On the
most commanding hill of all, that which was due east, was reared the
glorious temple to Æsculapius, while those to Moloch and Tanais or
Tanith occupied other prominent sites. In every square and at every
street corner were placed the most exquisite and costly statues, some
of the purest of Parian marbles, and others of solid silver. Some of
the richest silver mines in the then-known world lay close to
Carthagena. The supply of the metal was apparently inexhaustible and
unbounded. For there were not only no such sailors, but no such
skilful miners in those days as the Phœnicians, who had, like the
Greeks, formed peaceful settlements in Spain long before the first of
the Punic wars.

By means of pipes coming under the lagoon from various high hills on
the mainland, the supply of water in the town was abundant, and
tinkling fountains, shaded by splendid plane trees, formed on every
side picturesque rendezvous for the gossips of the town. In addition
there were many excellent wells on the island itself which never ran
dry.

For the situation of his own palace and court, in whose gardens we
made the acquaintance of Hannibal’s daughter Elissa, Hasdrubal, who
was eminently a man of genius, had selected the most advantageous site
on the island, by taking in the whole of a flat-topped hill on the
western side which overlooked the sea and country and all the city,
except the temple to Æsculapius. Here he had reared the most
beautiful and luxuriously-furnished edifice of which the architects of
those days were capable; and from what Carthage was, and what Syracuse
was, we know that their abilities were great. Graceful colonnades,
wonderful mosaic-paved corridors and walls were everywhere; gorgeous
saloons, filled with pictures and statues, formed banqueting halls or
audience chambers; while the richly-furnished sleeping apartments had
been designed with a view to comfort and æstheticism combined.

In one of these, in front of an open window facing south, the carved
lattice fretwork of which was made of the sweet-scented cedar of
Lebanon, and out of which she cast many anxious glances, stood Elissa,
attiring herself as gorgeously as possible with the assistance of
Cleandra, an old white-headed warrior in armour being also in
attendance. The door of the apartment was closed and barred, and in
addition heavy curtains were drawn across it, so that there could be
no chance of a word that was said within the room being heard outside.

“And so, my good Gisco,” said Elissa, while putting on a magnificent
chain of gold and emeralds, “thou dost estimate the numbers of the
fighting men, leaving the rowers on one side, at about eight thousand,
dost thou not? I should have thought there had been more. Why, just
see how their spears glisten in the sun where they are crowded
together on the decks.”

“I did not say they had only eight thousand men, Lady Elissa,”
answered the old Prefect Gisco, a faithful and rugged old retainer of
Hamilcar and Hannibal, who had risen from the ranks and was now the
captain of the garrison of Carthagena. “They must, calculating a
hundred and twenty-five marines to each ship, have at least
considerably over nine thousand fighting men with them; but, as they
would leave at least a thousand on board as a guard to the ships, they
would, if they strove to make a landing, disembark, say, about eight
thousand. But they will not seek to land this evening by force without
a parley first, and even if they should do so, we could defend the two
entrances to the harbour to the last. They could never get in to-night
without fighting at a disadvantage. We have, after all, got six
hundred well seasoned soldiers, who will take a lot of killing; and
then we have three hundred more of the wounded and convalescents, who
came down two months ago from Saguntum. They can bear a hand, and a
very useful one too, as many of them are Balearic slingers, who will
prove most deadly to men in boats.”

“And what about to-morrow, oh, most sapient Gisco, when all our men
are dead?” asked Elissa, smiling the while, and examining her pearly
teeth in the mirror of polished and burnished gold, which Cleandra was
holding up before her. “But I agree with thee; I do not think this
Adherbal will dare to attack Carthaginians without a parley. He will
first try to obtain possession of myself and New Carthage in some
other way. No,” she continued, “we must have no fighting. We can do
better than that, I think, and yet save the situation both for
Hannibal and for the country’s welfare. It will be far better than
Carthaginians fighting against Carthaginians. I have, too, other and
better use to which to place those mercenaries in the ships with
Adherbal.”

The old soldier looked at the young Regent with a puzzled expression,
and waited for an explanation. Elissa smiled enigmatically.

“Listen carefully now, oh! Gisco,” she added, while putting up each of
her little feet in turn upon an ivory and ebony stool for Cleandra to
fasten her jewelled sandals. “Listen, and I will disclose to thee the
details of my plot, by which I believe that we shall avoid any
fighting, for I think by this time to-morrow it will be a case of the
biter bit. But before I tell thee my plans, inform me, my good Gisco,
how much time we have before it will be possible for Adherbal to
land?”

Gisco looked out of the window over the gulf to the sea.

“The current that sets this evening out of the lagoon and the gulf is
just now flowing out to sea with its greatest force, the ships are
anchored at a considerable distance from the shore, and the breeze is
blowing strong off the land. Even if he were to attempt to row ashore
now, Adherbal could not reach the booms under an hour. He is evidently
aware of that fact, and is waiting for the slack tide, for I see a
large galley, with a flag in the stern, lying alongside the largest of
the ships.”

“Then we have plenty of time,” said Elissa, and rapidly she disclosed
her plans to Gisco. Then she sent him off to convey the necessary
instructions to the officers, who were waiting for him outside,
bidding him return instantly and have a herald waiting for her with a
State barge and a crew of swift rowers at the steps below the palace.

Meanwhile, she dictated a letter to Cleandra, which she sealed with
Hannibal’s signet-ring, given to her by Maharbal. Another letter she
wrote herself, and signed with her own seal of office as Regent and
Governor of New Carthage.

By the time these two letters were ready, old Gisco had returned to
inform her that the State galley was waiting at the steps.

“And further,” he added with a smile, “all the preparations for the
fulfilment of thy clever plans are ready, oh! Lady Elissa. Ah, me! to
think of the cunning contained in that little woman’s head of thine!”
And he looked admiringly at her, while the young girl flushed with
pleasure at the compliment.

“Come, Cleandra,” she called, “we must go. But first let us see what
they have done for poor Maharbal.”

Maharbal had been carried in by Gisco’s orders, and was now lying on a
couch in a comfortable apartment, attended by Melania and the Princess
Cœcilia. A learned leech was feeling his pulse, but they saw that he
was still quite unconscious.

Elissa heaved a sigh, then beckoning to her aunt to follow, left the
room.

“My aunt,” she said, changing from the soft Punic tongue, in which she
had been conversing with the old Prefect Gisco, to the Iberian or
Spanish dialect, which the ladies of the household, being all either
half or wholly Iberians, used habitually among themselves; “my aunt,
grave tidings are to hand, or, rather, both grave and good tidings.
Saguntum has fallen, and Hannibal is wounded. The shouting we heard in
the town, as we were surprised by Maharbal, was doubtless caused by
his informing the guards as he passed the city gates of the fall of
that city. It is uncertain”--here she was purposely deceiving her
aunt, whose tongue she feared--“exactly how long it is since the town
of Saguntum fell; but about a week more or less, so I judge from a
letter I have received from my father Hannibal. Further, we may expect
to see some of his advanced guard of returning troops almost at once;
perchance indeed this very day some of them may arrive. But that is
not the grave part of my news--a large fleet hath arrived from
Carthage, and is now lying anchored without the Gulf. It is under the
command of Adherbal, the son of Hanno, one of a family that never bore
good will to my father or my uncle, thy husband’s house. I fear they
come with no good design. Nevertheless, we must make a show of
entertaining the General Adherbal and his principal followers as well;
and I am about to invite them to come here and to pass the night.
Therefore, while I am away, I pray thee make suitable preparations for
a becoming repast, and see ye that chambers are prepared. As the
evenings are now long, and it is, moreover, fresher without than
within, I pray thee also to be kind enough to have the repast spread
upon the western balcony beneath the colonnade.”

The foolish little princess, in a flutter of excitement, was about to
ask a thousand questions; but Elissa, giving her no time to talk,
merely waved her hand and departed, accompanied by Cleandra and the
Prefect Gisco.

Passing through a postern gate in the wall of the palace, they
descended by a wide flight of marble stairs to a landing-stage at the
foot, where was lying moored a magnificent, gilded barge, the prow of
which was shaped like the head and wings of a swan. By the side of
this a gorgeously-clad herald awaited them. He bowed low as the party
approached, and the youthful Regent and Governor of New Carthage
beckoned him to join them, out of earshot of the sailors who formed
the crew.

“Sir Herald,” she said, delivering to him the two letters, “thou wilt
accompany us to the steps at the mouth of the harbour where we shall
land. Thou wilt then proceed to the ship of the Admiral of the fleet
which is lying without the harbour, and deliver to him these two
letters with my greetings. In reply to all questions make only one
answer, namely, that tidings have come that the city of Saguntum fell
over a week ago--fell more than a week ago, dost understand? With
reference to everything else, plead ignorance.”

Entering the barge, followed by Cleandra and Gisco, who gave a short
word of command to the crew, they were, a moment later, being borne
swiftly down the waters of the gulf, and very soon arrived at the
disembarking steps on the south side of the entrance to the harbour,
where a large body of spearmen, who had been standing about on the
quay, fell into rank as they saw the State barge approaching. As the
young girl disembarked, they received her with the same salute as they
would have given to their Commander-in-Chief Hannibal himself.

The young girl acknowledged the salute by a bow, and never, perhaps,
had she looked so noble and dignified. Her dress was calculated to
enhance her beauty and dignity. She was attired in a chiton of purple
silk, with a broad hem at the bottom, which, as well as a band at the
edge of the loose-hanging sleeves, was of white silk, trimmed with
rich, golden braid. On her dark tresses was now poised a small diadem
of gold, inlaid with rubies and pearls. Two large drops of single
pearls were in her ears, while on her arms, both above and below the
elbow, were clasped costly bands of purest gold. On her slender
fingers she wore many beautiful rings, while round her neck hung the
long chain of emeralds, which has been already mentioned. Cleandra
also was upon this occasion very richly attired in white and silver,
which suited well her fair complexion. Her jewels and ornaments were
likewise costly and becoming; for although by the fortune of war she
had become a slave, she was ever allowed by Elissa, who loved her, to
dress in a style befitting the princely Iberian family from which she
had sprung.

After acknowledging the salute, Elissa walked along the ranks of the
soldiers, addressing a word here and there, complimenting one upon his
soldierly appearance, and another on the brilliancy of his arms and
accoutrements. By this tact, and the gentle ways which she had always
displayed in her dealings with the soldiery left under her command,
she had long ago won the heart of every man among the troops, and
there was not that day an officer or man present who would not have
willingly fought for her to the death.

When she had concluded her inspection, she caused Gisco to form up the
troops close round her in a circle. Owing to their numbers, this
circle was many files in depth; but the young Regent wished all to
hear what she had to say.

A bundle of merchandise which was lying on the quay she caused to be
placed in the middle of the circle of warriors, and, mounting thereon,
she addressed the men:

“Soldiers of Carthage, I have glorious news to announce to you.
Maharbal, the Prefect of the Numidian Horse, hath ridden through with
tidings from our General and Commander-in-chief, my father Hannibal,
that he hath captured Saguntum; and not only hath he put all the
garrison to the sword, but seized an enormous booty in treasures and
slaves, of which booty, no doubt, you, my faithful garrison, will
receive your portion. The number of female Greek slaves captured is,
so Hannibal writes, almost unlimited.”

Upon hearing these words, the assembled troops broke into such a burst
of cheering that the crews on the ships lying out in the roads
wondered exceedingly at the cause. But Elissa had purposely appealed
to the baser feelings of her audience. Having allowed a few minutes
for the natural ebullition of feeling, the fair young orator raised
her hand as a sign, and instantly silence was restored.

“I grieve,” she continued, “to say that our losses have been heavy,
and that Hannibal is sorely, although not dangerously, wounded. But,
soldiers of Carthage, a worse danger threatens Hannibal; a worse
danger threatens all of us, guardians here of our country’s honour; a
far worse danger threatens me myself than that of an open foe, and
that danger is from yonder powerful fleet, bearing our own country’s
flag, now lying at anchor but a distance of some five or six stades
from our shore. Alas! that it should be so; but it is true; deceit is
hidden beneath those banners of Carthage, dishonour and fraud menace
us and our country alike from the warships upon which they are flying.
Men of Carthage, brave soldiers of Hannibal, will ye help me to
frustrate that fraud, will ye assist me to defeat the schemes of
dishonour which are laid, not only against us all collectively, as the
keepers for Hannibal of New Carthage, but more particularly against
that which it is meditated to put upon me personally? A plot hath been
hatched against the honour of a young girl who hath only your brave
arms and noble hearts to rely upon for her safety. Will ye help me?”

“We will! we will! We will die for thee and thine honour, Elissa; we
will die for Hannibal. Confusion to the miscreants!”

Such were the hoarse cries that rose from every throat, while in their
rage the soldiers beat upon their shields with their spears for want
of an enemy upon whom they could wreak their fury.

Once more the maiden, whose cheeks had reddened, and whose heart beat
tumultuously at the noise and the shouting, raised her shapely hand,
and again silence fell upon the crowd.

“I thank ye all, my soldiers. I thank each and every one.” She spoke
with visible emotion. “Now hearken attentively to my words, for time
is short. Our forces are small, while those on yonder fleet are large.
Yet, indeed, I know that, should it come to fighting, ye will fight
most valiantly, and to the death if need be. But I am not prepared,
nor do I intend, unless the worst comes to the worst, that ye should
throw away your lives in an unequal battle with yonder mercenaries.
Nay, all of ye have long to live, if ye but implicitly trust in me and
obey unquestioningly the commands that will be put upon you. Thus,
even should the orders that ye will shortly receive appear unmeaning
and futile, and should a long night and morning of apparently useless
marching and work be your portion, yet rely upon me. Nothing that ye
do will be without cause, but all for the common welfare.

“For seeing our weakness, if we would not be crushed, we must meet
guile with guile, deceit with deceit. And we will see by to-morrow’s
morn whose plans are the most successfully laid; those of the crafty
general clad in golden armour, whom I can now see stepping into his
galley from the flag ship yonder, or those of Hannibal’s daughter, the
young maiden who now asks you to trust her.”

“We trust thee! we trust thee, oh, Elissa!” cried all the soldiers
vociferously.

“Then, that is good. One command I lay upon ye all, officers and men
alike: avoid all discourse, if possible, with any who should land from
the ships. But if, from their superior rank, ye cannot avoid answering
the questions of any, then say simply this, no more nor less, that
Saguntum fell more than a week ago, and that part of Hannibal’s troops
are expected to march into Carthagena shortly. I have done. Now,
Captain Gisco, wilt thou give orders to reform the ranks, tell off the
troops for the guard of honour, and carry out the instructions that
thou knowest?”

Swiftly, and in order, the troops reassumed their original formation,
while Elissa, somewhat heated and fatigued after her efforts of
oratory, had the bale of merchandise upon which she had been standing,
moved to the water’s edge, and seated herself where she could get the
sea breeze and watch what was going on outside the gulf.

Meanwhile, the boom having been opened wide enough to admit of the
passage of boats, the herald had passed through with the barge of
State and conveyed the two letters to the hexireme, which he rightly
conjectured to be the ship of the commander of the fleet. He was met
at the gangway by an officer, who instantly conveyed him to where
Adherbal was sitting under a crimson awning. He was surrounded by
several officers clad like himself in golden armour, which, with the
rich wine cups standing about, betokened that they were all members of
the body of _élite_ already mentioned, and known in Carthage as the
Sacred Band.

Adherbal himself was a dark, very powerfully built, and handsome man
of about thirty. He was continually laughing and showing his white
teeth, and seemed to be generally well contented with his own person.
But his smiles were too many, and his _bonhomie_ often deceptive, for,
although he was personally brave, he was nevertheless at heart a
thorough villain. His wealth being unbounded, he had been hitherto
always able to indulge to the utmost in the debauchery in which he
revelled, and there was no baseness or fraud to which, by means of his
wealth, he had not frequently descended, in the pursuit of women of
immaculate life and high station in Carthage. He was the leader of the
most dissolute band of young nobles in all Carthage, and his high rank
and station alone as Commander of the Sacred Band, and as the head of
the now paramount family in that city, had hitherto been the means of
his immunity from punishment in any way, either for his own notorious
escapades or for those of the followers who consorted with him, and
who, under his protection, vied with each other in imitating his
iniquities. Among these companions it had frequently been his boast
that there was no woman, no matter of what rank or family, upon whom
he had cast his eyes, who had not, sooner or later, either by force or
fraud, become his victim. And these boasts were, unfortunately, true;
many a family having been made miserable, many a happy home made
wretched by his unbridled license and wickedness. It was during a
drinking bout to which he had invited the Roman envoys, and when he
was boasting as usual in his cups, that Ariston, one of his
companions, jealous of his success where some woman, whom he himself
fancied, was concerned, had taunted him before all those assembled.

“Oh, yes!” said Ariston banteringly, “we all know that thou art a sad
dog, Adherbal, and that here in Carthage thou wilt soon be compelled
to weep like Alexander, because thou hast no more worlds left to
conquer. For soon, doubtless, either all the maidens will be dead for
love of thee, or else all the fathers of families or the husbands of
pretty wives will have destroyed them to preserve them from thee. And
yet, for all that, I venture to state that there is one Carthaginian
family, whose dishonour thou wouldst more willingly compass than any
other, where even such a seductive dog as thyself can never hope for
success, and whose honour, despite all thine arts, shall always remain
inviolable. And yet, if report says true, there is a beautiful young
maiden in that family, one so lovely, indeed, that not one of all
those who have hitherto felt thy kisses can be mentioned in the same
breath with her. But she is not for thee, oh, Adherbal! thou most
glorious votary of Tanais; no, this is game, my noble falcon, at which
even thou darest not to fly.”

“For whom, then, is this pretty pigeon reserved, my good Ariston? Is
it, perchance, for thine own dovecote that she hath the distinguished
honour of being reserved? Well, here’s to thy success!”

Thus he answered, scornfully tossing off a huge bumper of wine.

“No, not for me either,” replied Ariston; “it is not for me to rashly
venture in where the bold Adherbal dares not even place a foot within
the doorway. But I am sorry for thee, Adherbal, for the pretty bird
would well have suited thy gilded cage in the suburbs of the Megara.”

“I will wager thee five hundred talents that thou liest, Ariston,”
replied the other, inflamed with wine, and irritated at the banter
which was making the other boon companions laugh at his expense. “I
will wager thee five hundred silver talents,” he repeated, “that there
is no family in Carthage where, if it so please me, I dare not place a
foot; there is no quarry upon whom I dare not swoop, if I so choose,
ay, nor fail to bear off successfully to mine eyrie in the Megara. But
name this most noble family, pray, name this peerless beauty of thine,
and we will see,” and he laughed defiantly, and took another deep
draught of wine.

“I said not a family in Carthage, I said a Carthaginian family,”
answered Ariston, purposely provoking and tantalising him. “I spoke of
a more beautiful girl than either thou or any one at this festive
board hath ever yet seen.”

But now the curiosity of all the other convives, including the Roman
envoys, was aroused.

“The name, the name!” they cried tumultuously; “name the family and
name the girl.”

“The family is that of Hannibal; the girl whose favours even Adherbal
dareth not seek to obtain is Elissa, Hannibal’s daughter.”

“Hannibal! Hannibal’s daughter!”

A hushed awe fell upon the assembled guests as they repeated these
words. Then they burst out into a roar of drunken laughter, and
taunted the boaster.

“Ha! he hath got thee there, Adherbal; thou hadst better pay up thy
five hundred talents to Ariston at once and look pleasant, and seek
thy revenge another day.”

But Adherbal, furious at the banter and the mention of the hated name
of Hannibal, had sprung to his feet, wine cup in hand.

“I double my wager,” he cried; “not five hundred, but one thousand
talents do I now stake, that by some means or other I gain absolute
possession of the girl. Nay, further, I solemnly vow, by Astarte,
Moloch, and Melcareth, to whom I pour out this libation of wine, to
bring her father Hannibal’s head also, and lay it at the feet of
these, our guests, the Roman envoys. I do not think that, seeing the
mission upon which they have arrived in Carthage, I could promise them
a more acceptable present. But secrecy must be preserved.”

The speech was received with deafening applause by all present, all
being of the anti-Barcine party, and ways and means were immediately
discussed.




 CHAPTER IV.
 FOUR CARTHAGINIAN NOBLES.

Adherbal and his companions received the herald insolently, without
rising.

“Well, fellow,” he said, “how comes it that thou darest to trust thy
person upon my ship when thy companions yonder have thought fit to bar
the entrance to their harbour to Carthaginian ships?”

Although the herald’s face flushed, he made an obeisance, but no other
reply than:

“I bring two letters for my lord.”

“From whom are they, fellow?”

“They were given me for my lord by the Regent and Governor of New
Carthage.”

“And who is the Regent and Governor of New Carthage?”

“Elissa, my lord, daughter of Hannibal, the Commander-in-Chief and
Governor-General in Iberia.”

“Elissa, thou knave, thou liest, by Baal Hammon. Why, from all reports
she is but a girl. How old is she?”

“I do not know the Regent’s age, my lord.”

“And are both these letters from this precious Regent?”

“I know not, my lord.”

“Wilt answer me this at once, or for all thy fine clothes I will have
thee ducked in the water alongside. Was it by the orders of this quean
of a girl that those booms were thrown across the harbour mouths?”

“I have not the honour of being in the Regent’s confidence, my lord.
Maybe that my lord will get the information that he requires on
perusal of these two letters which I have the honour to present to his
lordship.”

And with another obeisance the herald presented them to Adherbal, who
tossed them carelessly on the table before him, and called for a cup
of wine.

A loud laugh from one of the young nobles seated negligently close by
here interrupted the colloquy; he was evidently in a jovial mood, and
in no awe of the general.

“Upon my word, Adherbal, I think the fellow’s right, and by Astarte,
the sweet goddess of love, he got thee that time. He seems a model of
discretion, at all events. I think that while thou art discussing thy
stoup of wine, I had better take him in hand a bit and see if I can
make him a little more communicative. Look here, my fine fellow, how
many women have they up in the palace there on the hill, and are they
fond of love, and are they pretty, and are there any men there making
love to them, and who is the lover of this Regent and daughter, or I
don’t know what you call her, of New Carthage? And is there any chance
for a good-looking fellow like me, Imlico, the son of Mago, or for an
ugly fellow like that Ariston yonder, son of--who art thou the son of,
Ariston? the wine hath caused me to forget completely thy
distinguished parentage. Or again, think ye, Sir Herald, that there is
to be found within this precious town a distinguished-looking female
who could reciprocate the loving glances of my portly friend here, the
noble Zeno, formerly of Rhodes? A very firebrand of love is Zeno, and
the very prince of good fellows. I daresay thou art a good enough
fellow thyself, by the bye. Take a cup of wine and think of all my
questions and answer them afterwards. Take thou mine own goblet, ’tis
but newly filled; and are we not both Carthaginians? I wager thee ’tis
the first time ever thou drankest from a golden cup belonging to one
of the Sacred Band.”

And he handed the cup to the herald, who, fearful of offending, took
and drank slowly, sip by sip, as if he were a connoisseur, thus
obviating the necessity for the reply which Imlico awaited patiently.

“Sayest thou nought?” said the somewhat stout noble called Zeno. “Tell
me, Sir Herald, what is the news from Saguntum?”

“Saguntum fell more than a week ago,” answered the herald readily.

“Saguntum fallen, by Pluto!” exclaimed Adherbal, who had been getting
moody and sulky over his wine, and was sitting with a frown on his
face.

“And what news of Hannibal?” asked Ariston, thinking that his turn had
now come for a question.

“Some of Hannibal’s troops are expected in from Saguntum very
shortly,” answered the herald once more, with equal readiness.

“Hannibal’s troops coming in shortly! This is getting interesting with
a vengeance!” said Adherbal. “I think I had better read the letters
without further delay.”

Taking a jewelled dagger from his waist, he rapidly cut the silken
threads which, fastened down with a seal, closely held each of the
letters. He examined the signatures.

“I suppose ye drunken fellows would like to know what they are both
about?” he observed familiarly. “Will ye that I read them aloud? One
of them is, I see, from Hannibal, yea, the mighty Hannibal himself!
How knew he I was here? The other is likely to be much more
interesting, it is apparently from my lovely mistress that is to be,
for it is signed and sealed by Elissa, Regent and Governor of New
Carthage. Which shall I read first?”

“Elissa’s, of course,” cried out the three semi-drunken nobles of the
Sacred Band.

“Then I shall disappoint you,” said Adherbal, “and keep Elissa’s
letter to the last. Sweets should always come after solid food. So for
Hannibal first, and may curses light upon his father’s grave.”

Utterly careless of the presence of the herald, or the mercenaries and
officials of the ship, who from curiosity had been thronging round as
close as they dared, to stare at the herald, Adherbal read loudly, but
in a voice slightly thickened from the effects of drink, the letter
which Elissa had dictated and sealed with her father’s signet:--


 “In the name of the great Melcareth, the God of Tyre, of Sidon, and of
 Carthage, greeting.

 “From Hannibal, the son of Hamilcar, Commander-in-Chief and
 Governor-General of the Carthaginian Provinces in Iberia, to the Lord
 Adherbal, the son of Hanno.

 “My lord, I captured the town of Saguntum some seven days since, and
 learned from some Roman prisoners that thou wert coming to New
 Carthage with a fleet containing numerous troops for my reinforcement.
 I thank thee for this mark of friendship, and the more so as I was not
 aware that thou hadst forgotten or forgiven the old party feud between
 thy father, Hanno, and my father, Hamilcar. I shall be glad of thy
 reinforcement, for this siege hath wasted my troops sorely, and much
 fatigued those that are not wounded, the greater part of whom I am
 sending to New Carthage at once to recruit after the fatigues of
 constant battle.

 “As, owing to a wound, I shall myself remain here in occupation of
 Saguntum with but a small force for some time, I shall be glad of thy
 immediate presence hither, with all thy force to help, in case of a
 rising of the Celtiberians, to serve as a garrison. Therefore, after
 resting thyself and thine officers for a day or two at New Carthage,
 where my daughter, Elissa, my sister-in-law, Cœcilia, Princess of the
 Cissanians, and the various ladies of my daughter’s household will
 give thee and thine all becoming entertainment in my palace, I beg
 thee to proceed with thy fleet hither at once. This movement will be
 also vastly to the interest of thyself, of thine officers, and of the
 soldiers accompanying thee. For the amount of our spoils of war is so
 immense that the like of it hath never been seen in any war of which
 we have any record. Leaving on one side the enormous amount of gold,
 silver, and valuables; the number of young Greek women, whom we hold
 at present prisoners in our camp, exceeds by at least three to one the
 number of the whole army, and by about six to one the number of the
 unwounded or the convalescents. All the troops, among whom these Greek
 women have been divided, are already, owing to the expense of their
 keep, anxious to sell them for ready money, of which, owing to the
 lack of remittances of pay from Carthage, they are greatly in need.
 Many of the younger Greek girls are of excessive beauty, and as my
 soldiers will be prepared to sell them for a small sum, thou canst
 easily see what a large profit there is to be made by thine officers
 and soldiers should they come to Saguntum and buy them. For when the
 ships of thy fleet return, after due repose in Saguntum, the slaves
 can be sent in the hands of merchants to Carthage and sold again.
 Further, I have very large cargoes of valuables of every description
 to remit to the Government of Carthage, of which naturally thou, my
 lord, and all thine officers and crews would retain considerable
 shares. Therefore, my lord, I repeat that thy coming to Saguntum
 without delay is advisable, for the amount of booty we have is
 enormous beyond all calculation.

                                “(Signed and Sealed) Hannibal.”


After the reading aloud of this epistle, there was much laughter and
jesting among the four nobles on the deck at Hannibal’s expense. They
made fun of his apparent gullibility with reference to the object of
their expedition; they indulged in the lewdest of jests about the
ladies left in the palace, with whom, apparently so innocently,
Hannibal suggested they were to stay for a few days, and discussed the
necessity, if troops were to arrive from Saguntum, of going ashore at
once. They talked openly, for they were all flushed with wine, of the
ease with which the object of their visit to New Carthage seemed
likely to be accomplished, and how, further, they would easily seize
and capture Hannibal himself at Saguntum. Meanwhile, the troops who
were crowded on the decks around were listening to every word.

“Now, let us see Elissa, my little sweetheart’s, letter,” said
Adherbal gaily. It ran as follows:--


 “In the name of Tanais, Queen of Heaven, Queen of Love, Queen of the
 Seas, greeting.

 “From Elissa, daughter of Hannibal, Regent and Governor of New
 Carthage, to Adherbal, the son of Hanno.

 “My lord, we are but a few poor women here, and regret that we have
 not to-night the wherewithal to entertain a large force in the place.
 Further, seeing my lord’s ships in the distance, I imagined that a
 Roman fleet was coming to attack New Carthage in revenge for the siege
 of Saguntum. Therefore, I caused booms to be drawn across the
 entrances to the harbour. But a letter from Hannibal hath informed me
 of thy coming. To-morrow morning, should my lord wish to bring his
 fleet into the harbour, the booms will be removed. In the meantime,
 will my lord, bringing such nobles and retainers as are becoming to
 his dignity with him, honour our poor palace with his noble presence?

 “My lord, we have but a few troops here, or would have drawn up an
 army to salute thee on arrival. Some of Hannibal’s troops, however,
 will arrive to-morrow morning, some also may arrive to-night.
 To-morrow we will hold a grand review in my lord’s honour. My lord,
 thou art welcome to New Carthage. The sight of a few noblemen of rank
 from our mother-country will be in sooth a delight to our eyes.

 “We inhabitants of Iberia have not, alas, yet learned all the arts to
 charm that are owned by the ladies of Carthage; but our hearts are
 warmly inclined in advance to those who come from our own country. My
 lord, it is for thee and the nobles of thy suite to come and teach us
 what demeanour we had best assume to be most agreeable. We are young,
 we are innocent and untutored provincials, but we are prepared
 nevertheless willingly to learn the ways of Carthage.

 “Will my lord send by my herald an immediate reply to say if we may
 expect his noble presence with us to-night? I am awaiting my herald,
 and my lord himself, on the quay.

                                              “(Sealed and Signed)
                  “Elissa, Regent and Governor of New Carthage.”


There was great excitement among the four dissolute young nobles, who
wished to go ashore at once upon the reading of this letter. The
herald, who had been trembling in his shoes for his own safety, was
thereupon instantly despatched with a hasty note to say that Adherbal
with the three nobles and a few men of his suite were coming ashore
without delay. For, fatuous individuals as they were, they were
completely taken in by Elissa’s letter, and imagined that they had but
to go on shore to capture, not perhaps the town of New Carthage that
night, but certainly the hearts of all the principal ladies in the
palace. And it must be owned that both her own epistle, and that
purporting to come from Hannibal, were sufficient to mislead less
self-confident schemers than Adherbal and his friends. But the heart
of the leader was full of the deepest guile, for all his apparent
simplicity, and he laid his plans before landing.

Before the arrival of the herald at the landing steps, Adherbal and
his party accordingly started from their ship also. They came in two
large boats, the first containing the four nobles, the second, some
forty men with two officers who were to form his escort. These boats
arrived simultaneously at the quay steps, where a guard of honour,
drawn up in two lines, consisting of one hundred spearmen, awaited
them and greeted them with the highest salute. When they had passed
down between the ranks, they found Elissa, with Cleandra standing a
pace behind her, and, behind them again, Gisco and other officers
waiting to receive them.

Smiling sweetly, the young girl advanced confidently to greet them.

“Welcome to New Carthage,” she said, “oh citizens of Old Carthage.”

Adherbal, bowing with all the grace for which he was famous, took her
hand and respectfully placed his forehead upon it in the Punic style;
then he presented his three companions, Imlico, Zeno, and Ariston, as
his friends, and Elissa in return presented Cleandra.

The beauty of the two ladies quite astonished the four young nobles;
but it was with their eyes only that they could speak what they felt.




 CHAPTER V.
 PLOTS AND COUNTER-PLOTS.

Despite the confidence with which Hannibal’s daughter had advanced
to greet the new-comers, it is not to be supposed that she felt as
bold as she looked. Her heart was beating violently as, with a smile
upon her lips, she greeted the gorgeous strangers glittering in their
golden armour. Nor is this to be wondered at, for well she knew the
terrible risks that she ran, and the perfidy hidden in the breast of
the handsome young Adherbal, who was now gazing upon her with such
ardent admiration in his bold, piercing eyes, that, in spite of
herself, she felt herself blushing a little as she lowered her own
lids before his too evident admiration of her youthful charms.

But she speedily diverted his attention from herself by suggesting
that the nobles should follow her in their own boats to her palace
steps, saying that she would lead the way. She purposely did not ask
them to accompany her, for she wished to have time to think and talk
with Cleandra on the way home.

“What dost thou think of them, Cleandra?” she inquired, as soon as
they started.

“I think that they are all very handsome young men, and most
beautifully attired; Adherbal himself and Imlico are especially
handsome, and they seem to have pleasant ways. I do not think it
possible they can have the evil designs that we imagine.” For
Cleandra, who was young and impressionable, had been caught at once by
a few pretty compliments that the versatile Imlico had already found
time to pay her.

“Be on thy guard in spite of their pleasant ways, dear Cleandra,”
replied the younger and more prudent girl; “for what is the use of
being forewarned by Hannibal if we are not forearmed? Nothing can make
me trust them. Why, think ye, are they come hither with all their
fleet had their designs been good, instead of proceeding at once to
help Hannibal at Saguntum?”

This reply was convincing, and the rest of the way to the palace steps
was passed by the girls in silence.

Here, and about the palace itself, there was purposely, by Elissa’s
orders, but a very small guard waiting to receive them.

The Carthaginians, arriving with their two boats, noticed this fact
with satisfaction. Their leader sprang to shore in time to gallantly
offer his hand to Elissa, which she gracefully accepted, apologising
at the same time with apparent _naïveté_.

“Thou seest, General Adherbal, that we have but a poor show of
retainers with whom to welcome thee here. But the reason is plain.
Being but a woman, alone in the palace, and having ever before me the
traditions of the horrible outrages committed by the mercenaries, who
revolted in Hamilcar’s and thy father Hanno’s time, I prefer to employ
all the extra soldiers about the city walls. I only, during Hannibal’s
absence, maintain a guard of some forty men in all to protect the
approaches, the gates, and the palace itself. For what have I to
fear?”

“What, indeed?” replied Adherbal, taking the opportunity to gently
press the little hand that rested on his arm. “Where beauty and virtue
such as thine reign supreme, fair lady Elissa, what harm could come to
the palace that contains such a treasure?” And he looked into her eyes
as if he meant his words.

Elissa, paying no attention to the compliment, continued:

“I see, my lord, that thou hast some baggage with thee. We have, I
trust, despite our small retinue, enough men to spare thy followers
the trouble of disembarking it themselves, which would be but an
inhospitable proceeding. Further, our few soldiers can entertain thy
followers this evening.”

“Baggage? no, my lady Elissa, of that we have but little. Yet have I
ventured to bring ashore, as an unworthy offering to my fair hostess,
a few flagons of the most famous vintages of the old wine for which
the vineyards of Utica are famous. Wilt thou deign to accept it for
thyself and thine household?”

“Most willingly, noble Adherbal, will I accept thy kindly gift. It
will be, indeed, a pleasant change to the household after the thin
wines of Iberia; and, though we ladies are but small drinkers, we
shall look forward to pledging our noble guests in a cup ourselves
this very evening.”

Upon reaching the head of the marble stairs, the herald, who had
returned with the State barge, sounded a clarion blast. Instantly the
postern gate flew open, the sentry saluting as the party entered, to
find, standing upon the porticos of the palace awaiting them, the
Princess Cœcilia and Melania in their grandest robes, with several
pretty female slaves behind them. Adherbal exchanged with Ariston and
Zeno a meaning glance, which they both perfectly understood; but
Imlico was so taken up with Cleandra, to whom he was making violent
love, that he did not catch the leader’s meaning looks. Elissa,
however, noticed them, and explained that, as there were so few men
available, what men there were would be exclusively employed in
entertaining his own escort.

The Princess Cœcilia was all smiles. She looked, as she really was,
delighted to see some strangers of the male sex, and those strangers,
too, of such evident high rank, and wearing such gorgeous
accoutrements. She was an exceedingly good-natured, but a foolish
young woman, and she showed her folly in the extra warmth of her
welcome. Finding that none of the other three nobles seemed to respond
very much, or rather that Zeno responded much more warmly than the
others to her politeness, it was upon him chiefly that she showered
her attentions. As for Ariston, from the moment that he set eyes upon
Melania, he could look at nothing else.

The guests were promptly shown to gorgeous and most luxuriously
furnished sleeping apartments, with the intimation that a collation
awaited them, as soon as they were ready, on the west verandah. In a
short time, therefore, the nobles, all having doffed their armour,
with the exception of a dagger in a golden waist-belt, appeared in
most beautiful silken raiment, the very latest fashion from Carthage.
And just as the sun was beginning to set over the western horizon, the
eight convives sat down to a sumptuous repast, served by light-footed
female attendants. They reclined on divans at a round table, Adherbal
on the right side of Elissa, then the princess, next to her Zeno, then
Melania and Ariston, next to whom came Cleandra and Imlico.

From the situation in which Adherbal was placed, he could see the road
leading to the bridge across the isthmus, and also the far end of the
bridge itself, the nearer half being hidden by the walls. He could
also, by looking to his right, see the heights across the lagoon to
the north of the city. And although he said nothing, he noticed,
nevertheless, vaguely that there was a constant influx of troops
coming from the landward side, and that further, there was a large
encampment of tents being rapidly reared on the hills to the north.
But it did not strike him as being of any importance. He thought
merely that they were some Iberian levies. He devoted himself equally
to Elissa and the wine, which was his own, and excellent, and the more
wine he drank, the more pressing he became in his attentions to his
hostess, who, not quite understanding the customs of Carthage, very
soon felt an alarm which she took care to conceal.

Both Cleandra and Melania were also slightly alarmed as the dinner
wore on; but Cleandra, having taken two cups of wine, began to have
her head turned by the compliments and ready tongue of Imlico, who had
certainly made an impression upon her unattached affections. Melania
was far more cautious with Ariston, whom she thoroughly disliked from
the first; but the young widow, the Princess Cœcilia, made quite as
much love to Zeno as he to her, and, long before the enormous number
of courses which it was customary to serve in those days had appeared,
she had, on the pretence of feeling a little faint, risen from the
feast and taken Zeno off with her to show him the garden. And her
faintness must have lasted a long time, for she never came back! In
the meantime, course after course appeared, and the wine cup
circulated freely; but still, until darkness fell upon the land,
Adherbal could see troops marching into the city, and still he noticed
rows upon rows of tents rising on the northern hills.

At length, when all had moved away from the table, the night fell.
Adherbal had now become loving in the extreme, and clasped Elissa’s
hands in his and drew her to his side. Coyly, with a slight
resistance, she allowed herself to be so drawn, and coyly, too, but
determinedly, averted her head when he sought to embrace her. He
complained of her cruelty.

“It is too soon, my lord, too soon,” she uttered shyly. “Why, I have
not even yet known thee one whole day.” She added laughingly,
“Although I am willing to learn the manners of Carthage, I cannot
learn them quite all at once.”

The wine he had drunk made him brutal. In spite of her striving to
hold back, he held the girl closer to him and kissed her averted face.
And then by force he turned her face to him and kissed her
passionately on the lips.

Despite the loathing with which his embrace inspired her, she did not,
as she was merely acting a part, resist at all violently. He could
not, however, see the eyes gleaming with hatred in the darkness; he
only felt the warmth of the little mouth, and, as she had not
struggled much and had uttered no cry, he considered the battle was
half won already. He unmasked his battery without further delay.

“Elissa, dearest Elissa, why shouldst thou resist me? Dost thou not
know that I adore thee? I have come here from Carthage simply because
of hearing of thy charms, for by Astarte, Queen of Love! I vow that I
loved thee in advance; but hearsay is not one-thousandth part of the
reality. Beloved, come to me, for thou wilt and shalt be mine.”

With his powerful arms he clasped her to him so closely that she could
not move, while he could feel her fluttering heart beating against his
breast. She temporised, concealing her rage for fear.

“My lord,” she whispered softly, “thou knowest that I am much
flattered at having attracted thy attention thus; but still thou must
consider me and my position a little. I am supreme here at present;
and therefore what would Cleandra and Melania, who are but my slaves,
say if they could see me now? Hence, if thou lovest me as thou sayest,
yet release me, I pray thee. If thou choosest, thou canst still hold
my hand. But be cautious.”

He released her, then said abruptly and somewhat angrily:

“Very well, my pretty one, I release thee for the present, for know
this, that whether thou wilt or not, thou art mine, this palace is
mine, and the vice-royalty that thy father Hannibal hath here in
Iberia is mine. It depends simply upon how sweet and loving thou
provest thyself to me now whether I spare his life or not, for know
this, so incensed are the council of One Hundred at Carthage, and all
the people also, at his having attacked Saguntum, and so embroiled
them once more with Rome, that they have sent me here, armed with a
large force, to seize and execute him. And thou, my pretty sweetheart,
hast been decreed unto me as the reward for my trouble in coming.
Therefore, if thou wilt be sweet and loving to me, then for thy sweet
sake I will not only spare thy father’s life, but, when we get back to
Carthage together, for I could never stop long in this country of
barbarians, I will make thee my wife. ’Twere therefore wise for thee
to become my willing partner, and then all will go well.”

Elissa’s anger rose beyond all control at this insulting speech; she
could play her part no longer now.

“I will never be thine,” she said, “thou insolent hound! And as for
thy seizing Hannibal, thou canst not do it. His troops have been
marching in all the evening, and I, with my guard in the palace, can
have thee arrested now this instant if I so choose.”

“Hannibal’s troops here so soon! By Moloch! I did not imagine that
those were the troops of Hannibal that I saw marching in. There is,
indeed, no time to lose. Thou shalt be mine this very night, for thou
hast sought to entrap me, as I imagined thou mightst, for all thy
winning ways. But thou art a little young yet, Elissa, and, when I
have had thee in training for some time, thou shalt see that thou hast
much to learn from the ‘insolent hound,’ as thou so politely hast
termed me.”

“Thine to-night, faugh! Thine never! my Lord Adherbal, for know that
this night thou shalt sleep in the dungeon of the castle, for I will
have thee instantly seized. I have but to cry aloud. And to-morrow
morning thou shalt be crucified.”

“And to-morrow morning, my pretty one, my men will storm the palace,
and, unless they find me alive and well, put every inmate within it to
the sword. Not much storming will, however, be necessary, for the
gates will be opened for them. Therefore, cry aloud and see what
happens, and to-morrow morning crucify me. But in the meantime I will
hold thee as a sweet hostage here in mine arms.”

As he seized her tightly, she cried aloud:

“Gisco! Idherbal! Gisco, Gisco! Cleandra, Cleandra! Idherbal!”

She screamed in vain until she was hoarse. At the same time she could
hear Melania screaming loudly also, while from Cleandra, at the far
end of the verandah, some faint protests could be heard.

In vain did Elissa cry aloud until she was exhausted, and meanwhile
Adherbal held her and mocked her. Her plans had utterly miscarried,
and he had been more clever than she. She had given her men
instructions to make his guards drunk, and to be concealed and ready
to come to her assistance instantly when called for. She had also
ordered a reinforcement of double the usual number in the gate
guard-houses. But Adherbal, as he now calmly informed her, had
obtained possession both of the postern gate and of the other gate of
the palace. For he had made all her men within the palace, and also
the guards at the gate-houses, senseless with merely one cup apiece of
drugged wine, brought from the ship for the purpose, which his
attendants had orders to offer them. All, therefore, were now lying
bound and helpless. As for her women, they had been seized and bound
by his men more than an hour ago. Never had there been such a
miscarrying of a deeply-laid plan, for not even her manœuvre of
making Hannibal’s troops appear to march in had alarmed him.

The poor girl now struggled and fought with the desperation of
despair. All the while she could hear Melania’s cries becoming weaker
and weaker; but Cleandra’s voice was no longer heard. Eventually
Adherbal stifled her cries with his hand. When she was utterly
exhausted, he lifted her in his arms, and with brutal kisses,
accompanied by sarcastic speeches, he triumphantly bore her off
towards his own apartments in the palace.

As with ease he carried off the now half-fainting girl in his arms, he
met some of his own guards, who, having heard the cries, came forward,
staggering with drink, from the back part of the palace.

“Begone instantly, you fools!” he cried; “have ye not both wine and
women enough to amuse ye? see that ye disturb me not again.”

The guards shrank back abashed, and Adherbal passed on with his
burden, Elissa realising in the agony of despair, with what senses she
still had left, that she was utterly helpless in the ruffian’s power.
And then she fell into a swoon.




 CHAPTER VI.
 CLEANDRA’S CUNNING.

It is not to be supposed that Imlico had been wooing Cleandra in the
rough and ready fashion that Adherbal, his leader, had adopted; but he
had been more successful. For he had found the pretty young Spanish
maiden like the tow which needed only the smallest spark to set it on
fire, and which blazed outright when touched with a flame.

For Cleandra not only came of the passionate Spanish race, but was a
flirt by nature; and owing to the eight months’ siege of Saguntum,
which had taken all the men away, was utterly tired of being without a
gallant. Moreover, it must be admitted that she was a cunning and
scheming young woman; and, therefore, speedily saw in the handsome,
good-natured, and jovial young noble Imlico a tool ready to her hand
wherewith to execute a project that she had long had in her heart.
This was nothing more nor less than to escape from New Carthage and
Hannibal’s household altogether. For, although Elissa loved her, and
usually treated her more like a sister than a slave, yet slave she
was, and her proud nature could not forget that circumstance. She well
remembered that when but a little girl of twelve, Hasdrubal had
stormed her father’s chief city, killed her father, and took her
mother and herself captive. Her mother had only survived for a year or
two. Hasdrubal had then kept the girl as his slave until she was
seventeen. Then, some two years before his assassination by a Celt, in
revenge for some private wrong, he had given her to Hannibal, whose
sister was Hasdrubal’s first wife, as a companion for his daughter
Elissa. Thus, although at heart personally attached to Elissa,
Cleandra had no love for the family of Hannibal, through whose
relative she had suffered, especially as, notwithstanding her high
birth, she was yet considered by the household as a slave. Therefore,
with her object in view, she did her utmost to bewitch Imlico, whose
handsome bearing she really admired.

Although the associate of Adherbal and Ariston, Imlico was not only
much younger, but a man of less determinedly bad principles than they.
In short, he had a good heart; while he had no objection to taking
love where he could find it, and that without burdening himself with
many scruples, yet he did not at all approve of the villainous scheme
suggested by the others, to bend the ladies to their will by force, or
by fraud, or by a combination of both. He was, however, in a minority,
and kept his feelings to himself for fear of the personal danger which
he knew he would run had he dared to so much as hint at them.

And now as he wandered away with Cleandra in the faint light of a
young moon, across the garden where the fire-flies flitted from bush
to bush, and the air was redolent of the sweet odour of the orange
blossoms, he felt himself falling deeply in love with the beautiful
and high-bred girl by his side, about whose unresisting waist he wound
his arm. And, apart from the scheme she had at heart, Cleandra in turn
felt a strong sympathy for young Imlico, which, with the drowsy
langour of the scented air, grew stronger every minute. And when at
length they stood upon the battlements and looked out upon the sea,
she readily yielded her lips to his ardent embrace.

Cleandra was absolutely in Elissa’s confidence, and knew her
deeply-laid plans, and did not for a moment think that Hannibal’s
daughter, or the other three ladies, were in any other danger than
that of their own seeking. She had, therefore, smiled inwardly when
the foolish little princess had, like herself, wandered away in the
earlier part of the evening, doubtless to find a shelter and indulge
in a flirtation in one of the shady summer-houses in the garden. But
knowing Elissa’s plans, she imagined that it was Adherbal and his
companions who were in danger, not only of present captivity, but of
crucifixion, and it did not, from any point of view, at all suit her
that this handsome young noble, with whom she had so rapidly fallen in
love, should be either a captive or crucified. Therefore, although she
did not intend to betray Elissa, she determined to make use of her
plans for her own advantage, and the opportunity for so doing was not
long in coming.

Imlico had just made her an ardent declaration. He vowed by all the
gods that he adored her, and urged her to fly with him to his ship on
the morrow’s morn.

“I will gladly fly with thee, Imlico,” replied the maiden, looking
with burning glances into his eyes, “if thou wilt swear by Melcareth
and Moloch to reveal nothing that I tell thee, to do exactly as I
direct thee, and not to quit me for a moment. Then not only will I fly
with thee, but that not to-morrow’s morn, but this very night.”

Enraptured, the enamoured young man pledged himself by the most solemn
oaths to reveal nothing, and to follow her bidding exactly.

“Then listen closely, Imlico. I will fly with thee this very night
simply to save thine own life, for it is in danger should thou stay an
hour later here. For all the plot upon which ye are come hither is
known, and before this time to-morrow thou and thy three companions
are to be crucified upon this very battlement. Dost thou see the row
of crosses beyond? They have been erected this evening on purpose for
ye. They were not there when we rowed back from the harbour entrance
this afternoon. The guards are but waiting the order to seize ye all.”

In spite of himself, Imlico started back and shuddered when he now
saw, for the first time, the gruesome preparations for his own
execution. But he speedily recovered himself with a laugh, and taking
the plump Cleandra in his arms, kissed her heartily.

“By Astarte! thou didst give me a fright, little one, for the minute,
but I thank thee for thy confidence and kindly interest in myself. And
now confidence for confidence. Know this then, that Elissa and all of
you women in this palace are, indeed, in danger if you will, saving
only thyself, for thee I would not harm. But we Carthaginian nobles
and our followers are in no danger from thy guards, and I will even
now prove it to thee. Let us advance to where yonder sentinel is
pacing by the postern gateway. We will stroll by him, and, when he
challenges, thou shalt reply and give the password. Then thou shalt
see who is in danger.”

With the girl on his arm, Imlico rapidly paced along the battlements
to the sentry, who cried out:

“Halt! Let one only advance and give the countersign.”

Imlico pushed his fair companion, who boldly advanced and said,
“Saguntum,” which was the password arranged in the palace for the
night.

“’Tis the wrong password,” answered the sentinel, lowering his spear
point towards her. “Thou canst not pass.”

Imlico laughingly now advanced in turn.

“The lady hath made a mistake, oh sentry. Carthage is the password she
would have given.”

“Pass Carthage, and all’s well,” replied the guard, and so they passed
in.

It was now Cleandra’s turn to shudder and start. “What? have the
guards been changed?” she asked, “and the countersign?”

“Ay, that have they, fair Cleandra; and further know this that ye have
not now a single man fit for duty within the whole palace walls, for
all thy guards are by this time drugged, senseless, or bound. Thou
seest clearly now that none of Elissa’s guests are in any danger,
to-night at all events.”

Cleandra now thought of the story about Hannibal’s troops marching in,
which had been merely an arranged plan, by which the same troops
should appear over and over again. For it will be remembered that
these troops could only be seen from the palace when descending on to
the landward end of the bridge by the big gate of the city. So the
troops that had been employed had marched across the bridge, then
embarked in boats, followed up the city walls, crossed the lagoon, and
then marching up a winding little pass that lay between the hills, had
shown themselves again. And the best of the arrangement had been that
all the mercenaries in the ships had, until dark fell, also noticed
these troops arriving continually as if from Saguntum, for they saw
them plainly crossing the top of a hill. In her need, for she wished
to frighten Imlico, Cleandra made use of this plot.

“Ay, if thus by fraud the palace is Adherbal’s, then thou art safe for
to-night, my good friend, Imlico. But didst thou not notice all the
troops that were continually marching over the bridge while yet we
were at table? They were the advance guard of a large portion of
Hannibal’s forces that are being sent back from Saguntum. Many more
will arrive to-morrow morn. Canst thou not see, glistening in the
moonlight, the tents that have been erected for them on yonder eastern
hill. This palace, therefore, even if held by thy few men, will be
easily recaptured, and thou and all thine will most undoubtedly be
crucified. Therefore thou must fly to-night. But now let us go back to
the verandah, for Elissa may have sore need of me ere I go, and I
would save her if I could. It grieves me sadly to leave her, but I
feel that in thee I have found the man I love, and I would save thy
life, while her life, at all events, is not in danger. But without me
thou wilt never pass alive the guards stationed at the harbour mouth.
With me thou art safe.”

Imlico was now thoroughly alert; the girl had convinced him of his
great danger. It was just when they had reached the end of the
verandah that Elissa had commenced to scream under Adherbal’s brutal
grasp, and Melania likewise in the clutch of Ariston.

Then Cleandra had begged Imlico to allow her to fly to the young
girl’s assistance, but he had restrained her. These were the protests
that Elissa had heard.

“Let me go, let me go, Imlico! I will save her from the brute! and
Melania is in danger also.”

“Let thee go? Never! They are in the danger that all pretty young
women run, ’tis true; but what is that to thee or me? Man is man and
woman woman, and no one seeks their lives, while shouldst thou
foolishly interfere at this inopportune moment thy life will surely
pay the forfeit, for both Adherbal and Ariston are brutes when their
passions are aroused, and would surely slay thee. Stay here, I say,
with me, for with me alone thou art safe. Thou shalt stay,” and
forcibly he detained her.

Thus Cleandra was the unwilling witness of Elissa’s abduction, and
also heard the brutal attack made by Ariston on Melania.

Ariston had drunk himself into a state of utter intoxication, and was
absolutely careless of what he was doing. He saw Adherbal carrying
Elissa off in his arms and strove to emulate his example. But Melania
was very tall and strong and made a most vigorous resistance, which
Ariston was unable to overcome. Whereupon, with brutal ferocity, he
attempted to half strangle her, for he did not by any means intend to
kill her. He very nearly succeeded in his foul attempt, but suddenly
Cleandra, who was still being forcibly detained by Imlico, heard a
groan and the sound of a fall. Tearing herself from her companion, she
rushed forward and found both Ariston and Melania lying prostrate on
the floor of the verandah. In the struggle that had taken place the
couple had moved into the light of the lamp hanging in the doorway,
and there they had fallen.

A gruesome sight it was that now met Cleandra’s eyes. His throat
transfixed with a small dagger, which Melania had worn that evening
through her hair, Ariston was lying, not dead, but open-eyed and
speechless, with a stream of blood flowing slowly from his neck.
Alongside him, with raiment sadly torn and disordered, lay Melania,
unconscious and death-like, with discoloured face and frothy blood
upon her lips. Cleandra screamed loudly, and would have fallen, too,
had not Imlico, rushing forward, caught her swaying form in his arms.

As she fell weeping upon her knees by the side of Melania, Imlico,
whom this tragedy had alarmed, begged her to be firm, as immediate
action was necessary if either or both of them were to be saved, and
he urged upon her the necessity of instant flight.

Although Cleandra had fully made up her mind to escape that night, she
was not prepared to go without seeing Elissa again, or making some
attempt, she knew not what, to save her. Suddenly she leapt to her
feet and wiped her tears, as an idea sprung to her mind, and her nerve
came back.

“Wait here,” she said to Imlico; “thou hast sworn to obey my
directions. Shouldst thou fail in thy word, count not then on me to
save thy life, for it is doomed! Therefore wait for me here by the
doorway. Strive to restore Melania, lift her up against the pillar,
and give her air.”

She sprung within, and rushed to the room where Maharbal had been left
lying on his couch, senseless when she had seen him last. To her joy
she found him now perfectly conscious, with eyes not only open but
intelligent. Pale he looked, indeed, and weak, but he was a man--the
only man who could be stirred to action in the whole place. It would
not matter, so Cleandra thought, what should happen to him after,
could he but prove of use to Elissa now. She took his sword and thrust
it into his hands.

“Maharbal,” she said, “Elissa hath just been borne off into his
apartment by Adherbal, who arrived here to-day. There may yet be time
to save her, but Melania hath been slain while struggling with his
companion, Ariston. Canst thou move? I will show thee the room. Thou
hast perchance yet strength to rise and use this weapon.”

Maharbal bounded from his couch, his eyes on fire.

“Only show me the room, Cleandra, show me, quick!” He staggered as he
rose from the couch, but Cleandra steadied him with her arm.

“This way,” she said, and he followed her, still leaning on her
shoulder, and collecting his shattered wits and strength. She
proceeded direct to Adherbal’s apartment, and, pausing for a second,
said rapidly, “Maharbal, I am powerless to help Elissa further, and
now it is for thee to do so if there be yet time. The palace and the
palace gates are both in the hands of Adherbal’s people, but I am
escaping with Imlico, one of his nobles, simply and solely as a means
of alarming the troops on guard outside, who will come to the rescue.
Meanwhile, thou must act.”

She opened the door, only to see Elissa all dishevelled in the arms of
Adherbal, and fainting on a couch. He was fanning her face, and
apparently striving to restore her. She opened her eyes at that
instant with returning consciousness. She saw and recognised Cleandra
and Maharbal. A gleam of hope sprung to the wretched young girl’s
eyes.

“Maharbal,” she cried faintly, “Maharbal! save me! avenge me!”

Maharbal sprang upon Adherbal, who, snatching up his dagger from the
side of the couch, where it had fallen, turned to meet him with the
angry growl of a tiger, but of a tiger who has been baulked of his
prey.

In a second Maharbal struck down his foe with a terrible blow, which
almost severed his right arm at the shoulder. A second later his sword
was at his throat.

“No,” cried Elissa, springing up, her bosom exposed, and hair wildly
tossed about. “Slay him not now, think of the outrage he hath put upon
me. Reserve him for crucifixion. Think what an insult he hath put upon
me, who love thee; to me, Elissa, Hannibal’s daughter.”

“Yes, crucify the villain, Maharbal,” cried Cleandra also, “and
Ariston likewise, if he be alive to-morrow, which I doubt. As for
Zeno, I know not what the princess hath done with him. Hold now thy
sword at his throat, while I bind him with these curtain ropes, and
gag him with this ’kerchief. There, that is done. Now leave him here
and lock the door, and do thou, Maharbal, and thou, Elissa, stay
together in Maharbal’s apartment. Come thither quickly, draw in
Melania, and barricade the door if ye would live throughout the night.
As for me, Elissa, I must leave thee now and for ever, although my
first object in flying from thee and slavery will be to send immediate
relief to thee and Maharbal. This I can do by escaping with Imlico,
whom I have won over to me. With him I can pass the few sentinels that
Adherbal hath placed on the walls, and I have arranged a plan in my
mind, so that upon my arriving at the harbour entrance, I can send
some of our men, who will obtain admission at once. For I will give
them the Carthaginian password, which I know, and, on leaving, I will
make Imlico tell the sentinel at the postern gate to expect some of
Adherbal’s troops to arrive shortly.

“Another thing I can do for thee and New Carthage through Imlico. It
is this, I can carry out the plot on the lines of thy two letters to
Adherbal, and so induce the fleet, partly from fear of Hannibal’s
army, partly by greed and hope of gain, to leave for Saguntum at once.
And now farewell, Elissa. Do not think hardly of me for flying with
Imlico. Think that I was the woman who, through Maharbal’s right arm
and with the help of the great god Melcareth, was the means of saving
thine honour. Here then stay now for safety in Maharbal’s apartment. I
will first bid Imlico bring in to ye Melania, and then I will depart.
She hath, I rejoice to say, wounded the scoundrel Ariston sorely with
her dagger; yet I trust he may live for the cross to-morrow, since he
thoroughly deserves it.”

Cleandra now returned to Imlico, and, enjoining silence, made him bear
the body of Melania, who still appeared perfectly lifeless, into
Maharbal’s room. Then she and Elissa fell upon each other’s necks and
parted with tears of sorrow.

Seizing Imlico by the arm, Cleandra passed with him swiftly to the
postern gate, where her lover gave the password “Carthage,” and told
the sentinel to shortly expect some troops, and to admit them.

At the bottom of the staircase the crew of the State galley were
sleeping. These she aroused and ordered to man the boat, as she was on
pressing business of their mistress Elissa, Regent and Governor of New
Carthage. And as they all knew her, they made no difficulty about
complying.

Speedily and in silence did she and Imlico proceed to the south
entrance to the harbour, where, on giving “Saguntum” as the watchword,
she was able to land and see the officer in command at that point. To
him she confided the whole position of affairs, and after ordering him
in Elissa’s name instantly to proceed with a body of men to the rescue
of those in the palace, and giving him the watchword “Carthage”
wherewith to effect an entrance, she re-embarked in the State barge,
and rowed off to the flagship with Imlico. There the arrangements that
she made through her lover and the reports which she spread were such
that, when dawn broke, there was considerable consternation throughout
the fleet. For they learned that Adherbal was a prisoner, and likewise
Zeno and Ariston, and that an enormous encampment had been raised upon
the eastern hills during the night. Moreover, in accordance with
Elissa’s cunning design, musical instruments and bugles were sounding,
while all the small body of men available for the purpose were
constantly moving up and down in front of the first row of tents in
the camp.

The men on the fleet, and indeed Imlico himself, were easily convinced
that a large force of Hannibal’s had actually come in. The
mercenaries, therefore, now deprived of their leader, were not at all
disposed to attack the city; but, on the other hand, being fired with
the accounts they had overheard the previous evening of the capture of
the enormous spoil at Saguntum, news of which had spread all through
the fleet, were anxious to go off and join Hannibal himself, and share
in the booty of the place. When, further, an hour or two after
daybreak, two of the crucifixes upon the walls of the palace, which
were plainly visible from the fleet, were seen to be first lowered and
then raised again, each with the body of a man attached, consternation
fell upon all the mercenaries. For they knew that these human forms
must be those of Adherbal and one of his attendants. As a matter of
fact, they actually were Adherbal and Ariston, who were thus paying
the penalty for their brutal crimes. As for Zeno of Rhodes, he was
spared at the supplication of the Princess Cœcilia, and merely, with
all Adherbal’s men, confined as a prisoner in the dungeons. Without
waiting for any orders now, every ship commenced preparations to make
sail.

Cleandra had no intention whatever of going herself to Saguntum, where
she would certainly have been seized by Hannibal as his runaway slave.
She therefore impressed upon Imlico the great risk that he would
himself run if he arrived without any letter to prove to the great
commander his innocence of complicity in Adherbal’s crimes, and seeing
his danger, he readily listened to her advice. He disembarked all of
the mercenaries on board the flagship, and sent them off in
detachments to the other ships in the fleet. He then, having promised
large sums of money to the ship’s captain, the officers, and the crew,
persuaded them to turn her head the other way, and to set all sail for
Carthage. And by the time of their arrival at the port of that queen
of all the cities of the seas, Cleandra had obtained such an
ascendancy over her lover’s somewhat weak mind, and he was, moreover,
himself so infatuated with her, that, upon landing, he made her his
lawful wife.

And thus, by the nerve and well-designed plans of Elissa, coupled with
the cunning and cleverness of Cleandra, was the honour of Hannibal’s
daughter saved, and a great plot against Hannibal himself brought to
nought.




 CHAPTER VII.
 MELANIA’S MISERY.

Hannibal was not long in learning at Saguntum of what had taken
place in New Carthage, and was in possession, in most accurate detail,
of all the facts from Elissa’s own pen, before the fleet, laden with
the mercenaries, arrived. She had, at the end of her letter, added
that Melania’s recovery, after being despaired of, was now assured.

Hannibal was particularly pleased with Maharbal’s conduct, and gave
orders that he was to be appointed at once to the command of the
Numidian Cavalry, while the proceeds of the sale of a large portion of
the spoil of Saguntum, and half-a-dozen splendid chargers which had
been taken from the enemy, were also to be despatched to him in New
Carthage. For Elissa had informed her father that, owing to his
exertions, the young man’s wound had broken out bleeding afresh, and
that he was not able to move from the palace, nor could he for some
time to come.

Hannibal would not have been the great general and leader of men that
he was if he had not been remarkably astute. His intuition was so
great, that he could, so to speak, see the end of a book before
another man had finished reading the title-page. In all the years he
warred in Iberia, Gaul, Italy, and Carthage, and in all the alliances
he made with tribes once hostile to him, never was there a single
conspiracy made against his life, though assassination and treachery
were common; from which it must be concluded, that he could read well
the characters of the men with whom he had to deal, and knew how best
to deal with them.

When he read through his daughter’s letter, he was with his two
younger brothers. He indulged freely in curses against Adherbal and
all his crew, especially the treacherous party of Hanno, now paramount
in Carthage. But when he read that Maharbal was not able to leave the
palace, he burst out laughing violently.

“What art thou laughing at, Hannibal?” quoth Mago, the younger of his
two brothers, and a great personal friend of Maharbal. “I see nothing
to laugh at in the fact of Maharbal’s being still a sufferer, owing to
his having been the saviour of thy daughter and my niece’s honour. It
seems to have been a case of touch and go, and he, with Cleandra’s
aid--whose freedom, by the bye, should now be granted--undoubtedly
saved her in the very nick of time. I think it is no laughing matter
that a good soldier and good fellow like Maharbal should be still so
dangerously ill.”

“Thou young simpleton,” answered Hannibal, “canst not see through it?
I, at all events, know Elissa, the little minx, and that she is in
love with the young giant, and perceive clearly that now she maketh
him out far worse than he is on purpose to keep him nigh her. I saw
the wound he had; ’twas nothing serious for a man of his physique. Had
it been so, I would never have despatched him on that tremendous ride.
But if we heed not, where that rascally scoundrel Adherbal failed to
succeed by force, Maharbal will, although he is the very soul of
honour, win in spite of himself; for in her gratitude, she will throw
herself into his arms whether he will or no; if, indeed, she hath not
done so already, for she hath the passionate nature of her Spanish
mother. And then we may have to marry them, which I, for one, do not
at all wish, for, in my opinion, Maharbal married will be a good
soldier ruined. As regards Elissa herself, I should not mind, for,
seeing his birth and breeding, she could scarcely do better, yet, for
the sake of the country, I might perchance wed her to some king.
Still, I say that I can always marry them later should it be found
advisable.

“But pay attention, my brothers. I have such an enterprise in my head,
which I have not yet informed you of, that I want with me no married
men with young wives left at home to think about. So I fear that I
must spoil my daughter Elissa’s little scheme, no matter at what stage
things may be; although, since I love her very sincerely, I grieve to
give her pain. But for the reasons I have mentioned they must be
separated. Therefore, can either of you devise a scheme which will,
without hurting either Elissa’s honour or her self-respect, separate
her completely, and make her throw over Maharbal of her own accord,
cause her to do it, too, in such a manner that he will from his own
feelings of pride wish to have no more to do with her?”

Hasdrubal, the elder brother, who was cunning, now answered with a
quiet smile:

“Well, it is unkind to Maharbal certainly; but he is a good soldier,
and should not be spoilt as thou sayst, and I can give thee the cue,
Hannibal. But it would grieve Elissa, and since I love the girl, I
think that for her own protection she would be better married. So,
perhaps, I had better keep the idea to myself, and let her marry him.”

“No, no,” answered Hannibal determinedly. “I will have no marriage, I
tell thee, Hasdrubal. What is thy plan?”

“Oh, well, it is simple enough. Thou art sending to Maharbal money,
thou art sending him horses; but thou hast forgotten he is entitled to
yet another share of the spoil, thou hast sent him no slaves. Now,
methinks, if thou wert to send him one of the most beautiful of these
beautiful young Greek girls that we have captured, Elissa’s pride and
jealousy would cause her to throw him over at once. I have, among my
share of spoils, got so many of them that I do not know what to do
with them all. I came across this morning, for the first time, a most
lovely maiden of some sixteen summers, named, I think, Chloe. By the
goddess Tanais and all her mysteries, she is a gem indeed, this Chloe;
why not then send her to Maharbal with thy greeting, Hannibal, and the
trick is done at once? The pretty child was weeping as though she had
lost a lover, and Maharbal might perchance console her.”

“Is that all?” answered Hannibal, with a sneer. “Oh, my clever brother
Hasdrubal, be assured that Maharbal would, after acknowledging the
gift, sell her on the following morning to the highest bidder, or give
her to Elissa herself to show his constancy, as he would have a right
to do. No, that will not do; we must think of something better than
thy Chloe.”

“I have it, then,” interposed Mago. “Who is there in all thy court at
New Carthage so handsome and beautiful, so clever and cunning, as that
tall, dark girl, Melania, daughter of Mandonius, the brother of the
king of the Ilergetes, the girl who has been lately so nearly killed?
We all know that she would give her very eyes for Maharbal, so why not
make a present of her to him? he would soon have to love her in spite
of himself--for like begets like. Nothing, moreover, would sooner
create a breach between Maharbal and Elissa, than to give him a girl
whom she has been accustomed to look upon as her own slave, and of
whom she is, if I am not mistaken, a little jealous already.”

“Stay a moment,” replied the great General. “I believe, Mago, that
thou hast hit the right nail on the head this time. I have had brought
to me, but secretly, by the very same messenger that brought Elissa’s
letter, a letter from the girl herself. I threw it on one side
thinking that it was merely some petition for freedom of the usual
kind, but there may be something more in it. Let us see--I have it
over there. As my wound incommodes me, wilt thou bring it hither,
brother, and open it?”

Mago opened and read it to himself before handing it to Hannibal. As
he concluded he gave a low whistle.

“Indeed, oh, Hannibal, my brother, I have, while striking at random,
hit the right nail on the head this time even as thou saidst. I will
read the letter aloud, and thou shalt judge if this will not exactly
suit thee. And, further, not only will Maharbal not be able to refuse,
but I, his friend, am by no means anxious to commiserate with him, for
I consider him a very lucky fellow indeed. In fact, in spite of all my
Greek slaves, I quite envy him his good fortune. For I would not mind
being in his shoes myself.”

“Read the letter,” quoth Hannibal.

Mago read as follows:--


 “In the name of the Goddess Tanais, the Queen of Carthage, the Queen
 of Love, the Queen of the Seas, Greeting.

 “From Melania, daughter of Mandonius, brother of the King Andobales,
 King of Central Iberia, to Hannibal, son of Hamilcar.

 “My lord Hannibal, thou wilt have heard the news, how that Elissa and
 I were in the hands of two ruffianly nobles from Carthage, both since
 duly crucified by the mercy of Moloch the great god of sacrifice, and
 how we both narrowly escaped grievous wrong. My lord, our salvation
 and the salvation of New Carthage was only due to the timely arrival
 of Maharbal, the son of Manissa, brother to King Syphax of Numidia. He
 saved Elissa and cut down her aggressor Adherbal. His watchful care
 over myself hath also saved me from the very jaws of death, for I was
 almost strangled by the ruffian Ariston of Carthage; but he hath
 watched me like a brother, and I am, thanks to him, restored.

 “My lord Hannibal, in this thy palace Maharbal is beloved of all the
 women for his bravery, his devotion to thyself, and his manly
 strength; above all one loveth him, even Elissa. Pardon, I pray thee,
 the humble supplication of thy servant Melania, but methinks that it
 would be well, seeing her high position, if so be thy will, that thou
 shouldst cause them to wed shortly. Thus will they be made happy, and
 the report of evil tongues be stayed. Further there can, once this be
 accomplished, be no more heart-burnings and jealousies among the
 foolish women here about thy palace, which said heart-burnings are apt
 to cause dissensions. Especially the Princess Cœcilia would be no
 longer able to annoy the Lady Elissa as she doth now by her folly
 about the young man. My lord, I love Elissa as I respect her, and it
 is in her interests and for the honour of thy name that I have dared
 to mention these things, therefore I pray thee forgive thy slave.

 “But lest thou shouldst imagine, oh my lord Hannibal, that there is no
 due cause for this letter, then know this, that there are other and
 weightier reasons which impel me to write. Although thy slave, thou
 hast ever treated me as thy daughter’s friend, and such indeed I am,
 the friend of thy house.

 “Therefore know this, I have been lately in frequent communication
 with my younger sisters, the daughters of Mandonius. From them I have
 learned that great discontent exists against thee and thy government
 on the part of both my father Mandonius and his brother Andobales,
 king of the Ilergetes, formerly despot of all Central Iberia. One
 cause, but only one cause out of many for this discontent, is that I
 am still retained a slave, and they fancy that I am not happy in thy
 household. My lord Hannibal, couldst thou take steps to assure them of
 my complete content and happiness, and shouldst thou see fit to send
 me with a suitable escort on a mission to the court of Andobales, it
 is my belief that I could easily attach both mine uncle Andobales and
 my father Mandonius firmly to thine own person and to the cause of
 Carthage. My lord, I know more than I have committed to paper,
 therefore I pray thee forgive the boldness in thus addressing thee of
 thy slave

                                                     “Melania.”


Both Hannibal and Hasdrubal his brother smiled when this letter was
ended, and the former remarked:

“Ay, Mago, my lad, I see it, despite all the girl’s cunning. She is
indeed a clever girl, and she wants me to give her to Maharbal, and by
Melcareth! she shall have her wish, for she can be useful, ay, indeed
more than useful to me at the present juncture. I have sore need of
the close alliance of the whole of the Ilergetes and of all the great
tribes dependant upon them, for we shall not long be left alone in
Iberia, since the Romans will soon be sending their legions here. And
this girl can win us this alliance as she saith. But for all that I
will not give her her liberty, nay, nor marry her to Maharbal, for he
certainly shall not marry her if I let him not wed Elissa; further, I
would keep a hold on the girl. But for the interests of the State I
will, as she desireth, make her happy. I will therefore give her to
Maharbal, at all events for the time being. He shall leave the palace
at New Carthage, and whether he will or no shall take her to live with
him, with the understanding given to her by me that she is to be
considered as his affianced wife, to be wedded and set free when I see
fit. If that will not make her happy, then I am not named Hannibal. I
am not, alas! so sure of Maharbal himself, nor of Elissa. But reasons
of State ever are paramount, and all must bend to my will or suffer
for it.”

And Hannibal frowned deeply at the mere idea of being thwarted in any
way.

“No one dare oppose thy will, brother,” said Hasdrubal, “for thou art
king here absolutely; although thou wearest not the crown thou couldst
any day, an thou would, place it upon thy brow. Thy plan is a good one
as I see it. For it will firstly have the effect of separating Elissa
from Maharbal; secondly, it will prevent the latter from marrying at
all; thirdly, thou canst send the girl Melania under the escort of
Maharbal himself to the court of King Andobales, and she can point to
him as her affianced husband. That will more than content these
barbarians, especially when they know how highly he stands in thy
favour, and that he is, leaving his high connections on one side,
commander of all the Numidian Cavalry.”

“It shall be done without delay,” said the chief. “Call in my faithful
Greek friend and scribe, Silenus; he shall write the necessary letters
for us. He hath a cunning hand hath Silenus, and knoweth well how to
convey an order so that it is thoroughly understood, yet seemeth but
intended as a favour. But at all events, Maharbal shall not marry, and
to my mind Elissa is too young to be married yet. Further, she may be
useful to the State later.”

These reflections he added meditatively, as if sorry for the blow that
he was about to inflict upon his daughter.

Then Silenus, who was ever Hannibal’s closest friend, and who
accompanied him in all his wanderings, was called in, and three
letters were written--to Elissa, Maharbal, and Melania respectively,
all carefully worded.

In about a week the courier bearing the letters arrived at New
Carthage, where they caused considerable stir and many heart-burnings.

That to Elissa, after conveying the warmest praise for her conduct,
intimated the speedy arrival of Hannibal himself, and then referred to
Maharbal. Of him the Commander-in-Chief said, that since he was the
only officer in the whole of the Carthaginian army of those who had
served before Saguntum who had no female slaves, and that Elissa
herself being unmarried and Maharbal residing in the palace with her,
some talk was being bandied about the camp which were best suppressed,
therefore, Hannibal considered it best that Maharbal should leave the
palace forthwith, and as he seemed not yet wholly recovered from his
wound, that he should take Melania with him to watch him until his
recovery. Further, Hannibal intimated to his daughter that, as there
were reasons of State for this arrangement, he trusted to her duty,
even if she should herself have formed any attachment for the young
man, to offer no opposition to her father’s projects. The letter ended
with instructions to send the unfortunate Zeno and the captive guards
of Adherbal to perpetual slavery in the silver mines.

To Maharbal were conveyed the warmest thanks and praise of his
Commander-in-Chief, an intimation of his promotion, and of the
despatch to him of much gold and many horses; further, a deed of gift
conveying to him a house belonging to Hannibal, situated near the
citadel. He was also informed that, as a reward for his bravery and
devotion, Melania was appointed to be his companion, and, although
Hannibal would himself not resign his own vested rights in her, she
was to be considered in all other respects as his slave. Finally,
Hannibal enjoined upon Maharbal that, for reasons of his own, he
expected him to do all in his power to make Melania happy in every
respect; also the necessity of his impressing upon everyone that
Melania was not merely his slave but his affianced bride, to be wedded
when his commander should see fit.

In a kindly-worded note, in Hannibal’s own hand on a separate paper,
the contents of which he was enjoined to keep to himself, Maharbal was
informed that he need be in no fear of being plunged into any
immediate wedlock, for that Hannibal had no intention of having any of
his superior officers married for a long time to come, not, at all
events, before certain work of great importance that he had in hand
should be completed.

Before the arrival of these letters, Maharbal and Elissa had been
living in a state of halcyon bliss, the only disturbing element to
cause any trouble having been the foolish little Princess Cœcilia,
who, with her mania for flirtation, had been incessantly casting eyes
at the young Colossus, and indeed making love to him very openly. For
she was dying to get married again, and had conceived the idea of
marrying Maharbal himself. As for Melania, she had suffered greatly
for some days after her escape, and had, during the days that
Maharbal, sick himself, had tended her like a brother, in no wise ever
allowed her feelings to get the upper hand of her self-constraint, nor
allowed her inward devotion and passionate attachment to him to appear
outwardly. As Elissa had also been kindness itself to her, she had,
indeed, during those days of sore sickness, resolved to subdue self
entirely, and to banish from her heart the love she bore to the
gallant officer of the Numidian Horse. Thus it had been solely with
the intention of striving to make her two benefactors happy, while
removing temptation from herself, that she had secretly written as she
had done in the first part of her letter to Hannibal. The latter part
spoke for itself. But her self-abnegation had been utterly
misunderstood by the great commander and his brothers, who had quite
misjudged her, with the result that is known.

The letter that she received herself came to her as a surprise. No
mention was made of the letter that she had sent to Hannibal, but his
to her commenced by saying that he expected shortly to have need of
her services on an important matter; that he regretted to hear of the
danger she had been in, and that he rejoiced at her escape, and at the
condign punishment of her aggressor.

Then the letter continued, that Hannibal, ever mindful of the
happiness of those who had done good service to the State, had not
forgotten her or Maharbal, and was anxious to make them both happy.
Therefore, since Maharbal had not, in the usual fashion of the army,
any female slave living with him, and as he was universally well
spoken of by men and women alike, he had decreed that, for the
present, she was to remove herself from the palace, and to reside with
Maharbal in the house which he himself was going to give him as a
residence. Further, that she was not to consider that she was being
treated lightly in this matter, although she was undoubtedly at
present a slave, nor was she to consider herself merely in the same
light as any other slave-girl who might be the temporary mistress of
the home of one of the nobles in the Carthaginian army. For Hannibal,
bearing the greatest good-will to both Maharbal and herself, and
recognising that, from her birth, she was in a position to be his
wife, had decreed that, while under Maharbal’s roof, Melania was to be
considered and treated as his affianced bride. She was informed that
the actual marriage should take place at such time, as, in the opinion
of Hannibal, it conveniently might, and that, at the same time, her
freedom would be conferred upon her.

The letter ended: “Thou art to show unto Maharbal this my letter unto
thee, and show it further to my daughter, Elissa, Regent and Governor
of New Carthage.”

The terribly mixed feelings with which Melania read this letter caused
her poor fluttering heart to beat as though her bosom would burst.
There was no joy she longed for in life more than to become all in all
to Maharbal, although, alas! she well knew that he did not love her,
but only loved Elissa. Thus, despite her love, she hated the idea of
being compelled to live under his roof as his wife, for this was very
plainly the General’s intention. Again, she knew how Maharbal himself
would take the matter, and she dreaded his scorn and neglect. She also
feared the anger and revenge of which she might be the sufferer at the
hands of Elissa, whose ardent love for Maharbal she well knew, for she
had seen it indulged in openly and unrestrainedly by the young girl
before her very eyes. For Elissa, with all the thoughtless folly of
youth, had never considered her slave’s presence when with the
glorious young Apollo, her own sun god.

Sooth to say, there was no such man as Maharbal in all the lands of
Carthagena or of Iberia. He was, indeed, a very Adonis for beauty,
with all the strength of a Hercules. It was no wonder that he was
beloved by maids and matrons alike, for in face, form, and disposition
he was in all points a man for a woman to worship.

The wretched Melania in her despair knew not what to do. When nearly
mad with thinking, she eventually sent a maiden with the letter to
Maharbal and Elissa when they were together. And then, leaving a note
in her apartment saying that she was departing for ever, and that it
would be useless to seek her, she fled from the town; walking as one
distraught, not knowing what she would do, but simply with the idea of
taking away her own life in some way. For, from whatever aspect she
looked at it, she could not face the situation. While passing the
guard house and crossing the bridge leading to the mainland, she met
many people who knew her, and who saluted her. She looked at them
vaguely without seeing them, and passed on. They thought from her
dazed expression that she had gone mad. And so, in fact, the poor girl
had in a way. Vaguely still, she wandered on until she took a little
by-road that led up into an interminable cork and hazel forest, that
covered the whole of the mountain-side. As she was ascending the hill,
she met a man whom she had quite recently befriended, an old soldier
who had had his leg broken in an accident in the palace, and whom she
had nursed. He had gone to live on the mountain-side, where he made a
living by capturing, with the aid of his sons, the game which
abounded. He stopped her, and being a garrulous old man, forced her to
speak to him. He informed her that as evening was now coming on she
must not proceed further, for that she would be in danger of her life
from the wolves, bears, and wild boars with which the forest was
filled.

“Wolves, bears, and wild boars! are there many?” she asked.

“The hill is full of them, dear lady Melania; therefore, to go further
to-night will be certain death.”

“Then, as certain death is what I seek, I shall proceed,” replied the
girl. “Take thou this piece of gold, and let me pass. Nay, here are
two, and some silver also--take them all.”

Pushing the old man aside, she passed on, and wandered away into the
recesses of the forest, until, long after having left all vestige of a
trail, she fell from sheer exhaustion beneath the shadow of a
spreading plane-tree, beside a little spring. After drinking a draught
of the cool, refreshing water, she laid herself down to await the
coming of the wild animals that were to solve the vexed problem of her
existence for her, and to terminate all her woes. But she remained
there that night, and also for the following three days, gradually
dying from starvation, and still no ferocious beast came by to
terminate her ills.




 CHAPTER VIII.
 LOVE FULFILLED.

Since the rescue of Elissa from the brutal grasp of Adherbal, the
young girl had unrestrainedly given all her love to her protector.
Although experienced in matters of war, from having accompanied her
father on his campaigns, she was utterly inexperienced in matters of
love, and, for all her determination--indeed, almost cruelty of
character--begot by the way in which she had been brought up, she was
passionately loving. This was born in her, and she was, moreover, just
at the very age when a maiden’s heart is most impressionable. She had
no idea of counting the cost of anything that she might do where her
love was concerned, and she had fully made up her mind that Maharbal
was to be hers, and she his. Although in those days, as now, eventual
matrimony was considered a desirable object in life for young women, a
lapse from virtue beforehand, when marriage was intended, was not
looked upon as a heinous crime, even among the highest families of
Carthage. For the worship of Tanais, or Astarte, was but another name
for the worship of Venus, and, as all readers of the classics know,
whether under the names of Artemis or Aphrodite, of Venus or Astarte,
the worship of the goddess of love was seldom accompanied by the
greatest continence. This was evident by the Eleusinian mysteries in
Greece, and the Veneralia in Rome, while the extreme licentiousness of
the Carthaginian priestesses of Tanais at Cissa, the town whither the
revolted mercenaries of Hamilcar were banished, is too well known to
require comment.

From her earliest youth, Elissa had been instructed to be a worshipper
of the greatest of Carthaginian divinities after Melcareth, this
Venus, Astarte, or Tanais. And she was more than ever a faithful
votary of the shrine since she herself, youthful, ardent, and loving,
had set her deepest affections upon Maharbal. She expected and
intended that he should become her husband; but she had, with the
laxity of the times, resulting from this worship of Tanais, fully
determined that, with or without the marriage tie, their lives should
be joined together in a closer union than that which usually unites
those who have not already become man and wife.

The only difficulty was in Maharbal himself. He was a man who had
ideas of purity far beyond his age. He did not believe at all in
pre-nuptial love, and had altogether a higher standard of the moral
law than any known to exist at that time. He was, indeed, laughed at
in the army for never keeping even one female slave. He had, in
consequence, after having come to a full understanding with Elissa,
whom he loved, as she loved him, with every fibre of his soul, been
extremely careful that, as far as he was concerned, she should remain
absolutely pure. He intended her to be his wife, and she was, he knew,
absolutely determined to marry him. There, indeed, seemed to be to
neither of them the slightest reason why they should not shortly wed.
Therefore, he had ever gently restrained her passionate abandonment.
He recognised plainly that these loving advances were made solely in
the loving confidence that she reposed in the man who was to be her
husband. To any other man she would, he well knew, have been as cold
as ice, and he recognised that, with body and soul, she loved him, and
him alone.

Thus, when Hannibal’s mandates arrived, ordering Maharbal to take
Melania as his mistress, the youthful and passionate Elissa became
furious with rage and jealousy. She might have looked upon the matter
in a less severe light, judging by the habits of the day, had not
Hannibal, her father, so distinctly said that Maharbal and Melania
were to be considered as betrothed to each other; but this order,
depriving her for ever of the hope of the lover who had never as yet
been hers, aroused her fury to the highest degree, and Maharbal
himself was not less angry than Elissa at being caught in this trap of
Hannibal’s. While discussing the matter together, the letter from
Hannibal to Melania was brought to them. When Elissa had read it, for
once her whole nature rose up in revolt. She became, for the first
time in her life, a thorough rebel to her father’s authority, and
instantly determined upon the death of her rival. For was she not
still the Regent and Governor of New Carthage, and was not the power
of life and death in her hands?

She instantly called the palace guards, and ordered them to go to
Melania’s apartment, to lead her away for instant decapitation, and to
return and inform her when her orders had been obeyed.

Maharbal strove to interfere; but Elissa, drawing herself up, remarked
calmly:

“I am supreme here, Maharbal; this is my palace, and these are my
guards. No one can give orders here but myself.”

Shortly afterwards word was brought to Elissa that Melania was
missing, and that a letter had been found in her room saying that she
was departing for ever; therefore the order for her execution could
not be carried out. She had been seen to leave the city; but whither
she had gone no man knew.

Her first rage being past, Elissa was doubtless glad that her
barbarous orders could not be executed, since she was not cruel at
heart. As for Maharbal, he was delighted, not only that Melania’s
execution could not be carried out, but that her absence made it quite
impossible for him to fulfil the orders of his chief. He thought it
probable that the girl had fled--as indeed she had--merely from fear
of Elissa’s vengeance, and sincerely hoped that he might never see her
face again.

Under Hannibal’s delegated authority Elissa had it in her power to
ratify the marriages of all persons under her rule at New Carthage; so
in her disappointment, and while knowing that without Hannibal’s
permission it would be illegal and irregular to apply this authority
to her own person, she determined upon a bold stroke, and resolved
instantly to celebrate her own marriage with Maharbal. Requesting the
presence of Gisco and the princess as witnesses, she, much to their
alarm and surprise, at once announced to them her intention; and when
the guards, who had brought the news of Melania’s absence, had
withdrawn, proudly drew herself up, and advancing to where Maharbal
was sitting, sadly buried in thought, laid both her hands upon his
shoulders, and looked him straight in the eyes. All trace of
girlishness had now vanished; it was a woman, and a determined woman,
who thus confronted him.

“So Melania is not to die, it seems, for if she reappear now I shall
not have her executed, but carry out my father’s orders, and hand her
over unto thee, or, rather, hand thee over unto her. Yea, hand over
thee my affianced husband to be the affianced lover of another woman.
And she, this slave, by Hannibal’s cruel command, in which, methinks,
he hath dealt somewhat lightly with Hannibal’s daughter, hath been
plainly ordered to live with thee as if thou wert in truth her
husband. Hannibal says it is for State reasons; but State reasons or
no, since I am not thy wife, and this girl is missing, I will do that
which will make it for ever impossible for me to give myself as wife
to any other man. For I, too, although only affianced to thee, will do
my duty to thee as thy wife. And since what applies where this Iberian
slave is concerned, applies equally where Hannibal’s daughter is
concerned, I, Elissa, being determined to bind my life unto thine, and
to thine alone for ever, now solemnly salute thee, Maharbal, as my
husband, before these two witnesses, and before Melcareth and Tanais;
and if Hannibal confirm not our marriage, he can, at all events, find
no fault with thee or me. But be assured that he will confirm it, for
he loveth me. And if thou wilt not take me, I will die.”

Seeing that if Melania reappeared, his beloved Elissa and he would be
separated for ever, all Maharbal’s scruples fled from him upon hearing
Elissa’s word, as leaves fly before the autumn wind. Thus it fell out
that he also vowed eternal fidelity to her, saluting her as his wife
before the two witnesses.

For the next few days Maharbal and Hannibal’s daughter yielded
themselves up to all the delights of mutual love; for as they
considered themselves actually married before the gods, Elissa became
his wife in all but law. Maharbal, however, being the soul of honour,
had stipulated before he yielded, that they should instantly confess
the situation to Hannibal, and ask him to confirm their union without
delay. To this Elissa readily agreed, for she knew her father’s
immense love for herself, and believed that, as the unexpected absence
of Melania had made compliance with his instructions quite impossible,
he would not be so very angry at what had occurred. Moreover, she
quite expected that, knowing that she and her lover had overstepped
the boundary of prudence, he would yield to their wishes at once, and
make them, by his sanction, man and wife; or, rather, confirm the
marriage which, she considered, they had consummated.

But for all that she knew him so well, and that she and her father
loved each other so dearly, she yet did not thoroughly know Hannibal
the Great, nor the inflexibility of his will. He arrived at New
Carthage on the morning of the fourth day after these events with a
large army, and still Melania had not reappeared.

No time was lost by Maharbal and Elissa in disclosing to him the
actual truth. He was vexed on finding Melania missing, but found no
fault with what they had done. He merely remarked drily, and with a
sarcastic smile:

“I have given certain orders, my child Elissa, and they will have to
be obeyed if possible, for I go not back upon my word. Neither thou
nor Maharbal have hitherto been to blame, since ye could not carry
them out. And as thou wast the Regent and Governor here, Maharbal was,
of course, in the meantime, bound to obey thine orders. Apparently
thou hast given him instructions that he was not very loth to obey.
But if thou, as the result of thy futile presumption in thinking I
would make ye twain man and wife, shouldst bear to him a child, think
not that I will any the more for that unite thee to him in matrimony.
Far from it! I have said that Maharbal and Melania are affianced to
one another, and, until I know of the girl’s death, affianced they
remain. Mind I do not say married, but affianced; and that he cannot
be affianced to two women at once, or wedded to one and affianced to
another, is evident.”

Neither the prayers of Maharbal nor his reference to his former
services, nor the tears and supplications of Elissa herself, would for
a moment shake Hannibal’s will. He was not to be moved, for he was
iron.

“Nay, Elissa, notwithstanding that thou hast in mine absence chosen to
take the law into thine own hands, and to consider thyself the wife of
Maharbal, yet, despite the oaths which thou hast sworn before two
witnesses and the gods, thou art not and canst not be his wife without
my consent, and that consent is withheld. Thou couldst indeed, it is
true, in thy position as Regent and Governor of New Carthage, have
given thine own consent, and it would have been legal, to the marriage
of any others who might have bound themselves as ye have done by
mutual oaths. But for thine own marriage thou wast answerable to me
alone, and I will not confirm it. So that is an end of the matter. But
now let us go to our mid-day meal; this subject will keep till later.
I presume that thou hast made inquiries for Melania in any case?”

The shock of this blow had nearly rendered the wretched Elissa
speechless. She could merely murmur:

“Ay, my father, I have sent in all directions.”

“That will do then; so now let us to our repast.”

Before the end of the meal, the old ex-soldier and now forester, who
had met Melania on the hill, appeared, asking to see the lady Elissa.
She shuddered when she heard of his presence with a foreboding of woe,
for what could bring him but news of Melania? He brought, indeed,
tidings that his sons, while hunting a wild boar, had come upon
Melania lying unconscious in the forest, and that she was now reposing
at his hut, and seemed nearly dead from starvation.

“That will do,” said Hannibal, giving the man a large sum of money.
“Take the lady out all necessary provisions and wine, and bring her in
when she is completely recovered; but see that she is completely
recovered first.”

When the old man had gone, Hannibal addressed his daughter and
Maharbal.

“Until Melania reappears, my children, since matters have gone so far
between ye, I will not interfere in your illegal and ill-judged union.
But when she arrives, remember this, thou Elissa, and thou Maharbal,
that Melania and Maharbal are betrothed to each other, and Elissa and
Maharbal are thenceforth to be but the merest acquaintances, nothing
more.

“Now, let us be merry together, and let the wine-cup go round, for we
cannot always be thinking of matters of policy or of State, and save
only for them, I vow I would readily ever see ye twain together as ye
are now. For, by Adonis, god of beauty, ye are a splendid couple. But
duty is duty, alas!

“Meanwhile,” he resumed, with a humorous twinkle in his eye, “let us
now raise a brimming goblet to Tanais the dear sweet goddess of love
herself. What sayest thou, my pretty widow Cœcilia--they say that
Tanais hath no more devoted votary than thee--wilt thou not drain a
cup with us?”

Not only the flirting little princess, but everyone present, including
Hannibal himself, who was no anchorite, drained their wine-cups to the
dregs, Maharbal and Elissa looking deep down into each other’s eyes as
they drank. And the afternoon and night were passed in happiness,
music, and song, and all was gaiety and rejoicing, both in the palace
and camp, at the return of Hannibal from Saguntum.




 CHAPTER IX.
 A LAUGH AND A LIFE.

All was now animation in Saguntum. The winter had passed and the
place was full of troops, for Hannibal was now using the city as his
base of operations against all the Iberian tribes living across the
Iber or Ebro.

Elissa and Maharbal had been long since ruthlessly torn apart, the
latter swearing to his dear lover, for it was impossible to consider
her as his wife, that Melania should be as a sister to him and nothing
more. But Hannibal, careless of anybody’s feelings, even his own, so
that the business of the State was advanced, had soon perceived that
the occasional meetings which took place between his daughter and her
lover Maharbal were disturbing to them both, and thus upsetting to his
calculations. He, therefore, took an opportunity one day when Maharbal
was busy exercising the large body of Numidian Cavalry now under his
command, of paying an unexpected visit to the house that he had given
to the young warrior.

Entering quietly, he found the beautiful young Iberian girl sitting in
the most forlorn position, weeping violently. Very few questions won
from the reluctant damsel the position of affairs, and the anger of
the great Chief was aroused. For Maharbal, faithful to Elissa, and
being but her’s alone, was not obeying his General’s commands to make
Melania perfectly happy, since it was not the love of a brother, which
was all that Maharbal had given her, that would fill her yearning
heart. There had been a short and sharp interview between the Chief
and his Commander of Numidians, and a few days later, it being now
early in the autumn, Maharbal and Melania had been sent away, with a
large force as escort, to travel by easy stages on an embassy to her
uncle Andobales, King of the Ilergetes. And from the time that they
had left New Carthage the face of the young maiden had brightened.

The description of the Court of Andobales, where Melania and Maharbal
remained all the winter and early spring, is not here necessary, but
the result of the embassy is a matter of history. Moved by the
representations of Melania, by the munificent presents of Hannibal,
and the fact that Melania was the affianced bride of one of the most
powerful chiefs of the Carthaginian army, the closest compact of
friendship was entered into between both Andobales and his brother
Mandonius with the Carthaginians, which treaty of friendship was of
the greatest advantage to Hannibal at that time, and faithfully
respected by the Iberians so long as they were treated with proper
consideration. Before, however, the treaty was absolutely ratified,
the General Hasdrubal was sent by Hannibal on a further mission to
Andobales to see the exact position of affairs. On his return, the
report that he gave to his brother the great Commander was most
satisfactory. But the information that he carried to his niece Elissa,
which was purposely coloured and false, tore the poor girl’s heart
with frantic jealousy, for it left not the slightest room for doubt as
to the state of the relations now existing between the man whom she
insisted, in spite of her father’s absolute disavowal of any marriage,
was her husband, and the daughter of Mandonius. For Hasdrubal brought
back the news that Melania was making Maharbal as happy as possible,
and further that she was likely to become a mother. After hearing this
intelligence, Elissa was both enraged and jealous to frenzy; moreover,
she suffered the more bitterly in her spirit from the fact that no
such good fortune, for so she would have indeed considered it, had
fallen to herself. She felt it all the more, since, moved by her
unhappy looks and frequent tears, and perhaps by the fact that the
treaty of friendship he desired was now established with the tribes of
the Ilergetes, Hannibal had one day told her that, had there been any
such an eventuality where she herself was concerned, he would have
thrown over his tool Melania, and, notwithstanding his previous
refusal, have ratified his own daughter’s irregular connection with
Maharbal simply in order to legitimatise her offspring. But this
opportunity of gaining her heart’s desire was for poor Elissa lost,
and possibly her astute father would never have told her, at this
time, what he would have done, had he not already known that there
would not be any chance of his having to keep his word.

Elissa’s love of Maharbal was now turned, or she imagined that it was
turned, to hatred, for, misled by Hasdrubal, she had no doubt of his
infidelity, and did not in the least take into account the fact that
that infidelity had been imposed upon him by her father’s commands.
She, womanlike, only imagined that he had broken his vow of fidelity
to herself. And this thing she could not forgive!

Meanwhile, the King of the Ilergetes wrote to Hannibal requesting
permission to have the nuptials of his niece and Maharbal celebrated,
and to have the freedom which had been promised to Melania confirmed.
Hannibal, with all the trickiness of the policy of those days, wrote
in return that the marriage should be celebrated in Saguntum, and
directed that the Numidian chief and his affianced wife should return
for the purpose without delay to that city. He had not at heart the
slightest intention of fulfilling either promise, but proposed to keep
the girl really, although not nominally, as a hostage for the good
behaviour of her relations. Thus State reasons influenced him again to
the sacrifice of the personal feelings of the sweet-natured Melania,
whom it had suited his purpose to make a plaything of in every way.

Fortunately for the great Commander’s reputation for good faith, and
for the feelings of Melania herself, she was spared the indignity of
the wrongs that would undoubtedly have been put upon her had she
reached Saguntum alive. For death came suddenly and unexpectedly to
take her away at a time when she could die happily in the arms of the
man whom she loved. An accident that occurred to her by the fall of
her mule over a precipice in crossing the mountains caused her sudden
and early death. Maharbal had scarcely reached her where she lay
crushed and mangled at the foot of a dark ravine, when she became
unconscious, and passed peacefully away. And she was buried on the
side of the mountain where she died.

Thus did Melania, who had never harmed a living soul, escape, by the
will of Providence, from a world in which, had she lived longer, she
would have undoubtedly only experienced many and bitter trials, of
which the enmity of her former friend, Elissa, would have been by no
means the least.

But her removal from Elissa’s path by no means lessened the feeling of
resentment that burned in the bosom of Hannibal’s daughter against her
ex-lover, Maharbal.

He, poor fellow, did not deserve the resentment, for he adored her
still, as he had ever done. He had certainly, while obeying his
Chief’s orders, learnt to appreciate Melania’s devotion to himself,
especially as he had always had an affection for her, in which,
however, passion had had no part.

Maharbal had been only three days in Saguntum, when going out to
review the large body of Iberian and Numidian Cavalry, mounted upon
his war horse, which, on account of his own great size, was an
enormous animal, he was proceeding down the main street of the city.
He was a magnificent sight, reminding the spectator of Apollo, the sun
god, as, with a golden helmet, and wearing the most magnificent
armour, he, on his mighty black charger, preceded his brilliant staff
of officers. Suddenly he espied Elissa, the woman who had been as a
wife to him, and who should, but for the great Hannibal’s invincible
will, have been actually his wife, coming down the street in the
opposite direction. She was on foot, and followed by several maidens,
accompanied also by a couple of young gallants about the court, who
were highly honoured at being seen in her company by so many noble
officers. Raising his hand, Maharbal halted the officers behind him.
Dismounting, he courteously saluted the woman whom he had saved from
Adherbal, and who had been, and still was, everything to him.

“And how doth the Lady Elissa?” he demanded, his eyes aglow with the
delight he felt on seeing her. “By all the gods of Carthage she hath a
right royal mien, and it doth the heart of Maharbal good to see her
once more.”

Elissa deliberately turned her back upon him. Addressing one of the
young men of her escort, she remarked in a voice which was
intentionally raised so that all present could hear it:

“What a number of these stranger officers of the mercenaries there are
in the town just now. But surely someone should give them a lesson in
manners; they should be taught that ladies of rank are not to be
addressed in the streets by uncouth barbarians whom they do not know.”

Then, with a little bitter laugh, she sauntered on without once
glancing at Maharbal. A loud titter was heard from all the maidens,
following their mistress’s example; from the two young nobles also,
and, worst of all, from the officers of Maharbal’s own staff.

But one of the latter not merely tittered, but laughed outright. He
was a certain Idherbal, a right valiant officer, who had considered
himself much slighted when Maharbal had been appointed over his head
to the command of the Numidians. And there was not a man or woman
there but knew well what was, doubtless, considered the diverting
history of the loves of Elissa and Maharbal. Therefore, they
considered a laugh at the unexpected insult and rebuff given by Elissa
to her lover quite excusable.

Not so Maharbal. Bounding upon his war-horse, his face all aflame, the
young man drew his sword.

“Defend thyself, oh, Idherbal,” he cried, “for ’tis the first and last
time thou shalt ever laugh at Maharbal!”

The other drew his sword rapidly, and, waiting until he did so,
Maharbal charged him. Idherbal struck a mighty blow as he approached,
but Maharbal, bending to his horse’s neck, and, with all the skill of
the famed Numidian riders, throwing his whole body on the further side
of his steed, the sword met no resistance, but only whistled through
the air. Back in his saddle in an instant, Maharbal, still crouched
low, lunged home with the point of his weapon at the joint in the
armour beneath his antagonist’s arm. The blow told; but, even as the
red blood spurted out, the young giant withdrew his sword, and, with a
second blow--a terrible, sweeping cut--caught Idherbal just below the
helmet at the neck. The wretched man’s head, helmet and all, flew
spinning off into the middle of the street, while his body fell on the
other side.

“Here, sirrah!” cried Maharbal to the young noble who had been
addressed by Elissa, who, with all her companions, had been forced to
turn and watch the rapid and bloody conflict, “come hither instantly.”

Tremblingly the young man approached Maharbal, and terrified he viewed
his bloody sword. For he also had been a laugher, and feared his own
instant death.

“Take up that head,” he commanded, in a loud voice. “It is the head of
Idherbal, the son of Mago.”

The young man submissively picked up the bloody head, bleeding in its
casque, of the man who had been living and laughing like himself but a
minute previously.

“Present the head to the Lady Elissa,” he said, “and ask her whether
or no it be the head of one of the stranger officers of the
mercenaries who hath dared to insult her by laughing at her words
without first having with her a proper acquaintance. Inform her that
there are plenty more useless heads about--thine own, for instance.
Go!” he thundered, “and that instantly,” as the young man hesitated,
“or I will depute someone else to carry both Idherbal’s head and thine
own to the Lady Elissa.”

This was quite enough for the young noble. So terrible was the look in
Maharbal’s eye that the face of everyone present, as well as his own,
was blanched with fear. He rushed to Elissa and deposited the terrible
emblem of the sanguinary conflict at her feet.

Maharbal rode to where she stood. With his bloody glaive he pointed
first to the head at her feet, then to the trunk from which the blood
was still oozing, forming a large crimson pool on the highway.

“See what thy laugh hath cost, Elissa,” quoth he. “Thou hast caused
the death of a brave man, who was full of health and vigour, full of
hope and happiness, only two minutes ago. That life which hath now
gone to Eternity might just as well have been mine own. Thou little
fool! I loved thee before, but now I hate thee for having been the
cause of my shedding innocent blood. Get thee gone home; never let me
see thy fair face again, since I have killed a man simply for its
contemptuous smile! Art thou satisfied with thy work? Begone, Elissa,
I say, begone, Hannibal’s daughter, or I will slay thee, too, for all
that thou hast been to me, even as my wife! For thou art a dangerous
woman. Begone, I say!”

Again Maharbal thundered these last words in such a terrible tone that
everyone in the street trembled before him. He was well known for his
bravery in battle; but no one had ever seen him in the fiercest
conflict aroused like this. Even his followers tried vainly each to
get behind his fellow, so terrified of his fearful anger was each and
every one. As for Elissa herself, she at that moment once more loved
Maharbal quite as much as she feared him, and loved him all the more
because she did so fear him. Trembling, she fell upon her knees in the
street before him, towering there on his war-horse, and looking the
very picture of vengeance. Everyone else, from the great and sudden
fear of the commander, who had showed so well his power to prove his
strength, and right to command by force of arms, and from respect for
the great Hannibal’s daughter, had now fallen back and out of earshot,
so her words were heard by him alone.

“My lord Maharbal,” she said, with hands uplifted, “forgive me; I am
but a woman, and I have dearly loved thee. I have given myself to
thee, and proved my love. I have since foolishly hated thee; and by
mine infamous conduct to-day, which hath, alas! been the cause of
unhappy Idherbal’s death, I have proved my hate; and, indeed, I am
much to blame, and grieve sorely for what hath happened. My lord! all
thy suite can see me humbly kneeling to thee here, and Hannibal will
hear of it as well, but ere I rise I ask thee for thy forgiveness, for
thou art before heaven mine own lord, mine only love. And all the vows
I made to thee shall last until my dying day; unless, that is,” she
added reflectively, “some great need of our mutual country should ever
compel me to sacrifice myself in the country’s cause. But know this, I
love thee--I love thee, my lord and husband Maharbal.”

Maharbal sprang from his horse, and flung his bloody weapon into the
street. He seized her in his mighty arms, lifting her bodily from the
ground, and kissed her on the lips and on both cheeks. Picking up his
sword, he then addressed the officers of his suite.

“Whoever there may be among ye who would smile at his commander let
him now smile. And I will meet him here on foot in mortal combat
before the Lady Elissa, who is my wife.”

But none smiled!

Hannibal was extremely displeased when he heard of the occurrence, for
he could not afford to have his best officers killing each other on
the eve of a campaign, simply owing to his daughter’s foolish
behaviour. Therefore he instantly sent Elissa back to New Carthage
without allowing her to see Maharbal again, and they were not to meet
for years.

 END OF PART II.




 PART III.

 CHAPTER I.
 SOSILUS AND CHŒRAS.

Hannibal was resting in his house in Saguntum a few days after
having sent Elissa back to New Carthage. He had, prior to the scene
depicted in the last chapter, overrun a portion of the country north
of the Ebro, and Hasdrubal, his brother, was still engaged in
prosecuting the campaign against all the Spanish tribes of Northern
Iberia, to whom the Romans, wishing to have a hold of Spain, had
promised protection. As Hannibal was presiding over his wine at an
informal gathering of some of his friends and officers, he was a noble
figure of a man. Not very tall, he was, having very broad shoulders,
nevertheless, of extremely athletic bearing, being built in a sinewy
mould. His chest was large, his biceps wiry and largely developed, his
wrists small, but like iron. His legs were one knotted mass of muscle
without any superfluous flesh. His colouring was fair, indeed ruddy;
his eyes were blue and piercing; his hair was a dark shade of brown.
His mouth, though firm, was rather large and humorous, his forehead
high and commanding. Being clean shaved, his determined chin was
remarkable. He looked, as he sat there, what he actually was--one of
the very strongest men in the whole army. There was not, then, when he
was still a comparatively young man, his equal for boxing, wrestling,
or running long distances, in the whole of the Carthaginian forces,
with the sole exception of Maharbal. He was the fairest man in the
whole of the assembly, having inherited the colouring off his mother,
who had come from a Gallic stock.

There were present with him at his table several people whose names
are well known in history. Silenus, his constant companion, was of
course there, also Chœras, who was a comic individual,
good-tempered--a sort of buffoon, in fact, when it suited him to be
amusing. Chœras was, however, an excellent versifier, and by no means
a fool. Next to him sat Sosilus of Ilium, a pedant who bored everybody
by his reference to learned books which nobody else cared anything
about. There was also present a very different character, Hannibal
Monomachus, who cared for nothing but warfare, and who delighted in
slaying. He was, at present, head of the pioneers of the army. His
skill was undeniable; but the methods that he employed at times were
as rough and ready as the pickaxes of his own pioneers. In fact, he
never minded how cruel he was when he considered cruelty necessary. He
had had a considerable amount of training as a cavalry officer, and
much preferred being on a war-horse at the head of his men, leading a
furious charge into the midst of a body of the enemy, to building
bridges and making roads. But Hannibal had somehow found out, with his
singular capacity for judging men, that Monomachus had great
engineering skill, and had, therefore, transferred him, for the time
being, much to his disgust, from the more strictly combatant to the
scientific branch of the service. He was now, therefore, what might be
considered the general of engineers or sappers and miners.

The other soldiers present were Mago, the younger brother of the
chief, and a high-spirited, brave young fellow; Hanno, a general of
much experience; and last, but not least, at any rate in size, the
Numidian commander Maharbal, who was the youngest man present.

Hannibal was in high good humour; news had come in that day of
continued successes on the part of Hasdrubal in the provinces north of
the Ebro, which he was over-running right up to the Pyrenees.

“Hast thou heard the news, Hanno?” quoth he. “Hasdrubal hath taken
town after town. His last success seems to have been, after a
brilliant cavalry action, in front of a city which he calls
Appollonia. I only know of two Appollonias, the one in Illyria and the
other in Assyria; I know not of this one.”

“I know it and to my cost, Hannibal,” replied General Hanno, “and so
doth our friend Monomachus. When thou wast still quite young, and we
pretty young too ourselves, thy father Hamilcar, upon whose spirit
rest the blessing of the gods, took us both with him with a small
flying column, thinking to take the place by a sudden surprise.
Surprise there indeed was, but it was all the other way. The
barbarians were waiting for us in a pass in the mountains, and it was
but those of us who had the fleetest horses that escaped. The worst of
it was, that Monomachus here had promised us an easy entrance to the
place, owing to the treachery of a young Iberian woman of whom he had,
so he thought, made a conquest. He mounted her on a horse with his
cavalry of the advance guard, and a nice trap she led him into, for
she took him right through the pass before the enemy, who closed
behind him, and attacked us. How didst thou escape, Monomachus, by the
bye? Thou wert the sole member of the advance guard who ever returned,
that I well remember. But we did not see thee for days.”

“Escape!” growled out Hannibal Monomachus, “easily enough, though I
nearly died of starvation first. The instant I saw the treachery I
seized the accursed girl, and, under a pretence of saving her life,
placed her on my steed, and rode off with her into a wood. There,
after first stripping her of all her clothing, for fear that the
raiment should be besoiled with blood, I cut her throat, but slowly
only, letting her life’s blood fall drop by drop. I tied her to a
tree, and watched her die in fact, while expounding unto her all the
maxims of virtue, the point of which was that she would have done
better to run straight in every sense of the word. When at length she
was quite dead, I attired myself in her raiment, and being then a
beardless boy, escaped under the guise of a woman, after many
wanderings. A curse I say upon that place Appollonia! I hope to all
the gods that Hasdrubal hath not left either man nor woman living
there, especially the women.”

“Most excellent Monomachus,” here cut in Sosilus of Ilium, “I have
listened with great interest to this thy not altogether unprecedented
description of the pitfalls into which man may sometimes fall through
the snare of woman. But I can cite thee a somewhat similar instance. I
have no doubt but that all our distinguished company here present
under Hannibal’s roof will have read a certain treatise entitled
‘Woman and her Wiles,’ written by one Onesimus of Syracuse. It was the
only thing that he ever wrote, for he was strangled by Hiero for
writing it, since it concerned that monarch’s mistress, Melissa by
name. But the treatise was so carefully designed, so prettily
elaborated, and so excellently carried through, that it seemeth to me,
although ’twas slightly scandalous indeed, that had Hiero been but a
man of humour, he would, instead of strangling Onesimus, rather have
promoted him to the post of chief librarian. The treatise was divided
into three parts. ‘Woman as an attraction for man,’ was the first
part; ‘Woman as a pitfall for man,’ was the second part; ‘Woman as the
accursed and faithless traitress of man,’ was the third part. Now, the
first part commenced by a very erudite discussion upon the animal
passions, and very lengthy but still not uninstructive arguments as to
whether woman most attracteth man or man most attracteth woman. I
remember well a remark on this subject that was most pertinently
quoted. It was of the Greek writer Eulikmartes, and to the effect
that--”

“Monomachus was a fool,” here cut in Chœras, with a loud guffaw, and
all the rest of the company, who were tittering at the meanderings of
the erudite Sosilus, were pleased at the interruption.

“Yes, just so, Chœras,” remarked Hannibal. “I know, at all events,
that had I been in his shoes, and while being led through the nose by
a woman--which, alas! hath sometimes been my case--myself led in turn
my followers into a trap, I should have considered that I, too, had
been a fool. But he was young--like Maharbal here is now.”

“Ay, my lord Hannibal,” answered Chœras, “Maharbal is no exception;
he is ever over-confiding in loving also. But here is a verse which I
think applies to the case quite as well as the long-winded reflections
of Sosilus:


 “Nought of girls knew Monomachus.
 Nought from female wiles can shake us.
 One who thousand lives hath ta’en
 Ofttimes is through woman slain.”


A round of applause greeted this spontaneous outburst of Chœras, and
the pedant was snuffed out.

“Maharbal,” quoth Hannibal, when the merriment had died down and the
wine cups had been replenished, “doth this not indeed a little remind
thee of thine own case? Mightest not thou thyself have been slain, and
only last week, solely for the bright eyes of a woman--ay, even mine
own daughter, Elissa? But, instead of falling, thou hast deprived me
for ever of the services of one of my most excellent officers, poor
Idherbal; I pray thee earnestly not to do so again.”

Maharbal sat silent under the well-merited reproach.

“My lord Hannibal,” quoth Sosilus, “this remark of thine remindeth me
exactly of a verse I once read when I was but a boy; it was written by
an author who lived at Tyre, and was named Pygmalion, after the king,
who was the brother of Dido. He was a writer who possessed a great
amount of erudition, and had considered several cases much resembling
that of Maharbal here, who, somewhat too rashly, albeit to preserve
his own honour, in the most chivalrous way slew Idherbal the other day
in the street. Now to get back to Pygmalion. He said--yet I must
remember in which of his books it was; I think in the thirteenth
stanza of his nineteenth volume.”

“Oh, confound his books!” said Chœras, again rudely interrupting the
learned man. “I will tell thee what he said, oh, Sosilus. Was it not
something like this?--


 “Maharbal was in a sense
 Bound to seek some recompense.
 He was mocked at, and the crowd
 Echoed out the laugh aloud.
 Thus the warrior lit and drew
 Forth his blade--the scoffer slew.
 Once more woman by her wiles
 Sent a soul to Heaven’s smiles.”


“Bravo, Chœras!” shouted out Mago, thumping on the table. “Thou art
the boy for me, and if my lord and brother Hannibal will allow me, I
will take thee with me, when first he deigns to give me a separate
command somewhere or other. For by the gods, I like thy pithy verses--


 “‘Once more woman by her wiles
 Sent a man to Heaven’s smiles.’


But come, Maharbal, my lad, why sittest thou so glum thyself, while
thou and Monomachus are giving us such a pleasant and instructive
subject of conversation? Cheer up, lad, and join me in a cup of wine.
What hast been thinking about while looking as melancholy as a dog
about to be led out to execution? There are plenty more bright eyes
besides those of my pretty niece Elissa in the world, and thou and I
shall in our leisure moments oft pursue them together, that I’ll
warrant thee. Or is it the excellent but unfortunate deceased young
woman Melania of whom thou art thinking? Ah! there was a girl for thee
if thou wilt, who would never have betrayed a man--nay, nor even a
woman either. Thou shouldst give me thanks for having first put it
into Hannibal’s head to give her unto thee; for by Melcareth, I saw
her value from the first, and would gladly have had her as a companion
myself. Her’s was a noble disposition.”

“What I am thinking about is this, oh Mago!” responded Maharbal, “that
while echoing the praise that thou hast paid to poor Melania’s memory,
which is well deserved, it seemeth to me that the conversation hath,
with all due deference to Hannibal, been concerned quite long enough
either with women or myself, and that now it would be far better if we
could get back to some subject that is important at the moment, such
as the news of the Iberian war, or the attitude of the Romans now that
they know not only that we have taken Saguntum, but further, in direct
defiance of the treaty the late Hasdrubal made with them, that we have
crossed the Iber, and are hunting their allies about like foxes to
their dens in the mountains.”

“Well spoken, Maharbal, my lad!” quoth Hannibal; “I will join thee and
Mago in that cup of wine--’tis some that the rascal Adherbal brought
to New Carthage, and most excellent. And, here is my hand upon it,
this is the last that thou shalt ever hear from me of that little
matter of the slaying of Idherbal the other day. For thou art, indeed,
a warrior after my own heart, and I honestly agree with Chœras that
as a soldier under the circumstances


 “‘Maharbal _was_ in a sense
 Bound to seek some recompense.’


And thou didst seek it, and gained it also very effectively all round
that day, if what I heard is true. But now, there is the hand of
Hannibal, the matter is closed. And as to Elissa herself, we will see
later, after the war, for I am just about to disclose to thee my
plans, after hearing which thou wilt wish no marriage now.”

The two warriors stood up, and, both equally fearless and determined
men, looked each other straight in the eyes, while Maharbal held, in a
grip of iron in his gigantic hand, the far smaller but equally strong
hand of his commander, which returned the grasp with equal strength.

With his disengaged hand Maharbal lifted the golden wine cup.

“I pledge thee, Hannibal, my commander, and, by the gods, wish thee
success in all thy plans and undertakings. May I, Maharbal, ever be
with thee! Ay, to the death, if need be. As for thy daughter, if there
be manly work before me, then, let that matter stand over, for I seek
not marriage before a war--I wish not to leave a widow.”

Raising his cup also to his lips, Hannibal replied:

“I pledge thee, my noble friend and servant, Maharbal, the son of
Manissa; good work hast thou done already, despite thy youth, and
doughty deeds shalt thou do again, for soon will come the opportunity,
and, if thou wilt, thou shalt indeed be with me, ay, and I with thee,
to the death in our country’s cause.”

Silence fell upon all present as these two noble soldiers of Carthage
drained their wine-cups over this sacred compact, for such it was, of
eternal fidelity on Maharbal’s part, and of eternal protection and
fatherly love on the part of the great commander.

And it was a compact that was never broken.

“Now,” said Hannibal, when they had resumed their seats, “I have much
tidings to impart unto ye all, and as it is of serious moment, I shall
have to ask the learned Sosilus to spare us all learned dissertations
upon similar cases which may occur to his mind.”

Here there was a laugh at the learned man’s expense, in which the
worthy pedant, who knew full well his own failing, joined. But he
could not resist an answer.

“It seemeth to me, most noble Hannibal, that thou art fully justified
in asking for no further reference to learned books, when thou art in
the very act thyself of making history for future generations. There
is a similar instance in history when Alexander the Great was sitting
at his council table previous to crossing over into Egypt. I got the
anecdote from a very valuable little book written by one, Euxon, an
Athenian. One of his councillors, thus saith the worthy Euxon, was,
with many references to books, drawing parallel cases, and suggesting
certain methods laid down as having been followed by other conquerors
before him, when the great king, Alexander, rising in a stately
manner, remarked--”

“Hold thy peace!” said Chœras, “even as Hannibal is about to remark
now, which is a parallel case, an thou wilt.”

The pedant subsided, crushed once more. Hannibal joined the others in
the laugh, but said:

“And thou also, Chœras, wilt have to keep thy witty tongue in thy head
as well. And now to business.”




 CHAPTER II.
 A GIGANTIC SCHEME.

“I have various news,” said Hannibal; “and, first of all, I must
inform ye that I have letters from Carthage. The receipt of the
enormous booty which I sent thither hath moved all the popular party
in my favour. The death of Adherbal and Ariston by crucifixion at New
Carthage, after their infamous attempt at treachery to the real
welfare of their country and upon my daughter’s honour, hath thrown
all their adherents into dismay. They have not, therefore, been
listened to at all in the Senate; and recently, when Quintus Fabius
Maximus, the head of the Roman envoys, asked for my head--which, in
spite of the vain boastings of Adherbal, is still safe and sound upon
my shoulders--it was wisely denied him. Further, the said Fabius
appears to have boastfully held up his toga saying, ‘The head of
Hannibal and peace, or else keep ye your Hannibal and take war. I hold
the fate of Carthage for peace or war in the folds of this toga.’ The
Hundred were, it seems, frightened at his threats, but calmly replied,
‘Give us what ye will.’ ‘War be it, then!’ declared the said Fabius,
and he hath departed now with all his suite for Rome.”

“Then we are in for war with the Romans,” remarked Maharbal gleefully.
“By the gods, I am right glad; so now I know the meaning of thy recent
words, Hannibal.”

“And I, too, am glad,” quoth General Hanno.

“I, likewise,” said Monomachus, “am overjoyed, most noble Hannibal,
that the time for revenge hath come. May it be a long war and a bloody
one! I am longing to plunge my arms up to the armpits in Roman blood.
I suppose we may now soon have to expect their legions over here in
Iberia? Well, we have, at any rate, the fleet and command of the sea,
thus it will be more of a sea war than a land war, I reckon. But we
shall have plenty of fighting here on land also.”

“My generals,” quoth Hannibal, “I am glad to see in ye this spirit,
which, indeed, I expected upon learning these most momentous tidings.
But learn this, that so far as all of us here at present assembled are
concerned, the war with the Romans will be neither a sea war nor a war
to be waged in Spain. It will be a war in Italy itself, for I intend
to attack the proud Romans in their own country, without waiting to
give them an opportunity of looking us up here. And know this,
further, I have for long secretly been making preparations for the
invasion of Italia.”

A silence fell upon those assembled. At length spake Hanno:

“Italia! the war to be in Italia! Then thou wilt, indeed, attack Rome
on Roman soil--a most momentous determination. And where wilt thou
disembark thy forces, most noble Hannibal? In one of the northern
Etruscan ports? or wilt thou rather land somewhat further to the
north, in the country of the Cis-Alpine Gauls. Thus couldst thou form
thy base of operations in a country hostile to Rome; for all the Gauls
have been terribly punished by the Romans in this recent war, and they
would readily become thine allies.”

“Thou hast a most strategical mind, Hanno,” replied the Commander;
“but learn this, that for the very reason that thou hast suggested,
namely, the hope of an alliance with the Gauls, I shall not go by sea
at all, but by land. I shall, therefore, cross the Ebro, march through
the country Hasdrubal is now subduing, then cross the Pyrenees, and
marching along the coast all through Gallia, pass the river Rhodanus.
Thence I shall make the transit of the Alps, and descend into the
peninsula of Italia from its north-western corner. This will bring us
right into the middle of the country of all the Cis-Alpine Gauls, with
whose various nations I have, unknown to Rome, been concluding
alliances for the past nine months or more.”

“An attack by land on Rome, marching from Saguntum in Spain! A mighty
undertaking, indeed, oh Hannibal!” here interrupted Monomachus; “and
one that, shouldst thou carry it out successfully, will make the world
ring with thy fame for years, ay, for centuries to come. But hast thou
thought it well out, and how serious an undertaking it is from the
engineering difficulties? My department of the army will have to be
largely strengthened in men and material. For, think it out! thousands
of miles will have to be marched; two large mountain ranges, or
including the Apennines, three, will have to be crossed; and how many
rivers, I should like to know? including that mighty and rapid river,
the Rhone, which thou hast mentioned. The Gauls, in that part of
Gallia round its mouth at Massilia, have ever been the allies of Rome,
and they will offer determined opposition, be assured of that, to our
passage.”

“Ay, Monomachus, thine observations are all just, and I have thought
of these things and thou wilt have thine hands full indeed, but there
is a more serious question still that I would solve, and that is the
question of food for the army. Canst thou help me to solve that, for I
fear that provisions will be but scarce?”

“That is a simple matter enough,” replied the blood-thirsty warrior.
“We can feed the army on the Gauls themselves, whose country we shall
have to pass through. They will soon get accustomed to human flesh
after a little training. I would indeed suggest that they commence to
be taught at once. Thou mightest send word to Hasdrubal to send us in
a large batch of prisoners for the purpose. Or stay,” he added
reflectively, “there are a quantity of female slaves in camp for whom
there can be no possible use if we are going to embark upon such a
prolonged campaign. I would suggest that a commencement be made on
them; they will be tenderer eating than Iberian mountaineers, and less
repulsive to the stomach to begin upon.”

Hannibal and the other warriors stared aghast at this suggestion.

Chœras made a wry face and felt sick, for he knew well that the
butcher Monomachus was quite capable of killing and eating anything or
anybody. General Hanno took the suggestion seriously.

“I have never yet eaten human flesh,” he said, “but the Admiral of my
own name, the Hanno who before the first Roman war made a voyage half
round Western Africa, reported on his return that he met in his
travels many nations who did so, killing and eating the prisoners they
made in war. And these man-eaters were fierce and courageous people,
too. It might therefore be tried in case of necessity, and even have a
salutary effect upon the courage of the troops; but I see no use in
practising upon our female slaves, or on the Iberian prisoners
beforehand. But what thinkest thou thyself, Hannibal?”

Although Hannibal always did exactly what he intended to do himself,
he nevertheless frequently paid his friends and generals the
compliment of appearing to listen to their advice. He therefore
answered:

“There is something in it, certainly; it is really not a bad idea at
all. But I am rather of thy opinion, Hanno, that there is no occasion
to start yet, while we are still in a land where sheep and oxen are
plentiful.”

“My lord Hannibal,” said Sosilus, who had, during these remarks, been
casting up some figures on a paper, “I have certain important facts to
put before thee.”

“Speak out, oh Sosilus!” said his chief; “what hast thou to say?”

“I have this to say, that, according to the custom of war in all
countries, I have been reckoning up the forces. Now, although my habit
of reading everything that is ever written may be thought foolish,
and, moreover, my habit of remembering and quoting the same may be
thought more unnecessary still, the scoffers who laugh at me,” and he
glared at Chœras, “are themselves those who should be considered
asses. Now recently I came, after the slaughter at Saguntum, upon the
body of one of the Roman officers who was being rifled by one of the
mercenaries. I saw the man withdraw from the breast of this officer a
roll of papers, which he contemptuously cast aside. I picked it up,
and studied it with a view to embodiment in my treatise upon ‘Rome in
her Relations to the Barbarians, Political, Social, and Military,’ of
anything of importance that I could find therein. And this have I
found therein, most noble Hannibal--that if thou wouldst attack Rome,
the number of the forces of Rome and her various allies in Italia at
the present moment amount to the astonishing and alarming number of no
less than 700,000 infantry and about 70,000 cavalry. This was, of
course, only the number reckoned available during the recent war
against the Gauls in Cis-Alpine Gallia. But I can give it to thee,
chapter and verse, an thou wilt. Actual Romans, say about forty-four
thousand; Etruscans, fifty-four thousand; Sabines, also fifty-four
thousand; Apulians, Picenians, Campanians, and Umbrians, in equal
proportions, and so on. It is, however, scarcely necessary to give in
detail all the allies. The total, during the recent Roman war with the
Gauls, of men capable of bearing arms, was enumerated as I have
stated. I have again, on the other hand, worked out here the number of
forces which thou hast at thy command now in Iberia. Reckoning the
enormous addition to the power of Carthage caused by the favourable
result of the recent mission of our worthy young friend here Maharbal,
I find that thou hast, at the very outside, available only about one
hundred thousand men against the Roman seven hundred and seventy
thousand. This seemeth to me a somewhat undue preponderance on the
other side, especially when it hath to be considered that thou must
leave a sufficient garrison to hold the whole of Spain, and likewise
must despatch many troops over into Libya ere thou canst thyself take
the field. My lord Hannibal, I am fully aware of the fact that the
only advantage that I can be to thee, shouldst thou select me to
accompany thee upon this war, will be that I may become thy historian;
but still I would point out to thee that, according to Homer, to quote
parallel cases, the inhabitants of Argos, before they set out for the
siege of Troy, reckoned that--”

“Yes, yes, never mind Troy,” remarked Hannibal, dreading the parallel
cases; “thine own information is very important and most opportune
just now. I must have it all out chapter and verse later. Our troops
are certainly very insufficient for the purpose as far as numbers go;
but look at our training and the constant warfare in which we have
been engaged. That is where we shall reap the advantage, even as did
my father Hamilcar at Mounts Ercte and Eryx. But I intend to go. I
intend to leave, perhaps for ever, this fair country of Iberia, where,
if I would, I might be supreme king; this country where I have fought
and loved--loved and fought ever since I was a mere boy--and I intend
to humble the power of the accursed Romans or perish in the attempt.
And I have thought out the way, and I shall do it. Ay, by the gods I
shall do it! I will slay the Romans in their thousands, and upon their
own soil too; I will avenge all the insults and the treachery they
have put upon Carthage; and thou, Sosilus, shalt live to see it and
chronicle it also, an thou wilt. At all events, thou shalt accompany
me, for thy memory is so retentive, that when mine own fails thou
shalt supply the deficiency.”

There was a slight pause here in the conversation, for the enormous
disparity in numbers between the Roman and the Carthaginian forces
likely to be opposed to one another gave rise, and naturally so, to
much thought among those who were likely to be principal actors in the
unequal war. Presently Silenus spoke. He was by birth a Macedonian
Greek, a little dark man, young, and very wiry-looking, and well knit,
with singularly sweet, engaging features.

“Hannibal,” he said, “of course since I have written all thy letters,
I have known all about these alliances that thou hast been concluding
with the Gauls, most of which, in my opinion, are of but doubtful
value. But of other things, for instance, thine own private motives
for undertaking this war in such a very remarkable way I know nothing.
However, since thou hast assembled us all here in an informal manner
around the wine bowl, and disclosed certain of thy plans, would it
seem indiscreet of me were I to ask thee openly a question?”

“Ask anything thou choosest, and I will answer or not, as I see fit.”

“Well, then, I will before all enter into the question of General
Hanno’s remarks--or was it Monomachus? I forget which--about invading
Italia by sea, which, since we have the fleet, would naturally seem
the easiest way. Well, Hannibal, wherefore, by all the gods of all the
known world! shouldst thou, having got the fleet, enter upon this war,
or rather this invasion of Italia, in such a hazardous manner by land,
thus cutting thyself off as thou wilt do from all thy communications?
Why not, instead of invading Italia--by doing which thou wilt be at a
disadvantage--let the Romans come here, as they will, and attack us.
Here thou knowest the ground and the people. Here by the recent
alliance concluded through Maharbal and his affianced wife Melania,
thou hast gained important allies--trustworthy, no doubt, while thou
art here to watch them. Why then not stay here, where thou art
supreme, and let the Romans come, and then destroy them in detail,
instead of thrusting thyself, as thou must, with a comparatively small
force into the midst of a terrible hornet’s nest against fearful odds?
I would, in sooth, like to know thy reason, for although I offer no
counsel, well-knowing thou takest counsel from no man, it may be
instructive to all of us here present to know hereafter what are the
reasons which impel thee to undertake this most wonderful--this most
gigantic enterprise.”




 CHAPTER III.
 HANNIBAL’S DREAM.

Hannibal rose from his seat, called for a cup of wine, tasted it,
put it down, walked up and down the room, sipped at his wine again as
if in thought, before he replied. At last he answered:

“After deep thought I have decided. Well, I think that I may tell unto
ye all my mission, for it is a mission of the gods. I cannot tell
whether or no it may be ultimately successful, but of one thing am I
assured, I shall, for a time, at all events, be the means of humbling
this trebly accursed State of Rome, which is gradually diminishing all
the ancient power of Phœnicia, and hath already wrested the whole of
Sicily from her grasp in honest fight, and won also from the Punic
rule, but by fraud, the fair isle of Sardinia.

“Listen now. I went, as ye all know, not long since--that is, directly
after my return to New Carthage after we had captured this place,
Saguntum--on a pilgrimage. That pilgrimage was to the temple of
Melcareth in Gades. Now Gades is, perhaps, the oldest Phœnician
settlement in the whole of Iberia. Its origin is so old that the
records cannot tell whether the earliest inhabitants of Gades came
from Tyre or from Sidon, but they are pure Phœnicians to this day,
and as such worship the great invisible god Melcareth. Their language
is not quite the same as our own, and is somewhat mixed with Greek--it
hath, withal, a slight admixture of the Iberian tongue; but all their
religious customs are most pure and holy. And the temple in Gades of
the great god Melcareth is worthy in its architecture of all the
highest civilisation of the country of Carthage as it was when I
remember it as a boy. There is a peculiar solemnity about the temple,
and upon first entering it I was struck by the evident presence of the
omnipotent being. I fell upon my face, overpowered by this feeling,
just within the threshold; but a hoary-headed priest came forward,
raised me up, and, with comforting words, led me towards the altar.
There, feeling all the time that I was actually in the presence of an
omnipotent being, I accomplished my sacrifice, plunged my right arm in
the blood, and renewed solemnly the oath which I made when but a boy
of nine in the presence of my father Hamilcar. This oath was one of
eternal hatred against the Romans, and of life-long effort to reduce
the pride of these enemies of our country. I must tell ye, that having
no son, I took with me my daughter Elissa, and made her swear the same
oath as I swore when a boy. Closely veiled she was, and humble as
becometh one worshipping the gods. I also made her vow to the gods
that all her life she should devote herself to her country, even as
had she been my son instead of my daughter, and that, henceforth,
whatever the past had been, self was to be held of no account, but
that her nation’s welfare was before everything to be considered. And
I swore the same oath with her.

“The priests left us alone at length, in meditation on our knees
before the altar of the almighty Melcareth. The sacrificial fire
burned low, only an occasional gleam flared up from the glowing
embers. Daylight faded away into utter darkness. Overcome by the sense
of the solemnity of the holy place, and the soporific effect of the
smoke and the simmering incense, both my daughter and myself fell upon
our faces at length in a kind of stupor. Suddenly the whole gloom of
the mighty fane became illumined with a brilliant light. My daughter
and I both sprung up, and our eyes were dazzled as we saw the great
god Melcareth appear in person before us. My daughter almost instantly
sunk senseless before the divinity; but not so I. The god stretched
out his hand towards me and uttered the following words:--

“‘Hannibal, son of Hamilcar, thou shalt avenge thy father’s
misfortunes. Great shall be thy glory, but great also shall be thy
downfall. Strive, nevertheless, strive to the end; thou shalt reap thy
reward hereafter, and thy name shall never die. Yea, I am the great
god Melcareth, who will ever have thee in my protection. In good days
or in evil days rest upon my bosom, for even in the evil days I will
be near thee, although thou seest me not. Now sleep, my son, sleep,
and thy destiny shall be revealed unto thee by me in a dream.’

“Gradually the blazing light and the resplendent figure of the god
faded away. I sank upon my face before the glowing altar fire and
slept. And I dreamt a dream. At least it was not a dream that I
dreamt, but a vision that I experienced.

“Suddenly I found myself translated into a wonderful dazzling abode of
light, where, sitting in a beautiful garden, were present all the gods
of Carthage. Melcareth was there, and Tanais. Towering above all the
others stood Moloch, and fierce indeed and terrible was he of aspect,
and yet he ever smiled and the fixed angry look upon his face ever
relaxed when Tanais addressed him, which she did frequently. As for
Tanais, whom we also call Astarte, no radiant vision of beautiful
young womanhood that man’s soul or brain hath ever imagined can
realise her excessive, delightful, and bewitching beauty.

“‘Moloch,’ quoth she, ‘Moloch, my well-beloved, be not angry, for I
must embrace this Hannibal, the son of Hamilcar, although, indeed, he
worshippeth thee and not me upon earth; yet, for all thy frowns, will
I now take him to my bosom.’

“Then, although at first Moloch frowned, I saw him smile when she bade
me approach, which I did without the least fear.

“‘Embrace me, Hannibal,’ she said; ‘I am the goddess Tanais, whom thy
daughter Elissa worshippeth. Fear not Moloch; he loveth thee for all
his frowns, for thou shalt give unto him many victims of the Roman
people whom he loveth not, since they believe not in him. But I love
all people alike, for I am the goddess of love, and love is in all
nations. ’Tis I who plant the little seedling of love in each young
maiden’s heart; ’tis I, too, who teach the warrior that there is one
divinity yet more powerful than Moloch, and more--ay, far more fatal.
For my votaries--ay, even the votaries of love--commit more crimes,
more murders, more atrocities, more deceits, more robberies in my name
in a month, than do all those of Moloch in a year. Thus is Moloch, who
is mine own lover, yet jealous of me, although through me most mortals
play into his hands. Yet so hast thou not done through me as yet,
Hannibal, yet hath thy daughter Elissa already, and there are more
victims to come to him through her. See! beneath Moloch’s hand, one is
there.’ I looked, and saw the figure of Adherbal, the son of Hanno. I
knew not how I knew him, but he it was--I knew it. And then Moloch
spoke in a voice of thunder:

“‘Ay, ’tis true, Elissa! dost thou see? Thou shalt give me another
victim soon.’ Turning, I saw Elissa behind me, standing as in a spirit
form. I suppose now that the other victim to whom the god referred was
that Idherbal, whom thou didst slay the other day, Maharbal. But after
that I saw Elissa no more. Then the goddess Tanais drew me to her, and
pressed me on her bosom, and kissed me, and breathed the spirit of
divinity into me, while Moloch looked on, and smiling said,

“‘Ay, my fair queen of love! make love to him. I permit it this time,
for he is beloved of me, indeed.’

“But she only laughed, and replied, ‘I make love to him because I love
him, and not at all for thee, Moloch; dost thou not know that warriors
are always beloved of women?’ Whereupon he frowned and turned away,
while the goddess bade me kiss her, and fondled me again, but I feared
her. Then she reproached me, with a gentle whisper in mine ear, that I
did not show myself even in heaven a much more ardent devotee than on
earth, although, she said, she knew that I worshipped occasionally at
her shrine. But Melcareth coming forward, she released me from her
embrace, and with Moloch retired. The other gods and goddesses also
fell far behind, for Melcareth is king of heaven, and so grand, so
powerful, and yet so placid, it seemeth as though all heaven and earth
is in his single look. I trembled before him--ay, and fell to the
ground; yet never had I so trembled before the terrible Moloch.
Melcareth, the almighty one, touched me and I arose.

“‘Hannibal, son of Hamilcar,’ said he, ‘I have here ready a guide for
thee who shall show thee the course that thou art to pursue. Now
follow him, but stay; first bid farewell to Tanais, for thou wilt not
henceforth have much time for the delights of love; thou must leave
that to thy daughter, who is in the goddess’s especial favour.’

“The goddess Tanais once more took me in her arms and embraced me.

“‘Go,’ she said, ‘fight well for the might of Carthage, mine own
beloved city. I will welcome thee back to my bosom some day.
Meanwhile, do Moloch’s work--he loveth blood.’

“The god Moloch, still keeping in the background, waved his hand to me
in token of farewell; then the great Melcareth simply touched me
again, and I found myself flying through space side by side with a
messenger like unto the Roman god Mercury, saving that he had no wings
on head or feet, but merely moved onward by voluntary volition, as did
I accompanying him.

“We travelled for a long time over lands, seas, rivers, and mountains.
‘See thou look not back,’ said my guide. But curiosity overcame me at
length and I looked back. Awful was the sight I saw behind me. A huge,
ghastly monster with fiery breath issuing from his mouth, having
gigantic wings and horrid claws of iron on his feet, was following in
our wake destroying everything we passed over as we sped by cities,
houses, farms, and vineyards.

“‘What, oh, what is this terrible creature behind us?’ I asked of my
spirit guide as we sped through the air.

“‘It is the devastation of Italia, oh Hannibal,’ said he. ‘See that
thou dost march ever straight onwards, careless of this monster which
shall ever follow in thy rear. Neither let rivers nor mountains,
cultivated lands nor olive groves, meadows nor marshlands turn thee
aside, but march thou onward ever straight through Italia from end to
end, and leave the rest in the hands of the gods. So now I leave
thee.’

“He left me as we were hovering over the roof of the temple of
Melcareth in Gades. Shortly after, I awoke from what seemed a profound
sleep before the altar, and arousing my daughter, who was still
sleeping, I arose. For henceforth I knew my fate. It was to be the
conquest and destruction of Italia. Now, my noble companions, ye know
that if I invade the Roman dominions it is simply by the command of
the gods--ay! at the divine will. I therefore have no choice but to
overrun Italia from end to end.”

Hannibal ceased speaking, and silence fell upon all present. Every man
there was a firm believer in the gods, therefore none of them doubted
for an instant that a supernatural power was directing Hannibal to
commence this immense undertaking, and would assist him in carrying it
through against fearful odds.

Presently Mago spoke.

“’Tis evident indeed that thou hast a divine mission, oh my brother,
and that it is to thyself invade, without waiting to be invaded. And
thou hadst a wonderful vision, would to heaven that I had seen it,
too. And did the queen of heaven and of love herself really embrace
thee? Had it been me, then I vow by the sweet goddess herself that
never again should mortal woman’s lips touch mine so long as I live.”

“A rash vow that of thine,” quoth Chœras,


 “‘For sweet as wine are woman’s lips,
  And who with each shall toy,
 No sooner tasteth as he sips
  But he would more enjoy.’


Yet ’tis a safe enough vow for thee to make under the circumstances.
And verily I too believe that had such an honour been vouchsafed unto
me by the blessed Tanais, our worthy friend Sosilus yonder would never
again need to reproach me of being too fond of any mortal woman’s
lips. But ’twas indeed a glorious vision which it was given unto our
commander to behold; and now, knowing that he hath the protection of
the gods, not only will he himself, but we his followers also, start
with hope rising buoyant in our hearts upon such a march as the world
hath hitherto never heard of, nay, nor dreamed of. I who, since from
sheer idleness I came over from Carthage last year, have been but a
mere volunteer on Hannibal’s staff, am so deeply impressed by what he
hath told us, that I shall now ask his permission to enrol myself
regularly under his flag. For with the noble mission that is so
clearly marked out for him, who would not ask to follow him to death
or glory? Prithee, Hannibal, wilt take me under thy colours as a
regular soldier henceforth, for I, too, would fain march with thee to
Italia?”

“Ay, willingly will I take thee, Chœras, and as many more
Carthaginian nobles as may choose to come over and join us in striking
at the same time a blow in defence of their country, and a blow at the
prestige and power of Rome. Ay, readily will I enrol thee, and, since
thou ridest well, I will appoint thee as one of Maharbal’s lieutenants
in the Numidian Horse. Will that suit thee? and thee, too, Maharbal,
wilt thou have Chœras? I found him efficient as a member of my staff,
and a brave rider withal--with a bridle and a saddle, that is, but
certainly not in the Numidian style, without either saddle or bridle,
or with only a halter; of that he hath as yet had no experience. But
thou wilt have to give him lessons, Maharbal, for, although ye
commanders certainly ride not always in that fashion, yet no officer
should be unable to do whatever his men can do. And of that thou,
Maharbal, art indeed thyself a notable example. So now, Chœras,
consider thy petition granted. Thou art appointed to the mounted
branch of the service from this minute. Art thou satisfied?”

Chœras made a most gruesome and comical grimace.

“Many thanks, most noble Hannibal; but, since I am by thy favour to be
appointed to the mounted branch of the service, and to learn to ride
without a saddle or bridle, dost not think that it would be more
seemly, and that there would be somewhat less chance of my coming to
an untimely end at the very beginning of the war, were I appointed to
the elephant corps? I might, moreover, take Sosilus up behind me to
remind me of parallel cases, as applied to ships, whenever the brute
refused to steer, for he was, so I have heard, brought up as a sailor
when but a lad. Thus, I could place him by the tail to steer the
beast, and then, I am convinced, I could speedily learn to ride
without either saddle or bridle. But, I confess, I have my misgivings
about being able to stick on any bare-backed beast smaller than a
good-sized elephant, certainly not a fiery Numidian charger. And
wherever I go, for the sake of the good precepts he would instil, I
should decidedly like to have the advantage of our good Sosilus’s
society. Therefore, my Lord Hannibal, mount me, I prithee, on an
elephant!”

There was some merriment at these comical objections of Chœras, who
was a licensed jester, amid which the party broke up, Maharbal having
laughingly promised him that, for fear of losing his valuable services
all too soon, he would provide him with both saddle and bridle until
the completion of at least the first campaign.




 CHAPTER IV.
 FIRST BLOOD.

There had been plenty of stiff fighting before Hannibal succeeded,
with his army of seventy thousand of all arms, in getting across the
Pyrenees into the country of Gallia, for the Celts held strong
positions in which to resist the invaders. But he crossed the
mountains at last, and, having left his brother, Hasdrubal, with
fifteen thousand Libyans, to garrison Spain, and sent an equal number
of Iberians over into Libya, the Carthaginian Commander had pursued
his advance without further resistance until he reached the banks of
the Rhone, about three days’ march north of Massilia, or Marseilles.

Here he proceeded to make a camp and prepare for crossing the wide and
swift river Rhodanus. Boats and canoes were purchased in abundance; a
great number of soldiers were employed in cutting down trees and
making rafts for the transport of the elephants, and, with the sawing
and hammering that went on, the whole camp soon resembled an enormous
workshop. Meanwhile, the natives were collecting in large numbers on
the other bank of the Rhone to dispute his passage.

Sitting round the camp fire one night, Hannibal held a conclave of his
officers.

“We must make speedy haste, oh, mine officers,” he said, “to cross yon
deep and mighty river despite the hordes of barbarians who guard its
further bank, for to-day grave and unexpected tidings have come to
hand. The Romans have landed at Massilia; ay, the Consul Paullus
Cornelius Scipio himself, so say the Gauls, accompanied by his
brother, Cnœus Cornelius Scipio, has suddenly landed and formed a
camp at Massilia. It seemeth that he is proceeding with a fleet and
large army to Iberia to meet me there, and hath disembarked for
provisions; but, doubtless, he will ere this have learnt that he need
not go so far as Spain to find Hannibal or Hannibal’s army. But ’tis
not here in Cis-Alpine Gaul that I would meet him; nevertheless, we
must, while pursuing our previous plans for forcing the river
crossing, despatch at once a force to the southward to ascertain, if
possible, his numbers and his present intentions. General Maharbal,
thine shall be this duty. Warn, therefore, five hundred of thy
Numidians after their supper to be ready to start with thee in the
first hour of the morning watch. Take native guides with thee, and
march with all due precaution towards Massilia, and strive to find out
the numbers and dispositions of the Roman Consul’s troops.”

“It shall be done at once, my lord,” replied Maharbal, saluting, and
departing to that part of the camp where his horsemen were encamped.

“To thee Hanno, son of Bomilcar,” continued the Commander, “is
assigned another and most arduous duty, and one upon the skilful
accomplishment of which depends the whole future of the campaign. For
thou must, with five thousand Numidian and Iberian infantry, march in
a couple of hours time to the northward. Take guides with thee, and,
avoiding the bank of the river, strike it again at daylight. There
procure boats or make rafts, or, by any means, make a crossing before
the Gauls can assemble to dispute thy passage, which, if possible,
must be made without their knowledge. Then, to-morrow night, descend
the other bank, and, at daybreak, raise a thick smoke from the high
hills behind the encampment of the Gauls now opposing us. When I see
that smoke, I will commence to cross the river in face of the enemy,
who, watching us, will, if the fates are propitious, not observe thee.
Then, when they are opposing our landing, do thou fall suddenly upon
their camp and themselves. Thus will they be caught between both
armies at once, and, by Melcareth! ’twill be odds but that not many of
them survive to tell the tale of their discomfiture.”

’Twas now General Hanno’s turn to salute and march out, to warn his
officers and men for the important service which lay before them. To
the rest of his officers, Hannibal now gave certain instructions for
the morrow’s duties, and shortly afterwards all in the camp, except
those on guard, or warned for the duties above-detailed, had retired
to their tents for the night.

Long before daybreak, Maharbal and his men were on the march, and
riding cautiously towards the south. Shortly after dawn he halted his
men for a time in a wood for purposes of repose, while he himself,
taking a fresh horse and accompanied by a few followers, rode well in
advance without seeing any signs of an enemy. Returning, he sent
forward his advance guard, then, followed by all his men, drawn up in
a single line of horsemen, two deep at loose intervals, he himself
advanced in succession. They traversed a plain, and the horsemen of
the advanced guard disappeared over the crest of a sloping hill, to
the summit of which Maharbal had himself recently ascended without
perceiving any danger, when suddenly the men of the advanced party
were seen galloping back in disorder, while behind and among them,
pursuing and striving to cut them down, was seen a large and martial
body of mounted men in bright, burnished armour. From the crests of
their helmets, which glittered in the morning sun, there streamed long
dyed plumes of crimson horsehair. A noble sight and awesome they were,
as, with so little warning, the squadrons came thundering down the
slope upon the Numidians.

“The Romans!” cried every man, astonished; “the Romans!” And for a
moment they wavered, for it was the first time any there, including
the commander, had met the dreaded and world-renowned foe in mortal
combat.

But Maharbal took in the situation at a glance. He saw in a second
that although the Romans had the advantage of the ground, charging, as
they were, down hill, that they were numerically inferior to his own
force.

“Be not alarmed, men,” he cried; “we are more than they; we shall
defeat them. Prefect Chœras, take thou a hundred men well away to the
right instantly, and fall upon their flank and rear. The remainder
follow me. Charge!”

In a second the two forces met in all the shock of battle. And then
for a while the contest was bloody and hand to hand, neither side
gaining any advantage. But presently the Numidians, by separating,
wheeling, and retiring in groups of twos and threes, then advancing
again and flinging their darts, then once more retiring, commenced
absolutely to get the better of the Roman cavalry, who, not
understanding these tactics, kept in a solid formation. Then the wag
and poet, Chœras, fell upon them with his hundred men from the rear,
and broke them up, and they turned for flight. Chœras, as he led his
men, with blood dripping from his sword, pursued, shouting out the
while many a well-timed jest and gibe in the Latin tongue, which he
knew well. But, alas! the Carthaginians’ triumph was short lived, for
suddenly, from behind the hill up which the flying Romans were being
pursued by the scattered groups of Numidians, there appeared a fresh
body of mounted troops, led by a commander who was but a lad. There
were a considerable force of Gallic allies from the tribes faithful to
Rome inhabiting the district of Massilia. Right gallantly they now in
turn charged down the hill, leaving openings between their squadrons
for the flying Romans to pass through, then closing their ranks again.
It was now, after a short but hopeless stand, the turn of the
Numidians to fly, for they were overpowered entirely, and especially
the body of horse with Chœras, which suffered severely. At length,
despite the efforts of Maharbal, his men were all in full retreat,
leaving many corpses behind them on the plain. As for Maharbal
himself, he stood to the last. He had a fresh and magnificent horse,
and knew that he could escape if he would. But he wished to die where
he stood rather than turn back defeated to the camp and his commander.

Proudly, and all alone, sword in hand, he sat upon his charger
awaiting the onslaught of the Gauls, resolving to kill as many as
possible ere he was slain himself. But their youthful commander,
evidently a young Roman officer, was mounted on a far fleeter horse
than the rest of his troops, and galloping forward sought to engage
Maharbal in single combat.

“Defend thyself, proud Carthaginian,” the young man cried aloud in
Greek. “For I am Scipio’s son, and will bear back thy head to my
father.” And he charged Maharbal.

“And I am Maharbal, the son of Manissa,” cried the other, in the same
language, “but thou shalt not bear back my head this day.”

Wheeling his horse skilfully to one side, Maharbal easily avoided the
young man’s blow, delivered as he passed, then, turning his horse,
pursued the gallant young Roman. In a few strides he was alongside.
Dropping his reins, which he could well ride without, he placed his
mighty left arm around the waist of the Roman lad, and urging his own
charger forward, bore him bodily from his saddle, a prisoner in his
terrible grip. In his futile struggles, young Scipio dropped his
sword, and thus found himself being carried away defenceless across
the withers of Maharbal’s magnificent war horse.

“I could kill thee if I would, my fine young fellow,” said Maharbal,
“but thou art too brave a cockerel. I will keep thee alive instead for
a slave.”

A howl of rage arose from the pursuing Gauls, and from the now
rallying Romans, but for stadia after stadia Maharbal still kept
ahead, following his own flying troops, until, at length, he saw the
Carthaginian camp in front, and but a short distance ahead. He saw,
too, a body of cavalry forming up to come to his assistance without
the entrenchments. Another minute and he would have been safe with his
prisoner, when his gallant steed struck a piece of fallen timber,
stumbled, and fell, throwing the two men far apart, Maharbal himself
being stunned in the fall. He knew no more until he found himself, on
returning consciousness, in Hannibal’s own tent, not much the worse
for his fall, although very stiff from having been trampled on in the
melée which had taken place over the prostrate bodies of himself and
young Scipio, which melée had resulted in each side reclaiming its
own champion.

Maharbal’s personal bravery in this sanguinary action--in which he had
lost, in killed alone, two hundred men, and the Romans one hundred and
forty--had saved him from the disgrace, which he would otherwise have
incurred, owing to his repulse. Seeing, however, what had happened,
despite the reverse, the young Numidian warrior only found that his
reputation was considerably enhanced throughout the army by his
brilliant feat in carrying off the son of the Roman Consul.

All the day following this brilliant action, Hannibal Monomachus, with
all his pioneers, especially with the aid of a prefect of pioneers,
named Hasdrubal, was busily employed in building large rafts upon
which to transport the thirty-seven elephants present with the army
across the river. As these huge beasts distinctly refused to allow
their Indian drivers to make them swim, he accomplished his purpose in
another manner. Making two large rafts, they were attached to the
shore, and covered thickly with earth and brushwood, so as to look
like land, and built up to a level with the bank. Then two other rafts
were constructed on a similar plan, and fitted carefully, and fastened
with ropes to those tied to the shore. These were placed further out
in the stream, being held in position by ropes attached to wherries
anchored up the stream. The joins between the two sets of rafts were
not visible to the elephants, who, thinking they were still on land,
allowed themselves to be driven on to the outer rafts, where they were
tethered until the time for the crossing should come. And thus the day
passed, and by the following dawn all was ready.

The first division of the army embarked in the wherries and canoes,
the heavy-armed cavalry men being in the former, two men in the stern
of each boat holding five horses apiece by the bridles, these horses
swimming. The wherries were placed up the stream, so as to break the
current for the canoes below. The infantry soldiers embarked in their
canoes. Thus, all was in readiness, while Hannibal and his officers
remained watching for the signal. Suddenly first a thin and then a
dense column of smoke was seen rising through the trees in rear of the
camp of the Gauls.

“Advance!” cried Hannibal, himself springing into a boat.

“Advance!” cried Mago, Chœras, Maharbal, and all the other officers.

Then, with a deafening cheer from the army in the boats, and deafening
cheers also of encouragement from their comrades left upon the bank,
the flotilla was set in motion. The Gauls, meanwhile, had assembled in
their thousands upon the opposite shore, and, waving their spears, and
shouting their hoarse war-cries, were gallantly awaiting their
advancing foe.

Suddenly cries of alarm were heard from the Gallic ranks, as flames of
fire were seen arising from the tents of their encampment, which they
had left without a guard. Disconcerted, they turned their backs to the
enemy on the river, to find themselves confronted by another and
unexpected foe in the rear. General Hanno and all his men were upon
them.

Rapidly the boats, amid renewed cheering, pushed to the shore;
rapidly, too, were the first division landed and drawn up on the
beach. Then ensued such a scene of carnage in the Gallic ranks as had
never yet been heard of. In less than an hour Hannibal’s boast was
fulfilled, and scarcely a man was left to tell the tale. Thus was
accomplished the passage of the Rhone.




 CHAPTER V.
 AT THE FOOT OF THE ALPS.

When the carnage was completed and the last blow struck, Hannibal
sent for his general of engineers. Monomachus shortly appeared before
him, sword in hand, panting for breath, and covered with blood from
head to foot. A large and long gash upon his swarthy cheek by no means
lessened the ferocity of his appearance, at which Chœras, who was
standing by, tittered audibly.

“Wherefore hast thou this most sanguinary aspect, oh my chief of
pioneers?” quoth the general, in a tone of assumed severity, for he
was really in high good humour. “Thou hast surely not quitted thy post
on the opposite bank, where thy duties were to complete and guard the
means of transport across the river, and joined in the fight wherewith
thy duties had neither part nor parcel?”

Before replying, Monomachus calmly piled three corpses of the Gauls
together, two below and then one on the top, upon which gruesome group
he seated himself as comfortably as possible. Then wiping the blood
streaming from his face, he replied:

“Nay, thanks be to the gods! I had no cause to leave my post on the
elephant rafts to be able to slay a few of the cursed barbarians. But
a party of about a dozen of them had in flight seized a boat, and, by
the mercy of Moloch, just as I was fretting at mine inaction, they
chanced to come my way. So I just killed the lot. One fellow, however,
proved a bit nasty, and gave me this little remembrance.” Again he
wiped his face. “He was the last of them all,” he continued, “so I
had, fortunately, time to make an example of him, although he fought
hard, and scarcely seemed to appreciate my kind attentions.”

“What didst thou do?” questioned Hannibal.

The butcher grinned ferociously, but made no reply at first.

“How didst thou make an example of him?” again questioned his
commander.

“I took him by the waist,” answered Monomachus, “and, for all his
struggles and cries, thrust his head into the mouth of that savage
bull elephant, that king of beasts whom the men call Moloch. It was
the champing up of his skull that has caused my armour and clothing to
thus become somewhat discoloured.” And he looked down with a grim
glance of satisfaction at his bloody attire.

“Methinks ’tis thou who should be named the king of beasts more
rightly than the elephant after such an exploit as that; but, for all
that, I thank thee, Monomachus, for thy skilful arrangements for the
crossing of the river, and likewise for thy gallant defence of the
raft, for Sosilus here, who was by me, taking notes as usual, pointed
thee out to me while engaged in first killing the runaway Gauls, and
then feeding the elephant on such unaccustomed food; and, by my troth,
I think I saw thee slay nearer twenty than twelve of the barbarians.
What was the exact number of them, by the by, Sosilus?”

“Ay,” responded the sage, “the carnage being almost completed on this
bank, I, with a view to some amplifications of a work I am commencing,
called, ‘Duties and Developments of Modern Warfare,’ turned my
attention to thee, oh Monomachus! after having first noted that
foolish young man, Chœras, finishing off, in most artistic style, a
naked Gaul of twice his size, with whom he had been indulging in a
somewhat prolonged combat. I requested him then to assist me in
checking the numbers of the Gauls, whom thou mightest thyself despatch
single-handed, which amounted in grand total to just--so Chœras
reckoned--eighteen and a half.”

“Eighteen and a half?” grumped out the man of blood. “How could I kill
eighteen men and a half? It must have been either eighteen or
nineteen. I could not kill half a man.”

“Easily enough,” here interrupted Chœras, who was answerable for the
numbers. “First thou didst slay eighteen barbarians, then thou didst
half-kill a nineteenth. The remainder of him thou gavest, oh most
bloody Monomachus, unto the elephant. Hence thou hast for thine own
grand total of slain got evidently only eighteen and a half. And thus
thou thyself hast killed half a man. It is simple enough when thou
understandeth arithmetic.”

The jest was a good enough one for the occasion. Monomachus, who was
not pleased at it, however, growled out a curse at Chœras and his
flippant tongue, while Hannibal laughed outright.

“Well, repose thyself awhile on thy ghastly but apparently comfortable
couch, oh thou slayer of half men, or half slayer of whole men, to
quote Chœras, and then bring across the elephants. This evening will
do, for the army will rest here until mid-day, and the cavalry and
elephants, with which both I and thou will remain, will form the rear
guard. After mid-day, the remainder of the army will march northward
up the river, but we will ourselves first destroy the boats and rafts,
and then follow. Should Scipio wish to cross in turn, he will be
somewhat puzzled, I fancy. We will take our lightly-wounded with us on
the elephants and spare horses; the rest, I regret to say, we shall
have to destroy to avoid the risk they will otherwise run of torture
or crucifixion if left behind. But now, methinks, we all want some
food and wine, of which, fortunately, plenty hath been captured here.”

While Hannibal and Monomachus were talking, Mago and Maharbal rode up.
The latter looked none the worse for his fall on the previous day, and
both were flushed with the delights of victory. Mago threw himself
from his horse and embraced his brother, after first throwing at his
feet a mass of golden collars and necklaces he had brought in as
spoils. Maharbal modestly remained by his horse after saluting the
Chief. He also unloaded many spoils of golden ornaments, and laid them
on the ground. He was unwounded and triumphant, his sword red with
gore from point to hilt; but he was too exhausted to utter a word. He
had that day, indeed, dealt death to many a Gaul, and richly revenged
his reverse at the hands of Scipio’s cavalry. Hannibal knew how to
reward valour, and knew also full well the meaning of the old Roman
proverb that he gives twice who gives quickly. Taking his own
necklace, he threw it round Maharbal’s neck. Taking his own sword, he
presented it to his general, Hanno, son of Bomilcar. To his brother
Mago he gave nothing, save a return of the salute that his brother had
given to him and a compliment.

“Mago, I knew already that thou wert my brother; this day thou hast
proved also that thou art the son of Hamilcar.” And he fell upon his
brother’s neck.

The troops, crowding round, shouted till they were hoarse in
acclamation of this pithy sentence, and then the whole camp became for
an hour or two a camp of rest.

A few days later, the whole Carthaginian army, having marched to the
northward, found itself in the country of the Allobroges. These people
were not particularly the allies of Rome, yet were subsidised by them,
and therefore hostile to Hannibal. They were a race inhabiting the
slopes of the Alps, and very warlike. Their numbers were great, and
the mixed troops of the Carthaginian army were excessively alarmed at
the opposition that they were likely to receive from this very hostile
people. But a strange and lucky chance intervened. At the foot of the
passes of the Alps, the advancing Carthaginian army suddenly came upon
two armies, drawn up in warlike array, about to attack each other.
These armies were those of a certain king of the Gauls and his
brother, who were at war for the succession. Each sent to him, before
the battle commenced, envoys asking his help. Hannibal instantly threw
in his lot with the elder brother, and together they fell upon the
other, and, after a short but bloody fight, routed him completely.
After this the Carthaginian troops were so welcomed with wine and
food, and every other species of enjoyment, that for a day or two all
discipline was relaxed in the camp, and all hardships forgotten. And
then the Gallic king, having furnished the invaders with all kind of
provisions, with new weapons, with pack horses and mules, ay, even
boots for all the army, set forth with them, giving guides for an
advance guard across the first Alpine ranges, and himself, with all
his own forces, forming a rear guard for the army for protection
against the Allobroges. But at the foot of the Alps, with many
regrets, he left Hannibal, for this king of the Gauls was not strong
enough to leave his own kingdom further.

Abandoned by their ally, the Carthaginian forces were appalled as they
reached the foot of the first range, for from the plain below every
vantage point could be seen gleaming with the spears of the
Allobroges, who were determined to resist to the death the further
advance of the Phœnician forces.

The enemy crowded every mountain-top; they thronged in the pass
itself; it looked, indeed, as if the way were barred as by bars of
iron. At least, so it seemed to all the army, except to the brave and
astute Commander himself. For a few days he encamped at the foot of
the pass, remaining inactive, and resting his men. During this period,
the worthy Sosilus frequently pointed out that, according to parallel
cases, the only thing to be done was to go round and advance by some
other way. Chœras, likewise, when appealed to in council round the
camp fire, merely broke forth into verse. He did not like mountain
warfare; the plains suited him far better as a cavalry soldier;
further, he was one of those who wanted first to go back to the coast,
fight and defeat the Romans there, and proceed the rest of the way to
Italy by sea.

Therefore, when Hannibal, although well knowing his own mind as usual,
merely to keep his officers in good humour, asked the opinion of each,
including Chœras, the latter answered while tossing off a cup of
wine:--


 “Most brave Commander, since thou wilt
  The way seek out, ’tis plain,
 For mountains suit not cavalry,
  And elephants are vain.
 Thus to the low ground keep thy force,
  And march south to the coast,
 There scourge the Roman with the horse
  That is thine army’s boast.
 Then from Iberia fetch the fleet,
  ’Twill danger save and toil,
 While we, refresh’d, shall Romans meet
  Upon Italian soil.”


Hannibal merely smiled, and then turned to Monomachus.

“And what wouldst thou do, my blood-thirsty general of engineers?
Canst thou not build us a bridge overhead of these barbarians, or else
dig us a tunnel below them. For to the other side of the Alps we go or
die.”

Monomachus rose, and lifting his sword, shook it savagely in the
direction of the foe on the heights ere he replied.

“Build thee a bridge, Hannibal? Ay, that can I, if thou but let me
head the van. I will build thee a solid bridge over the living with
the bodies of the dead. Dig thee a tunnel? Ay, that will I also with
this good sword, right through their livers and intestines. ’Tis a
kind of engineering that suits me right well, and I long to be at it
now. My right arm is grown quite stiff for want of practice; ’tis nigh
fifteen days since I have slain a Gaul, for I was engaged in
road-mending during thy fight the other day. But now, methinks, the
time hath come for my subordinate Hasdrubal to do a little more of the
road-making work, and for me to get back to mine old trade of
fighting. I must appeal to my good friend Sosilus to find me some
parallel cases. Say, oh learned one, hast thou not at thy command some
quotation ready from the ninety-ninth chapter of the hundred and
eleventh book of someone or another wherewith to convince our gallant
Commander that I am far more adapted to wield a sword than a
pick-axe?”

“Ay, indeed,” answered Sosilus readily; “there is just such a case on
record, and I have it here in a pamphlet which I have among many
others in the pockets of my tunic.”

He commenced fumbling in his bosom, but before he had time to
demonstrate with chapter and verse the similarity of the cases,
several Gauls arrived on the scene, to whom Hannibal instantly gave
private audience in his tent.

They were spies from among the guides supplied by the friendly Gallic
king, and they had important news to communicate.

When presently Hannibal re-issued from his tent he once more addressed
Monomachus.

“Thy wish shall be granted; thou shalt come with me, and that this
very night, and thy weapon in sooth shall be a sword, not a pick-axe.
For I find that yonder hostile barbarians stay not on the heights by
night, but retire to a town within the hills, of which the name is
called, I think, Brundisium, daily re-occupying their posts at dawn. I
myself shall therefore creep up the passes this night with a chosen
band and occupy the points of vantage whereon we see their armour now
shining. At daybreak the rest of the army, under command of General
Hanno, will commence the ascent, all the cavalry and the pack animals
being placed in the van; then the infantry. Lastly, the elephants will
follow with a rear-guard under thy lieutenant Hasdrubal, the pioneer,
who will destroy the road after them for a double purpose--to prevent
the Gauls from pursuing us, and to prevent our own men from
retreating. For, once embarked upon these Alpine passes, there is to
be no going backward. We conquer or we die; we do not return.”

Then spoke up Mago. “Brother, thou art the Commander-in-chief. It is
not meet that thou shouldst go upon this hazardous expedition by night
upon these unknown mountain passes. What will the army do if thou
shouldst fall either by the hand of the enemy, or over some precipice?
General Hanno is, indeed, most worthy of all trust, but it is not to
him that the whole force looks for confidence. Therefore, I pray thee,
send me forward in thy stead this night, and stay thou here. My life
is of little worth--thine all important.”

“Not so, Mago,” answered Hannibal; “if confidence be needed it will be
gained by seeing that the first man to mount the Alpine passes is the
Commander-in-chief himself. But give thou unto me thine own sword,
’tis one of our father Hamilcar’s, and will bring me luck this night,
for it was blessed in the temple of Moloch in Carthage; mine own I
gave unto Hanno. I will wield it in thine honour and mine own, and
return it unto thee to-morrow if I yet live. Meanwhile, take thou
another from those I have in my tent; I have several there of great
value and good metal.”

With great ceremony, and invoking the blessing of the gods, Mago arose
and invested Hannibal with his sword, a magnificent weapon of truest
steel which had, indeed, been borne by Hamilcar in many a fight.

That night all the watch-fires were lighted as usual in front of the
Carthaginian lines. Nothing in the camp indicated that an advance was
intended, and the Gauls on the heights, deceived completely by the
apparent inaction on the part of the foe, retired as usual from the
mountain crests crowning the passes, to the shelter of the walled town
in the valley on the farther side of this first range of the Alps.

A little before midnight, when the camp fires had burned low, Hannibal
himself started from the camp and commenced the dangerous ascent of
the mountain. No lights had he and his men to guide their footsteps,
but painfully and in silence, they stumbled on, ever upwards, over
rock and boulder, until they found and occupied the breastworks which
the Gauls had evacuated at nightfall. With Hannibal were Monomachus
and Chœras in command of a party of dismounted cavalry. There were,
in addition, about one thousand men, who toiled wearily upwards after
their bold Commander. It being now near the end of the month of
October, cold indeed were the hours of waiting through the night,
which this gallant band were compelled to endure in the chilly pass.
No moving about was possible after once they had gained their
positions, and many a man who had become overheated in the ascent that
night contracted a chill that ere long laid him low. It was, indeed, a
toilsome and terrible night march which these soldiers of a warmer
climate had to endure, and many a man stumbled in the dark and fell
over the precipices into the roaring torrent below, his armour
resounding with many a clang as it beat against the rocks in the
wretched man’s downward course.

But for those who fell there was no succour. If they were dead, they
were dead, and their troubles were over; if they still survived, they
were left to die miserably in the dark and gloomy ravines wherein they
had fallen. For who could help them? This was merely the commencement
of the crossing of the Alps, and they merely the advance party! How
many thousand more would fall ere the fair plains of Italy should be
won?

At daybreak, the army, under Hanno, commenced in turn the ascent of
the pass. The Gauls instantly set forth to intercept them, and
crowning the heights, hurled down huge stones and pieces of rock from
every side, creating the most terrible distress and confusion among
the defenceless infantry men in the pass, and speedily likewise
driving the pack horses, mules, and cavalry animals into a state of
perfect frenzy. These creatures, many of them being wounded, rushed
madly up and down the narrow road, driving hundreds of men over the
precipices in their headlong flight, and many of them falling
themselves also.

Meanwhile the Allobroges, climbing down the mountain side like goats,
pillaged the fallen warriors, after first brutally cutting their
throats, pillaged also the fallen pack animals, and in many cases
escaped safely again up the further mountain’s side with their booty.

Hannibal, however, seeing the terrible confusion into which the whole
of his army was thrown by this dreadful onslaught, resolved upon
instant action.

“Chœras,” quoth he, “take thou three hundred men. Crown these heights
on the left of the pass, creep over them, but keep thy force together.
Then charge and destroy all the pillagers who have crossed the ravine.
I myself, with Monomachus, will charge with our remaining men on the
other side of the ravine where the enemy are thickest.”

Like an avalanche rushing down the Alps, did Hannibal, sword in hand,
charge at the head of his men down slopes upon which they could
scarcely keep their feet, so steep they were, but the steepness added
to the impetus of their terrible onrush. The Allobroges turned and
fled towards the city of the hills. They were, however, cut down and
slaughtered almost to a man; and Hannibal and his men, still cutting
down and slaughtering as they advanced, rushed in after the fugitives
through the gates of the city. The inhabitants were instantly put to
the sword as a warning to other tribes living on the slopes of the
mountains, and an enormous booty of cattle, corn, and pack horses was
captured.

The city was in a fertile valley, and the army encamped in and round
about it for one day to rest.

Thus did Hannibal, by his own personal prowess, although with serious
loss to his army, successfully storm the first of the terrible Alpine
ranges.




 CHAPTER VI.
 OVER THE ALPS.

For the next three days the advance up the passes was continued in
peace. The Gauls came in, offering garlands and branches of trees in
token of goodwill, and gave also hostages and cattle. Hannibal wisely
pretended to trust them, thus securing a period of cessation from
hostilities; but, in reality, he remained ever on the alert, and made
all his dispositions accordingly, keeping his cavalry and pack animals
in front to prevent their being cut off, and following in rear himself
with all the heavy-armed infantry.

He was not in the least surprised when on the fourth day a determined
attack was made upon him by large forces of the enemy, as the army was
passing through a long, narrow, and precipitous gorge, where the Gauls
once more created terrible confusion among his troops, by rolling down
stones and boulders from above, and, by their superior position on the
slopes above him, actually for a time cutting him off with the
infantry from all the cavalry and baggage animals ahead, among whom
terrible losses occurred. The maddened animals dashed hither and
thither, and fell over the precipices, many an unfortunate warrior
going with them in their headlong flight. But Mago and Maharbal, with
indomitable courage, pushed ever onward and upwards despite all
obstacles, while for a whole night long Hannibal and the infantry had
to take shelter beneath a rock, which was so precipitous that the
Gallic tribes themselves were unable to climb it or use it as a point
of vantage from which to throw down missiles.

Meanwhile Hasdrubal, the pioneer, following in the extreme rear with
the elephants, destroyed the road as he went, thus making it
impossible for any of the army to fly by the road whence they had
come. This rear guard was fortunately not attacked, for the Gauls were
so terrified by the awful appearance of the elephants, whom they
imagined to be evil spirits or malignant gods, that they dared not
even to approach the part of the line where they were. When daybreak
came, the army emerged from the pass, and the enemy, too terrified to
attack in force on more open ground, retired.

At length, after nine more terrible nights and days, during the whole
of which the army was being continually harassed by parties of the foe
cutting off stragglers or attacking the baggage, the gallant Chief
arrived with his army at the head of the pass. Here, despite the
bitter cold, he encamped on the snow for a couple of days, to rest his
men and wait for stragglers to come up.

The men were now in a deplorable condition, and their spirits at the
lowest possible ebb. Therefore, assembling as many of them as possible
around him, and pointing to the panorama of the fair plains of Italy
below, Hannibal addressed them as follows:

“My gallant troops, difficulty, danger, and death now lie behind us,
but before us lie Italy and Rome. Gaze, therefore, before and below ye
as conquerors, for all that fair country shall be ours. The tribes
below are our friends, and will welcome us heartily. Therefore keep ye
up your courage, for soon the spoils of Rome shall reward ye for all
your hardships.”

The courage of the troops was roused by these words; but alas! if the
ascent had been difficult, harder by far was the descent of the
mountain slopes. For owing to new snow having fallen upon the old,
there was no foothold. Thus men and horses in numbers slipped and fell
headlong down the slopes and precipices, rolling over and over, and
bounding from rock to rock, to finally land, battered into pulp,
thousands of feet below. And then they came to a place where, for a
great distance, two land slides and avalanches had carried away the
whole mountain-side, and the road with it. Never daunted, however,
Hannibal, Monomachus, and Hasdrubal, his pioneer captain, built in two
days, with the Numidian troops, an entirely new road over the
mountain-side, over which first the infantry, then the cavalry and
baggage animals, and lastly, even the elephants themselves were passed
in safety. But all the survivors, both men and animals alike, were
nearly dead from starvation, when at length, after fifteen days in the
terrible mountains, the snow was left behind, and the land of the
Taurini, bordering that of the friendly Insubrian Gauls, was entered
on the plains.

But, whereas Hannibal had started to cross the Alps with nearly double
that number, when the muster was taken round the camp fires on the
first night after the awful journey over the mountains, only twelve
thousand Libyans, eight thousand Iberians, and six thousand cavalry of
all kinds, were present to answer the roll-call.

And with this small force of starving and disheartened troops Hannibal
now prepared to meet all the might of Rome.

So wretched, indeed, were the troops, that not even the fact of their
having at length reached the Italian side of the mountains in
Cis-Alpine Gaul could at first put any heart into them. It was now the
commencement of the month of November, the oak trees were shedding
their leaves, and the grass and herbage losing rapidly the succulent
qualities necessary to sustain the animals. All traces of cultivation
had long since been removed from the fields, while the wind sighed and
moaned sadly through those vast forests of pine, the home of the wolf
and the wild boar, the shelter of whose gloomy recesses the
half-starved army was glad enough to seek.

Biting showers of rain and sleet added to the discomfort of the
troops, and at first the Insubrian Gauls showed but little alacrity in
bringing in the much-needed provisions. Altogether, now that this
remnant of the Carthaginian army had at length reached, after five and
a half months’ marching, this land of promise, it fell far below their
expectations. The whole outlook was indeed so gloomy that there was
not an officer nor man in the whole army who did not heartily wish
himself back again in his own home in the sunny lands and olive groves
of Spain or Libya.

To make things even yet worse, one or two Gallic towns in the
neighbourhood, among them notably the city of the Taurini, which might
have accorded shelter to the half-famished troops, being fearful of
Roman retribution, flatly refused to open their gates to the wayworn
wanderers. This was scarcely to be wondered at, seeing that the Consul
Flaminius had but a short time before defeated the Boii, the Insubres,
and other Gallic tribes repeatedly, and treated the survivors with the
greatest severity, taking many hostages, who were now entirely at the
mercy of the Romans; and founding two Roman colonies, named
respectively Placentia and Cremona, one on either bank of the river
Padus or Po, right in the midst of Cis-Alpine Gaul.

As Hannibal, accompanied by Silenus and by all his principal officers,
marched round and made a thorough inspection of the camp a day or two
after arriving in the Italian plains, it must be owned that even he
himself felt utterly discouraged. For wherever he looked, whether at
man or beast, he saw nothing but misery and starvation. The
thirty-seven elephants with which he had started were already
considerably diminished in number, many having fallen down the Alpine
precipices, and the remainder were now but gaunt mountains of skin and
bone. The horses tethered in rows showed distinctly every rib in their
carcases, and hung down their heads with fatigue while patient misery
was expressed in their lack-lustre eyes. Among the men, not the
slightest element of discipline had been relaxed; but, as they stood
in their ranks before their tents for the inspection of their
Commander-in-chief, looking like phantoms of their former selves,
utter dejection could clearly be read in every countenance. Except for
the want of a little food they were in hard enough condition, but
there was not sufficient food to be obtained by fair means, and the
men did not look either strong enough or in good enough spirits to
obtain it by force of arms. That, however, was what Hannibal intended
that they should do, and he took, therefore, very good care neither to
show by his face the disappointment which he felt at their miserable
plight, nor the fact that he had received alarming news, which, had it
been known publicly, would have made the men more disheartened still.

Instead of doing anything likely to keep the troops in a despondent
state, he spoke, as he went along the ranks, words of commendation and
encouragement to all. He praised their valour, told them that their
names would live in history, informed them that he had received
ambassadors with promises of assistance from the Boii, and generally
tried to cheer their waning hopes. After this, he held before the army
some gladiatorial contests among the young Gallic captives, whose
condition was so miserable from the ill-treatment and blows they had
received in crossing the Alps, that the army would have pitied the
survivors even more than the slain had not their Commander rewarded
the conquerors liberally with horses, cloaks, and suits of armour.

After these contests he addressed the army. He pointed out to them
that their own condition was similar to that of the captive Gauls whom
they had just seen fighting, and that, if they maintained a stout
heart, either victory and great rewards would be theirs, or a death
nobly won on the field of battle; but that if flight were attempted it
must be useless. For how, Hannibal urged, would any attempt at flight
be successful back over those terrible mountains and all through the
country of Gallia to Spain? Therefore, since any attempt at flight
would be useless, a stout heart, a stout arm, and a determination to
conquer were all that were needful, and victory and numerous spoils
would most assuredly be theirs.

Having cheered all the men with these words, and being ably seconded
by the superior officers, who were themselves once more fired with his
enthusiasm, the Commander, on the following few days, attacked with
fury Turin and the other Gallic towns that had withstood him, and
speedily carried them by assault. And after this provisions were
plentiful, everything was more cheerful in camp, and thousands of
Gauls, both Insubrians and Boii, commenced to come in daily, and
attach themselves to the Carthaginian standard.

Before, therefore, Hannibal thought it necessary to inform his
officers and the army of the news that he had received, he found
himself in an entirely different position in which to meet the Romans
from that in which he had been a week previously.

And he was indeed about to meet the Romans, and that very shortly, for
his news was that Scipio had rapidly returned by sea from Marseilles
to Italy, and was already nigh at hand.

“Hast thou heard the news, Maharbal?” quoth Chœras, early one
morning, bursting into the tent that they occupied in common, and
flinging down his sword and shield, “hast thou heard the news? It
seemeth that Publius Scipio hath returned from Massilia, and landed
with a small force at some place in Etruria. Moreover, he hath, while
travelling northward, crossed the mountain range called the Apennines,
traversed the country of the Boii, and is at this moment at the new
Roman city or colony called Placentia, on the other side of the Padus.
Scipio is not, in fact, very many stadia from the place where we now
are ourselves, since this river Ticinus whereon we are encamped
floweth into the Padus, as thou knowest, not very far above
Placentia.”

Maharbal was resting where he had been sleeping on a couch of wolf
skins on the floor of the tent. As he rose to a sitting posture, he
looked a very different man to what he had been at the time of the
cavalry fight on the banks of the Rhone--so gaunt was he and drawn,
that the muscles of his neck and biceps stood out now like wires of
steel, for there was no flesh to conceal them. He had been dreaming a
dream of love, with Elissa as its heroine, and was angry at being
disturbed. He laughed aloud scornfully.

“Wilt thou never have done with thy foolish jesting, Chœras? But this
is indeed a sorry jest of thine. Publius Cornelius Scipio already at
Placentia! Why, ’tis not yet a month since I bore off his young cub of
a son almost into our lines at the camp upon the Rhodanus. Nay, nay,
my merry-hearted lieutenant, I may know more of horses than geography,
more of dealing death than determining distances, but this is just a
little too much. If this were all the cause thou hadst to disturb me,
I would that thou had left me to sleep, for I am in sooth sorely
fatigued after pursuing and cutting down the last force of those dogs
of Taurini the whole of yesterday.”

The young Colossus sank back upon his couch, and would have slept
again if his comrade had but allowed him.

“A sorry jest! I would it were but a sorry jest,” returned Chœras;
“but, by the head of Hannibal, it is unfortunately no jest, but true.
I had it from Hannibal himself. It seems that the Chief, and Silenus
also, hath known the matter for these several days past, but it was
purposely kept secret until after we had conquered the Taurini, which
conquest hath now raised the hearts of our men, and induced also many
of the Gauls to rally around us. It appeareth that Scipio at first
followed us, but finding we had crossed the Rhone, after returning to
Massilia himself, he sent his brother, Cnœus Scipio, with most of the
Roman army on into Spain to fight with Hasdrubal; then he came to Pisa
by ship, with very few men, but at Placentia there are, unfortunately
for us, a Roman legion or two which were assembled to hold the Gauls
in check during the late Gallic rising; there are also a large number
of Gallic cavalry in the Roman pay. In addition to all this about
Scipio, the General hath imparted to us other weighty news. It appears
that the other Roman consul, Tiberius Sempronius, hath been recalled
from Sicily, where he was about to make a descent upon Carthage
itself, after having defeated a Punic fleet off Lilybæum, and alas!
captured Malta. He is now, so Hannibal informs us, at a place on the
Adriatic coast called Ariminum, and is encamped there with a very
large force. Hannibal is anxious, if possible, to prevent a junction
of the two forces.”

“Then this is no place for me!” cried Maharbal, springing to his feet,
and hastily buckling on his armour; “there can be no rest for the
weary with such tidings as these.” And he picked up his sword and
buckler and strode off to the General’s tent, after first directing
Chœras to go round to the cavalry lines, and to see that all the
horses were instantly properly groomed and fed, and that all the men
remained in camp. For he expected more work shortly, though he did not
know how soon it might be.

Hannibal was sitting at the door of his tent studying a map which the
worthy Sosilus was explaining. He rose as Maharbal approached, and
welcomed him warmly. He knew that Maharbal with a portion of his force
had only returned very late in the night from the prolonged and bloody
pursuit of the Taurini. Chœras, who had been left in camp, had borne
him a verbal report sent by Maharbal to that effect and delivered upon
Hannibal’s awakening. But he had not seen his well-beloved Numidian
leader since his return, and therefore questioned him anxiously.

“And so, Maharbal, my lad, thou hast, it seems, entirely disposed of
the last of the Taurini. Hast made many prisoners?”

“Nay, my lord, I made no prisoners. I deemed it wiser, since they were
our enemies and evidently the friends of Rome, to kill all whom we
should overtake! ’Twill also make the other and friendly Gauls all the
more friendly, than had we spared those of a disaffected tribe. But
some of them fought hard and ’twould, methinks, have been no easy job
to make prisoners of them.”

“Fought, did they? the dogs! And hadst thou any losses, Maharbal?”

“Ay, alas! I had, and far too many for a mere pursuit; they amount,
unfortunately, to no less than thirty killed and wounded men, my lord
Hannibal, of whom fifteen are dead. Among them was a most gallant
young fellow, the ensign Proxenus. He was a Greek by birth, but came
over from Libya with the last reinforcement. He will be indeed a
serious loss, for he had both brains and bravery in equal
proportions.”

“Proxenus! is Proxenus, that likely youth, dead? Alas, I grieve to
hear it, and especially that ’twere his lot to fall against such an
unworthy foe as the Taurini. ’Tis sad, indeed. But so it wert not thou
thyself, Maharbal, my grief is fleeting, for daily do we lose useful
men, and young men, too; but they can be replaced. Had it been thou
now, ah, that would indeed have been another matter. Therefore see to
it, Maharbal,” the Chief continued, with a smile, “that thou let not
thyself be killed for many a long day to come. For Carthage could ill
dispense with thy services either at present or in the future.”

Maharbal flushed and bowed at the compliment, and then Hannibal called
to a slave to bring a stool, and bade him be seated. After this two
Gallic chieftains, who had brought in intelligence, were called, and
together Hannibal and Maharbal, aided by the learned Sosilus, worked
out on the map from their information the respective positions of the
various forces now in the field. When this had been accomplished,
Hannibal rose, folded up the map, and dismissed Sosilus. Then turning
to Maharbal he inquired the state of his men and horses, and if they
would be in a fit condition to march again that same afternoon or
evening if required absolutely to do so.

“March, ay, they could march, my lord, a short march, and could even
fight a little at a pinch; but to fight, and fight well, against fresh
troops, especially after themselves making first a long march, they
would be quite unfit. It would be but throwing away uselessly the
lives of both men and horses.”

“And we can spare neither. Well, we must let it be until to-morrow,
when both men and horses have been rested. There are some other
advantages about the delay. We shall not have so far to march as will
the enemy before we meet them, and therefore our horses will be the
fresher. The Gauls said that Scipio is building and hath almost
completed a bridge across the Ticinus, by which to cross and attack
us. If we with our horse can only catch his cavalry apart from his
infantry and drive the attack home well in front and flanks, we will
force him right back to the crossing place, and perhaps inflict
considerable slaughter ere he can again pass the bridge. Meanwhile,
listen to my plan for the strong cavalry reconnaissance which I intend
to make to-morrow, in hopes of meeting Scipio while similarly
employed. I shall personally, attended by General Monomachus, whom for
the future I shall definitely appoint to the cavalry, lead the Iberian
horse, which will be in the centre. Thou wilt divide thy Numidian
horse into two parties, one to remain on each flank. After that thou
thyself knowest what to do, as usual being guided by circumstances,
which I must leave to thine own judgment to be met as required. And
now, Maharbal, ’twere wise that thou shouldst retire and take the rest
that thou must greatly require.”

“Nay, Hannibal, I require no rest. I am quite sufficiently restored
from all fatigue by the hopes of so soon meeting the Romans once more,
for my heart burns with shame within my breast when I think of how I
was compelled to fly before them when last we met.”

“Tush, man! thou didst not fly; thy troops yielded to superior
numbers, that was all, and I sent thee out not to fight that day, but
to see what the enemy were about. Moreover, thou thyself didst nearly
end the war, and at the very first encounter, by carrying off young
Scipio. But ’twas not to be--and now, for a space, I would speak of
other matters. Come within the tent; ’tis chilly without. We will take
a cup of wine.”

Maharbal entered with his Chief, who carefully closed the entrance of
his tent, after having first summoned a slave to bring him a flagon
and some wine-cups, which were filled.




 CHAPTER VII.
 HANNIBAL’S FIRST TRIUMPH.

“Now, Maharbal,” quoth the chief, “I would talk to thee no longer as
one general to another, but simply as man to man. What about my
daughter Elissa? Hast thou forgotten her? Hath not perchance all this
terrible fighting for the last six months knocked all the love
nonsense with which thou wast imbued out of thy warlike head, or is
there still left paramount therein the memory of that girl of mine?
Now, wilt thou answer plainly, for I have something to propose to thee
which may be of importance?”

Maharbal made no answer, but Hannibal rose, unlocked a small casket
and drew out a scroll, which he perused while waiting for a reply.

“Well,” he remarked, seeing that no reply came, “I would know thy mind
on this matter, my friend.”

“Hannibal,” said Maharbal, rising in turn, and confronting his Chief,
“Hannibal,”--then he paused and threw down his sword with a somewhat
angry and impatient movement--“by what right dost thou talk to me of
Elissa? What is it to thee if I should think of her still or no? As a
warrior and my Chief I may listen to thee, ay, both must and would
listen to thee; but what have women to do with me now? I am here to
fight for Carthage and mine honour, ay, and for thine own honour, too,
Hannibal, but nothing more.”

“Honour is honour, but friendship is friendship. War is also war, and
we are all for our country; but private interests, nevertheless, rule
us all at times. Thou knowest this as well as I, therefore, as friend
to friend, tell me now the truth, Maharbal.”

“Well, the truth is this, Hannibal. When I meet a foe and he confronts
me,”--Maharbal excitedly arose and seized his sword and shook it
savagely--“I say to myself, ‘This for Elissa.’ Then I strike home.
When my foe is struck down and bleeding at my feet, and the point of
my weapon is at his throat, again I sometimes say to myself, ‘I spare
thee for the sake of Elissa,’ and thus it ofttimes haps that a human
life is saved. When again I charge into the battle, the one sweet name
Elissa is ever on my lips. When I was day after day in those terrible
passes of the Alps, and the rocks and boulders falling all around me
slew so many of my friends and fellow-warriors, but one thought arose
to my brain, and it was this, I care not for death itself, but will
Elissa regret me? And now, Hannibal, my friend and my Chief, thou hast
thine answer; I need say no more.”

“Nay,” said Hannibal, “thou hast said enough; I understand thee--thou
art constant. But will she be equally constant? It may be years ere
thou see her again. But young is she, and springing from a very
passionate stock; her mother was an Iberian woman. What wouldst thou
do supposing that she proved inconstant unto thee and loved another?”

“Do?--why, fight for Carthage still. What else could I do? Ay, and
scorn her, too, if inconstant; nought else could be done than that.”

“Well, listen, I have something to propose. Thou seest this scroll.
’Tis a letter to my daughter Elissa. To-morrow we may have a fight,
not with these Gauls alone, who have already learned to fear me, but
with Scipio himself, with Roman legions at his back.

“It may be that, owing to the somewhat demoralised condition of our
army, Scipio should prove victorious; it may be otherwise; yet my
belief in the gods is so great, that I think I shall overthrow him.
Whatever may chance, I must send my messengers with tidings back into
Iberia to say that we are now safely across the Alps; to inform first
my daughter Elissa at New Carthage, and then to bear intelligence unto
my brother Hasdrubal, in those northern parts beyond the Ebro, where,
I have learned, that Cnœus Scipio hath proceeded to attack him. Now,
Maharbal, I need a trusty messenger; wilt thou be the bearer of the
message? I have in the camp a chieftain of the Insubrian Gauls, who
hath promised me a small fleet of ships at Genua, by which thou
couldst proceed to New Carthage, where Elissa will doubtless warmly
welcome thee to her loving arms. Wilt thou go? that is if thou
shouldst survive to-morrow’s fight. Think, my lad, after all this
hardship, how sweet will be the delights of love. Moreover, now that
thou hast, by thine incessant toil and valour, brought the cavalry, or
rather a great part of it, over the mountains in safety, know this, I
will no longer withstand thy wish. Thy nuptials with my daughter shall
be recognised, and thou and Elissa shall be man and wife.”

Maharbal’s face flushed as he leaned forward on his seat and gazed at
Hannibal with undisguised astonishment.

“My lord Hannibal, hast thou then forgotten the toast we drank to one
another at Saguntum? ’Tis true I love Elissa more than all the world
as a woman; but I love thee, mine own honour, and my country Carthage,
more than any woman living, be she even thine own daughter and mine
own beloved bride. Therefore must I decline to leave thy side, oh
Hannibal, to seek repose in thy dearest and most beloved daughter’s
arms. My duty is here, and here, with all deference unto thee, I stay.
Through life and death I am thine, but to do thy bidding in our
country’s cause. My personal longings and lovings are now things
unknown. I fight for Hannibal and for Carthage; all else is forgotten,
or, if not forgotten, must and shall be crushed from out my breast.
And yet, the gods are my witness, I love Elissa far more than all.”

Maharbal rose, and sought to leave the tent; but as he rose, Hannibal
detained him by placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I admire thee, Maharbal, far more than if thou hadst acceded to my
request. In truth thou hast enacted a right noble part. But should we
both live, I shall not forget it, and thou thyself wilt not regret it.
Should we die, I feel convinced that all the gods who, in my vision,
promised me a future reward, will recognise thy virtue, and bestow a
far higher reward upon thee. Ay, Melcareth shall smile and shower his
blessings upon thee. Tanais shall make thee happy with such a
thrilling and heavenly love as never yet mortal hath known; while the
great Moloch, god of war, shall surely exalt thee to high rank in his
celestial armies. Thou hast, indeed, chosen the higher and the better
path. I pray the great god Melcareth, that, in my prolonged absence
from her side, he inspire Elissa’s heart also with devotion to her
country, with constancy and virtue. But ’twill be merit great, indeed,
to be worthy of a virtue so great as thine. And now, let us go forth,
since I must seek some other messenger to bear her my scroll, and thou
thyself canst, if thou wilt, despatch a letter by the same hand. But
nothing can be done before we have first once met the Romans here on
Italian soil.”

The rest of the day was spent in that camp by the Ticinus in
preparations for the great cavalry reconnaissance, which Hannibal
intended to conduct in person, on the morrow. Armour was furbished up,
swords and darts were sharpened, bits and bridles were seen to. All
the cavalrymen, even although the infantry suffered somewhat in
consequence, were thoroughly well fed, and also supplied with a
liberal allowance of wine. Olive oil was dealt out to them all,
wherewith to anoint themselves and make their limbs supple, and a
day’s rations, to be carried on the morrow, was served out to each
man. Scouts from a reserve body of horse, that was not to be employed
in any fighting on the morrow, were sent out to watch the enemy’s
movements, with instructions to leave a series of detached posts at
intervals, by whom, owing to there being thus relays of fresh horsemen
ready, news could be swiftly conveyed to the Carthaginian Chief of
Scipio’s slightest movements. All these details Hannibal, not content
with trusting to subordinates, saw to personally, for as he was,
saving only Maharbal, the strongest man in the army, so was he also
the most indefatigable. Throughout the whole of that day, therefore,
he scarcely rested, but visited every part of the camp and every troop
in turn, seeing that his instructions were carried out absolutely to
the letter, and speaking grand and noble words of encouragement
wherever he passed.

When, therefore, after a substantial breakfast, the whole of the
cavalry paraded on the following morn, it was no longer a starveling,
dispirited body of men that fell beneath his gaze, but a gallant band
of warriors bearing confidence in their glance, self-reliant, proud,
and anxious for the fray. Well satisfied with the noble bearing of his
followers, after having first ridden round the ranks and complimented
his men upon their brave and soldierly appearance, Hannibal bade his
trumpeter sound the advance, and himself led the way. As he put his
horse in motion, the whole army burst spontaneously into a
cheer--“Hannibal! Long live Hannibal.”

Clad in gorgeous but serviceable armour, with dancing plumes waving
from the crest of his helmet, the gallant Carthaginian General was
indeed, as he marched forth that morn to meet the Romans for the first
time in his career, such a leader as the world had never seen.

As the cavalry, by troops and squadrons, filed off in succession after
him, silence fell among their ranks. But the infantry soldiers and
also the Gauls remaining behind in camp continued the shouts of
enthusiasm. “Hannibal! Long live Hannibal!” For it was for him, the
General alone, and his personal influence, more than for a Carthage
which was to most of them but a name, that these troops, drawn from
many mixed tribes and nations, were willing and ready to lay down
their lives. And it was ever so; it was Hannibal’s army, not a
Carthaginian army that so often defeated Rome.

Thus gallantly encouraged by the shouts of their comrades did the
whole of the Carthaginian horse march off down the banks of the river
Ticinus. For a considerable distance the ground was broken and rocky,
and considerably wooded, and not at all suitable for the manœuvring
of mounted troops. But, at length, after a march of some three hours’
duration, just at the very spot which suited his purpose, Hannibal was
met by the first of his scouts coming in and informing him that Scipio
had started with his forces, and was now crossing the river. They gave
the further information that there was no occasion for hurry, as each
relay of messengers had galloped back hard, and that the remainder of
the vedettes, now retiring leisurely before the advancing foe, would
give timely warning of their nearer approach.

The ground whereon the front of the column was standing when this news
arrived was at the edge of an extensive copse of detached oak trees,
beyond which was a large open plain of what had earlier in the year
been cultivated ground. Drawing up all his forces just inside the
edge, and in the shelter of the trees, in the order of battle which he
intended to employ later on, the Chief now gave the order for the men
to dismount to rest the animals, and to eat a portion of the rations
that they had brought with them. He had a short time previously made
each troop halt in turn at a convenient shallow place in the river
Ticinus to give their horses a mouthful of water--therefore no
possible precaution had been neglected to bring his forces fresh into
battle. While halting in the shelter of the oak trees, several more
groups of messengers came in from the front. From these Hannibal
learned without a doubt that Scipio was advancing only with his
cavalry and light-armed footmen, and that from all accounts the
numbers of the former were, if anything, somewhat inferior to his own.

He was in high glee as he stood talking to a group of his officers,
and rubbed his hands cheerfully.

“Melcareth hath surely delivered them unto us,” he said, “for this
foolish Scipio hath, by leaving his heavy-armed infantry behind,
played beautifully into my hands. And thou, my bloodthirsty
Monomachus, shalt soon have thy fill of slaying.”

“I care nought so that I slay but Scipio himself! So that ere I perish
myself, I dip my hand into the life-blood of the Roman Consul, I shall
die happy.”

Hannibal laughed, then gave the order to mount, but for the troops
still to remain within the fringe of the covert underneath the
spreading oaks.

While waiting thus, there suddenly arose a fleeting squall of driving
wind and rain, which tore the leaves with fury from the oaks, sending
them whirling in all directions, while the acorns, which abounded,
fell pattering and clattering in shoals upon the armour of the
warriors. The men, who were superstitious, knew not how to interpret
the augury; but their Chief was equal to the occasion.

“A glorious omen!” he proclaimed aloud, with a laugh. “Even as the
falling of these acorns, so shall fall the hordes of the advancing
enemy beneath the storm of our attack. See how the elephants are
calmly picking them up, and devouring them! so shall we also devour
the foe.”

The word was taken up and passed round, and now the men, reassured and
in high good humour, caught the falling acorns and tossed them
gleefully at one another. Meanwhile, as Hannibal had said, the huge
elephants calmly waiting and swinging their fore-legs, picked up one
by one with their trunks all the fallen acorns within reach and ate
them with apparent relish. The sight of these huge painted and
horrible beasts, thus picking up and eating the little acorns, was in
itself so ludicrous that all those who could see the sight now roared
with laughter like very children. For, as all know who have been
present at a battle, during the time, be it short or long, that men
are waiting anxiously for the signal that shall engage them in mortal
conflict, the nerves are on edge. ’Tis then often the slightest and
most trivial circumstance that will sway a whole host to tears or
laughter, to reckless courage, or to shameful retreat. On this
occasion the whole force was overcome with exuberance of spirits, and
thus hearty and boyish laughter rippled along the ranks.

It was, in sooth, a strange sight to see these gigantic animals so
peacefully enjoying themselves at such a moment with such trivial
food. For to look at them they seemed more like monsters ready to
devour men.

There were that day twenty-four of them present, twelve being placed
at intervals on each flank. Every elephant had its head and trunk
painted crimson with vermilion; the body was painted black, with white
stripes on the ribs, and the legs white to the knee and red below. To
each tusk, and all were tuskers, were fastened huge two-edged swords;
round the upper part of each of the fore-legs was clasped a band set
with terrible and glistening spikes; and, to crown all, each elephant
had round its trunk, near the lower extremity, several heavy iron
rings. With these they were trained to strike. An ordinary elephant is
to those with weak nerves a sufficiently appalling sight. Judge, then,
what would be the effect upon those, who had never seen the beasts
before, of the appearance of these awful monsters. The elephants were
that day in light marching order, and therefore they carried no
castles. Instead, on the back of each was a light pad, on which sat,
secured with ropes, and having also rope foot-rests, eight archers,
four on each side, plentifully supplied with heavy arrows. Seated upon
the neck of every beast was an Indian driver, completely covered with
light armour of chain mail, and carrying, in addition to the goad with
which he urged his beast, a quiver full of short and heavy darts to
hurl at the foe at close quarters.

The order of battle was fully formed. The heavy Spanish cavalry were
in the centre; then on each side were twelve elephants; beyond them
again on each flank large bodies of the Numidian horse, Maharbal
commanding the right wing, and Chœras the left of the Numidians.

Presently the last of the scouts came in, saying that the Romans were
now close at hand, and almost instantly their light-armed javeline men
and archers appeared, swarming on the plain. In rear of them, at a
short distance, could be seen the allied Gallic and Roman cavalry
advancing at a slow pace in a splendid line, with small intervals
between the separate troops. Hannibal allowed the light-armed men to
advance well out into the plain before he stirred from the shelter of
the oak trees. Thus he was well able to take stock of the Roman
numbers before engaging, while they could not possibly form any idea
of the numbers that he had at his own command. Speedily sending an
aide-de-camp to both Maharbal and Mago with orders to remain for a
short time longer concealed in the forest, he now caused the “advance”
and “the trot” to be sounded by his trumpeter. In a steady line, with
himself and Monomachus at the head of the centre, the Iberian cavalry
instantly emerged from their shelter, the huge elephants lumbering
along with ungainly tread at an equal pace on each flank, and by
command of their drivers, raising their trunks on high and loudly
trumpeting as they advanced. The sudden appearance of this hitherto
unseen army of cavalry, coupled with the awesome sight of these
terrible and frightful creatures, at once struck terror into the heart
of the light-armed Roman troops. Seeing that certain death awaited
them if they remained, they instantly broke and fled, retreating
through the intervals between the troops of cavalry, and re-forming
into companies in rear. But Scipio himself, whose presence was denoted
by a standard surmounted with the Roman eagle, was with the main body.
He had previously exhorted them: saying that the Carthaginians were
but curs with their tails between their legs, who had fled before his
cavalry on the banks of the Rhone, and they believed him. Hence there
was no flinching in the ranks.

Hannibal now ordered his trumpeter to sound “the gallop,” and in a
second, with thundering footfall, the whole of his heavy cavalry,
armed with both spears and swords, the latter being attached to the
saddle, advanced with the speed of lightning.

Scipio also sounded “the charge,” but the retreat of his light-armed
footmen had somewhat delayed him. Therefore, when the two forces met
in shock of battle, the greater impetus being with the Carthaginians,
the Romans were at first borne backwards, hundreds of men and horses
being cast to the ground at the very first dreadful onslaught. It was
a terrible and an awful sight, that fearful rush and the meeting
between the two cavalry forces. And now it was every man for himself,
and both sides were equally determined. The Romans, at first borne
back, soon rallied; spears on both sides were cast away as the horses
fell in hundreds, and, foot to foot and hand to hand, the whole plain
was soon one seething and struggling mass of murdering humanity. Now,
however, the elephants came in upon each flank of the Romans. Charging
down, striking with their trunks, destroying with their horrible
scythe-like swords, frequently kneeling upon and crushing their
opponents, they carried all before them on the flanks. All the time,
the archers on their backs discharged from close quarters the
heavy-headed arrows from their bows. The effect of this charge on the
flanks, however, was but to consolidate the Roman centre. Gallantly
the Romans fought, never yielding a foot, and many were the Iberians
who fell before their dreadful valour never to rise again. In the
midst of all, mounted on a splendid bay charger, was Publius Scipio.
Separated from him at but a short distance was Hannibal, above whom,
borne by his ensign, waved the flag of Carthage, the white horse upon
a purple ground. The two Generals could, for a while, plainly see each
other, and, each grinding his teeth and shaking his fist with rage at
the other, they tried to come to mortal combat. But it was in vain:
the struggling, thrusting, killing throng of men, swaying first this
way and then that, swept them apart, and in a short time the rush of
battle had severed them completely. Each had now to defend himself,
and they saw one another no more. At length the tide of battle seemed
going to the Romans. The Carthaginians slowly but gradually began to
give ground. A few of those in rear of the centre began to retire. The
wounded were pouring back in streams; riderless horses, many of them
with their entrails hanging out, were, while shrieking with agony as
only a horse can, wildly careering about the plain.

And now came the opportunity for which the young warrior Maharbal had
been waiting, and he took it. For fully an hour he had, from his
shelter in the oak wood, been watching the ebb and flow of the battle,
and terrible had been his anxiety and great his impatience. But he had
in himself the makings of a great general, and he wisely refrained
from interfering too soon. He sent a messenger to summon Chœras to
him, and imparted certain instructions before sending him back to his
own wing.

“Now, Chœras,” he said, “notice this and no jesting! Keep thou all
thy men carefully concealed until thou shalt see me issue alone from
the wood with this scarf waving on my sword. Then if I raise it slowly
and wave it once downwards, gallop with thy party and attack the
enemy’s right flank. If I raise it again slowly and wave it downwards
twice, do thou, avoiding the enemy’s flank, sweep completely round and
attack the rear. Never mind what mine own movements may be, thou hast
but to obey mine orders. Of one thing be careful, that is, if I wave
twice to slay all those footmen who retreated through the enemy’s
ranks before thou makest any attack upon the cavalry from the rear.
For they are Romans--the cavalry are chiefly Gauls, and I will dispose
of them myself. But do thou be careful to despatch the footmen first;
dost thou understand?”

“Ay, ay, Maharbal, I understand full well; but may I not start now?
The clash and conflict of the battle are getting too much for me; I
cannot, I fear, control either my feelings or my men much longer; I
long to be at them. I can only express my feelings in verse.


 “A poet I, yet thirst for blood,
  For Roman blood I call!
 And I would storm as mountain flood,
  E’en though as flood I fall.


“There, would that not do for Sosilus? He would be delighted to parse,
dissect, and destroy that little verse of mine, if he were only here.
But, by Melcareth, Maharbal! versifying apart, do let me get at them
soon; I can hardly keep my seat upon my horse for impatience.”

“Well spoken, my gallant poet,” replied Maharbal, smiling; “thou
shalt, I wager, soon have plenty of mountaineering work to do in
climbing over the bodies of the slain, so be not impatient. But one
word. In attacking, look thou well to thy guard--you poets are so
incautious. After striking, ever raise thy wrist and cover thyself
again before another blow. Now farewell, and the gods be with thee;
return to thy troops.”

Very shortly after these orders had been given, Maharbal issued from
the wood and waved his sword with the attached handkerchief twice.
Like arrows Chœras and his men started from their cover, and sweeping
over the plain, avoiding the flanks, fell upon the rear of the Romans.
Dreadful then was the slaughter of the footmen who had retired behind
the Roman cavalry. At the same instant Maharbal swept round the other
flank, and, leaving the footmen alone, fell with his men upon the rear
of the Roman cavalry. The whole aspect of the battle was changed in a
moment. The whole Roman force, with the exception of a band that
rallied around Scipio, broke and fled, and the greater part of the
Carthaginian horse pursued them. Maharbal, however, charged the
serried foes around the Roman leader, and with his terrible blows had
soon cut a lane right through their ranks up to the Commander himself,
slaying the standard-bearer and seizing the standard. Vainly did
Scipio raise his already tired arm to ward off the fearful blow that
Maharbal now dealt. He struck at the Consul with all his force, but
his sword, glancing off the Consul’s helmet, clove his shoulder. It
cut clean through his armour and half-severed his right arm. The shock
threw Scipio from the saddle, and his attendants now fled to a man.
Maharbal was about to dismount, and secure the person of the Consul as
his prisoner, when suddenly Monomachus burst upon the scene, wounded
and dismounted, brandishing a bared dagger which he stooped to strike
into the prostrate Roman’s throat. But first he plunged his hand in
the Roman’s blood.

“Hold! hold, Monomachus!” cried Maharbal. “Slay him not, he is the
General and a noble foe, and he is moreover my prisoner. Thou shalt
not slay him!”

“Curse thee!” cried the slaughterer furiously, “I tell thee I will
slay him, ay, and thee too if thou interfere,” and he knelt over the
body of Scipio to despatch him.

At that moment there came a shock. A young Roman officer with five or
six followers charged in upon the scene. With one spear-thrust the
leader transfixed the neck of the bloody Monomachus, and then he
instantly turned upon Maharbal.

“Ha! we meet again,” he cried, and rushed upon him. It was young
Scipio! But he was no match for Maharbal, who easily avoided the
spear-thrust, and then with a scornful laugh charged him in turn.
Striking him merely with his fist, he knocked him off his saddle.

“Ay, once again we meet and once again I spare thee, Roman!” he cried,
“and again I spare thee simply for thy valour’s sake.”

Then seeing himself surrounded by Romans, he struck down a couple of
them, and pressing his horse out of the throng, escaped, bearing the
Roman eagle with him.




 CHAPTER VIII.
 EUGENIA.

What a glorious career of successes it was that was inaugurated with
this cavalry victory near the Ticinus! Had not the blood-thirsty
monster Monomachus been slain by young Scipio at the very end of the
action, he might not only have been able to gratify his wish of
plunging his arm into the blood--although it proved not indeed the
life-blood--of the Roman General, but he might have bathed repeatedly
during the next twelve months in rivers of blood. Success followed on
success. Like rats that leave a sinking ship, the Gauls in the Roman
army deserted in their thousands and joined Hannibal; the Boii and
other Cis-Alpine tribes first sent him ambassadors and hostages, and
then themselves came over with all their fighting men, and, after the
battle of the Trebia, the whole of Cis-Alpine Gaul was in the hands of
the invading Carthaginians.

Now the battle of the Trebia was in this wise. After the cavalry
action just described, the wounded consul Publius Scipio fled with his
army first across the Po, and then, after considerable losses at the
crossings of all the rivers, to some high ground near the River
Trebia, where the now-dreaded Numidian Cavalry were unable to get at
him. Here he was joined in his camp by the other consul, Tiberius
Sempronius, who brought his army from Ariminum, the combined Roman
forces amounting to over forty thousand men. The two consuls were
utterly unable to decide upon a concerted plan of action; the wounded
General wishing for time to get well, and to accustom his newly-raised
legions to campaigning for a while before risking a general action.
Tiberius, however, was anxious to gain some military glory for
himself, apart from his brother consul; he was, moreover, jealous of
the possible successes of the succeeding consuls, the time for whose
election was near at hand. He was therefore only too anxious to risk a
combat, and was constantly urging Scipio to allow him to take the
combined consular forces against Hannibal.

But now mention must be made of the youthful Eugenia and her amours
with Mago.

Mago, the younger brother of Hannibal, was immediately, on the death
of Hannibal Monomachus, appointed to the supreme command of all the
Carthaginian cavalry. After the affair of the Ticinus, he was ordered
on to the pursuit, and he ceased not to harass Scipio, even when he
had encamped under the walls of the city of Placentia. Here, one day
in a bold foray, he destroyed a portion of the camp outside the town,
and in the tent of one of the generals of the Roman allies, which he
looted, he captured an Italian maiden named Eugenia, a girl about
twenty years of age, and of surpassing beauty. She was by birth an
Etruscan, and by some is reported to have been the daughter, by others
the niece, of the general in whose tent she had been found.

Terrified at first, she was soon fascinated by the charm of Mago, who
was a young man of most handsome appearance, and who loaded her with
gifts and gold, which were liberally supplied by Hannibal for a
purpose. After a very few days, as Mago was well acquainted with the
Latin tongue, he had so completely won her to him that she would have
readily allowed herself to be burned with fire for his sake, or, at
least, to have given her life for his. Not being a Roman, but an
Etruscan, she had no particular love for Rome; but youthful and
ardent, and anxious to prove to Mago her great love for him, she
readily fell in with his wishes. Accordingly, after Scipio had
encamped upon the heights on a spur of the Apennines, she one day,
being aided by Mago, pretended to escape to the Roman camp, where she
arrived with torn raiment, dishevelled hair, and an appearance of the
greatest misery. Her curses and invectives against the Carthaginians,
and the story which she related of her imaginary wrongs, utterly and
at once disarmed all suspicion. The fair maid Eugenia was therefore
received with open arms and made a most welcome guest in the Roman
camp, where everyone pitied her for the terrible misfortunes she had
endured. Thus, there was nothing that transpired there that she did
not know, and when she had found out all that was going on, she one
night took an opportunity of escaping, and rejoined her lover Mago. To
him she revealed everything, and Hannibal was at once put in
possession of all the information he required. Having thus gained
knowledge of all the cabals that were going on in the Roman
headquarters, Hannibal knew how to act, and determined to precipitate
a conflict before the Roman infantry were really sufficiently
seasoned.

This he easily managed.

To Mago, through whose pretty lover he had gained so much useful
information, he assigned the most arduous post--that of hiding by
night in ambush in a wet water-course, with a party of two thousand
chosen horse and foot, to appear at a seasonable moment.

Then early in the morning, after his own men had breakfasted by the
camp fires, a party of light-armed troops were sent out to draw out
the Romans from their camp, which was easily accomplished, the Romans,
under Sempronius himself, thronging out, all unfed as they were, and
pursuing the apparently flying foe across the swollen River Trebia.
What followed is but history. After a bloody and prolonged fight, Mago
and his hidden troops suddenly appeared from the water-course in rear
of the Romans, and a frightful slaughter ensued, the Numidians under
Maharbal and Chœras charging, as usual, in small groups, and
advancing and retiring, utterly disconcerting the enemy. The result of
this terrible battle, which was fought in a fearful snow-storm, was
that out of forty thousand troops engaged, only ten thousand survived
and escaped to Placentia. But the savage elephants, despite the snow,
pursued and slaughtered for hours and hours, until they could slay no
more. And this was the last fight in which the elephants were of any
avail, for the bitter cold weather which now set in soon killed them
all but one, and killed also thousands of the allied Carthaginians.
As, however, during the battle, the greatest losses among the
Carthaginians had taken place among the Celts or Gauls, Hannibal still
retained a large number of his original army of Libyans and Iberians
with whom to continue the campaign.

After this battle in the early spring, there were some terrible times,
during which, over and over again, it must be confessed, Maharbal
longed, but longed in vain, that he had taken the opportunity offered
him by the Chief of returning to New Carthage with the letter to his
beloved Elissa.

But there was no going back now, and, as he had cast in his lot with
his wonderful Chief, so was he compelled to go on. Therefore, in the
early spring, he crossed the Apennines, and for four consecutive days
and nights marched through the horrible swamps and morasses between
Lucca and Fæsulæ, where the only dry places to be found at nights
was upon the bodies of the dead baggage animals. Here daily and
nightly he strove to minister to Hannibal, who, sorely afflicted with
a terrible attack of ophthalmia, which cost him an eye, nevertheless
concealed his own agony, and daily and hourly, riding upon the sole
elephant that survived, encouraged by his presence and example the
troops under his command.

Then came a short period of rest at Fæsulæ, during which the
Carthaginian troops contrived to regain a little of their lost vigour;
but, as many of the horses had lost their hoofs in the awful march
through the swamps, it fell to Maharbal and Mago, during this period,
to continually make sudden excursions where least expected, and seize
upon all the horses they could find.

It was now that Eugenia, the mistress of Mago, became most useful.
Carefully nurtured by Mago, and being accorded by Hannibal all the
comforts possible during this terrible march, she had not only
survived all its terrors, but was as strong and well, and, moreover,
as beautiful at its termination as she had been at its commencement.

She had, for concealment and convenience, been disguised as a boy, and
did not look while attired in male raiment more than about fourteen
years of age. She was strong and hardy, and being herself an Etruscan,
was well able to give every kind of information about that country of
Etruria wherein they now were. She was, however, no longer entirely
devoted to Mago, and this for a variety of reasons. Perhaps the
strongest of all was that she was a woman, and consequently unable to
continue ever in one mind. Therefore, although she had deliberately
given herself to Mago, under no compulsion, but merely for love’s
sake, she now had, so she discovered, some religious scruples about
her conduct. She talked to Mago of the possible anger of the gods; at
times, also, she became cold to him, and reproached him with the
sacrifices she had made for his sake in leaving the Romans to wander
about with him.

Mago for a time put up with these whims and vagaries, for he had truly
learned to love Eugenia; but there was one reason, at present
unexpressed, which daily made her more dissatisfied and discontented.

Mago at length resented this treatment, as he wearied of her
ill-merited complaints. He now became, or at any rate pretended to be,
neglectful and cold in turn, and appeared to be entirely devoted to a
recently-captured slave girl.

Eugenia had, in reality, recently set her affections upon Maharbal,
and, as the days advanced, she fell madly in love with him.
Accordingly, during the rides through the districts of Etruria in
search of horses, Eugenia, now that Mago neglected her, attached
herself daily to the party led by Maharbal, and trying, indeed, did
the young warrior find these rides. For, faithful himself to Elissa,
and quite as faithful to his friend Mago, he was, nevertheless,
violently moved by the passion inspired by the beautiful Eugenia; and
at length, so overcome was he by her charms, her sweetness, and her
very evident admiration and love for himself, that he felt he must
fall, and yet he would not fall.

A crisis came. One day, when far away upon one of these raiding
expeditions, they had encamped for the mid-day meal in a wood, and
Eugenia, on some pretext, persuaded Maharbal to wander with her
through the most shady parts of the grove. Then suddenly losing all
reserve, she fell with tears upon his neck, and declared that she
loved him. Maharbal was, for a moment, overcome by the passion with
which he thrilled at the contact with her, and, for a fleeting second,
pressed her violently to his heart. But then, with a virtue almost
unknown in those times, he remembered his faith to his lover--his
almost wife--Elissa, and his faith to his friend--almost
brother--Mago, and a feeling of fury rose within him. He loosed the
girl’s arms from his neck with an angry movement.

“May the gods forgive me!” he cried, “but I know not what to do. I
desire thee intensely, thou beautiful Eugenia, and, indeed, I almost
love thee. But thou art not yet mine, and shalt never be mine, for I
will not be false as thou art thyself. And I should be doubly false
should I yield. Therefore, for thine own honour and mine own, thou
must die!”

Swiftly he drew his dagger, and, in spite of her one appealing cry,
slew her there on the spot, striking his dagger into her warm young
breast. Then covering his eyes with his hands, he hurried from the
dreadful place, horrified at what he had done, and yet feeling that
the omnipotent gods alone had guided the hand that struck the fatal
blow. And this, then, was the tragic end of poor Eugenia, who knew
not, when she had won a man’s love and given unto him all the most
precious gift of woman, how to remain faithful.

Maharbal was not the man to conceal an occurrence of this sort. Upon
his return to camp, he straightway repaired to Hannibal’s tent, and
begged for Mago to be summoned. After relating exactly what had
occurred, he bared his breast, and, presenting the hilt of his own
sword to Mago, said:

“Strike, Mago! for I have taken a life that should be dear to thee.
Strike! for I feel myself indeed worthy of death for having sent that
fresh young soul to Hades. But the gods are my judges, and if thou
wilt but strike, I shall soon appear before them to answer for my
conduct. Therefore, I say strike, and strike home!”

Mago did not strike. He burst into tears, and threw himself into
Maharbal’s arms.

“It is mine own fault,” he cried, “oh Maharbal, and deeply do I grieve
for the poor girl Eugenia. But far more deeply, friend, do I grieve
for thee, upon whom the gods have laid such a cruel burden, as to
compel thee, for thine honour’s sake and mine, to slay a woman. For
thou hadst no other alternative, save to become a base villain.”

And again he wept, and Hannibal, who had in a fatherly way himself
loved the young maiden, being moved beyond words, silently joined his
brother and Maharbal in their tears.

There was much sadness that night in the camp of the generals, and if
virtue be, as the proverb saith, its own reward, then, for the unhappy
Maharbal, that reward was nought but misery.

After this, Maharbal became gloomy and morose. He quite lost the
youthful gaiety which had so often borne him up, and with which he had
in evil days encouraged others. For this affair preyed upon his mind.
In his dreams he would see the dead girl, by turns stretching out her
arms to him in imploring love, and then in imploring despair as he was
about to strike the fatal blow. He refused his food; indeed, he was
quite unable to eat. It was soon evident to all who knew him that his
mind was preying on his body, for daily he looked more wan and ill,
but he could not be comforted despite the efforts of his friends to
cheer him. It was in vain that the worthy and kind-hearted Sosilus
related for his benefit various real or imaginary histories, all given
with due chapter and verse, of some of the god-like heroes of old,
who, in similar cases, had behaved exactly like unto Maharbal himself;
these well-meant histories afforded him no comfort whatever. He
listened in silence. In vain also did Chœras force himself to the
most sprightly jests, or write the most comic and witty verses, and
read them to him aloud.

From sheer politeness’ sake Maharbal would force a smile, and
compliment his friend, but immediately afterwards would relapse into
moody silence as before.

Hannibal and Mago soon became quite alarmed, fearing that his mind was
becoming unhinged by his grief. But although they were as brothers to
him, and showered on him their brotherly love, nought that they could
do was of any avail. For Maharbal was haunted day and night by the
spirit of Eugenia. Throughout all his career, although many women, in
fact nearly all the women whom he met, as Melania once wrote to
Hannibal, fell in love with him, this secret and powerful attraction
which he had experienced for the lovely Eugenia was the only passion
for any other, save Elissa, that ever came to torture Maharbal. But he
kept his thoughts to himself and suffered in silence, although ever
haunted by the phantom of the slaughtered girl.

Had it not been that the battle of Lake Thrasymene occurred just about
this time to divert the current of his thoughts, there is not the
slightest doubt but that Maharbal would shortly have died a raving
maniac. But Melcareth was merciful, and, by means of the distraction
of active warfare, withdrew the heavy hand which he had laid upon the
young man to try him; so that after the battle of Lake Thrasymene
Maharbal gradually, to the delight of his comrades, recovered his
health and spirits once more.




 CHAPTER IX.
 THRASYMENE.

The two new Consuls that year were Cnœus Servilius and Flaminius,
and they had between them some sixty thousand troops. By so
unexpectedly crossing the Apennines, and marching through the awful
marshes of the overflowed Arno, Hannibal had entirely evaded Cnœus
Servilius, who was left at Ariminum on the Adriatic, but he now found
Flaminius in Etruria, blocking the way to Rome with a large force at a
place called Arretium. Accordingly, Hannibal, while still collecting
horses and resting his troops, held one day a council of war to
consider the situation.

There were present, Mago, General Hanno, Maharbal, Hasdrubal the
pioneer, who had succeeded Monomachus as head of the engineering
department, Silenus the scribe, with writing materials handy, and
last, but by no means least upon this occasion, Sosilus, who had, by
this time, entirely undertaken the duties of head of the intelligence
department of the army, which were duties in which he excelled. He had
recently organised an excellent system of spies on a large scale, and
the scheme was working admirably. Nothing took place in the Roman
camp, or, for that matter, in Rome itself, without his being informed;
and of all occurrences of interest, Sosilus made voluminous notes
under alphabetical headings, with a view both to present utility and
to incorporation in his future history of the war. Chœras returned
from a horse-raiding expedition just as the proceedings were
commencing. He was not entitled by his rank in the army to be present
at a council of war, but Hannibal, who was very partial to him on
account of his ready humour, called him in as he saw him marching,
with a band of captured horses, past the open door of the council
tent. Hannibal was still suffering agonies from the attack of
ophthalmia, which had already cost him one eye. Nevertheless, with his
usual indomitable courage, as he sat at the head of the council table,
with a silk bandage over the diseased eye, he looked as unconcerned
and jovial as possible. No one could, for a moment, have imagined that
he was actually suffering dreadful pain. Such was the man, that he was
even able to jest at his own condition.

“Well, most worthy Sosilus, thou seest in me now a hitherto unknown
species--a one-eyed General--therefore, thou, as head of the
intelligence department, wilt have to be in future not only ‘the ears
of the army,’ but the unlucky General’s missing eye as well. Ah, well,
what the gods have decreed is just, and I doubt not but that with
thine aid my one remaining eye will be good enough to show me the way
to Rome.

“But now to business. What canst thou tell me about the Consul
Flaminius now at Arretium? I wish to have details as to his personal
character and his history, as well as the numbers of his troops at
present; for it is often from knowing the previous career and
characteristics of one’s foe that one knows best how to combat him.”

“Most rightly said, my lord Hannibal,” replied Sosilus, while fumbling
over his very voluminous notes. “I see that thou art of the same mind
as the cunning Ulysses, who, according to Homer, upon a very similar
occasion at the siege of Troy--but here is Flaminius; that matter of
Ulysses can rest till later on, when, if any here present hath an hour
or so to spare, I will with pleasure relate it.”

Unseen as he thought, but in reality observed by the scribe, Chœras
made a grimace at Hannibal expressive of delight at escaping the
history of Ulysses, at which the General smiled sympathetically in
return. But now, in a business-like manner, Sosilus read aloud, as
though from a dictionary:

“Flaminius-Caius, now Consul for the second time, is of plebeian
origin and much hated by the patricians on account of his ever
supporting the plebeian interests. Hath now with him at Arretium,
30,000 troops of Romans and the allies combined, of whom 6,000 are
cavalry. Was tribune ten years ago, and, against the advice and wishes
of the Senate, passed a law, called the Flaminia lex, for the division
of the lands of the conquered Senones, a Gallic tribe in Umbria, among
the poorer Roman citizens. Is founder of the great Circus called the
Circus Flaminius, and likewise builder of the great military road from
Rome to Aquilæa and Ariminum, known as the via Flaminia or Flaminian
way.

“Six years ago, when Consul for the first time, crossed the River
Padus--the first Roman ever to do so--and made war upon the Insubrian
Gauls, who still detest his memory. On that occasion the hostile
Senate declared that the gods had shown prodigies and omens against
his success, and ordered him by letter to return. But he left the
letter unopened until he had first crossed the Po and defeated the
Gauls. On account of that success he is more hated than ever by the
patrician class, who have lately seen more prodigies upon the occasion
of his recent re-election by the people to the Consulate. Their object
is evidently to represent him to the people as an unlucky man, or one
unblessed by the gods.

“Some of the portents that have been seen are as follows:

“An ox in the cattle market ran into a house, rushed upstairs, and
threw itself out of a third storey window.

“A four months’ old baby in the vegetable market, loudly shouted
‘Triumph!’

“A cat gave birth to twenty-four kittens in the Forum.

“Showers of stones fell in various parts of the city.

“The statues of the gods perspired freely.

“A mouse squeaked during the election, which the Senate therefore
sought to cancel.”

This last of the list of portents against the unlucky Flaminius was
too much for the gravity of Chœras, who burst out laughing loudly.

“Lucky for that mouse,” he exclaimed, “that he did not squeak in the
Forum near the mother of the twenty-four catlings; he would soon then
have understood the meaning of portents better than apparently doth
this thick-headed Flaminius.”

There was general merriment at this sally, when Hannibal remarked:

“Yea, thou hast said the right word, Chœras. Thick-headed he
evidently is, that is plainly his character if he can thus resist the
Senate and the patricians with their portents, and calmly go on his
own way despite all their evil omens. Many thanks unto thee, Sosilus,
for thine excellent information. From it, I now judge this Flaminius
to be a headstrong man, and one somewhat over self-reliant. Thus I
think it highly probable that we shall be able to draw him into a
pitched battle without his waiting for the other consular army to come
and join him. At any rate we will try. This is my plan.

“Methinks, if we now start to the southward, ravaging and burning as
we go, and pass him by, he will soon be drawn after us, and in rage at
seeing the blazing and devastated country, will rush headlong to his
doom. For we will select such ground as may be favourable to ourselves
for fighting upon, and then, methinks, most worthy Chœras,” he turned
to the wag, “that the thick-headed general, when pitched against the
one-eyed general, will soon find out to his cost that the mouse did
not squeak for nothing.”

“Ay, it will probably rain bullocks and babies about that period!”
retorted Chœras, “a very good omen for Carthage whenever that
happens!”

At this remark even the unhappy Maharbal grimly smiled. Then the
meeting broke up, Chœras repeating a verse aloud to Sosilus as they
rose to go.


 “With bullocks raining over head,
  While babies strew the soil;
 No matter then how thick his head,
  ’Twill squash like olive oil.


“There! learned man! I make thee a present of that verse for thy
history of the war, which contains, I fear me, far too much of bald
prose. A verse or two of such singular merit will far increase the
value of thy work. Therefore take it gratis; ’tis a present, I say.”

“With many thanks, I gladly accept the gift,” replied the sage with a
merry twinkle in his eye. “And now I in return will make thee also a
present, oh Chœras, and one which will greatly increase the value of
thy brains, no less a present, indeed, than the relation of that story
about Ulysses that I began just now. It will not take me much more
than an hour and a half to give it thee from end to end, with all the
references.”

“Oh, but I have business with the horses,” exclaimed Chœras, with a
look of horror, and gathering up his sword and buckler, he made for
the door of the tent. But the sage was not to be defrauded of his
revenge this time. He seized the escaping poet by his armour cuirass
at the back of the neck, and held him firmly.

“I too will come and see the horses, and can tell thee the history as
we go; but of one thing be assured. I leave thee not until thou hast
heard it all--ay, until the very last word. Thinkest thou that I am so
mean as to accept a valuable present from thee for nothing? Nay,
indeed, on the contrary. For as Achilles, when disguised as a woman at
the Court of Lycomedes, remarked one day to the fair Deidamia--”

What Achilles said to Deidamia none of the laughing onlookers present
ever knew, for at this moment the struggling Chœras broke out of the
tent, the pedant, who was a small man, still clinging to the back of
his neck with all the tenacity of a weasel clinging to a rabbit. He
was determined to be fairly revenged upon the poet at last, and he had
got his opportunity, and did not intend to relinquish his victim!

Next day the Carthaginian army commenced to march southward through
Etruria, and, just as in Hannibal’s dream, the monster of the
devastation of Italy followed in their wake. Every person they met was
slaughtered, every building put to the flames.

Making a detour, Flaminius and his army were avoided, but the Roman
Consul was soon aware of his adversary’s passage from the thick clouds
of smoke with which the whole countryside was filled. Furious at this,
he, as Hannibal had anticipated, without waiting for any aid to come
to him from Ariminum, hurried blindly in pursuit. And Hannibal,
laughing in his sleeve, quietly lay in wait for him in the mountain
passes by the northern shores of Lake Thrasymene.

Never in the course of history has there been such an example of a
complete surprise of the whole of a large army as at this battle. For
over-night, aided by the configuration of the ground, which was
admirably adapted to his purpose, the Carthaginian general arranged
his various forces in ambush in several places, by the side of the
lake and the pass leading to the valley through which the Roman force
had to march in their fancied pursuit. Behind the hill on one side,
near the entrance to the pass, were hidden all the Balearic slingers
and the light-armed troops. On the other side, facing them, were the
Numidian cavalry and the Gallic infantry; while upon a steep hill,
which almost entirely closed the end of the valley, only leaving,
indeed, a very narrow and precipitous roadway near the lake, stood
Hannibal himself, with the whole of the Spanish and Libyan heavy
infantry.

At early dawn, when a thick mist enveloped everything down to the
water’s edge, Flaminius and his army, like flies into a trap, plunged
recklessly into the pass and the valley, which were so soon to be
whitened with their bones. The Carthaginians on the heights could
plainly hear through the mist the tramp of the 30,000 enemies marching
below them.

In the meantime, concealed by the mist, they gradually, in their
impatience, edged further and further towards the slopes, down which
they but awaited the command to charge. They could plainly--the white
heavy mist having now settled upon the lower ground--see their own
comrades similarly preparing on every surrounding hill-top.

When Hannibal, who was himself waiting in a fever of expectation,
judged by the ear that the head of the Roman columns had reached the
foot of the hill whereon he stood, he gave in a loud tone the order to
charge. According to preconceived arrangement, the cry was instantly
taken up and repeated by every general, captain, prefect, tribune, or
other officer of any and every kind stationed around the amphitheatre
of hills. In a second, the whole army was in motion, and then with a
roar like thunder, from the combined frantic shouting, the clattering
of the rocks and the clanging of the armour, thousands of men poured
down on every side at once to charge the unseen and unsuspecting foe
below. Never, indeed, in the history of the world has there been
planned and executed such a terrible surprise! The Romans had, many of
them, not even time to draw their swords, but were slain where they
stood. In three hours’ time the whole of the Roman army, with the
exception of six thousand men of the van, who, in the mist, managed to
force their way through to a hillock, where they stood bewildered,
were cut down, or driven into the lake. Here, while standing up to
their necks in the water, they were charged by the Carthaginian
cavalry, who despatched them with their spears, the Consul Flaminius
himself being one of the killed.

When at length the mist cleared, and the six thousand Romans who had
taken refuge on the hill saw the awful scene of carnage below, they
retreated to a neighbouring Etruscan village. But Hannibal, thinking
that in his present unhappy condition of mind the more fighting that
Maharbal could get the better it would be for him, sent him the next
day with all the light-armed troops and the Iberians to besiege the
village, which he did so successfully that the whole of the six
thousand surrendered to him on his promising to them their lives.
Altogether, the appalling number of fifteen thousand Romans were
actually slain in this battle, and, including the six thousand who
surrendered to Maharbal, fifteen thousand were taken prisoners, more
than half of whom were wounded. Hannibal, on his side, lost fifteen
hundred men, but they were chiefly Gauls, whom he could best afford to
lose.

Nor was this the end of the Roman disasters, for no sooner had the
news of this terrible defeat reached Rome than it was followed by the
tidings of a battle gained by Maharbal alone. For Cnœus Servilius,
having heard that Hannibal had entered Etruria and was near Flaminius,
started at once with the intention of joining him. But his excellent
intentions had been frustrated completely by the diplomatic move made
by Hannibal in setting fire to all the houses and devastating the
whole country of Etruria before the very eyes of Flaminius. The result
had been, to quote the flippant Chœras, that it had rained, if not
exactly bullocks and babies, at all events blows and butchery at
Thrasymene. Servilius, however, like a good general, anxious to help
his fellow consul, had sent on a body of four thousand cavalry in
advance, thinking that even if he could not himself arrive in time
with the infantry, these horsemen would. They were all gallant troops,
well mounted, and under the command of a certain Caius Centenius. Had
these troops arrived in time for the battle of Lake Thrasymene they
would probably have been slaughtered there and then. But they were
three or four days too late. The delay, however, made but little
difference in the result. For old Sosilus got timely warning from his
spies of their approach, and informed Hannibal upon the very day that
Maharbal took the six thousand prisoners. Again, with the object of
keeping Maharbal at constant hard campaigning work, so as not to give
him time for thinking, Hannibal deputed to him a separate and large
command, which should by rights of seniority more fitly have been
entrusted to Mago or to General Hanno. He sent him off with all the
light-armed troops and a considerable body of Iberian cavalry to seek
for and attack Centenius when found. Maharbal came up with the Romans
in a day or two, and he and his men, both horse and foot, being full
of confidence and valour after Thrasymene, charged at sight.

They charged with such impetuosity, the light-armed footmen by
Maharbal’s directions clinging to the stirrups of the horsemen, that
at the first shock half of the Romans were unhorsed. The footmen had
let go the stirrups just before the shock of the two bodies of cavalry
meeting, but now they bounded upon the dismounted Romans and slew them
to a man, while the horsemen pursued the remainder to a hill, not far
distant, where they defended themselves right valiantly for the night.
But the following morning, charging gallantly up the hill, the young
Numidian leader defeated them utterly. The fury of his charge was so
great that the enemy, intimidated, broke without waiting for him to
come to close quarters, and would have fled, but that they found
confronting them a large party of Balearic slingers and archers, and
some of the cavalry which Maharbal had sent round behind the hill, to
their rear. Finding themselves thus taken between two fires, they
threw down their arms, and although before Maharbal was able to stay
the carnage a good many of the Romans were killed by the slingers and
archers, most of them fell alive into his hands. Thus, with a large
number of prisoners, and with an immense booty of fine horses and
beautiful armour, Maharbal marched back to the headquarters near the
Thrasymene, covered with glory and honour. And after this week of
perpetual fighting and carnage he ceased to be haunted by the spirit
of Eugenia, whose image now soon faded from his mind, although he
never forgot her completely so long as he lived.

Great were the rejoicings in the Carthaginian ranks after these
tremendous successes, but for all that, Hannibal did not feel himself
strong enough to attack Rome for the present.

Dividing the prisoners who were actual Romans among his troops, and
releasing all the prisoners of the allies, telling them that he made
war for Italy herself against the Romans only, he started once more.
Gathering together all the spoils and the captured horses, of which he
had an immense number, and taking his wounded with him, he now
indulged himself in what may be described as a kind of military
promenade. Entirely unopposed, but plundering and killing all the male
inhabitants whom he met, just to indulge in his hatred for the Romans,
he leisurely marched across Central Italy to the province of Umbria,
and passing through Umbria, travelled on slowly to the southward
through Picenum, where he arrived with all his army upon the shores of
the Adriatic. Here he established a fortified camp in the midst of a
most fertile country.

Right glad, indeed, were he and his army to behold the sea once more;
for they had not seen salt water now for many months. Right glad also
were the troops to rest, for they had become wearied of carrying along
all the wealth that they had amassed. Moreover, from the hardships of
the campaign, many of the men were suffering from scurvy, and the
horses were covered with scab. Fortunately, the Carthaginians had
captured among other things great quantities of old wine, and by
continuous bathing of their wounds with this, both horses and men were
soon restored to health and strength.

Meanwhile, the state of despair to which the proud Romans had been
reduced can be better imagined than described. The whole of the
inhabitants of the city of Rome, who had hitherto been ever accustomed
to hear of nought but the victories of their troops, were now reduced
to a condition of abject terror, and it is probable that had Rome but
been attacked it would have fallen.

From this camp in this fertile country, Hannibal was able to send
messengers by sea to Carthage, and on from Carthage to his daughter in
New Carthage, with tidings of his wonderful career of success.

Again he now offered to Maharbal the opportunity not only of returning
to New Carthage to join his beloved Elissa, but of also proceeding
first of all, as his envoy, to carry the good news and a great portion
of the Roman spoils to Carthage itself, thus giving him an opportunity
of revisiting his own native land in Libya. But as he had refused
before, so now did Maharbal sturdily refuse again to leave his
general’s side.

“Nay, nay, Hannibal,” he replied. “I am not one of those who change
their minds. I have sworn to remain with thee, and remain with thee I
will. I shall doubtless, if I be spared, have plenty of time to pass
with Elissa after the war is over. And,” he continued, laughing, “as
for seeing my native country, my native country is the back of a
war-horse.”

“Then wouldst thou probably see plenty of thy native country in
Spain,” replied Hannibal; “for, from all accounts, my brother
Hasdrubal is likely to be hard pushed to it there shortly. For not
only is Cnœus Scipio there, but Publius Scipio, he whom thou didst
wound at the Ticinus, hath proceeded thither also, and doubtless many
of those discontented Iberians, especially the tribes north of the
Ebro, will desert to their standard. Fighting there will be in Iberia,
and plenty of it, as well as here, and thy strong right arm may, for
all I know, be needed some day even to defend the honour of her whom
thou lovest so much in New Carthage. So think of it, lad, before
definitely refusing. ’Twill be thy last chance.”

Maharbal’s bronzed face turned a shade paler, and he started at the
idea of harm happening to Elissa. For a second, and a second only, he
hesitated, then made up his mind once for all.

“Tush!” he said resolutely, “Elissa will be safe enough in New
Carthage. Not all the Scipios in the world could take that city.
Hannibal, my place is, as I have said, here by thy side. I remain with
thee.”

“Thank ye, lad!” said Hannibal warmly; and, moved by so much devotion,
he stretched forth his hand, and warmly clasped that of his faithful
adherent.

“And, now,” he said, “as that is settled, come with me across the
camp, and let us seek Mago, for I must send him in thy stead to
Carthage, and on, after a while, into Spain. Perhaps, after all, it
would be as well if one of the sons of Hamilcar Barca should be seen
just now for a while in Carthage, to tell of his brother’s successes,
and to ask for the reinforcements of men and money that we now sorely
need. Especially, they should send us men, for the waste of life hath
been terrible indeed since we marched out of Saguntum. Yet both thou
and I will miss Mago, lad; and who knows if we shall ever either of us
see him again.”

“Ay, Hannibal, I shall indeed miss Mago, for I love him truly like a
brother. But yonder he is, standing by the guard tent; I will step
across and call him to thee.”

“Nay, let us go together, lad, for I am anxious to take a glance round
the camp, and we can talk to him as we go.”

So together they went, and joined Mago.




 CHAPTER X.
 FRIENDS MUST PART.

It was upon a beautiful summer’s morning that Mago embarked for
Carthage. The country all around the Carthaginian camp was, after a
shower on the previous night, looking its very best. The green leaves
of the vines, all bedewed with the raindrops, glistening in their
little hollows, dispensed a sweet odour in the clear, refreshing air.
The verdant cornfields, waving before the gentle sea-breeze, softly
rustled with a soothing sound, displaying, as they moved, the large
red poppies previously hidden beneath their bending stems. In the dim
distance, the peaks of the Apennines stood up purple and sharp to the
azure sky, while here and there a fleecy white cloud softly rested
upon some mountain crest, nestling around the hill-top, and embracing
it lovingly, as a pure maiden softly enfolding her lover in the
embrace of her snowy arms. Upon the groves of chestnut trees the
morning sun, striking upon one side and lighting them up vividly, made
all the more remarkable the contrast with the gloomy shades which
hovered in long, dark streaks along the branches where the sunbeams
had not yet fallen. Here and there from a belt of sweet-scented pine
trees could be heard the soft, trilling notes of Philomel, the
sad-voiced nightingale; while closer at hand, flowing past the fallen
tree trunk, upon which two warriors were seated, there rippled merrily
by a little streamlet, sparkling like silver in the morning rays.

At some distance in the foreground, as if to show that all in this
world is not peace, there stood line upon line of snow-white tents,
denoting the presence of an enormous camp, while behind the camp the
blue and scarcely ruffled waters of the Adriatic faded away in the far
distance into the blue of the sky, with which it seemed to merge its
waters. It was a morning made for love, for all that should be sweet
and delightful, a morning fit for heaven itself. But it was a morn
that was witness of a great sorrow--the parting of two lifelong
friends--who felt, they knew not why, that they were communing with
each other for the last time on earth.

Mago and Maharbal, each, although quite young, the hero of a hundred
bloody fights, sat upon the fallen tree, hand clasped in hand as
though they were but two young children. For long they sat in silence,
drinking in all the beauties of nature around, yet their hearts too
full to speak. So great was the sorrow they felt, that a kind of
awkwardness had fallen upon them both. They did not know what to say
to each other now that the time had come for parting. These two, who,
with bared sword and gleaming eye, so often had charged together side
by side into the very jaws of death, to issue on the other side of
some hostile squadron, with the warm blood dripping from their deadly
blades, were now speechless. At length Mago spoke, while gripping his
friend’s hand closer.

“I shall never forget it, Maharbal. I shall remember it all my life.”

“What?” said Maharbal, suddenly starting from his reverie, “remember
what, Mago?”

“How thou didst save me from that most blood-thirsty Gaul, at whose
mercy I was in that awful night of our second engagement on the Alps.
I can see thee now, in my mind’s eye, casting him and his horse
together over the precipice. By Moloch! but thou didst display a
terrible strength with this right hand of thine, snapping his hand at
the wrist like a carrot even as he was striking at me.”

“Tush, man! hold thy peace. I did not do one half for thee what thou
thyself didst for me before Saguntum--ay, and once again at the
Trebia, when three Romans had, owing to the slippery ground, unhorsed
me, and would have slain me but for thy killing two of them and
putting the third to flight. But him, thou wilt doubtless remember, I
pursued and slew myself. He was a terrible black-looking scoundrel,
but a very coward at heart, or he would not have fled when thou wast
but one to three, standing over my prostrate body. I killed him
easily.”

“Yea, I mind well the circumstance. But what shall we both do now when
we can do no more slaying together? I loved thee always as thine elder
brother, Maharbal, and feel inclined--laugh not at me, I pray--to weep
when I think that no longer thou and I shall be with the thundering
squadron in the thick of the same combat, oft times side by side. How
oft have I watched thy gigantic form from afar, cutting and slaying,
when thou knewest not that I was even observing thee.”

“And I too, Mago! How often have not I watched thy crimson and white
plume floating from thy silver helmet. To my dying day I never shall
forget the anxiety I felt on thy behalf that day of the fight on the
Ticinus, when, myself left behind in the oak trees, I saw thee a dozen
times in the clash of battle, surrounded by the enemy, but thank the
gods, invariably issuing the victor. Ay, we have had grand times
together! but now what shall I do without thee?”

“Hast thou not got Chœras?” asked Mago tentatively.

“Ay, I have Chœras,” answered Maharbal drily, “but is Chœras the
Mago whom I have loved from boyhood?”

There was a silence again after this, for the last remark was one that
admitted of no reply. Then Mago spoke again.

“Thou wilt succeed to the command of all the cavalry when I am gone,
Maharbal; be careful of the Gallic horsemen; their chief,
Vridomarchus, is not to be relied on--watch thou him well.”

“Ay, I will watch him, and slay him too, for thy sake, if he hath
offended thee in aught.”

“Nay, slay him not, at least not yet, but rule him with a hand of
iron; make him fear thee, and all will go well. Treat him ever like a
dog, for kindness he doth not understand, and he is verily like the
dog that biteth the hand that feeds him.”

“I thank thee, Mago, but I think I will slay him; he will be far less
trouble that way.”

Another pause ensued, and then, looking his comrade straight in the
face, the young General Mago asked the question that Maharbal had been
expecting.

“And what about my niece Elissa? shall I tell her or no that Hannibal
offered unto thee the chance of going to Carthage and then to Spain
instead of me, or rather before me?”

“Ay, tell her, Mago--she may as well know me as I am. I love her
deeply, ’tis true, but I love my duty to my country and to Hannibal
more than all else.”

“And what about Eugenia? shall I mention that circumstance? I think,
for mine own sake, ’twere wiser not, but ’twould vastly raise thee in
Elissa’s esteem to know how thou hadst scorned another for her love’s
sake.”

Maharbal sprung to his feet and covered his eyes with his hands as the
remembrance of the dreadful tragedy with Eugenia flashed vividly
across his mind. He turned and faced Mago.

“I would rather, oh my friend, my more than brother, that thou
shouldst say nought of that matter. It is not that I fear that she
should know that I have slain a woman, but I would not have her think
that I seek or have sought to glorify myself by assuming for her sake
a virtue that I have not felt. For, by the holy gods, Mago, it was, I
truly believe, chiefly for thine own sake that I acted as I did. But
thine honour and mine honour were at stake, Eugenia’s honour likewise.
In truth I know not rightly whether I thought of Elissa or no, the
whole affair hath been so horrible unto me. Therefore, Mago, while in
no wise binding thee, I think that I would rather that that matter
remained secret.”

“Ay, secret it shall be, but now tell me this; hast thou not a letter
for Elissa? if so, let me have it now. I shall see her within the
year.”

“Yea, I have a letter ready, and here it is. But stay a moment, I see
a wild rose climbing yonder, I would enclose a blossom or two and a
few leaves of the sweet briar within the folds. Tell her that I have
pressed them to my lips, and send them to her with all my love. I have
no other message to send; but I may never see her again, therefore
tell her simply this, that I am faithful still.”

Maharbal plucked the wild roses and enclosed them within his scroll,
which he gave to Mago. Then the two warriors and friends, who had seen
so many bloody fields together, clasped each other in their brawny
arms, all armour-clad as they were, even as they had been two weak,
foolish girls. After this they descended the hill almost in silence to
the camp.

Here there was great pomp and parade, and the great General Mago was
escorted to his ship with much ceremony by a large guard of honour
composed of men who had served under him in many a sanguinary
conflict.

And now, with the departure of Mago, it is time that we turned our
attention for awhile to what had been going on elsewhere.




 CHAPTER XI.
 ELISSA AS A WARRIOR.

After the departure of the army with her father and her lover from
Spain, a great blank had fallen upon the life of the young girl
Elissa. For the dull days had succeeded to the dull days, and still no
news came to relieve the anxious heart of the ardent girl.

Her uncle Hasdrubal was away with the army that Hannibal had left in
Northern Iberia. Melania, at whose memory her pretty teeth met
tightly, was dead. Cleandra had left her. There was absolutely no one
to whom she could mention in confidential talk even the name of
Maharbal, save the foolish Princess Cœcilia. To mention him to her
was, so Elissa soon found, to expose herself to many a jarring note,
for so thoughtless was the buxom lady, so absolutely tactless, that
she contrived to say ever the wrong thing when referring to the absent
lover. It was not done intentionally, or from ill-nature, but that
only made matters all the worse when she blurted out some such remark
as this:

“Oh! doubtless he hath half-a-dozen other sweethearts by this time,
those soldiers are all alike, my niece, never faithful when once their
backs are turned, and very often not even when at home. Oh! thou
needst not look at me like that, Elissa, ’tis absolutely true, I
assure thee, and about all of them. Think on my late husband
Hasdrubal, how disgracefully he behaved. But that is what they are; I
tell thee the truth; ay, verily all soldiers are like that. ’Tis no
use thy pining for Maharbal, nor waiting for him either. Therefore, if
he come not back very shortly, thou shouldst take another lover. As
for Hannibal, thy father, him thou canst never hope to see again,
after his starting off on such a madcap errand as this invasion of
Italia by land.”

This kind of speech was not very consoling. But it was what Elissa had
to expect, and to put up with if she ever mentioned her lover’s name.
Therefore she at length learned to hold her peace where he was
concerned.

“Let us talk about some other matter,” she said testily, one day after
some such conversation. “As for me, Princess Cœcilia, thanks be to
the gods! I do not share thy opinion of men, nor deem that all can be
so bad. Maybe ’tis fortunate for me that I have not had thine
experience. Therefore, I will continue to put my faith in Maharbal.
But I have now other and weightier matters to discuss with thee. I
have this very day received a lengthy despatch from mine uncle
Hasdrubal, and ’tis most serious. It seemeth that the war hath not by
any means gone well with him for some time past.

“Firstly, by means of the base treason of one Abilyx, an Iberian whom
he trusted, General Bostar, who commandeth at Saguntum, hath, being
deceived by Abilyx, most foolishly delivered over unto the two Roman
generals all the hostages of the Northern Iberian tribes. The Romans
in turn have given up these hostages to the Iberians, and thereby
secured important alliances. Secondly, General Hanno, the son of
Gisco, hath been severely defeated, and both he and the king Andobales
have fallen into the hands of the Romans. Thirdly, Hasdrubal’s own
fleet hath been defeated close by the land, and in sight of mine
uncle’s army drawn up on the beach. The cowardly sailors fled to the
shore, and, beaching their vessels, which they abandoned, sought the
protection of Hasdrubal’s force. The only bright spot in the cloudy
sky is that Hasdrubal, with a flying column of eight thousand infantry
and one thousand horse, hath himself surprised a great number of the
sailors of the Roman fleet on shore, scattered about the country, and
killed them. With reference to this last affair, Hasdrubal writeth
that Cnœus Scipio hath since then joined his fleet, and punished the
authors of the disaster according to the Roman custom! I wonder what
that may be? ’tis no doubt something terrible.”

“Ay, doubtless something horrid, probably crucifying them head
downward, or else impaling them, or maybe breaking them on the wheel,”
replied the princess. “I trust,” she added consolingly, “that neither
Hannibal nor Maharbal have yet been similarly served. But ’tis more
than likely.”

“With all this,” continued Elissa, ignoring the pleasant suggestion
conveyed in the latter part of Cœcilia’s remark, “thou wilt easily
see that it behoveth us ourselves to be more careful than ever in our
defences here of New Carthage. For strong though we be, what is there
to guarantee us, like Bostar, against treachery from within, when,
should the Romans make a sudden descent in our neighbourhood, we may
all fall into their hands? May the sacred gods protect us from such a
fate! But as one never knows who may prove a traitor, nor what may
chance in war, I intend myself henceforward in my capacity of Regent
and Governor to devote far more time personally than heretofore to the
troops of the garrison, such as to seeing to their efficiency and
readiness. For it shall never be said of a daughter of Hannibal that,
from sheer idleness, she neglected her trust to her country. As for
treachery, should I ever suspect any human soul within these walls,
whether man or woman, Iberian or Carthaginian, of either deliberately
or by foolishness committing such an action as should endanger the
safety of the city, I should speedily make use of mine authority to
punish such an one according to the Carthaginian custom in such cases,
which, as witness the sacrifices to Moloch, can upon occasion be made
quite as terrible as any Roman custom. Therefore let such a one be
careful.”

During the latter part of her speech, Elissa looked very pointedly at
the little princess, in whom, owing to her light character, she had no
great faith, and who trembled before her in consequence of the pointed
remark.

“By all the gods!” replied the usually merry lady, with blanching
cheek, “wherefore dost thee look at me like that, Elissa? Surely thou
wouldst never suspect me of turning traitor? Only think of it, what on
earth should I do myself,” she continued, “were I to be captured and
fall into the hands of the Roman officers? I am sure I should die of
fright,” and she gave a little giggle.

Elissa had now shot her bolt intended to convey a warning, and that it
had struck home she knew. She now therefore said, banteringly:

“Thou die of fright! by no means, my dear aunt; methinks that on the
contrary thou wouldst be quite happy under such circumstances. I have
frequently heard that some of those Romans are very handsome men, and
how could they fail to be at once struck by thine attractions and
charms?”

“Ah, yes, that is true, certainly,” replied the vain little lady,
beaming at the compliment. “But for all that I fancy I am better off
here. I believe that the Romans object to their ladies wearing veils
even out in the sun. Think, my niece, how terribly trying to the
complexion. Never could I survive such a trial as that; ’twould be
worse even than being crucified according to Roman custom upside down,
a very unbecoming posture that.” And she gave a little shudder.

“And one,” replied Elissa, smiling in spite of herself, “that I trust
neither thou nor I, mine aunt, may ever be seen in, and it behoveth us
therefore to be more than extra careful. Thus, by letting all in the
city know that we are constantly on the alert, we shall have less to
fear from treason. Moreover, the enemy themselves, even if they have
spies among us, learning that we are ever prepared, will be less
likely to dare to attack us, seeing how strong is our position.”

One of Elissa’s amusements latterly had been in learning warlike
exercises, such as the use of spear and broadsword, and throwing the
javeline, and from this time forth she, who had hitherto not had much
to occupy herself, became in very sooth the ruling military spirit in
New Carthage. For she was now not only the Civil Governor but the
active general as well, and not a guard was mounted, nor a man moved
without her orders. Clad in a helmet and a light cuirass, both of
steel inlaid with gold scroll work, and with a jewel-hilted sword by
her side, she now frequently mounted a war-horse, for she was a
splendid rider, and reviewed the troops in person. Not content with
merely looking carefully and watchfully after the troops of the
garrison, she also constantly made fresh levies among the Iberians,
whom she caused to be trained and then forwarded to her uncle
Hasdrubal at the seat of war. In constantly employing herself in this
way the days hung less wearily on her hands. Thus first the months and
then the years rolled by, and from the cares of government and the
active part that she took in the management of the troops, the pain of
the separation became gradually less, and the self-reliant young woman
began in time to cease to think about her lover so exclusively.

When Elissa took to live with her a charming young maiden to whom she
was much attached, Sophonisba, the daughter of a certain General
Hasdrubal, the son of the Gisco slaughtered so basely by the
mercenaries in the truceless war, the void in the young girl’s life
became partly filled. Sophonisba was a remarkably handsome girl of
some fifteen summers. Educated in Carthage, she was quick-witted and
sharp beyond her years, and made a most excellent companion. With her
society, life was not for Elissa quite so dreary as heretofore.

At last, after two and a half years had elapsed, a large fleet of
Carthaginian ships, full of reinforcements for Hasdrubal, were one day
sighted off the harbour mouth. When they had entered the roadstead and
anchored, Elissa’s young and favourite uncle Mago came ashore, bearing
to her the letters of her father and her lover, the latter containing
the wild roses now long since plucked on the Adriatic shore.

At sight of the dear one’s handwriting and the withered roses, the
whole of love’s young dream came back with a gush of feeling. Nor did
Mago forget to praise his friend in every way, and speak of his
bravery and constancy to his niece, whose heart thrilled with pride to
hear her lover thus praised. When, however, Mago informed Elissa that,
had he so willed it, Maharbal might have returned to New Carthage in
his stead, the impression which he made upon the young girl’s mind was
quite contrary to what the warrior had hoped. For he, looking from a
soldier’s point of view, had imagined that she would be pleased at
finding that her lover was of such a noble character, able to prefer
duty to self; whereas, on the contrary, she was only angered, for with
a woman’s feelings, she could not understand how anybody, or anything
in the world, be it honour, duty, or anything else, could have been
preferred by her lover to herself upon such an opportunity. Mago,
perceiving this evil impression, was sorry that he had mentioned the
circumstance at all.

“Surely!” Elissa exclaimed passionately, “he hath had enough of
fighting; surely he hath already done enough for Hannibal, for honour,
and for his country to have been able to spare a little time for me
who have, all lonely, been eating out my heart for him so long. And he
is mine! Before the gods I have a right to him; yet am I neglected
thus! Surely I was worth more than this! But since he would not come
to me himself, I will have none of his letters, nay, nor of his
miserable roses either!”

Stamping on the floor, with anger in her eyes, she tore twice in twain
the scroll that Mago had brought her from Maharbal, and dashed it to
the ground. Then casting the withered roses to the floor beside the
fluttering pieces of papyrus, Elissa spurned them with her foot. How
glorious the outraged girl looked in her righteous anger! But then, a
revulsion of feeling setting in, she suddenly cast herself upon her
sympathetic uncle’s breast in a flood of tears, while he vainly sought
to console her. After this, she broke from him again, picked up the
scattered fragments, tenderly picked up also the crushed and
shrivelled rose leaves, and clutching them to her beating bosom, fled
from the apartment. Poor Elissa! accustomed as she was to have her own
way in everything, her pride had indeed been sadly hurt; but love was
after all still the lord of all.

It must be owned that hers was a terrible and trying position. Maid
but no maid, wife but no wife, ruling over New Carthage and all the
surrounding territory in Southern Spain with princely powers, with all
the might of Carthage to support her in her authority, yet she was
powerless to have her will. Working, too, as she ever was, for the
good of her country, she was yet condemned by an adverse fate to gain
no good herself, the one thing that she desired in this world to make
life worth living being denied to her.

First it had been her father who had, for his own reasons, torn her
lover from her arms just as she had learned to know what love was; and
now it was that noble young soldier, the flower of the army, Maharbal
himself, who had preferred, or so it seemed, the undying fame of
military glory, which he was earning in Italy, to her loving arms. It
has been said by one, herself a loving woman, in an analysis of the
sexes, that absence makes man but not woman indifferent, the beloved
object gradually fading from the former’s mind. “For,” she writes,
“men are not made like women, and in time they do forget, although
they do not think at the first that they will, ever. But I have
closely studied them, and have discovered that, in their relations to
each other, women can live on a past, but men always need an immediate
future to look forward to, or else everything is lost in a mist of
oblivion. To women ‘have beens’ are enough for ever, whilst men
require to have their five senses constantly occupied on the people
they love, or else soon grow cooler, and in time cold. With a man, his
love is deep and deeply intense for a little while; with a woman, it
is not so deep or intense at the time, but spreads over her whole
life.”

With reference to the above analysis, which certainly is true in parts
as regards the world in general, and yet which seems far too sweeping
when applied to individual cases, Elissa was one of those whom absence
did not render indifferent; she was also one of those women whose love
had spread over her life. But it could by no means be said of her that
she found that the “have beens” were enough for ever, nor that her
love had not been so deep and intense as Maharbal’s at the time. On
the contrary, it was not only equally deep and intense, but far more
violent and incapable of being kept under control. Elissa had not
therefore been satisfied with merely living on the past, but had been
ardently looking forward to a future when her five senses might be
again gratified by the presence of her lover. Her disappointment and
depression were all the greater, and her state of “accablement” became
more utter, as the loving words and expressions conveyed to her in her
lover’s letter only made her desire his personal presence the more
intensely.

As with the pieced-together letter in her hand, and the faded roses by
her side, she lay silently weeping upon her luxurious couch, she felt
as if she had been struck with blows, so limp, so crushed was she. But
after a while, proud woman that she was, she called all her pride, all
her courage, to her aid, and rising from her couch rejoined her uncle.

Her beautiful face was very pale, and there were deep violet rings
under her eyes, when, laying her bejewelled fingers upon Mago’s arm,
she addressed him as follows:

“Mine uncle Mago, it is not good for a girl to be so much alone as I
have been for years past. Neither father nor mother have I ever had
with me, nor even thou, mine uncle Mago, nor yet have I mine uncle
Hasdrubal. Until I took my friend Sophonisba to live with me, what
society have I had, save that of the empty-headed Princess Cœcilia, a
woman utterly devoid of intellect, whose only ideas are vapid
flirtations with anything or anybody--which foolish promiscuity maketh
her somewhat a danger in the city, by the way--and how best to take
care of her complexion:

“No wonder, then, oh mine uncle! that--neglected thus, and thrown so
utterly upon mine own resources--I have dwelt far too much in my mind
upon my lover Maharbal; for lover only he is to me henceforth; I will
continue no longer the farce of calling him my husband. Had he been my
husband, or desired to be my husband, he would have come to me now.
Therefore is he but my lover and nought else, and, my lover having
failed me, I will stay here to brood in New Carthage no longer, but
will accompany thee for a while to the war against the Romans, with
this thine army that thou hast brought. I shall presently take thee
all over the defences of the town, and thou wilt see that I have not
hitherto betrayed my trust, for all is in order. And thou, mine uncle,
shalt this day present unto me one of the superior officers of thy
force, a capable man, to accompany us round the walls, and be also
present at a review of my troops, which I intend to hold in thine
honour. To such a one will I delegate mine authority here during mine
absence, and thou shalt ratify such appointment. Were it possible for
me to know whither in Italy to seek my father Hannibal, it is to him I
would now proceed, and it would perhaps be more fitting that I should
do so, but for one reason. That reason thou canst easily fathom; it
exists in the presence of Maharbal with my father’s army. For ’twould
seem to all that I were pursuing him, or that since he would not come
to me I had gone to him, and that shall never be said of Elissa,
daughter of Hannibal. Now, mine uncle, I have said: I accompany thee
if thou wilt but have me?” and she threw an arm around his neck
caressingly.

“Ay, my dear niece, right gladly will I have thee with me, and do even
as thou hast said. For ’tis true that thou hast been neglected
hitherto, and life is short, especially in times of war, and blood is
thicker than water. I would right fain have thee with me, save for the
danger that thou mayst run of thy life. Say, if I take thee, wilt thou
promise me to be very careful of thine own safety, my pretty one, my
gallant soldier’s daughter?” And gently the uncle stroked the dark
tresses of the young woman, whose pale but determined face so near his
own shone with nobility, courage, and determination.

She embraced Mago, and smiled softly but somewhat ironically.

“Thou good uncle! I knew well that thou couldst not say nay. But take
care of myself!--nay, I will make no such promise. For am I not
Hannibal’s daughter? Ay, and his representative--yea, even a general
like unto thyself, although I never yet have led my troops in the
field. Moreover, thou hast never seen me in my war harness; but thou
shalt, and that right soon too.”

And now, laughing outright, she clapped her hands loudly, when two
female slaves came running in.

“Order my charger, and prepare me mine armour instantly, and be in
readiness to attire me.”

The slave girls retired instantly to do her bidding.

“Now, mine uncle,” quoth Elissa, blowing him back a kiss as she stood
in the doorway before following them, “say farewell for a space to
Elissa the woman, for in a moment thou shalt see only Elissa the
soldier, one who will, when required, bring with her to the battle,
under old Gisco, a body of well-disciplined troops, whom she hath
trained herself and can thoroughly rely upon. Some of thy large force
can remain here to replace them in the garrison of New Carthage.”

When, a few minutes later, Elissa reappeared, fully attired in her
light but glorious armour, carrying on her left arm a shining and
beautiful shield, inlaid with the horse of Carthage in gold, and
having two or three light throwing javelines in her right hand, Mago
could not resist a cry of admiration.

“By the great gods Melcareth and Moloch, thou art beautiful! I would
to the gods, indeed, that Hannibal could but see thee thus, Elissa;
verily, he would be proud of his daughter.”

“Who is, as thou shalt learn, mine uncle, by no means a maiden
travestied in warlike panoply merely for stage effect. Wilt thou
accompany me to the verandah? Now, what object shall I strike with
this javeline?”

Mago pointed out a distant and slender tree trunk.

Poising the javeline for a second, Elissa sent the weapon whizzing
through the air, and lo! it was quivering, buried to its head in the
bark of the sapling.

“Another object?” she asked.

“The silver figure of the god of love on the fountain; but methinks
’tis over far.”

“Not too far for me,” quoth Elissa; “this is a game that I play well,
mine uncle, for I have practised greatly.”

Again a javeline flew through the air with the most marvellous
precision, striking the neck of the little silver god with such force
that it was transfixed from side to side by the gleaming steel.

“By the great goddess of love herself!” cried Mago, in admiration,
“never saw I such dexterity. ’Tis evident that her son’s arrows are
but a toy compared to Elissa’s javelines.”

Elissa smiled.

“Now, wouldst see me on my war-horse, mine uncle Mago? ’Twas Maharbal
himself who taught me to ride when but a child, and I am on horseback,
as thou shalt see, a very Numidian. I have neither saddle nor
stirrups; but, merely for show’s sake, a bridle have I, with silver
chains for reins; likewise, I have a golden saddle-cloth, to the
surcingle of which the reins are, as thou seest, attached to prevent
them falling.”

An orderly was leading a splendid bay charger, thus caparisoned, up
and down before the verandah of the palace. Taking a short run, Elissa
sprang lightly into her seat across the horse.

“Some darts,” she cried; “give me some darts.”

Some half-dozen short, but heavy-headed darts were given to her, which
she grasped with her left hand below the shield.

Then pricking the horse with the point of one of the darts that she
took in her right hand, she started off at full gallop. Away she sped
across the lawn, and in and out among the trees, at such a pace that
Mago feared to see her brains dashed out against the tree trunks. But
nay, emerging safely from the trees she swept across an open space
beyond the fish pond, all the time performing warlike evolutions with
her shield; raising it, and protecting her head, or throwing herself
flat upon the horse’s back, and covering head and shoulders with it
completely.

A third evolution she performed, and that, likewise, while still at
full gallop. Suddenly, Mago could see nothing but the glittering
shield held alongside the horse’s neck, thus protecting it. All that
was visible of Elissa herself was one small foot barely showing above
the horse’s croup, her whole body being concealed behind the horse.
Then, as the horse came round again in a circle, thundering along the
path which led before the palace verandah, Elissa, springing up to her
seat again, discharged, with the rapidity of lightning, all her darts
in rapid succession. With each she struck the object aimed at. With
the last of the whizzing weapons she transfixed and slew a glittering
peacock which, frightened by the galloping horse, flew, from its perch
upon a marble portico, screaming overhead. Then whirling short round
again, she dashed back at the same speed, stopped suddenly by using
the reins for the first time, and pulling her horse upon his haunches,
sprung to the ground in a second as lightly as she had mounted. She
ran swiftly up the steps to her uncle, somewhat out of breath, and
with a heightened colour.

“What dost thou think of my horsemanship? The princess saith that ’tis
indelicate! But what dost thou think of thy warrior niece thyself? Is
she fit to accompany thee to the war against the Romans?”

“Fit to accompany me to the war! Thou art fit to command the army.
Why, by Moloch himself! never, save in my beloved brother-in-arms
Maharbal, who did himself instruct thee, saw I such horsemanship,
combined with such precision in throwing the weapons. In very truth
will I take thee with me unto the battle, ay, and willingly, for woe!
I say, be to the enemy who should find himself within reach of thy
darts. But one thing thou must promise me. Keep thou ever to this
Numidian style of warfare, advancing and retiring on horseback, and
casting of darts and javelines. But the use of the sword, for which
thy bodily strength would not be sufficient, ever avoid; likewise
avoid, if possible, dismounting and fighting on foot.”

“Nevertheless, the use of the sword I know too, mine uncle, for good
old Gisco hath taught it me for years past.”

“Maybe! Maybe that he hath; but, for all that, promise me to keep, if
possible, to the horse and the dart-throwing, in which thou art more
than the match for any Roman, and thou shalt come with me into the
bloodiest battle. Give me thy word, Elissa.”

“I promise thee, mine uncle Mago, to do thy bidding in this matter,
and, further, in all else appertaining unto warfare, to be entirely
subservient unto thee.”

Thus it came to pass that, after a year or two’s campaigning, Elissa
was present at the fateful battle in which Mago defeated and overthrew
Cnœus Scipio. Further, while charging alongside Mago in the hottest
of the battle, it was even the hand of Hannibal’s daughter which
discharged the missile which struck the Roman General in the joints of
his armour, and cost him his life. As at about the same time,
Hasdrubal defeated Publius Scipio, and slew him also, for a time the
Carthaginians completely regained the upper hand in Spain. For the
brothers Scipio, being both dead, there was no one left to lead the
Roman forces.

Mago and Hasdrubal now joined hands, and drove the shattered Roman
troops into various camps and cities well to the north of the Ebro,
after which, Elissa, accompanied by her uncle Hasdrubal and all his
army, returned to New Carthage for the winter. But her uncle Mago
still kept the field.




 CHAPTER XII.
 SOPHONISBA AND SCIPIO.

Hasdrubal, remaining in New Carthage for a space longer, when spring
set in gave to his niece one day a delightful surprise.

“Elissa,” quoth he, one morn, “wouldst thou like to travel? wouldst
thou perchance like to see the African soil whence thy fathers sprung?
’Tis charming, I warrant thee, at this season of the year, and well
worthy of a visit.”

Elissa sprung from her seat and dropped her embroidery work, for she
had, since the battle in which she had slain Cnœus Scipio, resumed,
on her return to New Carthage, her ordinary woman’s attire and
feminine avocations.

“Visit Carthage! mine uncle?” she cried excitedly, clasping her hands
in glee; “’tis the dream of my life to visit that glorious home of
mine ancestors.”

“Not so fast! not so fast, my niece; I said not visit Carthage, for
there I may not send thee at present, but visit African soil. For I
have it in my head to despatch thither an embassy to Syphax, King of
the Massæsyllians, a near relative of thy lover Maharbal, of which
embassy I propose to make General Hasdrubal, son of Gisco, the chief.
I further propose to send with him his daughter, thy friend and
companion, that beautiful young girl Sophonisba, and ’tis not meet
that she should travel without a responsible female companion.
Therefore, shouldst thou fancy a short sea journey, thou art welcome
to take advantage of this opportunity. ’Twill be, methinks, a change
to thee to visit the court of a prince upon African soil, after having
all thy life met with no princes save those of the Iberian race. His
kingdom is most fertile and lovely, much resembling in all things the
climate of this southern part of Spain; the language thou knowest, for
it is thine own Phœnician tongue. Moreover, thou speakest Greek
fluently, wherewith thou canst discourse with strangers should they be
present. Now, what dost say? Wilt thou go or nay? ’tis a chance that
may not hap again in thy lifetime.”

“Go! mine uncle, of course I will go. I long, indeed, to visit African
soil; and though it be not Carthage, yet are these Numidians the
vassals and friends of Carthage. ’Tis almost the same thing.”

“Vassals of Carthage they are, and friends sometimes. Syphax was the
friend of Carthage until lately, and likewise his nephew Massinissa,
ruler of Massyllia, the adjoining country to Carthage itself. But
latterly the Romans have been tampering with both, and I have news
that they, being sorely pressed by Hannibal in Italy, are sending, or
have already sent, a new embassy with rich presents and many promises
to these princes, with a view to securing their alliance. Therefore,
it behoves me to be upon my guard, and to bribe them also. Fortunately
we have all the wealth of the silver mines of Southern Iberia at our
command, and can therefore send, without impoverishing ourselves, such
riches to these barbarian kings as the beggarly Romans can never even
dream of. And that, therefore, is what I shall do. Would but to the
gods, I could send the treasure to my brother Hannibal himself but no
man knoweth where to find him. He hath, ’tis said, recently utterly
crushed the Romans in some tremendous battle, but no man knows, as I
said but now, where he actually is. At all events, that is the reason
that the Carthaginian Government allege for giving him no succour, and
as, despite his repeated demands for reinforcements, the Government
send him none, and they will not give me a fleet to send to his
support, I cannot myself, unfortunately, assist him in that way. But
by preventing the Numidians from joining the Roman standard I can in
one way aid Hannibal. And ’tis possible thy going into Africa might
further the matter. For thou’rt young, handsome, and clever, and thy
wits might win what the sterling qualities of General Hasdrubal, the
son of Gisco, might not, with his rough and ready tongue, be able to
accomplish. Further, Sophonisba may attract the fancy of the King
Syphax. As for thyself, thou art affianced, to say the least of it, to
his kinsman, Maharbal, so thou art not only safe from any proposals of
marriage, but wilt come into his family group with particular rights
to be treated with the greatest consideration. Moreover, thou hast
tact in the highest degree, and should, as I tell thee in confidence I
desire, the African prince become enamoured of Sophonisba, whose
charms are really remarkable, thou canst guide the maiden herself, and
impress upon her the advantages of union with a king. For although
this Numidian hath many concubines, he is yet unmarried. And his
friendship and real alliance would be of the greatest advantage to
Hannibal at the present crisis. Therefore, my niece, thou canst by
going to the court of this barbarian greatly aid my designs. He is, it
seems, a really warlike man, and well worth the winning over to our
country’s cause, no matter what the bait employed. Moreover, he is, if
not quite young, yet well-favoured, and such as any maiden might
fancy. So also I hear is Massinissa, his nephew, but Syphax is the
more powerful. But I have said enough, and if thou wilt accompany the
mission I am convinced that thou wilt succeed.”

“So poor Sophonisba is to be the bait! is she, mine uncle? Well, ’tis
in our country’s cause, and after all, ’tis something to become the
wife of a king, that is to become herself a queen. Thou canst
therefore rely upon me. Should the man not prove an absolute ogre, and
thou sayst that he is far from that and well liking, I will persuade
Sophonisba, although sorely shall I grieve to part with her, to marry
him.”

“Then that is settled, Elissa; keep thou thine own counsel entirely,
and I will arrange about the details of the mission during the next
few days. Breathe not to Sophonisba herself one single word of what I
have said to thee.”

Elissa laughed aloud and patted her uncle on the cheek.

“What dost thou take me for, oh, Hasdrubal the son of Hamilcar? Am I
like a babbling brook, or like the Princess Cœcilia, widow of thy
late namesake and brother-in-law?”

“Whom I detest most cordially. Nay, nay!” replied Hasdrubal, “may the
gods forbid that thou shouldst resemble her, for she is odious! I have
it in my mind to crucify her one of these days to encourage virtue in
the other women in the palace. For she is most unvirtuous, and worse
than that, most unwise. What can I do with her if I slay her not, thou
knowest her well Elissa?”

“Watch her carefully, or marry her to someone, that is my advice. To
crucify her would be most unjust, for she hath hitherto harmed no one.
Her sole vice is folly, but that is, it must be owned, extreme.”

“Well, well, we can see about the fool later on. I shall perhaps know
how to deal with her. Methinks I will marry her to one of my
lieutenants. There is a certain prefect of horse that would suit her
admirably. He is of gigantic stature, almost as tall as thine own
Maharbal.”

“And she adores large men,” replied Elissa. “Well, I counsel thee,
mine uncle Hasdrubal, marry thou Cœcilia unto him without delay, then
shalt thou be relieved of a constant danger in the palace. For there
is no greater danger than in the constant presence of a foolish
woman!”

“’Tis true, my niece--’tis most true. I must consider it. But now let
us to the harbour and see about the ships.”

So the pair left the palace together and strolled down to the harbour,
where all fitting arrangements were made for the voyage to Africa.

A fortnight later Elissa found herself with Sophonisba, now a girl of
seventeen, and her father Hasdrubal, the son of Gisco, arriving at the
Court of Syphax, and there they were most royally entertained.

Syphax himself was a splendid Numidian. Some forty years of age, he
was handsome, affable, well-instructed, and warlike. His bearing was
indeed that of a prince. Frank and good-natured, generous to a fault,
he was a man who never suspected evil in others, because there was
absolutely no guile in his own disposition. His leanings were all
towards Carthage, for until latterly the Carthaginians had ever
treated him well, and if latterly they had not done so, he, with his
generous nature, put the neglect simply down to the expenses incurred
by the long continued war.

There were present at his court, which was most magnificent and
luxurious, his nephew Massinissa, a small but muscular and wiry man of
an entirely different type to Syphax himself, and also the members of
a Roman embassy. And the head of this embassy was Scipio Junior, who
wore his left arm in a sling, and looked pale and an invalid. For he
had been sorely wounded in two places at a comparatively recent
battle, in which fight the man who had struck him down had been his
old antagonist Maharbal. Now, by some strange dispensation of the
gods, it was his lot to meet as friends in a foreign court not only an
embassy of his country’s enemies the Carthaginians, but also the
beautiful daughter of Hannibal himself, Elissa, the betrothed of the
very man whom upon three separate occasions he had met hand to hand,
and upon every occasion to his own discomfiture. And now that he had
met Elissa, he fell deeply in love with her at first sight.

Although it was the fashion of the Romans and Carthaginians to call
all races but their own and the Greeks “barbarians,” the word did not
carry with it the significance that it has in these days; merely
meaning at first the inhabitants of Berber, the country to the North
of Africa. In fact, these very Numidians at whose court Elissa now
found herself, were Berbers or Barbarians. The remnants of this old
race, who are still numerous in the countries of Tunisia and Algeria,
are called Berbers unto this day. And from applying first to the
Berbers, the word barbarian came to have the signification of any
foreigner of no matter what race.

If the Numidian princes were called barbarians, it must not be
imagined that they were either barbaric in their ways, or that their
residences were by any means barbaric. On the contrary, not only had
they got the long-established civilisation and culture of the
neighbouring country of Carthage to guide them in their architecture,
but they had, in the beautiful horse-shoe arch, a grace and art of
their own which, introduced into Spain many hundreds of years later by
the descendants of the Berbers, the conquering Moors, has left its
traces unto this day in the Saracenic or Moorish arches of the
Alhambra at Granada and other magnificent buildings.

The Carthaginian embassy was received in state, and when Elissa, on
first landing, was borne in an open golden litter, with Sophonisba by
her side, up to the palace steps, the two girls thought they had never
seen anything so beautiful as the view of the land and sea from the
hill upon which the palace stood, and the first appearance of the home
of Syphax.

As they ascended the hillside to the sounds of sweet and somewhat
melancholy music from the musicians of the escort, they traversed
gardens blazing with geraniums and roses; the frequent orange blossom,
shining with its waxen, heavy-scented petals on one side, being
relieved everywhere by the crimson flowers of the pomegranate.
Overhead the date palms rustled in the fresh sea-breeze, while below
shone the blue sea, with a busy harbour full of shipping. All along
the coast, into the far distance, could be seen a succession of green
headlands, forming a charming variety to the blue of the foam-flecked
sea below, and the blue of the cloud-flecked sky above.

But if the works of nature were beautiful all around, the works of man
were beautiful also. For the front façade of the palace, beneath the
shade of which Syphax and his suite was awaiting them, consisted of a
long unbroken line of horse-shoe arches of purest marble, these arches
being supported at each heel of the horse-shoe by double pillars of
pure white marble also. Above the façade towered the palace, a marble
building studded with horse-shoe-shaped windows everywhere. Around
each of these windows, to afford relief to the eye, was a band, a foot
wide, of polished black stone, the effect of the contrast being
delightful. Leading up to the façade, which was raised some ten feet
above the level of the ground, there was a magnificent and very wide
double flight of curved marble steps, the curve of the steps again
forming a perfect horse-shoe. The double balustrades of this
horse-shoe approach were scarlet and green, with climbing geraniums,
while gracefully festooned up the marble pillars of the façade, and
above the top of the arches, were seen the most magnificent clusters
of the purple bourgainvillier flowers, and the graceful twining
convolvulus, whose bells of deepest blue hung in brilliant contrast to
the pale green leaves.

“Oh! what a lovely place,” exclaimed Sophonisba. “Surely it must be
the home of the gods themselves. Elissa, sawst thou ever a place so
lovely as this? There is nothing in Carthage itself that can compare
with it. Oh! I would that palace were mine.”

“Who knows but it may become so some day?” replied Elissa, with a
laugh. “Syphax is unmarried, thou knowest, and thy lovely fair skin
and auburn tresses will assuredly attract him greatly if he be not of
adamant, which, my Sophonisba, I have heard he is not by any means.”

“Hush! Elissa,” replied the young girl, blushing. “Yonder handsome,
swarthy man, in the silver inlaid armour, standing before the rest, is
doubtless Syphax himself. Ah! he descends the stair-case to meet us. I
feel nervous; my heart is all in a flutter.”

“Ay! right noble is his mien, enough to make the heart of any girl
flutter; but now to salute him. Greeting! oh King Syphax. I, thy
humble slave, whom thou seest before thee, am Elissa, daughter of
Hannibal, and this maiden by my side is Sophonisba, daughter of
General Hasdrubal, who hath preceded us.”

“Greeting! a hearty greeting, Elissa, daughter of Hannibal! Greatly
honoured am I that so beauteous a princess should deign to shed the
light of her beauty upon our poor dwelling. Welcome art thou, ay,
doubly art thou welcome, seeing that thou art the betrothed of our
kinsman Maharbal.” And he smiled pleasantly as he kissed her hand.
“Welcome to thee also, oh Sophonisba; truly so fair a flower as thou
hath never yet blossomed in the gardens of Syphax. Would to the gods
that it might take root upon our Numidian soil, then would the palace
doors be bright, and the hearts of the people happy.”

With this gallant speech, and with open admiration in his eyes, the
Numidian king bent over and kissed in turn the hand of the charming
and deeply blushing Sophonisba. Then he ordered the litter to be
lowered from the shoulders of the gorgeously-attired bearers, and
personally assisted the maidens to alight.

Elissa was attired with great splendour, much after the fashion in
which she had been clothed upon the occasion when she descended to the
harbour some years before to meet the false Adherbal, and was looking
radiant. Sophonisba was also charmingly attired, but somewhat more
simply, as became her years.

All present upon the verandah were struck by the regal splendour of
Elissa, and the sweet charm of the fair maiden, Sophonisba, whose
supple, willowy form was set off to the greatest advantage by the
simple style of her raiment.

When they had been conducted up the marble steps by Syphax, he in turn
presented to the ladies first his nephew Massinissa, then all the
nobles of his court. After them he presented to Elissa the young Roman
noble Scipio, with the nobility of whose features Hannibal’s daughter
was greatly impressed.

Publius Cornelius Scipio the younger, afterwards distinguished, on
account of his feats on Libyan soil, by the surname of Africanus, was
by no means the stripling that he had been on the occasion of the
rescue of his noble father from the hands of Maharbal and the butcher
Monomachus. He was a stately and muscularly developed man, and, save
for his temporary pallor, strong and athletic-looking. His features
were extremely regular, his eyes blue, his hair light-brown and
curling. He wore a short, fair beard, which was exceedingly becoming
to him. There was an immense charm in his manner, as, indeed, his face
seemed to proclaim.

As Elissa gazed for the first time upon this young man, whose advent
in the world was to be so fateful for Hannibal and for Carthage, she
was struck by what she considered the goodness, although by no means
weakness, of his expression.

Scipio, on his side, was for a second struck dumb by the magnificent
and voluptuous beauty before him. Thus, for a second, the
representatives of the two hostile nations remained speechless face to
face in a sort of embarrassment.

The Numidian king, standing by, laughed heartily.

“Why, my young and noble guests, what is it? Are ye afraid of one
another, or would ye continue the war upon Libyan soil? Nay, nay; here
are ye on neutral ground, and let me assure thee, oh Scipio, that no
war is allowed at the Court of Syphax, save the havoc which can be
wrought by a beauteous maiden’s eyes.”

He spoke in Greek, in which language the young man, smiling in turn,
replied, as stooping gracefully over Elissa’s hand, he raised it to
his lips:

“And that is a war in which the lady Elissa hath already won the
victory. Alas! I fear she will be ever fatal to the race of Scipio,
whether in the field or in the court. In the former, if the voice of
rumour be true, she hath already slain the uncle in well-contested
battle by her feats of arms; and now, in the latter, she hath already
half-slain the nephew with those far more potent weapons with which
the gods on Olympus have endowed her. In sooth is she a most
redoubtable foe.”

“I render thee thanks, my lord Scipio. Here, beneath the hospitable
roof-trees of King Syphax, thou hast not much to fear, at all events.
For ’tis but a simple maiden, all unarmed and defenceless, that thou
seest before thee, and no thought hath she in her heart of warfare of
any description. Therefore, see thou to it, my lord, that thou provoke
not the battle.”

Elissa smiled, displaying her pearly teeth as she uttered these words,
and as she stood thus, her crimson lips slightly parted, and a faint
flush upon her peach-like cheek, she appeared to the already enamoured
young Roman as the terrestial personification of Venus the queen of
love herself.

“Most excellent!” quoth King Syphax smilingly; “’tis good advice which
thou hast given unto our noble Roman guest, for were I in his place I
would fly at once rather than risk an encounter in which defeat were
assured in advance.”

Then he turned and left them, hurrying off to the side of Sophonisba,
who was shyly responding to the advances of the Prince Massinissa, to
whom she had taken an instinctive dislike, mingled with a feeling of
dread.

For the man had snaky black eyes and a cruel look, as different from
the honest and open countenance of his uncle as are the sulphurous
fumes of Erebus from the heavenly lights of Elysium. Sophonisba turned
to her host gladly as he came to her side, and listened willingly to
his kindly and, it must be owned, somewhat amorous conversation,
Massinissa effacing himself as his uncle appeared upon the scene. For
of him he stood in dread, and likewise hated him cordially, simply for
the reason that he had once been detected in plotting against his
life, and had most magnanimously been forgiven. For ’tis ever the way
with traitors to hate those whom they have wronged, but by whose
benefits they are nevertheless not ashamed to profit.

During the ensuing weeks all was merriment at the court of Syphax. The
affairs of the two separate embassies were entirely neglected, for the
king knew full well that no sooner should he come to a determination
with either one power or the other to make an alliance, than the
representatives of both would leave. Therefore, being a man of most
jovial disposition, and likewise of a most hospitable turn of mind,
he, on one pretext or another, constantly put off all business
discussions until the morrow. Thus, both the embassies were forced to
remain, awaiting the time when the Numidian king should find leisure
to discuss the important affairs of State, which, however decided,
would inevitably plunge his dominions and forces, now at peace, into
all the horrors of war.

In the meantime, the days were passed in the pleasures of the chase,
and the nights in feasting and carousal. The country abounded in game
of all descriptions, from the lordly lion to the fierce wild boar and
the timorous deer.

The former was hunted from the backs of elephants and slain with
arrows and darts; the wild boar was pursued on horseback and slain by
the riders with their darts and javelines; the deer were killed by the
use of the bow alone, the hunters being concealed in passes in the
hills, or glades in the forests, towards which the quarry was driven.
It was in the pursuit of the wild boar that Elissa shone, for here her
magnificent horsemanship and skill in discharging her weapons while at
full gallop came chiefly into play. There were other ladies present at
the court, many of them of great beauty, but after the arrival of the
Carthaginian mission, Syphax was during these hunting parties never to
be found by the side of any save Sophonisba; while, where Elissa was,
Scipio, whose arm was soon healed, was ever in close attendance.

One day while pursuing the boar, Elissa, being magnificently mounted,
had far outstripped all the other riders. She overtook the boar, and
casting a javeline, struck the animal behind the shoulder. The
infuriated brute turned instantly and charged her horse, which fell
headlong, casting its rider heavily to the ground. The boar, after
venting its rage upon the prostrate horse, whom with its savage tusks
it utterly destroyed, attempted to trot off, but fell down dead close
by.

Scipio, was the only one of the hunters who, save Elissa, had in the
bushy country managed to follow the chase. He came upon the body of
the horse, the now lifeless boar, and the seemingly lifeless form of
Elissa, all three close together. When she came partly to her senses
again, she found herself closely clasped in the arms of the young
Roman warrior. His lips were upon her lips, his breath mingled with
her breath; her senses had not yet completely come back to her, she
was in a dream. Passionately he clasped her to his bosom; wildly too,
in a paroxysm of grief, he cried:

“Die not, beloved, for oh, I love thee--I love thee, Elissa! Say, dost
thou love me?”

“Ay,” she replied, with swimming eyes; “ay, I love thee, and that
right truly--Maharbal!”

Then she closed her eyes once more, and became again insensible in the
arms of Scipio.

Young Scipio, gnashing his teeth with rage, laid her inert body on the
ground. Then he rode off, and finding some of the beaters, told them
to seek her and bring her back to the palace. He himself, cursing the
very name of Maharbal, rode moodily home, avoiding the remainder of
the hunting party, whom he observed in the distance.




 CHAPTER XIII.
 ON THE BRINK.

When we last left Maharbal upon the shores of the Adriatic he was a
prey to great sorrow at the loss of his dear friend Mago. But soon he
had no time for any personal feelings, for the army was once more in
motion. Hannibal, ever mindful of his dream, proceeded to follow out
the plan that the dream had suggested, namely, the devastation of
Italy. Accordingly, ever leaving a destroyed territory in his wake, he
marched onward and southward. Every village that he came across he
pillaged and burned, every town or walled city that he met he laid
siege to, captured, and destroyed. It was not a part of his plan of
campaign to allow his followers to hamper themselves with the
quantities of female slaves that they took prisoners, as there could
be no means of exportation for them. Therefore, merely delaying for a
few days’ repose after the capture of each place, he caused the army
to relinquish all the women they had taken, and so to march on, ever
forward, unhampered save by the enormous booty they had acquired.

The power of Rome having been apparently paralysed, he, for a
considerable space, wandered whither he would, utterly unopposed.
Having traversed, from end to end, the countries of Picenum, Campania,
Samnium, and Apulia; having for months and months devastated all the
richest country in Italy, under the very eyes of the following force
of Romans, under the Dictator Fabius, surnamed Cunctator or the
Lingerer, he seized upon and carried by assault the citadel and town
of Cannæ, where there was an immense store of provisions and
materials of war belonging to the Romans. There he rested for a time,
and armed all his Libyan infantry with Roman armour and Roman weapons.
What a delight must not the Carthaginian chief have felt, as he dealt
out by the thousand to his followers the suits of armour that he had
taken from the Roman warriors even in their own country. He now had,
however, not only the most absolute confidence in himself and his
mission, but a sarcastic delight in thus arming his forces with Roman
harness to fight against the Romans themselves. And this feeling was
shared by the men of mixed nationalities in his army, who, with
feelings of triumph, arrayed themselves in the trappings of the enemy
whom they were commencing to despise.

Meanwhile, the members of the Senate at Rome were tearing their hair.
They determined that an effort must be made, and this puny invader,
who, with such a ridiculously small force, had dared to affront all
the might of Rome, must be crushed forthwith. Despite, therefore, the
previous disasters, they girt their loins together most manfully, and
prepared for new and more determined efforts to wipe Hannibal and all
his crew off the face of the earth.

What the power of the Roman Senate, what the resolution of the Roman
people must have been, is exemplified by the fact that, despite
previous losses, they soon had in the field an army amounting in
number to more than four times the usual annual levy of legions. For
it consisted, counting horse and foot, of nearly ninety-eight thousand
men! And the Dictator, the lingerer Fabius, having been proved a
failure, and he and his master of the horse, and sometimes
co-dictator, Minucius, having been repeatedly defeated in various
small actions and skirmishes, this enormous force was placed under the
command of the two new consuls for the year, Paullus Æmilius, and
Terentius Varro, the former being a patrician of great fame, the
latter a popular demagogue of plebeian origin. Æmilius had already
greatly distinguished himself in the Illyrian war, for which he had
celebrated a splendid triumph; but as for Varro, he was, although the
representative of the people, nothing but a vulgar and impudent bully,
with no other knowledge of war than his own unbounded assurance. When
Hannibal, with his usual military genius, had seized upon the citadel
of Cannæ, these two consuls, burning to retrieve the frequent recent
disasters, arrived upon the scene and took over the command. But after
all that had gone before, they were not sure of themselves, and
therefore persuaded the out-going consuls, Cnœus Servilius and Marcus
Atillus, to remain and join in the battle. Marcus Minucius likewise,
who had been co-dictator with Fabius, returned to the army to take
part in the great fight which, with all his rashness, he had not
himself been able to precipitate during his own term of office, but
which he knew to be imminent. He had already suffered a defeat at the
hands of Hannibal, and was burning to gain his revenge. And now he
knew that he had his chance against the comparatively small force of
the presumptuous invader, for never, in all her history, had Rome put
such an enormous army in the field.

Hannibal and his army were encamped upon some heights to the south of
a river called the Aufidus. This stream was remarkable in one respect,
it being the sole stream in the whole of Italia which flows through
the range of the Apennine mountains, rising on their western side,
passing through the hills, and falling into the Adriatic Sea on the
eastern side of the Italian Peninsula. From the excellent situation of
the Carthaginian camp, all the military dispositions of the Romans
could be easily observed, and by means of the spies employed by old
Sosilus, Hannibal was not long in being informed of the dissensions
between the two consuls. Never was there an instance in which the
disadvantage of a dual command was shown more than upon the present
occasion, when one consul was in command of the whole force one day
and the other the next, and what the one did to-day the other undid
to-morrow. For it was the custom in the Roman army when both consuls
were present to give to each the supreme command on alternate days. It
was a wonder, however, that after the example of the co-dictators
Fabius Cunctator and Marcus Minucius, who had found it an utter
failure a short time before, that this system of daily alternate
command had not been abandoned. For Fabius and Minucius had found it
so unworkable that they had for a time divided the army into two, each
taking his own half. And with his half only, having risked a battle,
Minucius was utterly defeated owing to an ambush of cavalry prepared
by Hannibal. The late Master of the Horse and his troops were, upon
this occasion, only saved from utter destruction by the Lingerer
setting his own half of the army in motion, and coming to his rash
colleague’s assistance in the nick of time, and checking the
Carthaginian pursuit, with much loss to the triumphant Phœnician
force. After that, Minucius had wisely resigned his right to the
command, leaving the entire power in the hands of Fabius.

Hannibal, with some of his chief officers, was watching from his camp
upon the hill the movements of the Roman army, a large portion of
which could be seen crossing the river Aufidus to the northern side,
where, at some distance from the river, a camp was being prepared for
them by strong working parties, covered by large picquets and their
supports. Meanwhile, a brisk conflict could be seen going on near the
banks of the river, Hannibal having sent a large number of light-armed
men and some cavalry to annoy the Romans by attacking their flank
while on the line of march.

For a while this attack was successful, but suddenly the situation
changed.

“Ha! General Hanno, seest thou that?” quoth Hannibal. “The Romans
have, as far as I can see for the clouds of dust, altered the whole
face of the action. Withdrawing their light-armed troops, they have
now faced our men with large bodies of their heavy-armed hoplites. Ay,
’tis easy to see them now; they are issuing from the dust; there they
are in three lines--the Hastati, the Principes, and the Triarii. And
the Hastati are charging our men, who retreat in confusion. ’Tis true
those tall black and purple plumes rising up from the crests of their
helmets do give those heavy-armed Roman infantry a somewhat terrifying
appearance. They still advance, I see, and in large numbers. Were it
not the day for the command of Æmilius, I should say that they were
attempting to bring on a general engagement, and trying to draw me on
to throw mine own heavy troops into the action also.

“But Æmilius is too cautious to fight, if he can avoid it, thus, with
only part of his force, and it would be dark before he could bring the
remainder of the army into action. The same applies to us. A battle
this evening, therefore, can do neither of us any good. Therefore, the
light-armed troops must even make good their retreat as they can. I
wonder, though, what is the object of the Romans in thus weakening
themselves by dividing their camp in two?”

“I think, my lord Hannibal, ’tis to annoy our foraging parties,”
replied Hasdrubal, formerly chief of the Pioneers, who had succeeded
to the command of the heavy cavalry upon the departure of Mago. “’Tis
either for that purpose, or to protect their own foraging parties from
us.”

“But ’twill not protect their watering parties,” responded the Chief,
“and, moreover, in this warm summer weather ’twill be a terrible thing
for them if they get not water. I hold them now in the hollow of my
hand, and can force on a general engagement when I choose, and that,
too, upon ground of mine own choosing, and most favourable to cavalry.
To-morrow is, methinks, the day for the command of Terentius Varro,
and him I can soon draw out, and so we will prepare the army for the
battle to-morrow.

“What matter, if we have but forty thousand to their ninety-eight
thousand? their very numbers will prove their great source of
weakness, if I draw them, as I propose, into yonder ground below us
within the loop formed by the double bend of the river. But thou wilt
have a busy time with the heavy cavalry, General Hasdrubal, and upon
thee in a great measure will depend to-morrow the fate of the whole
battle--ay, the fate of Carthage or of Rome.”

“I am ready, my lord,” answered the ex-chief of the Pioneers simply.
“And if I fall, there are plenty of other good men and true among mine
officers to succeed me in carrying out thine orders.”

“Good! Now, my generals, as I perceive that the Romans are no longer
pursuing our light-armed troops, but have resumed their order of
march, we need remain here no longer. Hath General Maharbal returned
from the skirmish yet? If not, we will await him.”

“Nay, my lord, thither he cometh,” and the enormous form of the young
general, towering above a small surrounding group of the Numidian
cavalry, could be seen issuing from the clouds of dust upon the Roman
flank. He had been covering, as far as lay in his power, the retreat
of the light-armed footmen, and was now retiring leisurely, while
directing his troops to pick up and bring in all the wounded they
could find.

Presently he returned to the camp and joined the group of generals, in
a very bad humour at this small reverse. Hannibal addressed him.

“Well, Maharbal! so thy forces were driven back, were they?”

“Yea, verily were they, Hannibal; and that for want of due support,”
answered Maharbal testily, while removing his helmet and wiping the
sweat and dust from his face.

“Which support thy commander ought to have given thee, eh? and so
brought on a general action just about nightfall. ’Twould have been
truly most wise. What! hast thou not slain enough of the Romans? And
yet, methinks, ’tis something more than red paint that I see upon thy
hand.” Hannibal smiled at the evident ill-humour of his beloved
lieutenant, and continued: “Blood, Maharbal! thou shalt have Roman
blood enough to-morrow; and I pray the gods that thine own be not
shed. But now shalt thou have wine; thou must be sorely thirsty.”

“Thirsty--ay! I could drink up the river Aufidus,” responded Maharbal,
smiling, for his ill-humour had vanished completely at the kindly
words of his chief.

“Then come to my tent, lad, and ye also, my generals; and while
Maharbal taketh his well-deserved refreshment, I will, with pen and
ink, demonstrate unto ye all the plans I have conceived for
to-morrow’s action, and the part which will fall unto each of ye
therein.”

After the council of war Hannibal called his senior general aside.

“Now, Hanno, it will, lest the troops be depressed by to-day’s slight
reverse, be as well for me to address them. Be so good as to parade
troops from all the different forces. As I cannot address the whole
army, I wish to have as many representatives as possible present from
each arm. Form them up into a hollow square, as many files deep as
possible, leaving only room for me and mine interpreters in the
centre, and a small lane, two files in width, through which I can ride
in.”

All was soon done as directed, and then Hannibal addressed the army as
follows:

“First, give thanks to the gods, for they have brought the enemy into
this country because they design the victory for us. And next to me,
for having compelled the enemy to fight--for they cannot avoid it any
longer--and to fight in a place so full of advantages for us. But I do
not think it becoming in me now to use many words in exhorting you to
be brave and forward in this battle. When you had no experience of
fighting the Romans, this was necessary, and I did then suggest many
arguments and examples to you. But now, seeing that you have
undeniably beaten the Romans in three successive battles of such
magnitude, what arguments could have greater influence with you in
confirming your courage than the actual facts? Now, by your previous
battles, you have got possession of the _country_ and all its wealth
in accordance with my promises, for I have been absolutely true in
everything I have ever said to you. But the present contest is for the
_cities_ and the wealth in them; and, if you win it, all Italy will be
at once in your power; and, freed from your present hard toils, and
masters of the wealth of Rome, you will, by this battle, become the
leaders and lords of the world. This, then, is a time for deeds, not
words; and, by the blessing of the gods, I am persuaded that I shall
carry out my promises to you forthwith.”

These encouraging words were received with tumultuous shouts and
cheers by the many who heard them, and even those who were not
actually present, learning from their comrades what Hannibal had said,
had their spirits greatly raised, and became full of confidence for
the morrow.

It was in this manner that Hannibal ofttimes inspired his men. He
fulfilled his promises to them, and never asked them to face a danger
or a hardship which he was not ready to share himself, even as were he
a mere private soldier, instead of being the great commander, the head
and brains of the whole army, the wonder of the world.




 CHAPTER XIV.
 CANNÆ.

The battle was not until two days later, for Hannibal had been
mistaken in imagining on the previous day that Paullus Æmilius had
been in command, since it had been Varro.

On the morning that Hannibal wished to fight, he drew up his army in
battle array, but Æmilius, not being satisfied with his ground, which
he clearly saw was far too favourable to the enemy’s cavalry, declined
to come out of camp, and Hannibal, therefore, marched his men in
again. He revenged himself, however, by despatching his cavalry to cut
off the Roman watering parties that evening. Again, on the following
morning, he sent the cavalry to prevent the Roman watering parties
from approaching the stream. And this time, being sure of his man,
Hannibal knew that he would not have long to wait, and so once more he
drew up his troops in battle array and expected Varro. Terentius
Varro, who had been furious the day before at his colleague’s delay,
and was irritated beyond measure at the insolence of the Carthaginian
horse in attacking his water parties, instantly put his forces in
motion. Like a nest of hornets the vast army issued from the two
camps, the larger force on the south side joining the troops from the
lesser camp on the north side of the river. And soon he had no less
than eight thousand horse and eighty thousand infantry men in line
face to face with Hannibal’s thirty thousand. Varro had left ten
thousand more men in camp, with instructions to attack the
Carthaginian camp during the battle; but Hannibal, ever wide awake,
foresaw this move, and had also left ten thousand in his camp to
resist any such enterprise.

What a magnificent sight must have been those two huge armies, the
Romans considerably more than double the Carthaginians, in battle
array, and facing each other, before the commencement of one of the
most awful combats that the world has ever known--the terrible battle
of Cannæ!

Hannibal had crossed to the north side of the river into the loop
already mentioned, and had thrown out to the front, in skirmishing
order, his Balearic slingers and spearmen; the Romans had likewise
covered their front with their light-armed men. Thus the action began
by the engagement of the skirmishers with each other. Meanwhile, the
two armies, taking no part in this combat, remained face to face.

While they are waiting thus, we may as well take a glance at the
mutual dispositions of the two armies, beginning with that of
Hannibal. He, facing northward, had the horse of his right wing
resting on the right bend of the river, and the horse on the left wing
resting on the left bend of the river, while the back of the whole of
his force was to the river also.

The Romans, seeing that glittering stream flowing thus in rear of
their foe on every side, confidently reckoned upon soon turning it
into a river of Carthaginian blood. With this object they massed their
maniples closer than usual, and to double the usual depth. The Roman
forces even then considerably overlapped the Carthaginian army on both
sides of the loop, the river thus protecting both Hannibal’s flanks
for him, as he had intended that it should.

But the Romans imagined that by the sheer weight of their thousands of
heavy-armed infantry thus massed together they would forcibly sweep
the Carthaginian foot clean off the plain and into the river behind
them. And so, no doubt, they would have done, had it not been for the
skilful disposition that Hannibal had made of his own infantry, which
utterly frustrated their intention. For he had massed the whole of his
heavy infantry in the centre of the plain in the form of the crescent
moon, the convex side being towards the enemy and the thinner parts,
the horns, bending backwards on each flank towards the river. It was
an enormous crescent, certainly, and very thick in the centre, which,
being composed of alternate


 [IMAGE: ./images/img_240.jpg
 CAPTION: Battle Field of Cannæ at Commencement of the Action
 Showing the distribution and Number of the Various Troops Engaged]

companies of Iberians and Gauls, was intended to bear the brunt of the
first part of the hand to hand fighting. Of these the Iberian infantry
wore short white linen tunics, bordered with purple stripes; but the
Gauls were naked to the waist. The Iberians had Roman swords, which
could thrust as well as cut; while the Gauls were armed with huge
weapons, meant for cutting only. Both Iberians and Gauls had a
serviceable shield. The flanks of this enormous crescent were composed
of the staunch Libyan infantry, whom Hannibal wished to reserve to the
last. They were all armour-clad, and their armour having been captured
at Thrasymene, armed identically with the Romans opposed to them,
namely, with throwing spears, sword, and shield. The appearance of
this motley mass of soldiers of three nations must have been equally
terrible and frightening to the Romans as was the appearance of the
Roman infantry with their tall, waving plumes to the Carthaginians.
Hannibal stationed himself with the centre of the crescent to lead it
into action, while Hanno commanded under him. All of the heavy Libyan
and Iberian horse on the left were under the command of Hasdrubal, and
all the Numidian light horse on the right were under Maharbal’s orders
as usual.

The Romans had placed their cavalry in front of their flanks. Paullus
Æmilius was in command of the right wing, Terentius Varro of the
left, while the two consuls of the previous year commanded the centre.
These were Cnœus Servilius and Marcus Atillus, who had gallantly
volunteered to remain with the army and fight under their successors.
Minucius and young Scipio were respectively with the horse on the
Roman right and left wing.

It was a glorious morning in the beginning of August, and the grass
upon the plain near the river bank, that was so soon to be crimson
with blood or hidden by the heaped-up corpses, was all emerald green,
and studded with daisies and buttercups, wild campion and
meadow-sweet. The blackbirds and thrushes were merrily singing away in
the branches of the occasional plane trees, while, as the several
parties of skirmishers advanced upon each other, coveys of young
partridges, or small flocks of quail, rose before them with a whirring
sound, and, frightened by the lines of glittering spears, and the
dazzling gleam of the armour to be seen in all directions, flew
frequently over the heads of the opposing forces, the men in jest
striking at them with their spears. In the same way the hares, of
which there were a great number on the plain, being alarmed by the
skirmishers, ran among the feet of the men of the two armies, for
there was no exit for them. And the thousands of men, while standing
thus and waiting to engage in mortal combat, amused themselves by
capturing the timid animals rushing between their legs.

A lovely morning indeed it was, with fur and feather of animal life
moving in all directions around. And yet it was a day consecrated to
the slaughter, not of mere game, but of man himself--and what a
slaughter! For who ever heard of such a battle as that of the battle
of Cannæ?

As has been said, Hasdrubal was in command of the heavy Iberian and
Celtic cavalry on the left. Now old Sosilus, who was on the field, as
usual making notes, had attached himself to this force, and as
Polybius learned from him, and recorded later, there was soon some
grand fighting on the left wing. For no great results transpired, nor
were they expected from the fighting of the light-armed troops.
Hasdrubal, therefore, set his cavalry in motion! They were no less
than eight thousand in number, and soon, with many a warlike shout,
they were thundering over the plain to charge the Roman cavalry,
chiefly composed of knights and senators, in front of the Roman right
flank. With these were not only the ex-dictator Minucius, but the
Consul Paullus Æmilius, who led them in person. And now the account
of what happened as given by the worthy Sosilus to the historian
Polybius is very pretty and very graphic. He related it much in the
following words:

As soon as the Iberian and the Celtic cavalry got at the Romans, the
battle began in earnest, and in the true barbaric fashion, for there
was none of the usual formal advance and retreat. When they got to
close quarters, they grappled man to man, and dismounting from their
horses fought on foot, and when the Carthaginians had got the upper
hand in this encounter, and killed most of their opponents on the
ground, because the Romans all maintained the fight with spirit and
determination, they began chasing the remainder along the river,
slaying as they went, and giving no quarter. Then the legionaries took
the place of the light-armed and closed with the enemy, that is, the
Roman infantry attacked the Carthaginian infantry.

For a short time the Gallic and Iberian lines stood their ground and
fought gallantly, but presently overpowered by the weight of the
heavy-armed Romans, they gave way and retired to the rear, thus
breaking up the crescent. The Roman maniples followed with spirit, and
cut their way through the enemy’s line, and closed up from the wings
towards the centre, the principal point of danger. The two
Carthaginian wings did not come into action at the same time as the
centre, because the Iberians and Gauls, being stationed on the arc of
the crescent, had come into contact with the enemy long before the
wings.

The Romans, however, going hastily in pursuit of these troops and
closing towards their own centre, now fell into the trap that Hannibal
had designed for them. For the Libyan troops that he had placed on
either flank now wheeled inwards, the left flank wheeling to the right
and attacking the Roman right flank, and the Libyans on the right
wheeling in a similar manner to the left and falling upon the Romans’
left. Still the Romans fought bravely, facing outwards; but owing to
their numbers, they were so crowded together that they got none of the
advantages that those numbers should have given them, for only the
outer files could fight. Now Æmilius had been with the cavalry on the
left, and fought most manfully against the charge of Hasdrubal; but
although severely wounded, after the cavalry reverse, seeing that the
decision of the battle rested chiefly on the legionaries, he rode up
to the centre of the line and led the charge himself, cheering on and
exhorting his men.

Hannibal on the other side did the same, for, as already stated, he
had taken his place in the centre from the commencement. Meanwhile the
Numidian horse on the right under Maharbal were repeatedly charging
the cavalry on the Roman left, and although by their peculiar mode of
fighting they neither gave nor received much harm, they rendered them
useless by keeping them constantly employed, charging first on one
side and then on the other. And now Hasdrubal behaved splendidly and
with most soldierly judgment. For he rode along the whole rear of the
Romans, attacked with a murderous charge the cavalry force under young
Scipio, and with which Maharbal was engaged, and having entirely
broken them up, left Maharbal and his Numidians to pursue. He himself
returned to the rear of the Roman centre, and then hurled the whole of
his heavy cavalry upon the rear of the legionaries in a most fearful
rush, the charge being delivered at full gallop. The shock was
terrible, and the result upon the Romans most disastrous. And now all
their cavalry being defeated, with the heavy cavalry on their rear and
the heavy-armed Libyans on both flanks, the Iberians and Gauls having
moreover rallied on their front, the wretched Romans were enclosed on
every side. So closely were they jammed together that they could not
even draw their swords. And thus a fearful slaughter of the Romans set
in, and the massacre continued for no less than eight hours. For the
outer ranks being constantly mown down in succession, the
Carthaginians gradually fought their way over the piles of corpses
from all sides towards the centre, and thus, powerless to resist, the
Romans were cut down like penned-up sheep by thousands where they
stood. The Carthaginian heavy cavalry, being no longer able to urge
their horses onward over the piles of the armoured dead, dismounted
and continued steadily fighting their way on foot to the centre from
the rear.

While this terrible carnage was going on, Hannibal had not been
unmindful of his camp, upon which a most determined attack was being
made by the ten thousand Romans who had been left in their own camp
for the purpose. Seeing that he had now enclosed the legionaries so
that they could not get out, and half of them being slain already, and
the other half with horror in their eyes waiting their inevitable turn
to die, he now took away as many troops as he could spare from the
slaughter. Recrossing the River Aufidus, which was not soiled by the
blood of a single Carthaginian soldier, after all the men had taken a
refreshing drink of the pure water, Hannibal led them up the hill to
the rescue of his camp. Here he arrived in the very nick of time, for
the garrison were, after a prolonged and spirited resistance, just
beginning to waver. Now, however, the Romans found themselves between
two forces, and in consequence the ten thousand, or such as survived
of them, not wishing to be all killed to a man, as they could see was
happening across the river to their comrades, laid down their arms and
surrendered themselves as prisoners.

In addition to those taken prisoners, the Romans that day lost no less
than seventy thousand in killed. For the Carthaginians slew and slew
until they were too weary to strike any longer, and thus at length, of
the ninety-eight thousand horse and foot who went into action, either
in the big battle or in the fighting round the camp, a miserable
remnant of some ten thousand only in all struggled through by degrees
to the town of Canusium.

Meanwhile, Maharbal, who had long continued the pursuit and slaughter
of the Roman cavalry, returned. He had, comparatively early in the
fight, severely wounded young Scipio in the side and in the left arm.
It was while he was, with his two thousand Numidians, keeping occupied
a vastly superior number of the enemy, that Scipio had boldly ridden
forth, and, for the third time in this history, challenged Maharbal to
single combat.

The young Roman’s bravery was great, but neither in strength nor in
dexterity was he a match for the Numidian, who wounded and unhorsed
him after a short hand-to-hand combat, in which Maharbal himself
received a trivial wound on the wrist at Scipio’s first violent
onslaught. Scipio was overthrown and cast to the ground, his sword
falling from his hand. Maharbal leaped to the ground after him and
secured the sword.

“Now, Scipio,” he said, holding the point of the blade at his
prostrate antagonist’s throat, “could I slay thee with thine own
weapon; but I will not, but spare thee even on this the third
occasion, as on the two former ones, merely on account of thy bravery.
Rise, therefore, and take thy sword and thy horse, and see to it that
in the future ye meddle no more with Maharbal the son of Manissa, for
thou art by no means any match with him. Fight thou with thine
equals!” He helped the wounded warrior on to his horse again. “Now go
thou forth,” he said disdainfully, “and see to it that ye trouble me
no more.”

And thus he drove off Scipio with scorn, as though a whipped cur, from
before his face.

A few days later that same sword came in useful for Scipio in
preserving the honour of Rome. For with its blade bared, he rushed in
among a body of nobles who had escaped from Cannæ, and were about to
fly beyond the seas. And he swore that with it he would slay anyone
who would not bind himself not to desert his country.

Meanwhile, as we have said, Maharbal was returning with his men from
the pursuit, and carefully threading his way across that terrible
plain, whereon of the Roman leaders, Minucius and all of the consuls,
except Varro, who escaped to Canusium, lay dead. Seventy thousand
corpses lay there, with pale faces and glazed, staring eyes turned up
to the skies, many of them displaying bleeding, ghastly wounds as they
lay in pools of blood. Horses, either dead or dying, were strewn all
over the plain, having in many instances imprisoned beneath them in
their fall some wounded warrior, whose agonised face bespoke his
misery and fear as he saw the dreaded Numidians approaching. But they
left all such to die a lingering death.

“The might of Rome is crushed! ay, absolutely crushed for ever!”
exclaimed Maharbal to Chœras by his side, and crossing the Aufidus,
he galloped up the hill to where he perceived Hannibal on horseback
outside the camp.

“Hannibal, I salute thee, Conqueror of Rome!” he cried, and he flung
himself from his horse and grasped his general’s hand. “Hannibal, for
ever more the might of Rome is crushed! Send thou me on with the
cavalry, do thou follow behind, and in five days thou shalt sup in the
Capitol!”

Hannibal warmly returned his friend’s pressure, but made no reply.

 END OF PART III.




 PART IV.

 CHAPTER I.
 AFTER THE BATTLE.

On the morning after the great battle, the wearied troops were
occupied in pillaging the bodies of the slain. Gathering together the
golden rings of the fallen Roman knights, they collected four or five
bushels, of which three bushels were sent to Carthage, and poured out
before the Hundred on the floor of the Senate house. The number of
Roman Eagles taken, and also forwarded to Carthage, was incredible. At
the same time Hannibal sent an urgent demand for reinforcements in
elephants, men, and money, since for three years, from the day he had
marched out from Saguntum, he had contrived, by his wonderful ability
and skill, to make his army entirely self-supporting, replacing his
losses in men by levies of Gauls, and paying the troops with the
pillage of captured towns and cities. Unfortunately for Carthage, the
Hundred did not listen to his demand. Had they but done so at this
juncture, Carthage and not Rome might have become the conqueror of all
the then known world. The Phœnician Senators foolishly considered
that if Hannibal had in the past, with the assistance of mere Gauls,
been able to win such astounding successes as the Trebia, Thrasymene,
and Cannæ, he might still very well continue to shift for himself.

They imagined that by making levies among the Italian colonies of
Rome, or in the semi-independent Greek cities, in the provinces of
Calabria, Lucania, and Bruttium, Hannibal would still be able to
obtain for himself the supplies that he needed, whether of men or
money. Further, they imagined that, with the reinforcements thus
obtained, he would be able to continue his unbroken career of success.
They were not far wrong in their estimate of his indomitable will, for
he did act much in this manner. But the Carthaginians, instead of
assisting the world’s greatest commander, when he earnestly asked for
assistance, shamefully refused to listen to his demands. They sent
reinforcements, under Mago, to Spain, and a large fleet and land
forces as well under another general to Sicily, in neither of which
places was there at the time any great urgency. Hannibal himself, with
only half of the men that were denied him, would, after Cannæ, once
and for all have conquered not only the Romans, as he had already done
repeatedly, but also the city of Rome itself.

While the army were pillaging the thousands of dead, Hannibal and
Maharbal were walking about among the corpses on the battle-field,
trying to pick out the bodies of the commanders, and to see which of
the consuls were slain. They could not ride, for the now stiffened
bodies, encased in armour, tripped up the horses. Thus the whole day
was passed in climbing and scrambling over the heaps of slain, and in
tumbling about over the thousands of shields, spears, and swords,
thrown wildly about by the dying warriors in all directions, the
points of spears or their hafts sticking up everywhere. It was a most
perilous journey over the battle-field, for some of the metal shields
were lying face uppermost, with the centre boss, upon which was a
sharp point used for striking, most inconveniently pointing upwards.
Others, again, were downwards, which made it difficult to avoid
getting the feet caught in the straps. But perhaps the worst of all
were those jammed edgeways between the stiffened corpses.

“May the curse of all the Roman gods light upon these Roman shields!”
cried Hannibal, as, catching his shin upon the edge of one of them, he
pitched headlong. It so happened that he fell upon a corpse clad in
magnificent armour.

“I have got a severer wound from a dead Roman’s shield to-day than I
received from any live Roman’s sword yesterday. See ye here,
Maharbal!”

And, seating himself upon the corpse, for they were here so thick that
he could not sit elsewhere, he held up his leg to the Numidian. The
shin was barked and bleeding where it had been scraped. Maharbal
laughed:

“A Roman dead, oh Hannibal, is sometimes apparently more dangerous
than a Roman living. I also got a nasty scratch just now from a spear
point. I think we shall be lucky when we get out again from this sea
of corpses. ’Tis fortunate the blood hath dried up, or mostly sunk
into the soil, or we could not move a step. I am most weary.” And
Maharbal in turn sunk down upon the piled-up heaps of dead, observing
carefully the while the features of the dead Roman knight upon whom
Hannibal was resting while nursing his damaged shin.

“Dost thou see upon whom thou art sitting, Hannibal? Thou hast met him
before, but not as now. He was more active the last time.”

Glancing round, the chief looked at the dead face.

“Marcus Minucius! by Melcareth! the co-dictator with Quintus Fabius,
who did once snatch him from my very hands even when we were face to
face. Well, we will give him an honourable burial, and I will no
longer sit, like Monomachus at the crossing of the Rhodanus, upon his
corpse, for he was, although too rash, a most brave and honourable
soldier.”

And Hannibal shifted his seat to another body.

“Hannibal!” quoth Maharbal, “while sitting by the corpse of Minucius,
reflect how fatal for Rome hath been the policy of his colleague, the
lingerer--Fabius, which hath in the end only resulted in all this
carnage. Wilt thou not, after thy glorious success, rather emulate the
rashness of this Minucius, and let me instantly make a dash with all
the cavalry for the city of Rome, which will be in a terrible state of
panic when the news of this battle arrives? I may even be able to
force my way into the town before any fugitives bring the news, and
then, seizing the gates, can hold them until thou arrive in person
with thine army, that is, with all the infantry.”

“I would that I could let thee go,” quoth Hannibal, “but ’twould be
useless. See the distance. There is all Apulia to be crossed, and all
Samnium likewise. Then, again, the enormous province of Latium is to
be traversed ere Rome be reached. Thou mightest get there, ’tis true;
but with all this enormous spoil to be gathered and placed in the
Citadel of Cannæ, of which I will form an arsenal, I could not march
to-day or to-morrow. And even ere thou couldst get there thyself, the
gates would be shut. Every man and boy in the whole of the enormous
city will soon be in arms. They will not be many of them trained
soldiers, ’tis true, but consider the city’s defences! How canst thou
with thy cavalry alone break down the massive walls? The place can
only be taken by a regular siege. And I cannot, before the
reinforcements for which I am writing earnestly arrive, invest so
large a city with any hopes of success by starvation. For we have lost
ourselves at least five thousand five hundred men in this action, and
we have as many thousand wounded. Nay, let us wait for the new troops
which will doubtless arrive in a short space from Carthage, then we
will at once invest and storm the city. ’Tis impracticable at present,
absolutely, believe me, lad.”

“Hannibal, thou art a great general and I am but thy servant. There is
none like unto thee to win a victory, but, by the gods! thou dost not
know how to profit by thy victory when won, or else wouldst thou let
me go--ay, allow me to start in an hour’s time.”

And, savagely in his disappointment, Maharbal kicked at an adjacent
shield, making it ring like a bell.

Hannibal sprang to his feet.

“Maharbal, listen unto me! Thou art young and rash--ay, rash even as
dead Minucius yonder. But on me alone depends the whole safety of the
army, the whole honour of Carthage. By all the gods! were I to listen
to mine own wishes in this matter, I would instantly do as thou dost
suggest, for I long to follow thine advice, and make an instant dash
for Rome. ’Tis, by Moloch, the greatest disappointment I have ever
felt not to be able to do so instantly; but, for all my wishing, I
must not think of self alone in this matter, and prudence tells me
plainly that ’tis not wise; therefore, regretfully--ay, with very deep
regret--must I wait for the reinforcements from Carthage. Let us now
go forward; ’tis useless our talking over the matter further--I am
determined.”

Alas, for Hannibal! those reinforcements never came. But still, he
could not have added to his fame had they arrived, and had he then
taken Rome. It is for the marvellous manner in which, for many years,
he maintained himself in Italy without them that he is so justly
famous.

But now we must leave him and Maharbal for a time, ever over-running
the country, and capturing or receiving the submission of important
Italian cities, such as Capua in Campania, where the inhabitants first
smothered all the Romans in the public baths and then yielded; or of
Greek cities such as Tarentum in Calabria, where the gates were opened
to him through the treachery to Rome of two young hunters, and where
Hannibal himself pulled all the beleagured Tarentine warships, under
the very nose of the Romans, out of the harbour and overland across
the isthmus. It is not our province here to give in detail the many
Italian campaigns of Elissa’s father and Elissa’s lover, for we must
see what Elissa herself is doing elsewhere.




 CHAPTER II.
 WIFE OR MISTRESS.

We left Hannibal’s daughter at the Court of Syphax after a serious
fall out boar-hunting, from the effects of which, however, she soon
recovered.

The young ædile Scipio was now madly in love with her, and the very
fact that she had, while apparently returning his embraces, called
upon the hated name of Maharbal, made him all the more anxious to win
her for himself. For if he had been three times worsted by Maharbal in
the field, he was only all the more anxious to conquer him in the
lists of love.

Elissa herself was, it must be owned, exceedingly attracted by the
charm of the young Roman; and, still feeling very sore at the neglect
of Maharbal, she let herself go rather more than she intended, and
encouraged him considerably. At first she did so merely for amusement,
thinking it a triumph to subjugate a Roman noble; and then she went on
with the game because it pleased her, for Scipio was a most loveable
man. Yet had Hannibal’s daughter not the least idea of what her own
feelings really were. She only knew that she was attracted by the
young Roman, for she had, since her affair with Maharbal, so seldom
met anyone of rank equal to her own to whom she could allow herself to
be attracted, that she was no mistress in the arts of love-making, or
allowing herself to be made love to. She, therefore, wondered if it
were possible that this attraction could be more than a passing
liking. She wondered again if it could be possible that this Roman,
the enemy of her country, whom she now met daily as a friend in the
intimacy of a foreign court, could ever become to her anything more
than a friend. She did not know if she wished that he should do so;
but she certainly knew that his presence gave her pleasure. Therefore,
without arguing out the matter with herself too far, she took the
pleasure of the moment.

Very early in their acquaintance, they found politics a dangerous
subject. Therefore the old vexed questions of the rights of Rome to
Sicily, or the rights of Carthage to Sardinia, the justification of
the invasion of Libya by Regulus, or, in defiance of all treaties, the
attack by Hannibal on Saguntum and his subsequent invasion of Italy,
were entirely abandoned between them from a controversial standpoint.
But as they were both educated in the art of war, all these incidents
were discussed between them from their strategical aspects, and
thrashed out to the full. Thus, as the daily gossip of the palace was
soon exhausted, these two always had a mutual subject of conversation.
But it was only natural that when a handsome young man and a handsome
young woman were constantly together--and when, moreover, the latter
had good grounds for believing that her lover was neglecting
her--strategy sometimes was a subject that ceased to be referred to,
and a softer theme engrossed the thoughts of both.

When Scipio, however, became ardent and made love to her, Elissa ever
retired like a hermit crab within a shell, putting out a claw
wherewith to give a little defensive pinch to keep at a distance the
man who would explore too closely what the shell contained.

For thus have ever, since the beginning of the world, been the wiles
of women.

The unfortunate Scipio, becoming more enamoured day by day, was by
degrees almost driven to despair. Now, he had with him at the Court of
Syphax his bosom friend, Caius Lælius, a man whose nature was much
similar to his own. For Caius was brave to a degree, a splendid
soldier, and sailor, too, for that matter, as his many naval exploits
proved, yet he was gentle and kind, and altogether unspoiled by the
rough manners of the camp.

Caius Lælius noticed with great concern the growing attachment of his
friend for the beautiful Carthaginian maiden. He was much attracted
towards her himself, but his loyalty to his friend made him leave the
field clear. Thus he never put himself forward in any way to gain the
notice of Elissa, of whom he knew Scipio to be so much enamoured. On
the other hand, he purposely devoted himself to some of the other
beauteous maidens present at the Numidian Court. These were only too
pleased to shower their favours upon him, for he was universally
popular. Thus no party of pleasure, no joyous hunting-party or picnic,
for they had picnics in those days even as now, was complete for the
merry ladies of the Court of Syphax without the presence of the ever
light-hearted Lælius. And Elissa herself knew full well the nobility
of the young man, and was ever most courteous and friendly to him.

One day Lælius took his friend and chief to task.

“Scipio,” quoth he, “in the name of all the gods of Olympus! what is
this game that thou art playing with the daughter of Hannibal? Wouldst
thou make of her thy mistress?”

Scipio flared out in a rage.

“Caius, thou and I have been friends from boyhood; but dare to utter
such a suggestion again and I strike thee to the ground!” And he laid
his hand upon his sword.

“By Cupid and Venus! ’tis more serious even than I imagined,” replied
his companion, laughing. “So thou wilt kill me--because of what?
simply because being thy dearest friend I would see thee happy. Tut,
tut, man, ’tis childish. I but meant to infer that ’twould be
difficult for thee to make her thy wife, and if all that rumour says
be true she hath already been the mistress of thine old enemy
Maharbal, the Numidian, then why not thine? There is an old Roman
saying that there are many women who have never had a lover; but there
are none who remain with only one. Then why shouldst thou not succeed,
especially in the absence of thy rival?”

“Simply because Elissa is far too noble-minded, and I myself would not
take her so unless all other means failed. But why should I not marry
her, Lælius? It would be the best thing for both Rome and Carthage.
For once she were my wife, how could the war continue? To make her so
would be the greatest act of policy that hath ever been wrought since
the commencement of the first Punic war. For Hannibal could no longer
prosecute the war in Italy were his daughter the wife of Scipio.
Neither could Hasdrubal nor Mago continue the war in Iberia against
our legions were their niece to become my spouse. Only think of the
thousands of lives that may be saved--the thousands of homesteads that
may be spared from destruction, the cities that may never sustain a
siege, the matrons and maidens that will never run the risk of
violation or slavery, should the daughter of Hannibal become the wife
of Scipio.”

Lælius, carried away by these words, sprang up enthusiastically.

“By Jupiter and Juno! By Mars and Venus! ’tis true, Scipio! ’twould
bring a lasting peace. Well, ask her straight out, and may all the
gods speed thy wooing. For on this matter I now see well hangs a most
notable crisis. If thou canst win her now, the war ’twixt Rome and
Carthage will be stayed. This Elissa is, in very truth, most wondrous
beautiful, and once she were thy wife she would become a Roman. The
world is quite big enough for Rome and Carthage together, therefore
why should they not join hands? and, in sooth, what might we not do
could we but form a combination? Think of it! Scipio, a combination
between Rome and Carthage--Rome with all its glorious records of land
victories, Carthage with its splendid fleets and immense naval power.
Together we could conquer all the known and unknown worlds. ’Tis
glorious, oh Scipio! I am with thee; there is my hand.”

Scipio was about to reply.

“Nay, speak not yet,” continued the other. “Think what we could win
together. The League of the Achæans, the League of the Ætolians, the
power of Macedon, the strength of Antiochus in Asia Minor, the pride
of the Ptolemies in Egypt, all this together Carthage and Rome can
subdue. And the honest love of a man for a maiden may accomplish all
this. And a most glorious maiden is she, too. For whether or no she
hath loved this Numidian Maharbal, there never yet was in this world
such a woman as this Elissa, so strong is she in herself, so beautiful
and so powerful. Make her thy wife, Scipio; then shall Rome and
Carthage together conquer and reign supreme over all the world. Now, I
leave thee.”

Gripping his friend’s hand warmly, Caius Lælius turned and left him.
Every word that he had said was true: the whole future fate of the
world depended upon that infinitesimal part of the world contained in
one tiny unit--the body of one fair woman.




 CHAPTER III.
 FIGHTING WITH FATE.

There was a cool and refreshing northern breeze wafted off the seas
when one morning the young warrior Scipio persuaded the Carthaginian
maid to accompany him on horseback to a green, palm-studded headland
stretching far out into the sea. Having dismounted and left their
steeds with some slaves, the twain wandered on until they came to a
sort of cave.

It was a natural archway overhung with wild fig and caper bushes, and
having an aspect towards the delightfully blue waters of the
Mediterranean. There had once been a temple to some god or goddess at
the spot, and they seated themselves upon a fallen column in the
recess. This was shaded by overhanging and luxuriant tufts of
dew-bespangled maidenhair fern; it was, in fact, a most enchanting
spot. Never was there such a glorious day; it was a day when merely to
live was in itself an infinite joy. Across the sea could be seen, a
hundred miles away, the faint outline of the Spanish land in a radiant
haze, while close at hand, the rock-doves uttered cooing notes of
love.

Placing his arm round Elissa’s shoulder and drawing her face near to
his own, Scipio spoke.

“Elissa, thou canst see in the far distance the headlands showing;
they are the coasts of Iberia. But what thou canst not see is the
future of the world, and that thou hast it in thine own hands to shape
that future now. Now, I can foresee much. And this I tell thee. I love
thee, dear, and love thee deeply, and, wilt thou but give me thy love
in return, thy nation and mine can conquer the world together. But
before all I ask one thing, I ask thy love.”

Elissa’s heart beat fast. The memory of her own love, Maharbal, came
to her mind. This man, this Scipio, told upon her strangely, yet could
she not forget Maharbal. She remained silent, gazing over the sea and
nervously twisting her fingers together.

“Canst thou not love me?” Scipio asked, as he rose and confronted her,
capturing and holding her not altogether unyielding fingers in his own
strong grasp. “Look out, dear one, over the seas; all those seas may
be ours. Watch those far distant headlands. They now belong to
Carthage, ’tis true, but they will, should thou not accede unto my
prayer, most undoubtedly one day belong to Rome. Yet, give me but thy
love, thy hand, and together, thou and I, will conquer and rule the
world, and Rome and Carthage will be one alone.”

Bending low, he kissed her hands with gentle kisses, stealing all
along from finger-tips to wrist. Still she remained silent, lost in
deepest thought. For she was thinking of her country and her past.

After a period of thought she suddenly threw his hands from her.

“And Maharbal?” she exclaimed, “what share is he to have in this
ruling of the world?”

The young Roman had not expected this.

“Maharbal!” he answered scornfully, “what share can such a one as
Maharbal have in the universal dominion that I propose to thee
shouldst thou but unite thy lot with mine? Maharbal, if he be not
already dead, can still continue his career as a bold cavalry leader;
but what can he do for the world save send many men out of it before
their time? ’Tis out of place, methinks, to talk of Maharbal when the
future of nations is at stake, and all dependeth but on thee and me.”

Elissa sprung to her feet in turn, and looked Scipio straight in the
eyes.

Laughing half scornfully, “Listen unto me,” she said, “oh Scipio. Thou
art but a boy for all thine exploits, and art carried away partly by
thine enthusiasm and partly by thy love of me, for which, believe me,
I am truly grateful, for thou art indeed one worthy to be loved. Yet
listen, thou art dreaming a dream which is impossible of completion.
Thy union with me could never carry with it the weight that thou dost
imagine. I, being Hannibal’s daughter, should be hated by Rome. Thy
marriage would not be recognised; I should soon be reduced to the
position of thy mere mistress. Rome and Carthage together would never
conquer the world, for the sole object of each is to conquer the
other, and thus the old racial hatred would never permit it. Could I
for one instant believe that it could be so, I would, for my country’s
sake, and even in the interest of all humanity, throw over mine
allegiance to Maharbal and give myself unto thee now. But I see it is
but a dream, and, therefore, were there even no Maharbal in
existence--although my heart tells me that I should love thee and love
thee dearly--yet would I not give myself unto thee. Nay! it may not
be; my natural intelligence persuades me that party feeling in Rome
and Carthage, and mine own father’s hatred of Rome, would never allow
this glorious union between the two countries which thou hast most
patriotically imagined. Therefore, Scipio, leave thou me for ever, for
I can never be thine. Things being thus, I only belong to one man
living, and to him I will be true.”

Scipio stamped his foot with rage.

“Curse him!” he cried. “Curse him, by all the gods of Olympus and
Hades! He needs must come between me and victory at every turn, and
never more so than now. And thou art acting ill for thy country,
Elissa; mark thou my word. Some day, moreover, in spite of this
thrice-accursed Maharbal, thou shalt be mine whether thou wilt or no.”

Elissa’s colour rose, and she laughed at him.

“Thine! whether I wilt or no, my lord Scipio? Surely a somewhat
presumptuous boast, seeing how my father Hannibal is slaying thy
compatriots by tens of thousands in Italia, and how I myself have been
present at the terrible discomfiture of thy relatives in Spain--a
proud boast indeed. Thine, indeed!” she added scornfully, “never while
Maharbal exists will I be thine, unless thou capture me in honest war;
but remember Hannibal’s daughter is accustomed to warfare, and will
not be easily taken, I assure thee.”

“Nevertheless,” responded Scipio sternly, “since thou hast thus
rejected my proposals, thou knowest, full well, Elissa, that should I
capture thee as thou sayst in honest warfare, thou wilt no longer have
the chance of becoming my wife. Thou wilt become my slave, ay, my
slave, nothing more. And how wouldst thou submit to the consequences?”

“Scipio,” answered Elissa smilingly, for her anger had evaporated,
knowing as she did the utter devotion of her companion, “shouldst thou
conquer me in war, as I have conquered thee in love, I would submit
without demur to all the penalties of the situation; and who knows but
I might perchance not be so over-sad if thou shouldst thus capture me,
and I have no voice in the matter. For despite thy nationality, that
thou art most congenial to me, I must confess. Yet, until I am thy
slave, with all due deference to thee, I may, I think, venture to
retain, oh thou most amiable Scipio, my liberty of person, and
likewise my fidelity both to my country Carthage and my lover
Maharbal.”

And with a playful laugh she gently seized him by the arm and led him
away, saying:

“Now, that is a bargain between us, so let us not talk of such foolish
matters further.”

But Scipio, exasperated and sick at heart, even while allowing himself
to be led by her caressing hand back to where the horses stood, swore
by all his Roman gods that she should regret it yet, and that if ever
she should fall into his hands he would bind her to keep her promise.
And so they returned.

A few days later, Syphax having announced his approaching marriage
with Sophonisba, and his consequent definite espousal of the
Carthaginian cause, Scipio and Lælius had no other course left to
them but to quit the Numidian Court and return to Rome.

Scipio had a parting with Elissa that was almost tragic. He ended by
bidding her to remember that she might, for all her flouting him, yet
some day become the mere slave of the man who now adored her so madly,
and who was willing to make her his bride. Then ashamed of himself for
having spoken thus, and having lost all control of himself, he pressed
her madly in his arms for one short passionate second. And so they
parted!

Shortly after the departure of Scipio and his suite, the marriage of
King Syphax and Sophonisba was celebrated with great magnificence.
Everyone at the Numidian court seemed happy and overjoyed at the event
save Massinissa alone. He himself had sought the lovely Sophonisba’s
hand, but she had repulsed him in the most unmistakable terms.
Therefore, in high dudgeon and vowing revenge, he had quitted his
uncle’s court with all his suite, without waiting for the marriage
festivities.

When these were completed, bidding a tender farewell to her friend,
now queen of Massaesyllia, and a warm farewell to her kindly host the
Numidian King, Elissa with General Hasdrubal set sail for New
Carthage, whither she arrived without accident. Her uncle Hasdrubal
was but awaiting her return to once more prosecute the war in the
northern provinces, and General Hasdrubal, the son of Gisco, having
been despatched to the south-western parts with an army, Elissa
herself once more resumed her old position as Regent and Governor of
New Carthage.

She found upon her return the foolish little Princess Cœcilia still
in the palace, quite as vain and foolish as ever, and what was worse,
on terms of considerable intimacy with a certain young Roman noble,
one Marcus Primus, a prisoner in the palace awaiting a ransom from
Rome. A patrician and of very high family, Marcus was a young officer
of distinction, closely connected with the family of the Scipios. He
had escaped on the occasion of the defeat of Cnœus Scipio, but Mago
had wounded and unhorsed him in a subsequent encounter, after which,
on account of his rank, he had not been treated as an ordinary
prisoner, but sent to New Carthage, and there during his recovery had
been placed on parole. Hasdrubal, finding him of a somewhat pliant
disposition, and hoping to make use of him later, had purposely kept
him under semi-restraint only, and lodged him in some out-buildings
within the palace grounds, to the walls of which he was confined. The
Carthaginian General likewise occasionally entertained his prisoner at
his own table.

Being of a particularly pleasing if somewhat effeminate appearance,
and having an agreeable manner, the amorous Cœcilia was instantly
attracted by him. She had not been long in taking advantage of the new
opportunity thus afforded her of a flirtation, and during his
convalescence had become intimate with the young Marcus Primus to an
extent of which Hasdrubal had not the slightest idea. Elissa, however,
upon her return, well knowing her aunt’s disposition, was by no means
so easily blinded to what was going on, and very soon had an
explanation with the princess upon the subject.

“By whose orders,” she inquired severely, “oh Cœcilia, hath this
young Roman been admitted to the palace, and how cometh it to pass
that, not content to be for ever wandering about with him in the
gardens, thou must even bring him to the dining-table and place him by
thy side? It is, methinks, somewhat unseemly on thy behalf to be thus
closely consorting with a prisoner. Wilt thou never have done with thy
folly and philanderings, that thou must needs bring our enemies thus
under our very roof-trees?”

The Princess Cœcilia blushed through her paint, and answered
nervously:

“I, my dear! I assure thee I have nothing at all to do with it, my
dear. The young man is most estimable, I assure thee, and perfectly
harmless and well-behaved. ’Twas thine uncle Hasdrubal himself that
brought him hither; I had no voice in the matter whatever, for he is
nothing to me. But he seemeth, nevertheless, most amiable and--”

“And not at all averse to being made love to in the summer-house in
the orange grove, as I have seen myself,” interrupted Elissa. “Well,
since Hasdrubal brought him about the palace, and he is nothing to
thee, he can, now Hasdrubal hath gone, henceforth remain even in his
own quarters, and so no longer trouble thee with his presence. I do
not at all approve of what hath much the appearance of a love-affair
taking place here in our palace between a high-placed lady of the
Carthaginian court and a Roman officer, no matter how well-bred or
amiable he may be.”

“Oh! certainly, my dear Elissa! as thou wilt; send him back to his
quarters by all means. But, since thou art so particular, may I
inquire if ’tis then only in the court of Syphax that thou dost
approve of friendships, or even love-makings between Carthaginian
ladies and Roman officers of rank?”

It was now the turn for Elissa’s cheek to redden, for it was evident,
from this sly cut, that Cœcilia had heard of the intimate terms upon
which she herself had been with young Scipio.

She disdained, however, to notice the allusion further than to say
sternly:

“I shall give mine instructions, mine aunt, and do thou see to it that
thou consort with this Marcus Primus no longer. Thou mayst, however,
see him once to bid him farewell if thou choosest.”

“Oh, certainly,” replied the little princess spitefully, “even as thou
didst, so they say, take a somewhat prolonged farewell of thy Scipio.”
And she bounced off in a temper to find the latest object of her
affections, with whom she concocted a plan whereby she could secretly
visit him.

One morning not very long after this, it was reported that the young
Roman was missing.

His raiment was discovered upon the battlements on the side next to
the lagoon. In a courteously worded letter which he left behind him,
he expressed his thanks for the kindness and hospitality which had
been extended to him during his captivity. But he further stated that,
wearied out with long waiting for the ransom that never came, he was
determined to take his own life, especially as he was now placed under
closer restraint. Thus it was concluded in the palace that Marcus
Primus had committed suicide, and the hysterical little princess made
a somewhat exaggerated show of grief at the untimely end of her
_protégé_.

Elissa, however, when no signs of the Roman’s body were seen either in
the lagoon or in the gulf, had very considerable doubts, not only of
the genuineness of the suicide, but of Cœcilia’s grief. Nor was she
wrong in her suspicions, for the facts were these:

The princess, knowing that the water in the lagoon became fordable at
certain periods, had, by bribing two of the guards and some fishermen
of her own Iberian race, assisted Marcus to make his escape, which he
had done in the garb of a fisherman, for since his confinement to his
quarters he considered himself freed from his parole. She herself had
made arrangements with the fishermen to carry her off also on a
subsequent night, to the hiding-place where the Roman was to be
concealed for a few days until she could join him.

This plan, however, was entirely frustrated by Elissa, whose
suspicions were so thoroughly aroused that she had her aunt’s
movements watched day and night. When the frivolous little woman
discovered this, she was wretched. Cursing Elissa in her heart, she
flung herself upon her couch and wept bitterly for her sorrows, as
being one of the most ill-treated women in the world. For she had
really become passionately attached to this the latest of her lovers,
and the difference between their ages had only made her affection all
the stronger.




 CHAPTER IV.
 THE FRUITS OF FOLLY.

Not long after this, Scipio landed with reinforcements for the army
at Tarraco in Northern Spain, and assumed command of all the shattered
remnants of his two uncles’ forces. He had with him his bosom friend,
Caius Lælius, whom he placed in command of the fleet that had brought
them over from Italy, and he set about at once to see what he could do
to restore the damaged prestige of Rome throughout Iberia. In this he
was much assisted by an incident that occurred a very few mornings
after his arrival.

It so happened that shortly after daybreak a small fishing craft
coming from the south crept into the harbour. The occupants, three in
number, had with them a plentiful supply of fish of several kinds. The
more ordinary sorts they readily disposed of to the soldiery, but a
particularly fine selection of the choicer red mullets and grey
mullets they would on no account part with, saying that they were a
present for the Roman General himself. Carrying their burden between
them, the fishermen had no difficulty in approaching the headquarters
of the General, especially as one of them, the youngest and most
ragged-looking of the three, strange to say, not only spoke the Latin
tongue but spoke it well.

When the fishermen arrived in front of the guard posted over the young
General’s tent, they were allowed to proceed no further. They created,
however, such an uncouth clamour, after the manner of fishermen, that
Scipio and Lælius looked out from the tent where they were sitting to
see what was the cause of the disturbance. They arrived on the scene
just in time to prevent the audacious fishermen from being struck down
by the butt ends of the soldiers’ spears.

“Publius Scipio! Publius! dost thou not know me?” cried out the ragged
one, laughing. “’Tis thy kinsman, Marcus Primus, that would greet thee
with a present of fish, ay, and of his own catching, too! Approach, I
pray thee, and see these red mullets. Never yet hast thou seen the
like,” and he drew out several from the basket at his feet, letting
them slip back again through his fingers with an air of pride.

Both Scipio and Lælius stared a moment in surprise, and then they too
burst out into hearty laughter, while, to the astonishment of the
guards, the General embraced the ragged fisherman most heartily, all
covered with scales as he was.

“By Poseidon, king of the seas! my kinsman,” cried he, “a right good
fisherman indeed thou art; but by all the gods! whence brought ye
these fish? Are they perchance just fresh from the River Styx, for I
did greatly fear that thou hadst gained the dark Plutonian shore some
moons ago?”

“Nay, nay, Scipio, my cousin, these be no fish from Hades, and I am
not dead, but truly living, and have much to tell thee, so ye will
first but order me a bath and fitting attire in which to appear before
the Roman Commander. But now let me commend unto thee these my
comrades in many a perilous adventure by land and sea. See to it, I
pray thee, that thou have them well treated, for much good have they
done for the Roman cause in thus saving me and bringing me to thee, oh
Scipio, as thou and Lælius shall learn anon.”

The guards soon took care of the fishermen, while Marcus was himself
instantly taken into Scipio’s own tent, rendered presentable, and
provided with a repast, of which he seemed much in need, and in which
he was joined by the two generals. There were no traces of effeminacy
now about his sunburnt features as he lay there on a couch, eating the
first decently-served meal he had seen since he had escaped from New
Carthage.

“By Bacchus!” exclaimed he gleefully, as he drained off a cup of old
wine. “I tell thee, Caius Lælius, I envy thee thy profession of the
sea. Nought is there like a few months in an open boat to make thee
healthy and hearty. Then, again, how glorious the good red wine
tasteth after nought but the trickling springs of water collected in
caves in the rocks, or the rain water caught in the hollow of a sail
when far out at sea. How dost thou like my fish, most noble Scipio?
Ho, ho! a fisherman’s life for me, say I! There is now none so cunning
as I with a hook, and thou shalt, my kinsman, appoint me no longer to
the command of thy vulgar maniples and squadrons, to fight with
Libyans and Iberians, but to the command of a noble fleet of fishing
boats; and then Piscator General Marcus Primus shall daily make war
upon the finny monsters of the deep, and provide the army on shore
with dainties fit for Lucullus himself.”

Laughing again, he tossed off another cup of wine, for he was in high
good humour to find himself once more with friends and comrades. While
Caius Lælius did ample justice to the finny trophies of their guest,
Scipio could hardly eat a morsel, so anxiously was he awaiting the
moment when he might, with decent politeness, send away the attendant
slaves, and ask the question nearest to his heart.

At last the time came.

“And what about Hannibal’s daughter? How is she looking, Marcus? Tell
me of her.”

“Looking! why most radiantly beautiful. That is she ever, although,
alas! she looked not very kindly upon me. It seemeth that she did not
approve over much of flirtations between Carthaginian ladies and young
Roman nobles. Didst thou find her so in Numidia, Scipio?”

Caius Lælius joined in the good-natured laugh against Scipio, who
himself remained silent, as in deep thought. Presently Marcus
continued:

“Personally I have nothing but thanks to give to the beautiful lady
Elissa, for it was her very severity towards me that brought about my
salvation, since by making me a prisoner to my house she absolved me
from my parole. Further, her kind but foolish Aunt Cœcilia, who had
fallen in love with me, and who procured me mine escape, would never
have allowed me to go had not Elissa forbidden her to see me openly.
As it was, she purposed to have joined me, but as she never arrived,
after waiting three days in concealment, I put to sea without her. I
hope no harm hath befallen her, for by her means have I learned all
about the defences of New Carthage, which I shall presently tell thee,
Scipio; but what could I have done in an open boat with a plump little
lady ten years older than myself, one too whose sole fear is lest her
complexion should be spoiled by the sun? She would have died of
lamentation and weeping when she saw herself day by day becoming, even
as I am myself, burned as black as a coal.”

“Thou wert far better without her, Marcus,” quoth Scipio. “Besides, I
would not have had her in the camp, since I like not traitors, and,
put the matter whichever way thou wilt, that she was nought but a
traitor to her own kinswoman and chief, Elissa, in this matter of
thine escape is most apparent. Nevertheless, all is fair in love and
war, and I trust that, by the aid of the gods, we shall be able to
take advantage of her treachery. Thus shalt thou soon enter with me,
at the head of a victorious army, the very city in which thou wert but
lately a prisoner. After that thou canst take the lady out fishing
with thee if thou choosest, and then either take care of her
complexion for her or drown her as thou wilt, the latter I should say
for choice. She will have served her turn anyway. Perhaps Lælius
would like to take her off thy hands, and for a cruise in his
flag-ship; he can provide her there with proper awnings to shade her
from the sun.”

“Not I, by Pluto!” cried Lælius, spitting disdainfully on the ground.
“I too, like thee, hate a traitor, Scipio. I have far too high a
regard and liking for our beautiful enemy, Elissa, ever, should it be
in my power, to spare one who hath wronged her, as hath this Princess
Cœcilia in enabling us to learn from Primus all the secrets of the
defences of her city. Therefore the Princess Cœcilia had better
beware of one Caius Lælius, whatever she may, from her passion, have
done for thee personally, oh, Marcus, in the past and, through her
treason, for Rome in general in the future.”

“Well,” returned Marcus Primus, “I for my part wish no ill to either
the Lady Elissa or the Princess Cœcilia, since between them they
have, although working differently, been the means of my obtaining my
liberty. Moreover, the former is so lovely that no man could possibly
wish her any harm, while the latter is merry and frivolous, and one
well calculated to help the wearisome hours to pass agreeably for an
unfortunate prisoner.

“But talking of women, Lælius, there is one now in New Carthage whom
I warrant thee thou wouldst not disdain if thou hadst a chance of her.
She is a young widow, named Cleandra, just back from Carthage, and as
plump a little partridge as ever thou didst set eyes upon. Her mouth
is a perfect rosebud, while as for her eyes--”

“What colour are her eyes?” interrupted Scipio, getting interested.

And then the talk degenerated into the usual conversation about women
that is so common among young men, be they princes or ploughboys, in
the pleasant half hour after a satisfactory meal.

Later on in the day, leaving the ever delightful theme of the fair sex
on one side, Scipio revealed to his two friends that marvellous
ability of generalship which afterwards astonished the world, and with
these two alone he laid his plans, which were kept a secret from all
else in the camp.

“Lælius,” quoth he, “I am about to take a leaf out of our enemy’s
book, and in the same way that they crushed my father and mine uncle,
will I now deal them a notable blow, should but the fates prove
propitious. For, as they took advantage of my father and uncle being
separated to crush them both in detail, so will I now take advantage
of the separation of their own armies. Owing to their bad treatment of
their Iberian allies, in by force raising money from them, and taking
their daughters as hostages, nominally as guarantees for their good
behaviour, and then dishonouring them, as though not the daughters of
allied princes but mere slave girls captured in war, they have now
stirred up a great part of Iberia against themselves. Thus, owing to
the disaffection of the tribes, instead of combining to attack us here
in Tarraco, see how they are split up! Hasdrubal, Hannibal’s brother,
is besieging a city of the Caspetani; the other Hasdrubal, him whom we
met at the court of Syphax and found then to be a right good boon
companion, is away near the mouth of the Tagus in Lusitania; Mago
again, Hannibal’s other brother, even he, whom I well remember
springing upon us from an ambush at that unlucky business of the
Trebia, and to whom thou, Marcus, didst owe thy wound and thy
captivity, is, so I learn, away to the south-west, beyond the Pillars
of Hercules. Thus they are all separated from one another.

“How foolish hath been the conduct of these Carthaginians! who, not
content with behaving badly to the daughters of the lesser princes,
have, so I learn, even made nominal hostages, but really concubines,
of the daughters of the greatest chiefs of all, ay, even of their
oldest and staunchest friends, such as Andobales, King of Central
Iberia, and his brother Mandonius.

“Now, see the result of all this! Yesterday I received an embassy from
Andobales, offering friendship to Rome, and complaining bitterly of
the Carthaginians, his old allies. That offer I shall accept. And no
doubt many more of the tribes will come in at once when they see with
what honour I shall treat those that come first. Then, having nothing
to fear from the Iberians and Celtiberians, I shall give it out
publicly that I am about to sally forth to attack Hasdrubal among the
Caspetani, but shall carefully avoid doing anything of the kind. For,
while they are anxiously expecting me in one place, I shall promptly
proceed to another. And I regret to say that it is against the New
Town, Lælius, ay, even against our one dear friend among the
Carthaginians, the charming Elissa herself, that I must deliver an
unexpected attack.

“For each of the three armies of the enemy is at a distance of more
than ten days’ march from the New Town. Now, were I to try to take
them all in detail, our losses would be so great, that even if we
conquered one, we might fall in a combat with the next. Again, if I
were to attack one force alone, in a fortified camp, one of the others
might come to its assistance, and we so be destroyed. With the New
Town, however, things are different. For thou, Marcus, hast given me
the most minute details of all the defences, and it seemeth that they
have there an utterly inadequate garrison, so sure have they been of
the strength of the defences of the city. But the information thou
hast given me, which, thanks to thy foolish mistress Cœcilia, thou
hast learned, to the effect that the lagoon on the landward side runs
nearly dry each tide, changes the whole aspect of those defences. And
I see my way, therefore, to carrying the place by a sudden storm. It
will doubtless, alas, cost us many lives; but what are soldiers meant
for but to be killed in their country’s cause? It hath been the fate
of the Scipios for generations past to die in battle, and may be mine
and thine as well.”

“Ay,” here interposed Marcus, cheerily, “we all run an equal risk in
battle, and even if we do go under, we three at all events shall not
share the ill-luck of the raw recruit who falls in his very first
engagement.”

“This, then, is my plan,” continued Scipio. “While pretending that we
are going north we will go south. In the meantime, we will get many
scaling ladders ready, having them made in sections that can be joined
together easily. Thou, Lælius, shalt, with the whole fleet, proceed
by sea to New Carthage and carry them for us. But not a word, not a
single breath beyond the walls of this tent to give a suspicion of our
design.”

“Poor Elissa!” sighed Lælius, “I am truly sorry for her; she had
better have hearkened unto thee in Numidia, Scipio--for, unless she
die, she will assuredly soon now be thy slave. And hath she not made a
certain compact with thee, Scipio?”

“Ay, she hath made a compact with me, Lælius,” replied Scipio,
smiling sadly; “but by Jupiter and Venus! I know not when the time
cometh whether I shall enforce the fulfilment of her share of the
contract or no. Besides, who knoweth the fortune of war? It may prove,
perchance, that it be I who become her slave, and she may put me in
chains,” and he sighed thoughtfully. “Not that that will alter matters
much,” he added half-pathetically, half-humorously, “for by Venus and
Cupid! I became her slave and was in chains from the very first moment
that ever I cast eyes upon her beautiful face.”

“Ah, well,” replied his friend lightly, “there will be at all events
one happy man should we take New Carthage. For Marcus will find his
turtle-dove once more, and ’twould, methinks, but be fitting that he
should reward his fair princess by marrying her--eh, Scipio?”

“Hum!” replied Marcus Primus, smiling, “marriage is a somewhat serious
matter for a soldier. Now, thou, Lælius, art a sailor, and like the
snail thou carryest thy house with thee. Therefore I will display a
little self-sacrifice. Thou shalt, if she be captured, take the
princess, even as Scipio said, for a while with thee on thy ship. Then
if, after some months of close observation, thou shouldst still deem
her worthy of matrimony--”

“I may marry her myself, I suppose? and Marcus Primus will find that
he hath pressing business elsewhere! is that thine idea? Nay, nay, my
friend, I will have none of thy Spanish beauty; but I will, under such
circumstances, wed her off at once to my chief boatswain; he is a fine
fellow, and will make her a right good husband, I warrant thee. With
all due deference to this grand princess of thine, I think that
’twould be she and not the boatswain that would be most honoured by
the union.”

Scipio smiled, but Marcus looked rather glum at the jest. He was still
young enough to be a little proud of his conquest. But he was a
good-natured young fellow, and far too happy at his recent escape to
care much for any of their banter. Therefore, he only called for a cup
of wine, and ostentatiously raising it to his lips, invoked the
blessing of the gods upon his preserver, the fair and rotund Cœcilia.
Wherein he showed himself in soul a very gentleman, one who did not
forget a woman as soon as he had profited by her benefits towards
himself.




 CHAPTER V.
 MARS VICTORIOUS.

Scipio soon set his army in motion. He was still a young man of less
than seven-and-twenty when, with twenty-five thousand infantry and two
thousand five hundred cavalry, he made one of the most wonderful
marches on record in any age, arriving in front of New Carthage in
only seven days. Lælius, having taken on board his ship Marcus Primus
and the two fishermen who had helped the young man to escape, managed
things so well that he arrived in the harbour of New Carthage at the
very same hour that Scipio with his host appeared and encamped in
front of the town on the land side. There had been no time to place
the booms across the harbour, for it was a thorough surprise for
Elissa; but she was nevertheless, with her small garrison, ever
prepared for war. She had long since, especially since her city had
been drained of troops for the armies in the field, trained many of
the townspeople to warlike exercises. Therefore when she received from
Scipio, before any hostilities began, a most courteous invitation to
surrender, expressed in friendly terms and offering life and safety to
all within the walls, she answered equally courteously but firmly,
saying that she was there to defend the city, and would only yield to
force, and fight to the last.

Poor Elissa! she knew full well, when she saw the large fleet of Caius
Lælius anchored well within the gulf on one side, and the large force
of Scipio encamped almost within arrow-shot of the walls, just across
the lagoon on the other, that she had not much chance; for that if the
city should fall by no other means, it must fall by starvation, unless
she could hold out until such time as one of the Carthaginian armies
should come to her relief. Nevertheless, she determined to do all in
her power, and strain every nerve to uphold the honour of her country
and her father’s name. Therefore, before the fighting actually began,
she rode all over the town, all round the defences, and exhorted
everyone, whether soldier or civilian, to do his duty. She encouraged
them by falsely saying that she had just received advices from her
uncle Mago, that he was advancing with a large force to the relief of
the city, and thus generally contrived to put the inhabitants of the
New Town in good heart. For no one within the walls ever dreamt of the
possibility of such a strongly-fortified place being carried by storm.

It will be remembered that New Carthage stood upon a high hill jutting
out into a gulf, while upon the land side it was, save for the part
near the causeway and bridge on the isthmus opposite the main gate,
protected by the lagoon, which had been artificially connected with
the sea. High walls protected the town upon every side, while steep
cliffs covered with the red-flowered, prickly cactus further protected
its sea front.

When the Roman soldiers first saw the place, their hearts fell within
them, for it looked so utterly impregnable. But young Scipio, who was
throughout his career, despite his good qualities, much of a
charlatan, informed them in an address that Neptune, or Poseidon, king
of the seas, had appeared to him in a dream, and informed him that he
would personally assist him in the capture of the city. Thus he
greatly raised the spirits of his men. Moreover, as he had often done
the same kind of thing before, and had usually been lucky in the
result, he was looked upon as one protected by the gods. Therefore,
his bare-faced assertion of their promised intervention on his behalf
was believed by the ignorant and superstitious soldiery, with the
result of inspiring them with redoubled courage for the tremendous
enterprise before them. Scipio continued his address by pointing out
to his army the immense advantage the capture of the town would be to
the Romans, by giving them an excellent seaport from which they might
invade Africa; he dwelt also upon the enormous booty within the walls,
and further, that as it contained all the Spanish hostages, should
these fall into his hands, he could, by restoring them to their native
countries, make friends with all the princes of Iberia, after which
the utter defeat of the Carthaginians throughout the peninsula would
be assured.

And, finally, he promised mural crowns of gold to such of his men as
should be the first to escalade the walls.

Meanwhile, within the city, Elissa ordered the Carthaginian flag to be
hoisted on every post and every house, in order that the presence
everywhere of the blessed white horse upon the purple ground, an
ensign given to Dido by the ancient and immortal gods, should remind
each and every one of his duty.

Thus, with the standards gaily fluttering in the breeze from every
eminence, and festoons of flags across the streets, the fair city of
New Carthage looked more like a city celebrating some joyous festival
than a town about to be plunged into all the horrors of a most bloody
combat.

The trained veterans at her disposal did not much exceed some two
thousand men. Fifteen hundred of these Elissa placed under the orders
of a chief named Mago, with instructions to post the greater number
along the walls, both on the land side and the sea side, upon the
battlements of which, at every point, were heaped-up piles of darts,
huge stones, and masses of lead. Moreover, cross-bows, called
scorpions, on account of the sting they discharged in the shape of a
small but deadly missile, were ranged round the walls at short
intervals, with their ammunition placed ready beside them.

The remainder of Mago’s men were stationed either upon the commanding
eastern hill that jutted out into the sea, upon which stood the temple
of Æsculapius, or in the citadel.

Another superior officer whom she had under her orders was named
Armes. Him she posted, with two thousand men of those whom she had
trained from the townspeople, at the gate leading to the isthmus.

A body of one hundred men of the veterans she reserved to herself as a
personal guard, to accompany her whither she would throughout the
expected siege, and another hundred under old Captain Gisco she left
in charge of the palace and the women therein. The palace was so
situated that it was only immediately in danger from the sea side on
the south-east, where the walls of the garden formed a part of the
actual walls of the city. Upon the other three sides the high and
battlemented walls of the garden were so placed that, while they
overlooked the town, they were quite separate from its outward
defences, and the only entrance upon that side was a gateway, so
defended by a drawbridge over a deep fosse that a few men could defend
it against thousands. The small postern door on the south-east side,
leading to the harbour, Elissa caused to be barricaded with stones,
while the marble steps leading down to the sea she had partially
destroyed and partially blocked up with strongly tethered masses of
the prickly pear cactus which grew so freely on the cliffs, and which
were calculated to form a terrible obstacle to any escalading foe.

In conclusion Elissa gave instructions for bands of the armed
inhabitants of the town to be placed on the walls at intervals along
the whole of the sea front, which was menaced by the powerful fleet of
Lælius, and upon the land front facing the isthmus, as either of
these parts could, although the walls were very high, be assailed with
scaling ladders. She had thus made the very best disposition of the
small force at her command. One place, however, she failed to garrison
in strength, partly from want of men and partly on account of its
natural strength, and this was where, on the north side of the
isthmus, the lagoon washed the walls of the city. And now, having done
all in her power for the defence, she returned to her palace, and
assembled all the frightened women therein to the morning repast.

Elissa herself was clad in her war gear, and merely removed her golden
helmet, and cast her beautiful shield, inlaid with its golden horse,
upon one side ere she sank upon one of the silk-cushioned divans
around the board whereon was spread the meal. The eye of the young
maiden was bright, her look determined, and her cheek flushed with a
noble courage. Although still only in her twenty-first year, she had
all the ability and experience of an old commander; and, noting her
confident appearance, her youth was quite forgotten by the other women
present, who looked to her for protection.

One of them was a most lovely maiden named Idalia, a girl of seventeen
summers, with large, dreamy eyes like those of a fawn. Her beauty was
so great, her face such a pure oval and so gentle, her willowy form so
bewitchingly enticing and rounded, that she was quite the equal in
beauty of Elissa herself, although in an entirely different style. She
was, by nature, timorous even as the fawn whom her eyes resembled.

Rising from her seat, Idalia approached Elissa, whose glorious masses
of dark, ruddy hair, having broken loose from their restraining
fillet, were streaming over the light steel cuirass inlaid with gold
which covered her. The sunlight, breaking in from an open window
behind, shone through the almost black tresses, distinctly showing up
the ruddy lights beneath. Without a word Idalia, whose eyes were
filled with tears, caressingly laid an arm round Elissa’s neck and
kissed her gently, almost reverently. Then, lifting up the flowing
locks, she pressed them also to her lips, then quietly readjusted them
below the silver fillet which had previously restrained them.

“Wherefore dost thou weep?” exclaimed Elissa kindly, patting the pale
cheek so near her own. “Fear not, we shall beat off the Romans, and
thou shalt come to no harm. So banish these tears; I will protect
thee, pretty one. Come, be reassured by me; do I look fearful of the
result? That thy life shall be safe I warrant thee, for whoever else
may fall, the great goddess Tanais, whose votary thou art, will surely
protect such a beauteous young maid as thou.”

“Oh, Elissa, dear Elissa!” replied the fair maid, in sad but musical
tones, “believe me that I trust in thee and in the goddess Tanais
also; but ’tis not for myself I weep. ’Tis with fear for my beloved
Allucius. Canst thou or the goddess Tanais protect him? Alas! I fear
’tis not in thy power, and I weep lest he may fall.”

“Allucius, Prince of the Celtiberians, must do his duty with the rest
of us,” rejoined Elissa straightforwardly but not unkindly; “and he
hath a post of honour, since I have placed him as second in command to
Armes at the city gate. But should he fall, he will die a most
honourable death, and one that will be worthy of thee. Therefore,
sweet one, put a more cheerful face upon the matter, I pray thee, for
thou wouldst not have him act the poltroon, and shield himself behind
thy chiton, wouldst thou? But thou canst pray to the gods for him.”

“Nay, nay,” cried the girl proudly, drawing herself up and dashing
away her tears, “I would not have him other than a noble soldier. I
thank thee for teaching me my duty, Elissa, and I will be brave.”

“I think thou art making a most unnecessary fuss, Idalia,” here
interrupted the Princess Cœcilia spitefully. “What folly thou dost
talk about this Allucius. Why trouble about him at all when thou
knowest that, with thy youth and thy beauty, thou are safe thyself?
For the worst that can happen to thee is that thou mayst fall
perchance to the lot of some Roman noble. Who knows but Scipio might
take a fancy to thee himself. Thou hast already met him, since thou
wast with Elissa at the Court of Syphax.”

“Princess Cœcilia!” exclaimed Idalia.

But Cœcilia continued peevishly in a torrent of words: “Nay,
interrupt me not; I know what thou wouldst say, that ’tis merely for
Elissa he hath come here, and that ’tis on account of her late foolish
coquettings with him in Numidia that all these miseries are come upon
us. For what other reason, save to make her his, hath he come here to
attack us women instead of going to fight Hasdrubal or Mago as, had he
been worth calling a man, he would have done? But fear not thou,
Idalia, those Romans are not particular as to whether they have one
girl or twenty; and since Elissa hath brought him here, and thou art
moreover a worshipper of Tanais, thou wilt doubtless be but too
pleased to save thyself at the expense of thine honour.”

“Princess Cœcilia!” exclaimed Elissa, whose eyes were flaming with
fury as she rose to her feet, “begone! retire to thine apartment, and
see thou stir not thence without mine orders. For despite thy
calumnies, I do much misdoubt me but ’tis thine own traitorous conduct
that hath brought the Romans upon us. Should it prove so, beware!
Cleandra, I beg thee accompany the princess to her apartment, and give
instructions to the palace guard that mine aunt is to be considered a
prisoner.”

“Oh! in sooth, Elissa!” exclaimed the now utterly cowed little
princess, turning pale, “in good sooth, Elissa, thou hast altogether
misunderstood me. I did but speak in jest. Indeed, I did not mean a
word.”

“Begone!” replied Elissa, “I will not hear thee more,” and she waved
her hand to Cleandra to lead her off.

This Cleandra did with some difficulty, for the little woman’s whole
body was now convulsed with sobs, and her knees trembled and shook so
together that she could scarcely stand. It was almost impossible not
to feel pity for her as the huge tears washed the paint from her now
considerably damaged complexion. But Cleandra obeyed her orders, and
then rejoined her mistress and friend, to whose home in Spain she had
voluntarily returned from Carthage upon her husband’s recent death in
a drunken brawl. This she had done, even although by doing so she was
exposing herself to a renewal of the state of slavery in which she had
been before her departure. But the ties of mutual gratitude that
united Elissa and Cleandra were so great that there could scarcely now
be considered to exist ought save friendship between them.

After this incident the repast proceeded in peace. It was scarcely
concluded when two messengers rushed in, one crying out that the
Romans on the land side were advancing across the isthmus and
threatening the gate, the other that the Roman fleet was also
advancing and the sailors attempting to warp their ships to the base
of the cliff on the seaward side of the city so as to land the
marines. Elissa speedily arose, seized her shield and a sheaf of
darts, and repaired first to the battlements on the seaward side of
the palace. There she saw that the enemy were in the greatest
confusion. The ships were so numerous that they were getting in each
other’s way. There was a great deal of clamour, but owing to the
vigorous defence that was being made, Lælius was not likely for some
time to come to be able to land his men in any numbers upon the
sloping rocks. For the missiles being hurled upon the assailants from
the walls, falling upon the confused ships and boats, were causing the
greatest disorder. Some Carthaginian ships, moreover, which were lying
under the shelter of the walls, were advancing gallantly to a counter
attack, and although their numbers were few, they being only eighteen,
they were able to create an excellent diversion.

Accompanied by her body-guard, the young Regent next hurried down to
the battlements near the main gate of the city. Thence she beheld the
splendid and awe-inspiring sight of the whole of the Roman army with
ensigns flying and eagles displayed, drawn up in line at some distance
behind the bridge which crossed the waters of the lagoon where it
flowed out into the gulf.

The men of this noble army, whose arms and polished shields were
glittering with dazzling brilliancy in the sun, were standing
motionless.

Far in advance of the main body, however, a considerable detached
column of heavy-armed troops, consisting of Hastati, Principes, and
Triarii, in their three lines, were crossing the bridge, maniple by
maniple, and deploying the maniples into line, alternately to the
right and left in succession, as they arrived upon the city side of
the bridge over the narrow channel that traversed the isthmus. Without
a moment’s hesitation, Elissa gave the order from the top of the
ramparts where she was standing to Armes, the tribune commanding the
force of two thousand citizens within the gates, to engage this
attacking column of Romans. With promptitude this order was obeyed;
and sallying forth with gallantry, the troops under Armes rushed upon
the foe. Those who had crossed the bridge were, with much slaughter,
driven backwards, and thrust, either into the lagoon to the one side,
or into the inrunning waters of the gulf on the other, while the
centre of the Romans, falling back upon those who were still crossing
the bridge in rear, created considerable confusion, and thus the
centre also suffered much loss. The whole body of Romans then fell
back gradually towards their own main body, the Carthaginians crossing
the bridge, deploying in turn into line, and pursuing them.

From her vantage point upon the battlements over the gateway, Elissa
could plainly see the error into which Armes was falling, for she
perceived that the Romans were gradually pushing up more and more
supports from their main body. She therefore sent instant instructions
to Armes to fall back again to the city gates. But her messenger
arrived too late, for before he had reached the contending forces the
largely reinforced Romans were advancing once more, and, after a
terrible hand-to-hand conflict, driving the Carthaginians back again
over the bridge. Armes was now slain; and although Allucius, the lover
of Idalia, made most heroic efforts to rally the citizens, they were
at length driven back headlong up to and through the city gates,
Allucius himself being sorely wounded. The Romans would have entered
the gates with the fugitives, but those upon the wall commenced
casting down a rain of missiles upon them, causing much loss. Scipio,
moreover, who was watching the contest from a hill called the Hill of
Mercury, caused the trumpets to sound the retreat, for the number of
men engaged was far too few, and had they got through the gate they
would have been eaten up inside.

So the Romans fell back leisurely after a terrible carnage.

While the remnants of the Carthaginians were rallying within the
walls, Scipio, without giving them time for rest, instantly despatched
a large number of men with scaling ladders to assault that part of the
walls which was situated near the principal gate. He himself followed
to superintend. Racing across the open, carrying the long ladders, the
Romans speedily reared them in a hundred places at once. But the
ladders were scarcely long enough to reach the top; moreover, Elissa
was ever present in person to animate and encourage the defenders. In
many cases the ladders broke with the weight of the many armed men
upon them, who were thus cast headlong; in other cases, the men at the
top became giddy, and fell off, carrying others with them, while those
who actually reached the top of the battlements were hurled backwards
upon their comrades.

Scipio himself, covered by three men armed with linked oblong shields,
to protect him from the vast number of missiles being hurled, visited
every part of the line in turn to encourage his followers; but it was,
he saw, of no use. Elissa, from the top of the ramparts, for her part
soon recognised him. Standing exposed upon the wall, she cried out to
him scornfully by name, saying that she, although only a woman, had
but one shield to his three, and that, nevertheless, she defied him to
single combat. And then she cast several javelines, accompanying each
dart with bitter and mocking remarks; but they were all warded off by
the shields of his three protectors. A second time was Scipio now
compelled to sound a retreat, and this time his men fell back in
confusion. Scipio, however, noticed that now the time had come for the
ebb of the tide from the lagoon, and further, that a strong north wind
was causing the waters to run out very swiftly.

Therefore, to engage the attention of the triumphant Carthaginians, he
now sent a fresh body of a thousand troops, with more scaling ladders,
to the assault at the same place as before, while he himself with
another large body of men, after a lateral movement to his left,
plunged into the lagoon, crying out to his troops that Neptune was, as
he had foretold, coming to his assistance by draining off its waters.

The water was not at first more than waist deep, and soon only knee
deep. Therefore, quite unobserved by the combatants near the gate, he
contrived to cross in safety and to mount the walls unopposed. Then,
rushing along the walls with one party, he soon drove most of the
defenders off the ramparts. Another party he sent to attack the
defenders of the gate from the inside. At the same time, the Romans on
the outside, hacking away at the gate with axes, cut it through, and
thus was it captured from within and without at once. In the meantime,
the Romans with the scaling ladders, who had attacked from the dry
land, also got over the walls as the defenders fell back before
Scipio’s party.

The loss on the Carthaginian side was now terrible, as the Romans,
forcing their way into the town by the gate and ramparts alike,
advanced, killing every living creature they met, whether man, woman,
child, or even domestic animals. This was done to strike terror into
the heart of the people, and was an old Roman custom upon such
occasions. Scipio, meanwhile, with a band of warriors continued to
advance along the ramparts, and soon met in hand-to-hand combat Elissa
with her guard. He cried to her to yield, but her only reply was a
dart, which transfixed his shield, for he had now but one. The
terrible hand-to-hand struggle continued on the walls, the assailants
and defenders alike seizing each other by the waist and casting each
other over.

At length, just as Scipio thought he was about to capture Elissa and
her few remaining followers, she gave an order to her men, who, all
turning swiftly, ran until they reached the gate in the wall of the
palace, which they entered, the gate being closed and the drawbridge
raised in the face of the victorious Scipio, who was thus baulked, for
the moment at all events, of his prey. It would, indeed, have been a
triumph for Elissa could she have but continued the struggle until
nightfall. For then she and those with her might have escaped by a
secret path they knew of down the rocks. But it was not to be!
Scarcely had she gained the shelter of the garden when a storming
party of truculent seamen, headed by Caius Lælius himself, with whom
was also Marcus Primus, burst over the walls on the seaward side. And
now another terrible struggle took place--this time in the garden--the
flowers being all trampled down, and the garden walks and statues
being soon covered with blood.

At length, old Gisco and nearly all her guard being killed, Elissa
herself now quite exhausted, with a javeline transfixed in her
shoulder, resolved to die, sword in hand. She rushed upon Caius
Lælius, calling upon him loudly by name to slay her and so save her
from dishonour. But, her foot slipping in a pool of blood upon some
marble slabs near the fountain, she fell. Caius Lælius himself seized
her, and easily disarming her, made her his prisoner, thus protecting
her from further injury. And then Caius took the palace and all within
it without more bloodshed. For none but women were left alive inside.

In the meanwhile, Mago and all his remaining men in the citadel and
upon the hill of Æsculapius had surrendered, and after this the order
was given to plunder the town.

Thus did the city of New Carthage fall into the hands of the Romans
under Scipio. He, the gates of the garden being thrown open to him
from within, arrived upon the scene before Elissa had been removed
within the palace walls, and terrible, indeed, was the scene of
carnage that met his view in the once peaceful garden. For, animated
by Elissa’s personal presence, the palace guard and Elissa’s own
body-guard had fought around her with the heroism of despair. Thus,
there were quite as many corpses or wounded men of the Romans as of
the Carthaginians lying about in all directions. Some even were lying
dead or dying, half in and half out of the fish-pond, the waters of
which were crimson with blood, while the gold-fish, sickened by the
gore, were swimming round and round in little circles, belly
uppermost.

In other places the bodies of dead men, some of whom yet grasped each
other by the throat, were half-buried in masses of geranium or
carnation plants, the crimson of whose petals formed but a variety of
colour with the crimson and purple hues of the still warm life-blood
with which the green leaves were all drenched and befouled. Others,
again, in falling, had clasped a standard rose-bush, and, pulling it
down with them, now lay with their pale faces turned skywards, buried
in a mass of sweet-scented roses pressing against their ghastly
cheeks.

Although her left shoulder was pierced and mangled, Elissa’s wound was
not apparently very dangerous. She had retained perfect consciousness
while Caius Lælius extracted the weapon, which he did by cutting off
the haft and drawing the head through; but from the agony caused by
this operation she had swooned and fallen back insensible only a
moment before Scipio arrived upon the scene of the bloody conflict;
and she was now lying as one dead.




 CHAPTER VI.
 CŒCILIA’S DEGRADATION.

Scipio burst into the palace garden flushed with the joy of victory,
but when he saw his beloved Elissa lying at his feet, he forgot
everything, save that there lay, apparently lifeless, the body of the
woman whom he loved. He stood for a moment gazing, then angrily turned
upon Lælius.

“What is this, Caius? Hast thou slain her? Thou hast surely not dared
to slay Elissa? But nay, my friend,” he continued, his anger quickly
turning to grief, “I know that thou didst love her even as I did.
Forgive me for thus wronging thee. Give me thy hand, my comrade.”

Then throwing himself upon the ground by her side, Scipio cried:

“Oh, Elissa, my beloved Elissa, art thou dead? for if thou art, then
will I not survive thee! Gone is the glory of my victory! thrice
accursed be the hand that hath struck thee down!”

Gently he raised her in his arms, and, aided by Caius Lælius,
reverently they removed her golden helmet and the corselet of steel
inlaid with gold, beneath which she was clad in but a silken vest of
Tyrian purple, which, being all drenched with blood, they were forced
partly to remove in order to staunch the still flowing gore.

Commanding his followers to fall back to a distance, Scipio remained
upon his knees supporting her, with her beautiful face lying upon his
shoulder; while Caius Lælius brought some water in his helmet from
the waters of the upspringing fountain, which were fresh, and
unstained with blood.

While she was being supported thus, and the two men were ministering
to her, bathing her face and binding up her wound, Elissa recovered
her senses with a sigh.

For a few seconds she did not realise the situation, and remained
motionless, and then the whole sad truth burst upon her. With a bitter
smile she spoke.

“And so it hath then come to pass, oh, Scipio! and thou hast conquered
me and killed my faithful troops, and I am now thy slave. I have not
forgotten! I was but now, even as thou art thyself, a warrior, then
why hast thou removed my harness and exposed my person to the crowd,
and why dost thou embrace me thus, even on the battlefield itself?
Surely ’tis unmanly of thee. Oh, I do hate thee, Scipio! Release me, I
beg of thee, and insult me not in public.”

With a look of repulsion on her beautiful pale face, she turned from
him, and would have withdrawn herself from his embrace, but was too
weak.

“Nay, nay, dear Elissa, mistrust me not,” rejoined Scipio, with the
air not of a conqueror, but of a very suppliant. “Thou dost wrong me.
’Twas but to save thy life that Caius and I alone, both thy friends,
have thus removed thine armour; and even now the joy of seeing thee
living far outweighs the grief caused by the bitterness of thy words.”

“And so ye are my friends, are ye? Pretty friends, in sooth, to war
upon a woman and murder all my people!” answered Elissa, arguing, like
a woman, unreasonably, and forgetting that all the bloodshed could
have been spared and no lives lost had she but accepted the offered
terms of amnesty.

“Is that, too, a friend?” she asked, pointing with her unwounded arm
to a Roman warrior who, sorely smitten, was lying near, in whom she
recognised Marcus Primus. “Art thou my friend, oh Marcus? Thou who
hast eaten the bread of our hospitality here, but who as a return did
by treachery escape, and lead back an army to slay those who succoured
thee when thou wast wounded and in distress. And is thy paramour, the
Princess Cœcilia, likewise my friend? Oh! I see it all now, thy
pretended suicide arranged with her, and that ’twas she who taught
thee the secret of the lowering of the waters of the lagoon. If this
be friendship, a curse I say upon all such friends! and may the
dreadful and undying curse of all the almighty gods fall upon both
thee and thine accomplice.”

“Nay, curse me not, and I so near death, Elissa,” the young man
replied feebly; and the tears came to his eyes, partly from pain at
witnessing the bitter distress of this noble young woman, partly from
excessive weakness. “I do most deeply grieve for thy sorrow, believe
me, and I have but fought for my country as thou hast so nobly done
for thine. I pray thee, then, remove thine awful curse from the head
of a dying man, or I may not die in peace. Remove that curse, I pray
thee once more, then may we meet as brethren in a country where is no
war, when it shall be thine own time to cross the Styx.”

“I pray the great god Melcareth that that time be now near at hand,
oh, Marcus. In sooth, I feel anew so weak that we may perhaps cross
the Styx together; and since ’twould be strange and sad to commence a
new existence together as enemies, I will even revoke my curse upon
thee, yet not my curse from the head of Cœcilia.”

“Who hath never done thee any wrong, and is most loyal,” replied the
dying Marcus Primus. “I thank thee much, Elissa,” he added, with a
gasp. And then, with this noble lie upon his lips, uttered merely to
save the woman who had loved and befriended him, he gave a long, sad
sigh, and fell back dead.

“Scipio,” quoth Elissa, now very faintly, for she had lost much blood,
“I think I likewise am dying, and ’tis not meet that I should die thus
in the arms of an enemy of my country; therefore, if thou hast any
nobility of soul, thou wilt release me and send for Cleandra, one of
my women. Know this, I do not, nay, I cannot hate thee as I ought. I
might even have loved thee had things been otherwise, for thou art
most wondrous kind; but if thou dost love me, then let me not, for my
country’s sake, for my lover Maharbal’s sake, for mine own honour’s
sake, die thus in thine arms; but yet I thank thee and Lælius
likewise.”

Her last words were scarcely audible.

Scipio, himself nearly as pale as Elissa, pressed one reverent kiss
upon her lips, and murmured:

“I obey thy behest, Elissa.” Then he laid her gently down, and,
leaving Lælius with her, dashed within the palace for the first time,
wandering vaguely about, and calling for the woman named Cleandra, who
was soon brought out to him from among the captives.

Leading her to Elissa, he gave his fair foe into Cleandra’s charge.

Elissa, now speechless with pain and weakness, yet still sensible,
gave him one look of gratitude, and then closed her eyes. And thus,
with instructions that she should be borne gently into her own
apartments, Scipio left her to see to his troops and to the thousands
of prisoners. The whole scene had not taken more than some ten
minutes.

There was plenty for Scipio to do, for now were all his generals and
captains attending upon him from all parts of the town to ask for
instructions on every subject. Among other points to be decided two
men were brought before him, each a claimant for the mural crown in
gold, promised to the first man who had escaladed the wall.

One of them was Quintus Trebellius, a centurion of the fourth legion;
the other was Sextus Digitius, a seaman; and a hot contest was on foot
between the soldiers of the land forces, and the seamen and marines of
the fleet, who espoused their rival claims with great warmth.

Although Scipio appointed three commissioners to decide the case, the
contest between the soldiers and the sailors became so hot that Caius
Lælius soon pointed out to his friend and leader that unless the
matter were decided so as to please both parties, a conflict would
probably break out.

Thereupon Scipio showed his tact. Calling both Trebellius and Digitius
before him, he complimented each of them warmly, said he was convinced
that they had both mounted the wall at the same time, and granted them
both mural crowns for valour. To his friend Lælius he also awarded a
mural crown, and gave him besides thirty head of oxen. Many other
rewards he gave to those who had distinguished themselves. In this way
he preserved peace in his camp, and all were satisfied and pleased
with their general.

There was another incident which occurred on the following day, which
did much to enhance young Scipio’s reputation with his troops, and his
popularity with the Iberians, hitherto the allies of Carthage.

From the period when, after the morning repast, Elissa had sallied
forth to repel the stormers, the lovely young girl Idalia had been
missing from the palace. In the confusion of the assault and
subsequent events, none of the frightened women in the palace had
observed her absence, but, once the storm completed and the Romans
masters of the place, the women, who were now prisoners, noticed that
she was no longer among their number.

When on the following morning Scipio was superintending the division
of the enormous plunder among the legions, a small knot of soldiers
were seen approaching him, leading a young girl, who was thickly
veiled from head to foot. Their leader, coming forward to Scipio,
addressed him as follows:

“Oh, Scipio, well is it known throughout the army that thou dost give
great rewards and mete out justice to others, and yet, save the reward
of honour, nought hast thou retained for thine own self. Now we, some
of thy followers, seeing that thou art a young man, and known from thy
youth to love the fair, have discovered a gift which we would offer
unto thee in the shape of a young virgin, who is fit for a king. For
we have thought that such a gift would be acceptable unto thee. We
took the girl yesterday, and she hath been religiously respected and
carefully veiled, lest any of the tribunes or prefects, seeing her,
should have become enamoured of her beauty and taken her away from us,
who would save her for thee.”

The young general’s curiosity was at once excited. Smiling, he said:

“I thank ye, my men, for your kind thought of your general; but come,
let us see this paragon of beauty. Unveil her.”

When the thick covering which alone concealed the face and form of the
maiden was removed, Scipio and all the officers near him were simply
astounded at the excessive loveliness of the charming Idalia, who, her
eyes suffused with tears and her face and bosom with burning blushes,
stood revealed, trembling before him.

Scipio was moved to pity for her wretched condition.

“By Hymen and Venus! thou hast spoken the truth, my men, and I do
greatly thank ye for this beautiful present. For never save in one
woman alone,”--he was thinking of Elissa--“have I seen aught so lovely
in the human form. My men, since ye have made me the gift, I shall
retain it to do as I choose with, and ye shall be all suitably
rewarded. And were I other than the general commanding the forces,
there is no present which could have been so acceptable. But seeing
that I am the general, it becomes me to use a little self-denial in
this matter. Therefore, lest from gazing too long upon such charms I
should begin to think that I am but a private person who can do as he
chooseth in such a matter, give me that veil.”

Taking the heavy veil he went up to the trembling girl, and reassuring
her kindly, covered her shoulders and limbs with it. At the same time
he gave her a fraternal kiss on the cheek, bidding her not to fear,
for he would be as a brother to her. But Idalia, broken down with all
the suffering and shame that she had undergone, and moved by Scipio’s
unexpected kindness, threw herself down and, clasping his knees, would
have kissed his feet. This he would by no means allow, but raising her
gently, inquired into her condition and the circumstances attending
her capture.

Then the soldiers told him that on the previous day, when the order
had been given for a space to slay every living thing that they met,
but not to begin to plunder until further orders, they had pursued
some fugitives into the porch of a doorway and killed them. Glancing
within a room beyond, they had seen a wounded Iberian chieftain, and
were about to kill him also, but that this maiden had flung her body
full length upon the Iberian, and clung to him so tightly that they
had been unable to slay him without wounding or perhaps slaying her
also. Then had their leader, the same who now had addressed Scipio,
reminded the men that the order was to kill all whom they should meet
in the streets, but that there was no order to slay those in the
houses, and as the young man himself also offered, in the Latin
tongue, a large ransom for his life, they had spared them both.

“In that ye have done well,” said Scipio; “and thy reward shall be the
greater,” continued he to the leader, “for that thou didst exactly
obey and follow out mine orders to the letter. For mine order was
indeed but to slay all living things ye met in the street; there was
no order to slay those in the houses. Now tell the Quæstors, whose
duty it is to take the money for such as are ransomed, where this
young man lies, and when they have rewarded you as I shall direct, ye
can depart, leaving the maiden here.”

So the soldiers all received large sums of money, and their leader in
addition had a magnificent golden ring presented to him, and they
departed rejoicing.

Scipio took Idalia with him to the palace, where Elissa was delighted
to see her once more. Scipio, then sending for Allucius, prince of the
Celtiberians, whose life had been twice saved by his beautiful lover,
first by dragging him when wounded into a house, and then by covering
his body with her own, caused him to be brought before him in a
litter. The ransom for his life was paid by the father and mother of
the maiden, the former being an Iberian noble and the latter a
Carthaginian lady.

When they were all assembled together before him, Scipio handed over
the ransom that had been paid for his life to Allucius as a wedding
portion, and ordered the father and mother to have the wedding
celebrated at once between him and the lovely Idalia, without even
waiting for his recovery from his wound.

The fame of this action soon spread throughout all Spain and inclined
the Iberians greatly to Scipio; but whether he would have acted thus
had it not been for his own great love for Elissa, no man can tell.

The next few days were passed by the young Roman general in making
arrangements about his prisoners, of whom he disposed in various ways,
generally acting with great leniency to the Iberians, and pressing all
the surviving soldiers of other nationalities into his own navy, thus
largely augmenting his fleet. Of such men and women as were made
slaves he made a suitable disposition, rewarding his generals and
tribunes with the best of each. And thus Cleandra was presented to
Caius Lælius and the other women in the palace were disposed of
according to rank and beauty to the higher nobles in the army. Of
Elissa there was no word said, but it was understood as a matter of
course that she belonged to Scipio himself. Yet was she treated with
all honour. As Lælius remained in the palace with Scipio, she still
had her friend Cleandra to minister to her; and Scipio himself, much
as he longed to see her face again, refrained entirely from intruding
upon her privacy.

One woman there was however in the palace for whom neither the general
nor the admiral felt any goodwill, and this was the Princess Cœcilia.
Young Marcus Primus being dead, there was now none to speak for her,
and both Scipio and Lælius resented the knowledge of the fact that
never could the battlements have been so easily surmounted or the city
captured by the passing of the lagoon had it not been for the
treachery of that woman towards her niece Elissa.

Therefore, at the instance of Lælius, his original proposition, made
in jest at the camp of Tarraco, was carried out. It was resolved that
she should be married to the chief boatswain of the flag-ship. This
man’s name was Valerius, and he was a most truculent-looking ruffian,
of great size. He was much renowned for his bloodthirstiness in
action, but was a good sailor, and extremely feared by all in
authority under him.

To him then was the Princess Cœcilia offered as his wife by his
chief, Caius Lælius. He was given to understand that a lady of such
high rank was offered to him as a reward for his bravery in the
storming of the town. When, moreover, he was promised a considerable
dowry of her own money, as well as her person, he was both flattered
and delighted. He could not speak any language save Latin, and of that
tongue his intended bride did not understand a word. For the diversion
of the nobles in the palace, the marriage was, despite the pitiable
lamentations of the unwilling bride, celebrated one day with much
festivity and license, for much wine was purposely given to the seamen
at the feast that the traitress might be made to feel her punishment
the more. And when night fell the now drunken boatswain carried off
his bride, who had been forced to attire herself with great splendour,
from the palace, where she had lived for so many years, to a mean
fisherman’s cottage by the port. She had been given to Valerius for
the purpose intentionally, that she might be able to reflect therein
at leisure upon the vicissitudes of life, of which her treachery to
her niece had been the direct cause, and of her own repeated acts of
folly that had led to the treachery. Elissa, who was aware of what was
about to take place, had, although the princess had begged her in
their sole interview to intercede on her behalf, refused absolutely,
with the utmost scorn and loathing to do so. She had, moreover,
reproached her bitterly with being the cause of all the bloodshed and
of the loss of the town and of the enslavement of them all. In
conclusion, she informed Cœcilia that, should she open her lips to
mention her name to Scipio, it would not be to ask for a
reconsideration of the matter of her marriage, but only to beg that he
would inflict some far more terrible punishment.

This was the last time that Elissa and Cœcilia ever met, and from
this time forth the princess disappears entirely from this history,
for her subsequent fate is unknown. One thing only is certain, that
when Caius Lælius sometime later sailed for Italy, the boatswain did
not take his wife with him. So it is probable that he had either
drowned her in the gulf, wrung her neck, or sold her into slavery.




 CHAPTER VII.
 A RENUNCIATION.

A few days after the marriage of the boatswain to the unworthy
Princess Cœcilia, Elissa was able to rise from her couch and attire
herself with Cleandra’s aid. Very miserable and down-hearted was she
when, looking forth from that same window whence some years before she
had seen the fleet of the treacherous Carthaginian Adherbal, she could
now see nought but warships flying the Roman standard. Looking towards
the battlements, she saw now, instead of Carthaginians, only Roman
soldiers pacing up and down in their coats of mail, or resting upon
their long pikes and looking out over the walls. Upon gazing from
another window first towards the citadel and then to the hill of
Æsculapius, she saw flying from both, instead of the white horse on
the purple ground, the Roman eagle proudly displayed.

She groaned aloud and beat her breast, then covering her eyes, burst
into a flood of weeping.

“Oh, Cleandra!” she cried, “it is then indeed a reality, a sad
reality! During my great sickness I have thought almost that ’twas but
a bad dream. But those Roman ensigns, those Roman soldiers everywhere,
are, alas! too convincing. Oh, why are the gods so cruel? Why was I
ever born to experience such bitter and great humiliation? Oh, hast
thou no poison concealed with which I may end my miserable existence
forthwith, rather than live another day to witness my country’s shame
and endure mine own dishonour? Give me but a dagger or a sword that I
may slay myself, for live I cannot! I long for instant death.”

“Nonsense, dear Elissa,” said Cleandra. “To talk of death at thine age
is but folly. Thou must live, if only in the hopes that the day may
come when thou shalt see fortune’s wheel spin back the other way
again. Thou must live if only for the sake of thy country, to whom
thou mayst bring some succour living, but to whom thou wilt be
assuredly most useless dead. Besides, I have no poison to give thee,
nor is any weapon at hand. All such have been carefully removed by
Scipio’s orders.”

“Then, wouldst thou, Cleandra, have me live to see me the slave of
Scipio? I, Elissa, daughter of Hannibal, how could I ever survive the
terrible indignity? Nay, if there be no poison, if there are no arms,
I can yet cast myself from the walls, and I will do so even now.”

Springing forward and opening the door of her apartment, she ran down
a corridor, pursued by Cleandra begging her to stay. However, she
found the end guarded by Roman soldiers, who respectfully, but firmly,
barred her way. Elissa then turned down another corridor which led to
a side exit into the garden. There again she found Roman guards. It
was now occupied as the barrack-room of the officers’ attendants, the
sleeping apartments of some of the generals and superior officers
leading out on either side from the corridor.

Caius Lælius himself, hearing a disturbance, came forth.

“What is the matter, Cleandra?” he inquired, seeing that the girl was
supporting in her arms the pale-faced and unhappy Elissa, who was
leaning back panting against a wall. “I fear that Elissa is
distraught, Cleandra,” he continued; “lead her back carefully to her
apartment, and see to it that thou dost watch her well.”

Lælius spoke kindly but as one in authority to Cleandra, for she was
now his slave. And he gave Cleandra assistance in taking the unhappy
girl back to her apartment, where he left her under Cleandra’s care.

Cleandra sought to console her.

“Listen, Elissa, thou saidst but now that thou couldst not survive the
indignity of being Scipio’s slave. How think ye do I survive, then,
the indignity of being the slave of the Roman Lælius? If I find Caius
Lælius kind and considerate to me, whom he hath never seen before,
how much more kindness and consideration hast not thou to expect from
Scipio? He, it is well known, loves the very ground thou walkest on,
and would formerly, hadst thou but been willing, have made thee his
wife. Thy fate can, therefore, whatever it be, in no ways be so very
terrible. Would to the gods, I say, that thou hadst but listened to
him over there at the Court of King Syphax. Then, instead of being in
the hands of enemies, we should all have been happy together here as
friends, and thou, Elissa, mightest have been Scipio’s wife and queen
of all Iberia. For even now the Iberians are commencing to hail him as
their king.”

“The fickle populace, Cleandra,” replied Elissa, partly recovering
herself, and sitting on her couch, “will ever follow success. Had I
but defeated Scipio, which, alas! was quite impossible with the means
at my command, they would have doubtless proclaimed me queen of
Iberia. ’Tis useless talking of such things. Nought now am I, who was
so much formerly, but a slave girl, subject to the will of Scipio. And
I love Maharbal.”

“Who scarce can love thee as doth Scipio,” interposed Cleandra; “and
’twould, indeed, be more like the truth, Elissa, wert thou to say that
thou didst thyself formerly love Maharbal, and that thou now lovest
the recollection of thy love for Maharbal. For how canst thou love him
now? ’Tis nearly five years since thou hast seen him, and but one
letter hast thou received from him in all those years. Love under such
circumstances is an impossibility, unless it be filial love or
fraternal love. A feeling of honour, which is to be commended in thee,
may make thee fancy that ye still belong to each other; yet ’tis
misplaced. For what are the facts as I have learned them from
Cœcilia? Taking the law into thine own hands, thou, when a mere girl
not yet seventeen, didst give thyself unto Maharbal, and, contrary to
thy father Hannibal’s wishes and without his consent, didst call
thyself his wife. That marriage was never ratified. Therefore, what
art thou, after five years have elapsed, to Maharbal? Again, thine
uncle Mago did inform thee that when Hannibal offered to let Maharbal
return and espouse thee, he did refuse, and elected rather to remain
in Italy. Therefore, what can he be to thee?”

“Yet am I bound to him in honour, and so must I ever consider myself,
until either I learn of his death, or until he of his own free will
shall give me up.”

Elissa answered thus somewhat doubtingly, for she was beginning to
feel the force of Cleandra’s arguments, which had doubtless often
occurred to herself.

But Cleandra continued: “I maintain, Elissa, that thou art in no wise
bound to Maharbal, and I would impress upon thee that much canst thou
do for Carthage even yet by living, since this great Roman General
Scipio loves thee. And that he is in turn one worthy to be loved is
proved by his conduct with reference to Idalia, whom he relinquished
as he did, doubtless, for thine own sake alone.”

Elissa sprang to her feet, the colour, for the first time for days,
returning to her cheek.

“And ’tis this very love that Scipio bears to me that I do so dread,
Cleandra! For, loving me, how will he spare me now? And I, too, may
the gods forgive me, may perchance--” She paused and clutched her
breast convulsively. “Nay,” she continued, after a pause, “I will not
say what I do not know, and that which, did I know it for certain,
were best unsaid. My love is for Maharbal, and my duty is to him--to
him alone.”

And she sank back upon her couch, and would speak no more. For she was
half convinced by Cleandra, and the longer the conversation continued
the less convinced was she with what she maintained herself, therefore
she wisely thought that her best refuge lay in silence.

Shortly afterwards, Scipio, who had been exercising his troops,
returned to the palace. Being informed by Lælius of what had
occurred, he was very much concerned and alarmed for Elissa’s welfare.
For there was nothing that he dreaded more than that she might in a
fit of desperation take her own life.

His anxiety to see once more this woman, who was the darling of his
heart, had now become unbearable. Accordingly, sending her in some
choice dishes and wine by the hands of a female slave, he, with many
salutations, requested permission to visit her alone in the evening.

“Tell Scipio that his slave is at the disposal of his lordship’s
orders, for that Elissa hath now no free will of her own.”

This was the ungracious message that he received in return for his
kind words.

Nevertheless, he accepted it as the required permission, and in the
evening, when the day’s work was over, repaired to her apartment,
where he found her attired, without ornaments of any sort, in the
utmost assumed humility.

The interview between them was long and harrowing. Scipio assured her
of his love as before, and by all the gods conjured her even yet to be
his bride. Every argument that he could think of he brought to bear,
and he spoke, too, with all the modesty of a diffident lover, with
none of the arrogance of a conqueror. He was so noble in his bearing,
so honestly genuine in his immense love for her, that Elissa, who had
begun by insulting him, was at length moved. The tears came to her
eyes, her bosom heaved, it burst upon her that she too loved him,
enemy of her country though he might be. Her hardness melted, and she
almost confessed it. Rising, she stretched out her arms to him.

“Oh, Scipio!” she cried, “why art thou so generous, so kind unto me?
Oh! what wouldst thou of me? Is it to tear my heart in pieces that
thou art come to me thus? and wouldst thou have me own--oh! Scipio,
that I also, in defiance of all honour--” Then she suddenly recovered
herself, all her pride returning, she dropped her arms to her side,
and with the stony look of a statue upon her face, continued: “Forgive
me, my lord, that I address thee thus familiarly; I am forgetting
myself, indeed. There can be no question between me and thee of my
feeling ought but obedience. Thou dost desire thy slave thou sayest,
then take thy slave--she is here before thee to obey thy behest, thou
canst make of her thy toy, thy plaything, if thou choosest. The body
thou canst indeed take, but not the soul; thy will is my law, and I
must obey; but my soul will not suffer, for while thou canst take thy
slave at thy will, know this, that the soul of Elissa, ay, the real
Elissa herself, can never be thine. All that is divine, all that
cometh as the attribute of the gods to make a human woman worth the
possessing by a noble man, that is what thou canst never have, for it
is given and belongeth to another for ever. ’Tis not for thee. Take me
then, my lord, shouldst thou so choose, and great will be thy
victory.” She gave a low, mocking laugh, and then, with drooping head,
resumed her attitude of humility before him; and thus she provoked
him.

Driven to madness, especially after having witnessed the tender,
indeed the passionate, glance when, in her recent ebullition of
feeling, Elissa had seemed on the very point of confessing her love to
him, Scipio sprung forward and seized her in his arms, holding her
madly, violently.

“By all the gods of Olympus and Hades,” he cried bitterly, “thou shalt
then be mine, Elissa, soul or no soul! What thou sayest thyself is
true, thou art my slave, and must obey me. Keep thou that divine
attribute which thou dost deny to me for thine accursed Maharbal, and
I will take what there is left. ’Tis, in sooth, fair enough for my
heaven; I would not have the Elyssian maids themselves more fair than
thee.”

Convulsively he pressed her in his arms, and wildly sought her lips
with his own.

No resistance made Elissa, only when in his violent embrace Scipio
hurt her wounded shoulder, she uttered a low cry of pain. Scipio
instantly released her, and was at her feet in a moment, all his
better instincts returning.

“Oh! do I hurt thee, my beloved? Pardon me, I pray thee, for my utter
brutality. May the Olympian Jove himself punish me for my momentary
wickedness, yea may the beloved Venus in her divine mercy forgive me
for this sacrilege of her most wondrous work, thy lovely person. For
know this, Elissa, I vow by all the gods of both Rome and Carthage
that I would not willingly harm a single hair of thy head. It is not
thus indeed that I would have thee, and I did lie to thee just now.
For ’tis, indeed, my whole heart and soul which are burning with
passion, it is that spiritual part of thee which thou dost deny me
that I would possess rather even than the earthly tenement wherein it
is contained. Now wilt thou forgive me, dear one, and give me but that
one little word of love I saw trembling on thy lips a short while
since?” He pressed her hand tenderly, and never had he looked more
noble than at that moment.

But Elissa would not melt. She looked down without the slightest
change upon her stony features.

“I have said all I have to say, my lord. I told thee that I am thy
slave; I now tell thee, Scipio, that I do not love thee. But I am
thine, if thou so will it, according to the promise I made to thee in
Numidia.”

Scipio rose to his feet, dropped her hand, and spoke with great and
self-contained dignity.

“Then be it so, Elissa; thou art my slave--nothing more! but never
shall it be said that a Scipio knew not how to master himself, nor how
to treat even an unwilling slave-girl with respect.” And he left her.

When he was gone, Elissa’s whole face changed. With the agony of
despair she threw herself upon her knees, and buried her face in the
cushions.

“Oh, Melcareth! great and invisible Melcareth! forgive me the
lie!--forgive me the lie! For I love him, and thou who hast made me as
I am dost know it. But mine honour forbade me to utter the word that
would have made both him and me happy--oh, so happy! Oh, Tanais! thou,
too, goddess of love, forgive me the dreadful lie!” and she wept
bitterly.

And thus on her knees Cleandra found her some time after. For, as
frequently happens to good women, the unhappy Elissa, in striving to
do that which according to her conscience seemed to her to be right,
had unjustly inflicted equal suffering upon herself and upon the man
who adored her.

After this painful interview Scipio saw very little of the captive
Elissa, whom, however, he ordered to be treated with the greatest
deference, in no way taking advantage of the situation to treat her,
as she herself had demanded, as a mere slave.

He himself, while constantly exercising the men under his command in
military tactics, was always thinking how he should dispose of her
person. For all hopes of making her his wife with her own consent
were, to his great distress of mind, at an end, and his character was
too noble to admit of his taking her in any other way.

The soldiers at this period suffered considerably from the morose
humour into which he fell, and there was no end to their exercisings
and drillings. By these incessant occupations, however, he soon got
his army into a most excellent state of training, and then he
determined to march northward again to Tarraco, and prosecute the war
against Hasdrubal and Mago. At length he made up his mind about
Elissa.

Summoning his friend Caius Lælius before him one day, he spoke as
follows:

“Caius, thou hast been my dearest companion from earliest boyhood, and
from thee I have no secrets. Therefore, it is nothing new to tell thee
the great unhappiness with which it hath pleased the gods to afflict
me, owing to the immense and fruitless love that I bear to the
Carthaginian maiden. Now, having communed with the gods and offered
sacrifices, I plainly see that her continued presence anywhere near me
is enervating to me, both as a man and a warrior, rendering me unfit
to continue in the command of a large body of troops, and to properly
protect the destinies of our nation. I have therefore, my friend,
determined to send her away from me entirely, and thou must take her.
When I march northward to Tarraco the fleet also will return thither.
The exception will be thine own vessel and two others to form thine
escort. On the former thou shalt take Elissa and thine own slave girl,
Cleandra. On the two other ships will be embarked the Carthaginian
Captain Mago, who surrendered the citadel to us, and fourteen others
of the superior officers whose names I have noted. They are to be
divided between the two ships, and kept, by all means, from access
with Elissa, that there may be no chance of any combination between
them to escape or to raise a tumult on board.

“Thou wilt sail hence in two days’ time, and as the war between
Carthage and Rome hath now broken out with great and renewed fury in
Sicily, thou wilt first of all, taking all due precaution, visit the
Sicilian ports of Panormus, Lilybæum, Agrigentum, and Syracuse, and
acquaint the Roman consuls, or the commanders now in possession of or
besieging those places of our great success here. Should they be able
to spare any troops to reinforce us, then point out to them the
advisability of sending us forthwith as many men as possible, in order
that I may complete the conquest of Spain, and, above all things, be
able to prevent Hasdrubal from marching to Italy. For I have
information that he is thinking of leaving the defence of Iberia to
his brother Mago, himself following in his brother Hannibal’s
footsteps, and marching through Gallia and over the Alps to reinforce
Hannibal, wherever he may be in Italia. After accomplishing these
missions, thou wilt sail through the straits, between Messana and
Rhegium, and landing at the most convenient port, disembark with thy
captives and the spoils of New Carthage which I shall send, and
proceed instantly to Rome. There thou wilt acquaint the Senate of all
that is needful, and, with their approval, which cannot be withheld,
wilt lodge Hannibal’s daughter in the house of my mother to remain a
prisoner until my return, whenever it may please the gods to allow me
to see my native land once more. And I do beseech thee, for our great
friendship’s sake, to beg my mother, as she loveth me, to see to it
that Elissa’s captivity be not made unbearable to her, but that she be
treated with all fitting kindness.”

“Ay, that will I promise faithfully, Scipio. But stay, I have an idea!
Why shouldst not thou hand over the command of the land forces to me
and take the girl thyself? Our rank is so nearly equal that the Senate
could say nought. In sooth, I think it would be wiser so; and thou
wilt have far more prospect of obtaining new reinforcements when thou
dost arrive in person with the news of thy great victory. And then
during the voyage, who knows, the girl may relent, and, perhaps, long
before its termination, of her own free will throw herself into thine
arms. For Cleandra hath informed me--the wench speaks Latin well,
by-the-bye--that she doth believe that deep down in her heart this
Elissa doth really love thee. It would be a grand opportunity to make
sure of her affection.”

Scipio’s face flushed; he sprang from his seat, and clasped Lælius by
the hand.

“And why not, indeed?” he cried; “I thank thee, Caius. Thou art every
whit as able a leader of men as am I. Our rank is equal, too; and ’tis
true that were I to go in person now, just after taking New Carthage,
I should carry greater weight than thee in the matter of the
reinforcements. It seemeth not only feasible but right.”

Scipio looked happier than he had done for days; he looked like a
scholar who had obtained an unexpected holiday. Lælius, who was
delighted to see him thus, warmly returned the pressure of his hand.

Alas! Scipio’s joy was not long-lived, and the joyous expression soon
left his face as reason came to his aid.

“Nay, nay,” he continued, with a deep sigh, “it may not be, my dear
friend Caius, for, put it which way thou choosest, ’twould be really
leaving my post for the sake of a woman. And ’twould surely end most
miserably. For supposing the girl were to continue to prove
recalcitrant, it could but end in tragedy, perchance in the death of
Elissa herself, or mine own suicide, or maybe both. For the madness of
this love hath gotten such a hold upon me, I could not bear to live by
her side day by day knowing her mine, and yet not mine! I will not
risk it, either for my own sake or Elissa’s; it would indeed be trying
myself too high. ’Tis thou who must take her, and I must suffer here
alone.”

Thus was the matter decided, and Scipio himself that day communicated
his decision to Elissa, in Cleandra’s presence. He spoke to her so
kindly, so nobly, showing, moreover, so plainly that in this great act
of self-abnegation in sending her away he was thinking as much of her
as of himself, that Elissa’s long-sustained pride broke down. The
tears came to her eyes.

“Oh, Scipio!” she cried, “would that things might have been different!
Yet are we both but the servants of the gods, and must obey the divine
will, and bow our heads beneath the almighty hand. Would that I could
come to thee with honour, and lay my hand in thine. But thou knowest
that with honour I cannot, I may not, do so. And were I known to thee
to be a woman without honour, thou wouldst neither love me nor respect
me as thou dost now. Moreover, the gods would themselves despise me.
But, Scipio, the gods cannot prevent my giving thee a sister’s love.
And daily for thy great, thy noble treatment of me while here, thy
prisoner and thy slave, will I call down upon my beloved brother’s
head the blessings of the most high and invisible Melcareth, and pray
and beseech him to protect thee from all dangers. And now as a sister
only will I embrace thee with a sacred kiss.”

She threw her arms about his neck, and they stood thus awhile,
mingling their tears together, while clinging in a close embrace,
which for all Elissa’s brave words, could scarcely be deemed that of
mere brother and sister.

Cleandra, kind-hearted girl that she was, utterly overcome by this sad
and pathetic scene, sobbed audibly in a corner of the chamber.

At length they separated.

Saying, in a heart-broken voice, “I accept the compact, then fare thee
well, oh, Elissa, for we must meet now no more,” Scipio withdrew.

Two days later, without seeing him again, Elissa embarked upon the
flagship with Lælius, and that same day Scipio marched for Tarraco.

 END OF PART IV.




 PART V.

 CHAPTER I.
 TO SYRACUSE.

When Elissa left New Carthage, with the prospect before her of
becoming a lifelong prisoner in Rome, the war was indeed, as Scipio
had said, raging with fury both in Sicily and Italy. For it is a
matter of the greatest astonishment how, in spite of the terrible
reverses which she had suffered on Italian soil, Rome pulled herself
together for renewed efforts, not only in Italy, then occupied by a
successful invading army, but for a continuation of the conflict upon
foreign shores. Thus she sent forth fleets and armies to Sardinia, to
Spain, and to Sicily, and the Carthaginians, encouraged to renewed
exertions by the glorious battle of Cannæ, did likewise.

Thus war was being carried on, at the same time, in all parts of the
Mediterranean.

It was raging, too, on Numidian soil, where the kings, Syphax and
Massinissa, were now fighting against each other.

Scipio had concluded a treaty with Massinissa, who was fighting
therefore nominally in the interests of Rome, against Carthage; but,
in reality, in rage and disappointment at the loss of the beautiful
Sophonisba, whom he had vowed should be his. In the end, Massinissa
was eventually successful in a pitched battle against his uncle, the
kind-hearted Syphax, whom he slew, and thereupon he seized upon the
fair Sophonisba, whom he promptly forced to be his own unwilling
spouse.

Scipio, not thinking it was wise that his ally Massinissa should have
in his household a Carthaginian wife, sent him a message that he
should send her away to her own country; but rather than lose her,
Massinissa presented the unfortunate girl with a cup of poison, and
ordered her to drink it.

Remarking placidly that it seemed an inappropriate end for the bride
of two kings, but that anything was better than life itself, poor
Sophonisba gladly swallowed the poison, and died in agony.

Elissa, while sailing along the coast of Sicily, reflected sadly on
this tragedy.

“Such,” she thought, “is the fate of humanity, and the ruling of the
gods cannot be foretold. Therefore, as in the very hour of greatest
prosperity sudden and great reverses may be awaiting us, it behoveth
us all never to neglect the service of those omnipotent rulers of our
being.”

Thus reflected Elissa when she looked back upon her own sudden fall
from a position of almost regal rank to the state of a mere prisoner
of war being deported to a foreign land.

At this time the war in Sicily centred round the enormous and powerful
city of Syracuse, which had, with all its surrounding territory,
remained, under King Hiero, an independent kingdom for no less than
fifty years past. In the previous Punic war, when every other city in
Sicily fell, first to one power then to another, neither Roman nor
Carthaginian had ever been able to set foot within its walls. And this
was chiefly owing to the wisdom of King Hiero himself, who, after
various sieges and conflicts with each power in turn, concluded an
alliance with Rome, which he maintained throughout his long reign of
fifty years’ duration. But Hiero being dead, and succeeded by his
grandson Hieronymus, all this was soon changed.

The young king was a debauched youth with an overweening idea of his
own importance, and he openly insulted the ambassadors who came to him
from Rome to seek a renewal of the old alliance. Insolently asking
them, “What account the Romans had been able to give of themselves at
Cannæ?” he declared for Carthage.

The city of Syracuse being full of intrigue, some wishing to remain
faithful to Rome, others to attach themselves to Carthage, while all
alike were disgusted with the cruelties and debauchery of the young
king; the latter was soon assassinated, as were also all the
princesses of the royal family, including Hiero’s daughter Demarata,
and his grand-daughter Harmonia, and their respective husbands
Andranodorus and Themistius.

Heraclea, the youngest daughter of Hiero, and her two beautiful
daughters were murdered with the greatest brutality, after a terrible
struggle; but no sooner were they dead than a messenger arrived from
the magistrates who had ordered their murder, but had now relented, to
stay the execution, for the very people themselves, who had been
thirsting for all the royal blood a short time before, had now turned
round upon the magistrates who had ordered the crime and ousted them,
calling for the election of new pretors in place of the massacred
Andranodorus and Themistius.

And thus it came to pass that two young generals, brothers, named
Hippocrates and Epicydes, who were envoys from Hannibal to the
Syracusans, came to be elected into power. These two young men were
Syracusans themselves on the father’s side, but their mother was a
Carthaginian, and they had been brought up in Carthage, where Cleandra
had known them well while living there with her husband. They had
already been at the bottom of the plotting and the counter-plotting
against Rome, and although there were still various parties in the
city, upon their election, after various vicissitudes and some
fighting within the walls, they contrived to completely embroil the
whole of the inhabitants with Rome. This was done by Hippocrates
openly attacking, with Syracusan soldiers, a body of troops belong to
the Roman consul, Appius Claudius, which the latter had sent to
protect his allies in the neighbouring city of Leontini. Epicydes also
repaired to Leontini, and by specious arguments persuaded the
inhabitants of Leontini to rise against Rome.

Meanwhile the other Roman consul, Marcus Marcellus, he who used to be
known by the title of “The Sword of Rome,” who was in the vicinity
with a large force, demanded from the Syracusans the surrender of the
two brothers, who had dared to attack Roman troops while a state of
peace, or at all events of truce, existed between Syracuse and Rome.
But the Syracusans pretending that they had no authority to give up
the two brothers, as they were now in the free city of Leontini, the
two Roman consuls attacked the last mentioned city and stormed it. But
the two brothers escaped, and with their usual cleverness persuaded
the force of six hundred Cretans, who were with the Syracusan force,
which, in the Roman interest, had been sent to capture them, to join
their own standard against Rome. And the Cretans in turn persuaded the
other Syracusan troops to join them also.

Thus had Hippocrates and Epicydes contrived to completely embroil
Syracuse with Rome, and when the ships of Caius Lælius with Elissa on
board arrived at the port of Syracuse, they found that the gates of
the city were shut, and that it was about to be invested both by sea
and land by the two Roman consuls, while the two brothers were supreme
within the city, and had on their side a large body of Roman soldiers
who had deserted to Syracuse.

Throughout the sea voyage of Elissa and Cleandra, Caius Lælius had
faithfully kept his promise to Scipio, and treated Hannibal’s daughter
with the greatest respect and kindness. They had visited in turn
various ports upon the coasts of Sicily, and the Roman flag-ship and
the two other vessels had on a recent occasion narrowly escaped
capture at the hands of a Carthaginian squadron off the seaport of
Lilybæum. Unfortunately for Elissa, however, Caius Lælius had, after
a sea-fight, contrived to make good his escape, although he himself
had received a severe wound from a sling during the action. By this
wound he was for a time quite incapacitated, and thus was confined to
his cabin when his ships arrived off Syracuse. Now during the voyage
he had become much attached to Cleandra, whom, it may be remembered,
knew the Latin tongue well. She was ever about him, nursing him when
sick in his cabin, and Lælius, taking no notice of her presence,
freely discussed before her the whole state of affairs with his flag
captain, an officer by name Labeo Ascanius. Hence she soon learned the
whole condition of affairs, and, moreover, that her two friends, the
brothers Hippocrates and Epicydes, were in possession of the city of
Syracuse.

With her usual quick-wittedness Cleandra soon set about devising a
means for the escape of Elissa and herself from the ship; for however
kind Lælius might be himself to the two ladies, they were, none the
less, prisoners, and likely to be so for life. Their future fate was
uncertain; only one thing seemed certain, that they would infallibly
be separated from each other upon arrival in Rome.

Now it so happened that not only Caius Lælius but also his
flag-captain, Labeo Ascanius, had, during the voyage, become much
enamoured of Cleandra, whose beauty had increased rather than
diminished during the four or five years which had elapsed since her
flight from New Carthage to Old Carthage. While the Admiral Lælius
was well, this officer had had no opportunity of expressing his
admiration of Cleandra, but she had, none the less, been perfectly
well aware of the fact, and had determined, if possible, to utilise
it.

Now that his chief was utterly incapacitated and he himself in supreme
command, Ascanius had every opportunity of conversing with and making
love to Cleandra, who, while using great discretion lest any of the
other officers or seamen should observe anything, made opportunities
herself, and encouraged him with all the wiles of a clever woman,
still, however, keeping him, in a certain measure, at a distance, and
not granting all the favours that he sought of her. At length the
Roman became, through her artifices, so inflamed with passion that he
told her that he would do anything in the world for her sake if she
would but be his. Cleandra, not yet sure of him, did not show him her
hand, but, the better to bend him to her will, secretly and repeatedly
stirred up Caius Lælius against him on various pretexts, and
especially by false reports that she gave him about what was going on
in the ship during his own illness. Thus Lælius, being rendered
peevish by sickness, on several occasions unjustly found great fault
with Ascanius, who became, in turn, incensed against his commander. He
did not suspect Cleandra of being the cause of these reports, but his
first lieutenant, a man of great probity, named Horatius Calvinus.

At length one day, after Lælius had once again found fault unjustly
with his flag-captain, Ascanius, going forth in a rage, accused
Calvinus of being the traitor who falsely accused him to the admiral,
and, listening to no excuses, put him in irons, treating him with the
greatest indignity.

Now was Cleandra’s opportunity. She had learned from Labeo Ascanius
himself that his own brother, named Caius Ascanius, formerly a
centurion in the troops under Marcellus, was among those who had
deserted to the Carthaginian flag, and was now with her friends,
Hippocrates and Epicydes, in the city. She took good care not to
inform Lælius about his flag-captain having put Calvinus in irons,
for it suited her better that he should remain there. However, she
falsely informed Ascanius in the afternoon that the Admiral had
learned the fact, and had announced to her his intention of publicly
degrading him on the following morning, and of placing Calvinus over
his head.

Then she plainly proposed to him that to escape from such an unjust
degradation he should leave the ship that very night and join his
brother. He could take her and Elissa with him in a boat, and, under
pretence that he was acting under the admiral’s orders, and about to
deliver them over to Appius Claudius, the Roman Consul commanding the
fleet that had just arrived, row them ashore, and land at the city
steps in the port. These steps, as could be plainly seen from the
ships, were protected by a guard of Carthaginian soldiers. As he would
be steersman himself, Ascanius could, she pointed out, easily direct
the boat to the steps. She suggested he should only take two men, and
they such as were faithful to himself. As a reward for his saving
them, Cleandra promised to become his wife so soon as they should
land. Thus was the plot laid, and Ascanius agreed willingly to
Cleandra’s proposals.

That very night, after dark had set in, did Ascanius take the two
ladies, who had with them nought save their jewels, to shore in a
boat. And upon their arrival at the steps, and Elissa proclaiming
aloud in the Carthaginian tongue her name and quality, she was
instantly most warmly welcomed with her companions. Thus was their
escape successfully contrived by Cleandra’s cleverness, and that night
they supped with Hippocrates and Epicydes.

Hippocrates and Epicydes took them to the house of Archimedes, the
ancient mathematician, to whose wonderful genius the excellent state
of the defences of the city was mainly attributable. Archimedes
welcomed them most hospitably, and Cleandra’s promise to Ascanius was
immediately redeemed by her becoming his wife that very night, his
brother Caius and others being invited to the wedding-feast at
midnight, when was much festivity. But Cleandra, while thanking her
new husband for having rescued her from a life-long slavery, took good
care not to inform him by what wiles she had won him to her will. And
he, imagining that he had escaped an unjust degradation on the morrow,
and being convinced that he had won for his wife the woman whom he
loved, and moreover that she loved him with equal passion, felt no
qualms of conscience whatever at his desertion from the Roman
standard. Even if he had felt any, were not his own brother and
hundreds of other Roman soldiers present who had joined the
Carthaginian cause without any of the provocation that he had himself
received? He had been, for his part, at least so he believed, merely
forced to an act of self-preservation.

On the following day Hippocrates appointed Ascanius to a command in
his forces, for, as were all the other deserters in the city, he was
now so irretrievably committed that nought but crucifixion or torture
could be his lot should he ever again fall into the hands of his own
compatriots. There was, therefore, no fear of any treachery to
Syracuse on the part of the deserters; it was indeed they who, by
fighting to the very last, were mainly instrumental in beating off the
assailants for a period of at least three years.

In the meantime, the sage Archimedes had welcomed Elissa and her
followers within his hospitable walls, and a considerable sum of money
for her maintenance was at once voted by the Senate under the
direction of Hippocrates and Epicydes. Archimedes occupied a palace in
the city proper, which was named Achradina, whereas the port whereon
Elissa had landed on the previous night abutted on Achradina, and was
known as Ortygia or the island. They were, in fact, two separate
towns, each surrounded by a wall. There were, in addition, two large
suburbs surrounded by separate walls, and named respectively Tycha and
Neapolis, and the whole city was enclosed by an outside wall no less
than eighteen miles in circumference; thus some idea can be formed of
its size and the difficulty of a besieging force in investing it.
There were two harbours, the greater and the lesser, and while Caius
Lælius had joined the Roman fleet under Appius Claudius in the lesser
harbour, the Carthaginian fleet, under an admiral named Bomilcar, was
riding securely at anchor under the walls in the larger one.

Elissa soon learned that, while Marcus Marcellus was threatening the
city with a large Roman land force on one side, there were on the
other hand, for its protection, a large number of Carthaginian troops,
encamped close at hand under the command of a general named Himilco.

There was thus, at first at all events, no danger to be apprehended of
the city falling. In fact, the siege had not begun--it was an
attempted blockade at best; and by means of the fleet, free
communication was, for a considerable time, established with the
outside world. Ships were constantly coming and going from both
Carthage and Italy, and although there were occasional small sea
fights, yet, owing to the preponderance of the Phœnician ships, the
port was virtually open.

Being now only about ninety miles away from the city of Carthage, on
the opposite African coast, Elissa was sorely tempted to risk sailing
thither to visit the land of her ancestors, which she had never yet
seen. From taking this step, however, she was dissuaded by the prudent
Cleandra, who assured her that the enemies of her race were far too
strong in Carthage for her to venture alone and unprotected within
that noble city. For Hannibal’s very successes had made the
anti-Barcine party more bitter than ever against him.

Elissa was, however, now able to communicate with her father direct,
for hearing that the inhabitants of the city of Capua had recently
surrendered to him, she wrote to Hannibal there, acquainting him in
full of all that had taken place, and of her now being at Syracuse.
Moreover she offered, should he see fit, to leave Syracuse and join
him at Capua, in which city she learned that he had established
himself with his whole army, intending to remain there for the winter.

It was some considerable time before Elissa received from Hannibal any
reply to her letter, but it came at length, just as the spring was
commencing.

Hannibal’s letter, which was written by the hand of his friend and
scribe Silenus, was so lengthy that it would be impossible to
transcribe it here. In it, however, after applauding her for her
bravery upon many occasions, and commiserating with her deeply upon
the fall of New Carthage, he informed her that his own army was
constantly decreasing in numbers, and was also, to his great
annoyance, considerably deteriorated in its quality by the ease and
delights which the men had experienced during a whole winter passed in
the enervating atmosphere of the pleasure-loving city of Capua. He
complained bitterly of the small number of reinforcements that had
reached him from Carthage, and urged her to remain in Syracuse, and
there, by her presence and example, inspire the garrison and the
Carthaginian troops, whether of the land forces under Himilco or the
sea forces under Bomilcar, to heroic and continued efforts against
Claudius and Marcellus. By this means he pointed out that the Roman
troops now in Sicily would be compelled to remain there, and thus be
unable to cross over into Italy to assist the Romans in prosecuting
the war against himself. He informed her further that unless some
reinforcements arrived to help him before long he would soon be
obliged to content himself with merely defensive operations at the
ports he had already captured, but that in that case it would be a
matter of great importance that he should be able to make an ally of
some foreign power who would be willing to fight with him against
Rome. And none, he added, seemed to him so fitting for this purpose as
the young King Philip V. of Macedon, who was now constantly engaged in
wars of his own in Illyria, or against the various leagues in the
Peloponnesus of Greece. These, Hannibal pointed out, Philip seemed in
a fair way to subdue, and when he had done so, a young prince of so
much ambition would doubtless require a new field whither he might
direct his successful arms. Therefore, since it seemed to Hannibal
that Elissa by her position on the sea at Syracuse might possibly
sooner or later be able to obtain an opportunity of either sending an
embassy to Philip, or personally going to meet him, he enclosed a
document, giving her full powers on his own behalf to enter into a
treaty of offensive and defensive alliance with the Macedonian.

In conclusion, Hannibal gave to his daughter news of Sosilus, of
Silenus, and Chœras, all of whom, he said, had hitherto survived the
hardships of the long-continued war. Of Maharbal he merely said that
he continued to be, as formerly, as his own right arm in all matters
appertaining to the war, and that he now looked forward to a period
when peace might be assured, that he might reward the fidelity of the
Numidian general by giving to him her, Elissa’s, hand in marriage.
Hannibal added that Maharbal was writing to her on his own behalf.

Having read her father’s epistle, Elissa turned to her lover’s letter.

Within its pages Maharbal breathed forth such unswerving and
straightforward devotion, such absolute faith and trust in herself and
her integrity and honour, that before it was half finished she thanked
the gods a thousand times that they had inspired her with sufficient
strength to remain faithful to this man who had been such an
invaluable aid to Hannibal in assisting him to maintain ever to the
fore the honour and glory of Carthage. But her cheek burned with shame
even as she read. For she realised to her sorrow that whatever honour
had prompted her to do in the past or might prompt her to do in the
future, she would nevertheless far rather have received those burning
lines of love and devotion from the hand of Scipio, the enemy of her
father and her country, than from the hand of Maharbal, the brave
upholder of her country’s honour and her father’s life-long friend.
But such is life, and such are the hearts of women, and despite her
burning cheek Elissa knew that since she had ever behaved most
straightforwardly and honourably by her absent lover she had done
Maharbal no wrong.

Just after she received these letters, the investment of Syracuse by
the Romans was commenced with great determination on the land side and
the sea side alike. Thus was no opportunity given to Elissa for any
reply, neither did she have any means at her command for establishing
any understanding with Philip of Macedon.




 CHAPTER II.
 FROM SYRACUSE TO MACEDON.

Archimedes, the great mathematician, was a little old man, now
nearly ninety years of age. He, however, maintained to the full all
his powers, both physical and mental. He still seemed to have in his
frame the strength of a man not much over fifty, while his brain was
by far brighter and clearer than that of any of the young men of the
more modern schools. In appearance his eye was bright, his cheek rosy,
while his face, although wrinkled, was not by any means wrinkled to
excess. He was alert and active on his feet, scarcely ever seemed to
require any rest, and not only enjoyed a healthy appetite, but could,
when occasion required, sit up late and join the young bloods of the
day in a carouse, without seeming to feel any ill effects upon the
morrow. He was, at the time of Elissa’s visit, married, for the third
time, to a young wife, and he had sons well advanced in middle age,
employed in every branch of the Government service.

He had been the counsellor of King Hiero during the whole of that
monarch’s reign of fifty years’ duration, and, owing to his own
abilities and the munificence of his royal master, Archimedes had,
during that long period, been able to bring the defences of the city
of Syracuse to a state of perfection little dreamt of by its enemies.
Such was the old man whose abilities the Roman leaders had not taken
into account before they so lightly entered upon the siege of the
fairest city in the whole of Sicily. However, they soon found out, by
experience, that one man’s genius is sometimes more effective than
mere numbers.

A terrible plague had been raging for some time in both armies before
the Romans attempted to push the attack home, and this plague had
attacked the defenders and the outside Carthaginian troops far more
severely than it had the Romans themselves, for the land forces of the
latter were encamped upon higher and better ground, while the sailors
on the ships, by keeping out to sea, did not suffer so severely. It
had, nevertheless, been an awful time for both parties, and for a long
while terror and absolute desolation had reigned supreme. At length,
however, the plague abated, after committing the most awful ravages,
during which the rotting dead lay piled in unburied heaps, alike in
the streets of the city and the interior of the several camps. But
before it had abated nearly all the Carthaginian land forces were
dead, and both the generals, Himilco and Hippocrates, were among those
who had been carried off.

Archimedes and Epicydes were untouched, nor did either Elissa or
Cleandra suffer from the contagion. The husband of the latter,
Ascanius, however, was among those who had succumbed, and thus was the
fair Cleandra once again a widow.

Before long the old man, Archimedes, was left in sole command at
Syracuse, for Epicydes, having embarked on board a ship, and joined
the fleet with Bomilcar, the Carthaginian admiral, endeavoured to
induce him to attack the Romans. But Bomilcar, instead of fighting,
fled upon the first approach of the Romans, under Marcellus, off Cape
Pachynum, without striking a single blow.

Hereupon Epicydes, being ashamed to return to Syracuse, took refuge in
the town of Agrigentum, all his mighty hopes being foiled in a moment.
And now some of those within the walls wished to deliver the town over
to Marcellus. But Elissa stirred up the remaining Carthaginians in the
garrison, and the Roman deserters and the mercenaries, so that they
would not hear of surrender, and old Archimedes himself declared that
he would destroy with infinite torture, by some newly-invented device
of his own, any such as he should discover in treating with the enemy.
No terms could be therefore made by the malcontents.

As the ships under Claudius were just preparing to attack, Archimedes
took Elissa with him round the walls, showing her all the ingenious
devices which his brain had imagined and contrived. The walls were
crowded with trained men ready to obey his behest. And as the old man
showed her all his inventions, she groaned aloud.

“Why dost thou groan thus, oh Lady Elissa?” inquired Archimedes,
smiling. “Thinkest thou that I have not here got together sufficient
engines of defence wherewith to smash up and repel all such engines of
offence as the Romans can bring wherewith to batter down these walls?
Forgive me if I differ from thee, for I think that should not
treachery from within show them the way to the kernel, they will find
Syracuse the hardest nut that ever they had to crack.”

And he smiled again, as he tried the working of a lever to one of his
machines, and turning, casually ordered a workman to give it a little
oil.

“Nay, my lord Archimedes! it was no such thought as that, but the
contrary, that made me groan,” replied Elissa. “I groaned because I
had thee not with me when Scipio attacked my city of New Carthage, for
hadst thou but been there the town could never have fallen.”

“Maybe, maybe,” said the old man, looking pleased; “but come, let me
show thee the working of the engines. These thou seest are a series of
catapults constructed to suit every range. Let us try them to see if
they go well.”

An infinite number of missiles of every size had been carefully
constructed for years past, and these were all lying ready to hand.

The Roman fleet were anchored in the port at a distance from the walls
which they thought perfectly safe, but the old man with his keen eye
detected a ship that was a little closer than the others.

“Ha, ha!” he said, rubbing his hands, “they think themselves safe, but
my No. 1 catapult here is suited to that range exactly.”

Causing a huge mass of metal to be placed on the propeller of the
catapult, and personally adjusting the weapon, Archimedes caused the
spring to be released. Instantly the ten talents of lead flew hurtling
through the air, and alighting on the deck of the ship, not only
crushed two men in its fall, but knocked a hole clean through its
further side, through which the water commenced to rush in. In a few
moments, hardly allowing time to permit the terror-stricken crew to
take to the boats, the ship sunk.

“Excellent!” quoth the old man. “What dost think of that for accuracy,
lady Elissa? Now let us try some of the smaller catapults. Those boats
are rowing in nearer to us, thinking in error that my engines are only
contrived for long distances. We will try, therefore, a No. 2 and a
No. 3 catapult with smaller missiles made to suit the range.”

Again two weapons were discharged, and now two boats were sent to the
bottom, the sailors after struggling for a few minutes sinking also.

“They will do, they will do!” cried the old man, in glee; “but
catapults are, after all, but an old device. Now will I show thee
something new, for as thou dost perceive, all the ships of the enemy,
being irritated by me, now are rowing towards the walls to assault,
and some of them bear at their bow long and wide ladders, with
pent-houses at their ends, which they can rear, by pulleys from the
mast-head, against our walls. Others, again, have battering-rams with
which to charge the foundations. We can leave those with the long
ladders, which the Romans call sambucæ or harps, and pay our
attention first to yonder vessel in front with the battering-ram. See,
it approaches us. Now, my men, ready with the crane. Swing round!”

As the ship, propelled by the rowers, came quite close to the wall, a
huge crane swung easily round on a pivot. A heavy chain hung from its
end, to which was attached a huge pair of open hands formed of iron.
These hands descended above the prow of the doomed vessel.

“Press!” cried Archimedes.

Instantly the iron hands seized the prow of the vessel in an iron
grip.

“Raise!” cried Archimedes.

At once, by the mechanism of the machine, the prow of the vessel was
raised clean up into the air, all the sailors on deck tumbling off the
stern into the sea.

“Fasten!” cried the old man.

The ship remained fastened thus in a bolt upright position, the
sailors meanwhile drowning all around its stern.

“Let go!” cried the old mechanician.

A spring was pressed, the iron hands relaxed their grip, and the bow
of the ship fell back into the sea with a terrible splash. The ship at
once filled with water and sunk, all of the rowers between decks being
drowned.

“Two ships already! not bad for a beginning! Now let us pay attention
to the sambucæ or harps. Thou seest, lady Elissa, that the wide
ladders are reared from the outer bulwarks of two ships lashed close
to each other, the oars on the inner sides being removed. There are
already four men standing protected, with removable shields, in the
pent-house, while many more are waiting to rush up as soon as those
four men step forth upon our battlements. We will let them approach,
and then they shall see that ’tis not so easy to storm Syracuse.”

In another minute two ships bearing a sambuca came quite close to the
battlements, at a point where there seemed to be no engines of defence
to resist the attack. For none were indeed visible.

No sooner had the pent-house been placed against the wall than a
hundred men commenced swarming up the wide ladder, while the four men
in the pent-house at the top removed the shields in front of their
platform preparatory to springing on to the battlements.

“Raise and discharge!” cried Archimedes.

In a second an engine, hitherto concealed, reared itself from behind
the walls, swung over the top of the pent-house, and released an
enormous stone some half-ton in weight.

This stone smashed through the roof of the pent-house, carried those
within it and all the armed men on the ladder down with it in a
mangled and bleeding mass, and then, falling upon the fore-part of one
of the vessels, inflicted serious damage to the ship.

Instantly, in the greatest consternation, the two ships backed their
oars and retreated, being pursued by discharges from catapults at
successive ranges, and fired at also by numberless scorpions concealed
behind the walls, through which small holes had been constructed at
the height of the decks of the ships to enable the scorpion-bearers to
fire, without themselves being seen or liable to injury.

The action had now become general. On every side Roman ships were
advancing, and soon all the engines of every kind upon the walls
facing the harbour were in full play. At length, after a most terrible
loss in both men and ships, the remains of the Roman fleet retreated
in disorder, well out of range.

Thus did Archimedes show Elissa his methods for efficiently protecting
a walled city from assault by sea.

On the land side Marcellus was making a combined attack, and
attempting to storm the walls with scaling ladders. But there also
Archimedes had engines of every description, and his iron hands struck
terror into the stormers by seizing them, all iron-clad as they were,
and, after poising them for awhile in mid-air, letting them fall
again, when they were crushed to pieces. At length, the besiegers on
the land side also fell back utterly disheartened, all their
battering-rams and every other kind of weapon of offence being
destroyed, while quantities of their number lay dead or dying at the
foot of the walls.

After a few more attempts at storming the town, which were invariably
repelled in a similar manner, any further attempt at taking the city
by a _coup de main_ was utterly abandoned by the Roman generals. After
this they only maintained a close blockade. Thus for several years did
Syracuse maintain its freedom; but at length, after the inhabitants
being nearly starved, the city fell by treason from within. For a
certain Mericus, a Spanish governor of one of the forts, disclosed to
the enemy that a three days’ feast in honour of Diana was ordained,
and that Epicydes, who had returned to the city, had directed that a
large quantity of wine should be served out to every one of the
defenders for want of food. Thus, when all the garrison were drunk,
from drinking without eating, the walls of the suburb were stormed
near Hexapylos without resistance, and many of the garrison were
slaughtered in their drunken sleep. Achradina, being held by deserters
and the mercenaries, did not, however yet yield, and many most
terrible and bloody counter-attacks were made upon the Romans by
gallant sallies, headed in person by Elissa. At length, Epicydes
having fled, the principal inhabitants attempted to yield up the city
to Marcellus, whereupon the deserters and mercenaries attacked the
Syracusan prætors, and others who were traitors, and slew them.

But now Mericus the Spaniard opened by night the gates of his post in
Achradina, which was situated near the fountain of Arethusa, and let
the Romans in. Although the consul Marcellus had given instructions
that the life of Archimedes was to be spared, an ignorant and brutal
soldier slew him as he was leaning over his table intently studying a
problem.

After fighting in the streets at the head of a body of faithful
Spanish mercenaries until half of their number were slain, Elissa made
her way successfully down to the great port, where she embarked with
the remainder upon a quinquereme which she had duly prepared in
advance, and whereon, fearing the worst, she had already some days
past caused Cleandra to embark with all their money and valuables. And
it being still dark, they were able, by rowing very gently, to pass
unperceived through the ships of the Roman fleet and so to make the
open sea. Then, heading eastward, a strong west wind aiding, they made
for Greece. Sailing round the south of the Peloponnesus, they arrived
without mishap at the port of Nauplia.

Learning at that place that King Philip of Macedon had, after first
finishing a campaign against the Ætolians, just returned from the
celebrated Nemean games, and was now at the adjacent town of Argos,
Elissa repaired thither with all her men. Sending forward a herald
several miles in advance, she demanded an audience of the young king.
This, from having long since heard by repute of the great beauty of
Hannibal’s daughter, he was only too glad to grant, and at once sent
back heralds in return with friendly messages and assurances of good
will, informing Elissa that he would himself in an hour’s time ride
forth to meet her.

Now this Philip was one of the most libertine of all the Macedonian
kings, and his allies in war, the people of Argos, were at this very
time only too anxious to be rid of him. But, owing to his power and
the necessity they were then under of protection, they were unable to
ask him to go, but had to make the best of things as they were.

Having decked herself with her most becoming raiment and adorned her
person with many beautiful jewels, Hannibal’s daughter, with Cleandra
and her Spanish soldiers, marched forward towards the Macedonian camp
outside Argos.

Elissa was welcomed with great pomp and ceremony by King Philip, who,
in all his royal robes and insignia, and attended by all his
courtiers, advanced to meet her from his magnificent camp, of which
the tents were made of purple silken fabrics interwoven with gold. He
welcomed Hannibal’s daughter as one herself of royal blood.

Philip was a young man of most god-like beauty, and his strength of
sinew, his perfection of face and form, were almost unrivalled by any
man then living. When he came forth to meet Elissa outside his camp he
was mounted on a splendid and richly-caparisoned war-horse, and
surrounded by his courtiers. Further, in order to do Elissa still
greater honour, he had commanded the attendance of Polycratia, who,
while nominally Philip’s queen by marriage with him, was in reality
the wife of one Aratus, from whom she had been illegally divorced.
Polycratia appeared in a gorgeous and most commodious litter, of which
the frame was of silver, and the cushions of the softest down covered
with rose-coloured silk, all being worked through with threads of
silver.

After most courteously saluting Elissa, the king presented her to his
queen, with whom he requested her to mount in the litter; Cleandra
being placed in another splendid litter with one of the young queen’s
principal attendants named Chloe.

Owing to the Greek tongue having been so commonly known in all the
cities of Southern Iberia, and especially in Gades, whence came her
royal mother Camilla, Elissa was able to enjoy the conversation of her
host without any need for an interpreter. Greek had indeed been the
language which both she and Cleandra had been forced to employ during
the whole of their stay in Syracuse.

Thus they were able to converse freely, and as the cavalcade, headed
by a band of musicians, returned to the Macedonian camp, the king,
leaning over from his beautiful charger, lost no time in complimenting
Elissa, with gracefully turned phrases, upon her beauty being greater
even than it was said to be by common report.

Elissa smiled at the compliment, and felt pleased at her beauty being
thus recognised and applauded by this handsome young king; but
Polycratia did not smile. She, knowing the king’s fickleness,
naturally dreaded a rival in Elissa, for she recognised at once that
such beauty as Elissa’s was exceptional; while, owing to her exalted
rank, she was not a woman of whom the king could merely attempt to
make one of his ordinary playthings. A foreboding of evil for herself
filled Polycratia from the very first minute she saw Philip
endeavouring to charm the new-comer with his honied words.

Upon arrival in the camp a magnificent tent, divided into many
apartments, and most luxuriously furnished, which had been already
pitched, was appointed to Elissa and Cleandra. When Elissa would have
posted a guard of her own faithful Spaniards round her pavilion,
Philip would by no means hear of it. Urging that her soldiers were
war-worn and weary, and should now be relieved for a while from their
military duties, he sent them to be distributed among the troops in
different parts of the camp, giving orders for their proper
entertainment. And he posted a guard of honour of his own spearmen
over Elissa’s quarters. By this show of consideration and kindness
Hannibal’s daughter was at first impressed and pleased accordingly;
but the wily Cleandra, who, during the short time she was in the
litter with Chloe, had found out much about the king, viewed this
arrangement with much disfavour. For as she pointed out to Elissa upon
the first opportunity, they were now, from being deprived of their own
trusty followers, reduced to the position of two weak women entirely
at the mercy of the Macedonian. But Elissa quieted her follower’s
fears. She pointed out to Cleandra that if the king should have any
other than honourable designs towards them, which she doubted, it
would not be the presence of some hundred and fifty Iberians in the
middle of a large army of Macedonians which would prevent him from
carrying them out. All that they could do would be to trust to the
king’s honour, and she thanked the gods that he had received them so
honourably and courteously into his camp. For now, continued Elissa,
she had hopes from his kind manner that she might be able to conclude
with him the offensive and defensive alliance concerning which
Hannibal had written to her.

Elissa and Cleandra were entertained at a feast that evening by the
king, and at its conclusion, when Philip was merry with wine, she
proposed the alliance to him. At first, being in a good humour, he
made no objections whatever to such an alliance, and seemed, indeed,
to wish it himself. But, saying that he would talk the matter over
further as they went along, he rose, remarking that he would escort
her with his guards to her tent; nor would he take any refusal.

When he arrived there, Philip, leaving the guards without, entered
with his guest on the pretence of seeing that all his orders had been
complied with. Once within one of the inner apartments of the huge
tent, he threw himself upon a luxurious divan, begged Elissa likewise
to be seated, and suggested to her that she should now send away her
waiting-lady, in order that they might discuss matters of State
together alone.

Cleandra was therefore sent away, and Elissa was left alone with the
king. He had not been alone with her for a minute before Elissa
regretted deeply that she had disembarked at Nauplia or marched to
Argos. For, inflamed as he was with wine, the king dropped his mask at
once, and made love to her violently. When Elissa, surprised, sought
to repel him, he took her in his arms by force, kissed her, and
treated her grossly. Never had Elissa been so insulted since the time
when she had fallen into the hands of the villain Adherbal. But alas!
there was no Maharbal at hand now to protect her.

Furious with rage, Elissa struggled to get free from the king’s arms,
fighting against him with all her strength, for she would have none of
him. At first Philip, being jovial, only laughed good-humouredly at
her struggles, but he became angry as she continued to resist him.

Suddenly releasing her from his arms, he exclaimed furiously:

“Very well, my lady Elissa! if thou wilt have none of mine embraces,
neither will I have any of thy treaties.” And seizing the document
which she had displayed to him, and which had been sent to her by
Hannibal, he tore it into several pieces. Dashing the pieces to the
floor, he spurned them with his heel, and flung himself out of the
tent in a passion.

Elissa, who had fallen exhausted and panting upon a divan, looked at
her torn-up credentials, and realised what she had done. She had
deeply offended this powerful monarch, by whose aid she had hoped she
might restore the now waning fortunes of Carthage. What should she do
now? The early teachings of her father came to her mind. Had he not
often told her that in nought was she ever to think of self where the
welfare of her country was concerned--that not even personal shame was
to be considered in such a case, but that absolutely she was bound
under all circumstances to think of her duty to her country alone, of
herself not at all. And had not the time now come when she must make a
great sacrifice? Was she merely for the sake of her own outraged
vanity--it might even be outraged honour--to desert her country’s
cause when such a mighty issue was at stake?

“No!” Elissa cried violently, springing to her feet. “If ever I must
sacrifice myself for my country I must sacrifice myself now, and the
gods will forgive me, for ’twill be for the glory of Carthage.”

Thus her resolve was made as she realised her duty. And then she
covered her eyes with her hands and wept softly. For she was thinking
of Scipio, who loved her so dearly, and whom she knew in her heart she
loved, and of the honour and fidelity which she had, despite that new
love, preserved in vain for Maharbal. And she vaguely wished that some
such terrible crisis as this now staring her in the face had arisen to
make her yield to the prayers and supplications of a Scipio whom she
loved and honoured, rather than to the brutal threats and menaces of a
Philip whom she loathed and despised. But the die was now cast; so
calling Cleandra to her, she told her all.




 CHAPTER III.
 A SACRIFICE.

As in the morning the sight of the crimson and gold hangings of the
tent gradually impressed upon Elissa the sense of her surroundings, a
weight like lead fell upon her heart; but with a prayer to the gods
that they might inspire her with strength to carry out her great and
terrible resolve, she rose. A small gong was at hand, she beat upon it
for Cleandra; but instead of Cleandra, there entered a stranger.

“Who art thou?” inquired Elissa haughtily, “and where is Cleandra?”

“My name is Chloe, oh lady Elissa, and I have been deputed to thy
service by the king. Thine attendant Cleandra was removed hence last
night; she hath, by the king’s orders, taken up mine own duties as
chief lady in attendance upon Queen Polycratia. His Majesty hath
charged me with his royal greetings unto thee, and bids me inform thee
that at such time as thou shalt be prepared to receive him he will
present himself before thy noble presence to inquire for thy welfare.”

Elissa’s pride and anger rose upon hearing that Cleandra had been
taken from her. She was about to give some furious reply when her eye
fell upon the torn pieces of paper still lying where the king had
spurned them with his foot the previous night, and she refrained. “I
am,” she murmured to herself, “but as a fly in the web of some
poisonous spider, and have, alas! no power to withdraw myself from the
trammels of its horrid folds. But though alone and entangled, yet will
I be strong.”

“Leave me to mine ablutions,” she commanded, “and inform thy master
that I will see him in an hour’s space.”

At the appointed hour the sound of martial music heralded the king’s
approach, while the clanging of arms without denoted the guards
saluting. As he entered the tent, the flood of sunlight streamed in
with him and lighted upon his figure. The bright beams of morning,
shining on his brilliant arms, made him, as he stood there in all the
vigour and beauty of youthful manhood, seem as ’twere the sun-god
Apollo himself who had alighted upon earth. But Elissa groaned
inwardly, to think that one so noble in his bearing could yet be so
utterly ignoble in his life.

She remained standing to receive him, looking at him coldly, and
making no sign of any salutation.

“Fair lady Elissa,” said the king, “I well see that thou art
displeased with me, and I own with contrition that I greatly deserve
thy displeasure. For last night the fumes of the rich red wine,
combined with thine own excessive charms, did make me forget for a mad
moment that I was King Philip thy host, and thou the lady Elissa my
guest. Wilt thou not pardon me? for deeply do I grieve if I have
offended.”

“King Philip,” replied Elissa proudly, “in sooth thy welcome of me
hath not been such as I should have expected from a noble monarch with
a glorious name. How canst thou expect forgiveness so soon from a
woman whom thou hast so deeply insulted--one, moreover, whose person
should be sacred. For she cometh to thee as ambassador from the mighty
Hannibal, before whom the power of Rome herself hath for years past
trembled. Therefore, before I say I will forgive thee, tell me what
wilt thou do to make amends for mine outraged modesty and dignity. It
is a matter for consideration.”

Calmly and fearlessly did Elissa stand before him, never flinching,
but gazing steadily into his eyes, which fell before her own.

Philip hesitated a minute, toying nervously with the hilt of his
sword, ere he replied.

“Full amends will I make, fair lady Elissa, if thou wilt but grant me
thy pardon and my request.”

“What is that request? and what are thy amends, oh Philip?”

“My request is this, that thou wilt join thy life unto mine to be my
companion for good or ill, through fair weather or through foul. My
promised amends are these: if thou wilt but assent to become for me
thus the one woman in the world whose sweet companionship shall make
earth heaven, I will bind myself in turn, by solemn treaties before
the gods, to help Hannibal, thy father, with all my forces by land and
by sea. I will bind myself to attack the Romans wherever I can find
them, to fall upon and destroy their cities and their colonies, and,
moreover, to send a large body of troops to reinforce Hannibal
himself. And thou, sweet lady Elissa, shall draft the terms of the
treaty, which shall, so soon as we are united, be sent by ambassadors
to Hannibal himself to ratify.”

Elissa concealed her rising anger, and answered calmly:

“Good, my lord king; but how can I accept this dishonour, for such it
is, and become thy life companion when thou hast a bride already? What
wilt thou do with the Queen Polycratia, the noble lady who but
yesterday received me so courteously? For know this, oh Philip! that
however she may fall, the daughter of Hannibal will, nevertheless,
take no second place. Nay, should she listen to thine unscrupulous
proposal, she will yet hold the place of queen, and queen alone. There
cannot be two queens; and whate’er may be her ties, any other woman
must give way before Elissa.”

“Polycratia, ’tis true, must be got rid of,” replied the young king
brutally; “but that is easy. Although I made her queen, she is not
really my wife, but the wife of one Aratus, from whom I took her. Thus
’tis simple enough. I will send her back to her husband Aratus, and by
so doing shall I greatly please this unruly nation of the Achæans.
Thus, fair lady Elissa, thou wilt alone reign queen of my heart, and
there will be no other to dispute thy sway in Macedon.”

“And thinkest thou, oh Philip, that Polycratia will be happy thus?
But, after all, what is she to me? A woman myself, I cannot seek to
rule the fate of other women; yet would I strive to rule the fate of
Carthage and to injure Rome, otherwise I had not listened for a moment
to thine unworthy proposals. Therefore, King Philip, hearken! If thou
wilt send away thy queen, and if thou wilt make a treaty as I shall
dictate, then, when I have actually seen, with mine own eyes, the
departure of the ambassadors to Hannibal, will I, as my share of the
bargain, yield unto thee myself, and become the minister of thy will.
But ere these things be accomplished, seek not again to intrude upon
my privacy; and, above all things, beware of again taking advantage of
my defenceless position to insult me. For seest thou this dagger which
I have concealed about me? Had I thought on it last night when thou
wast brutally ill-treating me, thou hadst assuredly been slain. But by
Melcareth, ruler of the universe! if thou dost, before the despatch of
this treaty of alliance--to obtain which I must sacrifice mine
honour--but so much as lay a hand on me, I will assuredly slay myself
with this weapon. For although I may consent, solely seeking the
welfare of my country, to give myself to thee, think not that I do
love thee, Philip. Nay, far from it! I do scorn and despise thee, king
as thou art!”

Elissa’s nostrils quivered with nervous emotion and angry scorn as,
with the dagger uplifted in her hand, and her head thrown back, she
gazed upon the king with determined glance and flashing eyes.

Philip was cowed by her demeanour, but he would have liked to have
seized her in his arms once more even then had he dared.

“Oh, never mind the love,” he said, smiling; “that will come later.
Other women have said that before thee--ay, even this very Polycratia
herself did speak just so. But thine assent is the important thing,
and that is now settled; it is therefore a bargain between us. Now
what may I do to please thee?”

Elissa turned from the king in utter disgust as she thought of her
long and steadfast faith to Maharbal, of her pure but fruitless love
for Scipio, both now to be sullied and polluted by the surrender of
her person to this satyr of a king. And inwardly a great cry rose up
in her heart. “Oh, Hannibal, my father, thy precepts have cost me
dear!”

“This thou canst do to please me, King Philip,” she exclaimed
freezingly. “Remove thyself from my sight until such time as I have to
endure thy presence whether I will or no.”

Turning her back upon Philip she left the apartment. But the king
laughed aloud, utterly careless of her feelings.

A few days later the treaty was completed on terms most favourable to
Hannibal and Carthage. And when Elissa had actually seen an embassy,
headed by one Xenophanes, sail with five ships for Italy, she
completed her great, her terrible act of self-sacrifice in her
country’s cause.

When once the die had been cast, Philip seemed anxious to prove to
Elissa that he had been in earnest in concluding for her sake the
treaty with Hannibal. He took, within a week or two of the departure
of the ambassadors, an irrevocable step, and one which was calculated
to embroil him absolutely with Rome. For, having heard that a Roman
army, accompanied by King Attalus of Rhodes, and also the Ætolians,
had landed on the Peloponnesus to wage war upon the Achæans, with
whom he was then allied, Philip took advantage of the occasion, and,
without waiting to make any declaration of war, marched out against
the Romans in gallant array with all his army.

Falling upon them unexpectedly, he cut all their forces to pieces, and
indeed almost annihilated them to a man.

Returning to Elissa, laden with Roman spoils, he laid them at her
feet.

Upon seeing this immediate proof of his devotion, Elissa could not
help recognising the fact that her self-sacrifice had not been
entirely in vain, and she thanked the gods that they had given her the
courage to carry it out to the bitter end.

Alas for Elissa! although for long she lived in hope, this first
success was also the last. For a series of adverse circumstances
coming one upon another utterly frustrated the projects of Philip to
assist Hannibal and to combine with the Carthaginians in a war which,
had things gone differently, would, in all probability, have had the
result of wiping out the Roman nation and of making Carthage supreme
on the Mediterranean coasts. The first piece of bad luck was the
falling of Xenophanes and all his embassy into the hands, in the
province of Campania, of a certain praetor named Valerius; but that
first disadvantage was got over by the lying propensities of
Xenophanes. For he, of all the Greeks, was one of the greatest adepts
in the ancient art of using the power of speech as a means to conceal
his thoughts.

Thus, when arrested by Valerius, he readily admitted that he and his
suite were come as ambassadors to Italy, but represented that it was
to the Consul Marcus Marcellus, the conquerer of Syracuse, who was now
in Italy, that he was accredited. Thus, being believed, he was readily
given all the necessary information as to how he should proceed so as
to avoid the Hannibalian forces, and allowed to continue on his
journey unmolested. Owing to the information he had received, the wily
Greek was enabled easily to avoid any other Roman army, and actually
contrived to find Hannibal himself in the province of Apulia. To the
great conqueror he safely communicated the treaty and all the letters
that he carried from Philip and from Elissa, which he had contrived to
conceal about his clothing. Hannibal, while naturally astonished and
greatly annoyed at learning that his daughter was now at the court of
such a dissolute monarch as Philip, was delighted with the treaty
which she had been the means of bringing about, and which, so
favourable were the terms to Carthage, he lost no time in ratifying.

Upon his sending back the Macedonian ambassadors, however, accompanied
by some Carthaginian envoys to Philip, the whole of the embassy, after
arriving safely on board their ships, were detained at sea by a Roman
fleet, and once again Xenophanes was taken before Valerius. He, from
the Carthaginian envoys, discovered the whole plot, although by his
aptitude for lying, Xenophanes had a second time almost escaped.

They all were now taken as prisoners to Rome, where they suffered
great tortures and hardships.

Thus, from want of a concerted plan of action, Philip was utterly
unable to render to Hannibal the necessary assistance at the required
time. Nevertheless, hearing of the capture of his ambassadors, Philip
sent fresh envoys to Hannibal, and the treaty being ratified, he set
to sea with a few ships to try to organise a large fleet of his own
vessels, added to some from his Grecian allies and others lying in
various ports, with which to harass the whole Italian coast.
Unfortunately, owing to the sudden unwarranted fears of his captains,
which panic, it is said, even gained upon the king himself, this
enterprise proved utterly fruitless. For upon the false alarm that a
large Roman fleet was advancing, whereas there were at the utmost only
some ten Roman frigates which were lying, themselves fearful of his
approach, in a Sicilian harbour, Philip fled precipitately with his
ships, and returned to Macedon without striking a blow by sea. For, in
sooth, he was no sailor, although a right gallant warrior on land. And
the Romans, being reinforced, captured all the ships he would have
mustered, and remained completely masters of the sea.

Elissa was not long in learning the facts of this expedition, which
Philip had vainly sought to colour to his own advantage, and being
furious with herself for having given way to him without having gained
any commensurate advantages for her country, and furious also with
Philip, she taunted him bitterly, telling him that the only wars in
which he was successful were those that he waged upon women.

After this, although Philip remained captivated with Elissa’s regal
beauty, life became almost intolerable between them. Hannibal’s
daughter continually stirred the king up with her invectives and
reproaches to fresh enterprises; but for want of a sufficient fleet he
was unable, after his first naval reverse, to invade Italy, and go to
Hannibal’s assistance. He therefore contented himself with warlike
expeditions by land in all parts of Greece, and even Asia Minor,
against all such as were the allies of Rome. But between the Romans
and himself there were no serious conflicts, and, in fact, only a
state of semi-warfare existed, the Romans being too much employed
elsewhere to pay any serious attention to the Macedonian so long as he
left their own actual coasts alone. They, therefore, contented
themselves by constantly sending embassies requesting him to desist,
under threat of serious punishment, at which embassies Philip merely
snapped his fingers. Thus, despite the prayers of Elissa to either
build ships or else march by land to Italy, as her father had done
from Spain before him, the war upon which Philip had launched, in his
ardour to win over Hannibal’s daughter, proved of no use to Hannibal
himself whatever. Nevertheless it continued for years, and the name of
Philip was so dreaded on land that so long as the Macedonian was
unable to effect any junction with Hannibal, the Romans were quite
contented to leave him alone, other than, as already mentioned, by
sending threatening embassies.

But Elissa’s discontent grew continually more and more, for she ever
regretted bitterly having given over her fate into this man’s hands.
In one of these wars, fearing to leave Elissa behind in case she might
perchance either leave his court in his absence or be captured by some
rival monarch, Philip took her with him, and Cleandra with her. It was
an expedition upon which he had embarked against the city of Abydos,
upon the Hellespont. The city was obstinately defended, and while King
Attalus and all the Rhodians sailed through the Ægean Sea to the
assistance of Tenedos, the Romans sent the youngest of their
ambassadors, one Marcus Æmilius, to Abydos itself to warn Philip to
desist.

Now this Marcus Æmilius had been, as quite a lad, present with Scipio
at the court of Syphax at the time of Elissa’s presence there, and she
knew him well. But when she saw him appear before Philip she made no
sign of ever having seen the man before, for he was now celebrated as
the handsomest man of his time; and having already quite enough to
suffer from the tyranny of Philip, she determined to give the
Macedonian king no opportunity of making her life more unbearable than
usual by becoming jealous also.

Æmilius having, however, been received honourably and appointed
certain tents in the king’s encampments before Abydos, Cleandra easily
obtained access to him before he had had more than the most formal
interview with Philip, one merely, indeed, to present his credentials,
upon which occasion Elissa had seen him, and longed to speak to him
for the sake of old times.

Cleandra soon told Æmilius that her royal Mistress Elissa sent him
warm and friendly greetings, and inquired kindly for himself and for
Scipio, his former chief.

Marcus in return sent greetings to Elissa, and informed her that not
only had he recent tidings of Scipio, but had also a letter from him
to deliver to herself; further, that he awaited the result of his
embassy to the king to see whether he should deliver the letter in
person or send it to her by the hand of Cleandra, for he would like if
possible to make its delivery an opportunity of approaching her
mistress. But Cleandra he retained a long time with him, for she was
still young and beautiful, and had, moreover, travelled greatly. The
young Roman was not enjoying life at all in his present capacity,
among a people with whom he could only talk by means of an
interpreter, and was delighted to meet a handsome young woman with
whom he could converse freely in the Latin tongue. Eventually Cleandra
left him, promising to see him again after he had had audience of the
king.




 CHAPTER IV.
 A LETTER FROM SCIPIO.

The king received Æmilius in audience on the following morning in
the presence of Elissa and all his courtiers, and from the beginning
it was evident that the interview would be a stormy one. For the young
ambassador commenced by informing Philip that the Senate ordered him
not to wage war with any Greek state, nor to interfere in the
dominions of Ptolemy, and to submit the injuries that he had inflicted
upon Attalus and the Rhodians to arbitration, saying that if he obeyed
these orders they would grant him peace, otherwise he must take the
consequences of the enmity of Rome. Upon Philip endeavouring to show
that the fault was all on the other side, and that the Rhodians had
been the first to lay hands on him, Marcus interrupted the king
insolently:

“But what,” he said, “of the Athenians? And what of the people of
Abydos at this minute? Did any one of them also lay hands on thee
first?”

Philip, at a loss for a reply, said:

“I pardon the offensive haughtiness of thy manners for three reasons;
first, because thou art a young man and inexperienced in affairs;
secondly, because thou art the handsomest man of thy time; and
thirdly, because thou art a Roman. But if the Romans choose to behave
badly to me I shall defend myself as courageously as I can, calling
upon the gods to defend my cause.”

With these words the audience was broken up. It was now evident from
the temper of the king that in all probability no opportunity would
occur for Marcus to meet Elissa in friendly converse. But under
pretence of seeking a further audience later on, Æmilius remained
until the fall of Abydos, which took place after some most desperate
hand-to-hand fighting. Meanwhile, Cleandra visited him again on
various occasions, and eventually obtained from him Scipio’s letter,
which she herself delivered to Elissa, although Marcus had been most
anxious to see Elissa and deliver it in person.

So Abydos fell! and its fall was accompanied by the most terrible
scenes that it is possible to imagine. But the horrors that took place
were not owing to the cruelty of Philip, but rather to the insensate
folly of the inhabitants of Abydos themselves, who had determined to
slay all their wives and children rather than that they should fall
into the hands of the enemy. They had intended also to destroy at one
blow the whole of their gold and silver and valuable property, but
Philip found it all ready to his hand, having been collected in two
ships, which they had not had time to put out to sea and sink as
intended. Thus he captured it all, an immense booty.

When Philip entered the town the people of the city commenced to slay
themselves and each other. When he saw the numbers and fury of those
who were stabbing, burning, hanging, throwing themselves and others
into wells, or precipitating themselves from house-tops with their
children and their wives, Philip was overpowered with surprise and
horror, as was Elissa. She, indeed, with tears in her eyes, conjured
him, by all the gods, to put a stop to these terrible proceedings if
it were possible, for the city was filled with the shrieks of the
dying women and children. Thereupon Philip published a proclamation
announcing “that he gave three days’ grace to all those who wished to
hang or stab themselves.” Thus, if they so willed, they had plenty of
time to leave the city with their women, and neither become prisoners
of war themselves nor run the risks of their wives and daughters being
taken into slavery by the conqueror. But with the exception of a
quantity of the more beautiful girls, whom Philip had saved upon first
entering the city, the inhabitants of Abydos continued to slaughter
themselves wholesale by families. For they considered themselves as
traitors to those who had already died for their country should they
survive them.

Philip, seeing that they took no notice of his proclamation, allowed
them to go their own way to destruction. He himself celebrated the
conquest of the town in his usual manner, by indulging openly with his
courtiers in scenes of unbridled drunkenness and debauchery.

These he now indulged in the more openly, in order that he might annoy
the unhappy Elissa and humiliate her before others, in which design he
certainly succeeded.

For seeing herself made of so little account before the eyes of all,
Elissa, disgusted and disgraced, determined to put an end to her
miserable existence once and for all.

But Cleandra, as upon a previous occasion, urged her yet to live for
her country’s cause. And this was upon the very night on which
Cleandra obtained from Æmilius Scipio’s letter, which came as balm to
soothe her. It was written in Greek, and was as follows:--


 “From Publius Cornelius, son of Publius Cornelius Scipio, to Elissa,
 daughter of Hannibal.


 “In the name of the great god Jupiter, lord of the universe, greeting!
 The years have passed away one by one with rapidity, and great and
 sudden have been the changes upon the face of the world. But one thing
 hath neither passed away with time nor altered with change. As Scipio
 did love thee when thou didst even weep upon his shoulder upon bidding
 him farewell in New Carthage, so doth he now love thee upon sending
 thee these lines of greeting from Rome. And greatly doth he long to
 have tidings of thee by thine own hand, and still more to again behold
 thy beautiful and beloved features.

 “Elissa, I, Scipio, have been fighting all these years in Iberia, and
 have driven out thine uncle Hasdrubal in the north, who marched across
 the Alps into Italy, and fell bravely fighting at the battle of the
 Metaurus. I have likewise driven out thine uncle Mago in the south,
 who, after retiring for a space to the Balearic Islands, hath now
 seized upon the city and province of Genoa in Northern Italy.
 Hasdrubal, the son of Gisco, have I also met in various bloody
 encounters, in which the gods were ever propitious to me and to the
 arms of Rome. Thus all Iberia hath fallen into my hands, and I am now
 recalled to Rome. For owing to the continued presence of thy father
 and his armies, after so many years, even yet continuing the struggle
 with occasional successes in the south of Italy, and on account of the
 great insult that he put upon the city of Rome herself, in riding up
 to her walls and throwing his javeline over the very city gates, the
 Romans are now determined to take by my hand means to avenge these
 insults by carrying the war beyond our coasts upon African soil. And
 since there is no secret made of this determination, I do write unto
 thee upon the subject for thine own welfare. For, my beloved, even as
 I have loved thee, and offered up my prayers and sacrifices unto the
 gods for thy sake during all these my vicissitudes by war, so do I
 still consider thee and love thee with a single-minded devotion that
 nought save death may change.

 “Therefore, no thought of any possible military glory which may accrue
 unto myself can weigh in the balance where thy happiness and welfare
 are concerned, especially since I see that through thee any further
 bloodshed may now be avoided. For thy country of Carthage may be even
 yet saved from invasion if thou wilt but hearken unto my words and
 come to me now, when I will espouse thee, and peace will be made
 between Rome and Hannibal. For both sides are utterly weary of this
 endless war, and thy father Hannibal, after having lost Capua, which
 was retaken by our arms despite his repeated attempts to relieve it,
 after having lost Tarentum, which is also retaken by Rome, after
 having lost nearly all his Numidian cavalry at the town of Salapia,
 including, it is said, thine old lover Maharbal, is now reduced to the
 position of a wolf guarding the mountain passes of Bruttium and the
 few Greek cities on the Bruttian promontory beyond. ’Tis true that,
 like the bold wolf that he is, he doth occasionally sally forth from
 his corner of Italy, and ever with certain success; and hath even
 recently, in one of these expeditions, slain the mighty Marcus
 Marcellus himself, the sword of Rome, the conqueror of Syracuse, for
 whose memory thou canst bear no great love. For I did hear how, after
 thine escape with Cleandra, by the treachery of the flag-captain, from
 Caius Lælius’s ship--which escape did greatly chagrin both Caius, on
 account of Cleandra, and myself--fearing for thy life in
 Syracuse--thou didst bravely fight against Marcellus throughout the
 whole siege, ay, even until the fall of the city. And since then,
 although having learned with greatest joy of thine escape from death
 in the final massacre of Syracuse, I have become aware, with deep
 regret, of thy residence at the court of Philip of Macedon. From him
 I would have thee at once fly in the ship with Marcus Æmilius, the
 bearer of this letter, whom thou didst meet with me in Numidia. For it
 is not possible but that the doings of the daughter of Hannibal must
 be known everywhere, especially when that daughter is Elissa, whose
 beauty and feats are so celebrated. Hence I, in common with all the
 Romans, have perfectly understood that it is thou thyself Elissa who
 hast been the cause of the war between Philip of Macedon and Rome. For
 knowing thy devotion to thy country, it is not difficult for me to
 clearly understand with what object thou hast consented to live with
 the base Macedonian wretch, whom, so I have recently heard by spies,
 maketh thee by no means happy. But for one reason do I ardently desire
 the continuation of that war of thy making with Philip, and that is
 that the gods may spare me to drive my sword up to the hilt in the
 throat of the scoundrel king. For hath not he, by nought save guile
 and wickedness, gained possession of that one dear flower of womanhood
 which I would have plucked and worn myself; and hath not he again,
 after having himself ravished the flower from its stem, now left its
 petals in all their sweetness to wither and perish with neglect?
 Therefore, accursed be he--ay, doubly accursed--by all the gods!

 “Now Elissa, my beloved, after deep communing with the mighty Olympian
 gods, who have even appeared unto me in dreams, they have clearly
 pointed out to me both my duty to my country and to the woman whom I
 love, and also the duty to her country, to herself, and even to me,
 Scipio, of that woman, she being Elissa, the daughter of the great
 Hannibal, son of Hamilcar Barca. Thus the gods themselves, by whom, as
 thou knewest in times past, I am beloved, and who appear unto me
 still, even as did Neptune, god of the sea, before the fall of the New
 Town, have clearly directed thy course for thee for the sake of thine
 own country’s welfare. Since, moreover, there is now no longer the
 shadow of the Numidian Maharbal between us, do I beseech thee to fly
 from the court of this dissolute Philip, and come to Rome with Marcus
 Æmilius; and then I pledge thee my troth that, saying never a word of
 reproach concerning the said Philip, I will make thee my loved and
 honoured wife. And there shall thus, by thee, be peace again between
 Carthage and Rome, after so many years of warfare and of misery. Now,
 farewell, Elissa. I prithee salute the lady Cleandra if she be still
 with thee; Caius Lælius likewise sendeth her salutations. As for
 thyself, I commend thee to the blessing of the gods.

                                              “(Sealed) Scipio.”




 CHAPTER V.
 A SCENE OF HORROR.

It was night, a calm summer night, when Elissa, after reading
Scipio’s letter, remained alone within a gorgeous pavilion in a camp
established upon the shores of the Hellespont, the letter lying
listlessly upon her lap. With head thrown back upon the cushions of
her divan, the light of a single cresset lamp, formed of gold in a
chaste design, but barely illumined her features, for she was
withdrawn, while thus leaning back, from the radius of its not too
powerful glow. The doors of the tent being open, Elissa could see the
radiant moonbeams without dancing upon the waters of the Hellespont,
and lighting up at the same time the tideless sea and the mountains
upon the further shore.

The Carthaginian maiden rose, and stepping without the tent gazed
wistfully across the straits. How peaceful would have been the scene
had Mother Nature alone been the all-pervading genius of the
surroundings.

But, alas! there were other and more horrid sights and sounds, making
the night, otherwise so beautiful, most terrible in all its aspects.

On every side could be seen flaming houses; in all directions could be
seen the flying forms of screaming women and children, as their
fathers, husbands, or lovers, carrying out the fearful compact made
among themselves, ruthlessly pursued those nearest and dearest to them
to put them to a cruel death.

At hand here and there could be seen, even close to the tents of the
royal encampment, shapeless, huddled-up forms lying on the ground.
Some of these, lighted up by the rays of the brilliant moon, or
glittering in the flickering light of the fires, betokened that they
were the bodies of dead warriors; others, from their white,
disordered, and oft-times blood-stained raiment, were clearly the
corpses of some of the unhappy female victims. Some, indeed, of the
prostrate women, as appeared by their writhings and spasmodic
struggles, were not even yet dead, but no one took the trouble to put
them out of their misery, for the groups of Macedonian guards who were
here and there lying about the open space, were evidently all under
the influence of numerous libations, and were in a drunken sleep,
utterly careless of their surroundings. Meanwhile, while the fires
around ever crackled and roared, and the heavy smoke drifted away
landward before a faint sea breeze, louder and more discordant sounds
disturbed the midnight air.

From an adjacent and brilliantly lighted pavilion there arose, all
combined, noisy shouts, uproarious laughter, and the screams of women.

Walking unmolested across the open space which separated her pavilion
from that of the king, and carefully avoiding stepping upon any of the
corpses as she went, Elissa looked within. The sight that she saw
filled her with loathing and disgust. For Philip and his courtiers,
lolling round a huge table, covered with gold and silver wine-cups,
were making merry of the misery of many beautiful young women, their
recent captives, whose tear-stained faces and disordered dress told
only too plainly the brutality to which they were exposed.

The king himself was a ring-leader at the horrid game which they were
playing with the struggling young women. Holding forcibly a damsel
upon each knee, he was, with hilarious laughter, delighting at their
unavailing struggles, while some of his sycophants poured by force
between their unwilling lips, cup after cup of the rich red wine. Thus
were they making drunk, in spite of themselves, the miserable maidens,
many of whom had probably never even tasted wine before. Some of the
young girls had already thus been reduced to a state of intoxication,
and were reeling about the spacious apartment, or lying helplessly,
grotesquely weeping, on the floor. The onlooking Macedonian nobles
meanwhile shouted with laughter. It was a terrible sight! Not only did
it fill her with terror at what might perchance befall herself, but
the horror and anger that filled Elissa’s mind drove her to an awful
resolve. Seizing a firebrand from a deserted watch-fire, she advanced
once more stealthily towards the windward side of the huge tent,
intending to burn alive this satyr of a king and all his horrid crew.
But, just in time, she remembered that she would have to burn as well
all the wretched young women.

Therefore, although she rightly considered that a speedy death would
be far better for them than a life under such conditions, she could
not find it in her heart to let the poor helpless victims die so
painfully. With a groan she threw the firebrand back into the fire,
and, invoking all the curses of the gods upon the head of Philip, she
retired once more to her tent. Here, trying to shut her ears to the
roaring of the fires, the screaming of the dying women and children,
the brutal shoutings of the drunken nobles, and the miserable
lamentations of the insulted maidens, she once more read through
Scipio’s letter.

She made up her mind at once that Scipio was right, that her duty to
her country was, whatever it might have been in the past, now
undoubtedly to proceed to Rome, and, by espousing Scipio, whose
devotion touched her heart deeply, to conclude a peace, if possible,
between Rome and Carthage. Two reasons strongly impelled her. One was
that the death of her once so deeply-beloved Maharbal had now removed
a great barrier; the other, that she believed firmly, with many
others, that Scipio was indeed, as he pretended, a man specially
favoured by the gods, and that they held personal communings with him,
and to her mind these divine inspirations accounted for all his
successes. Of one thing, at all events, Elissa was certain, that she
wished for no more war. For, if her efforts to embroil Philip in the
struggle between Carthage and Rome had only resulted in such terrible
scenes as she had been witnessing during the last few days, she felt
convinced that such war must be distasteful to the gods themselves.
Therefore she determined to use all her endeavours now to bring about
a lasting peace, for that was, since the gods themselves had declared
it, clearly at this juncture her duty to her country, and to the world
at large.

Elissa summoned Cleandra, who was even more terrified than herself at
the awful scenes around, and with reason, for upon returning from the
tent of Marcus Æmilius only an hour previously, she had had a very
narrow escape of her life from some of the citizens of Abydos. They
had been upon the point of slaying her by mistake for one of their own
women, when fortunately some Macedonians of the royal guard, to whom
she was known, had come to her assistance, and had slain her
aggressors. But now the guards were all drunk, and the two women knew
that if they were to escape they must reach alone the camp of the
Roman embassy, which, being on the shore close to the Roman ships, was
carefully entrenched and properly guarded by the ambassador’s own
escort.

Cleandra, who had, when in the tent of Æmilius, had her wits about
her as usual, had not been wasting her time. She knew all about the
drift of the contents of Scipio’s letter, and had even heard of the
death of Maharbal before Elissa gave her the tidings, but she had
preferred to keep her own counsel until her mistress and friend should
learn them for herself from the letter.

Not waiting for Elissa to make up her mind to fly, Cleandra had laid
her schemes, anticipating Elissa’s consent. She had accordingly
arranged with Marcus Æmilius to have all his men ready on board ship,
and everything prepared for instant sailing, promising him to return
with Hannibal’s daughter, if possible, before dawn.

In the event of her not being able to prevail upon Elissa to fly,
Cleandra had begged the gallant young Roman to leave Abydos without
her, for she was resolved herself to share Elissa’s fortunes for weal
or woe in the future as in the past. Nor could the prayers of Marcus,
who was most loath to leave her, that she should herself fly with him,
move Cleandra in the least; for, although ever fickle with men, she
was faithful beyond the fidelity of women where Hannibal’s daughter
was concerned.

Scarcely staying to console Elissa upon the death of Maharbal, which
she evidently felt deeply, Cleandra set about collecting all their
jewellery and money, and concealing it about her person. As for
Elissa, she donned instantly her war-gear, and armed herself with a
sheath, darts, and a sword, for in this garb she had no fear of not
being able to pass in safety through any such parties of the
Macedonian guards as might not be too intoxicated to recognise her.

Bidding Cleandra cover herself with a dark cloak and to follow her,
she, after extinguishing the light, stepped forth from her tent, the
entrance to which she closed. Then passing in rear of the king’s
pavilion, where the noise was not now quite so excessive, they took
their way to the Roman entrenchments.

They had passed the royal tent in safety, and, while threading their
way with caution, were nearly out of ear-shot of the royal encampment,
when suddenly they came, standing outside their own tents, upon two of
the most debauched nobles of a debauched court, Alexander, son of
Phidias, and Xenacreon, son of Themistocles. Xenacreon had for long
ardently pursued Cleandra, and, despite her cloak, he recognised her
in a moment. Bounding forward he seized her, exclaiming:

“Aha, my lady Cleandra! whither away thus in disguise like a thief in
the night? For sure thou seekest a lover; well, here am I all ready to
thy hand, take me!” and he embraced her rudely.

Cleandra did not seek to struggle at first, but only to temporise. She
answered civilly, for she did not wish the sound of the discussion to
reach the king in his tent.

“I pray thee release me, my good Xenacreon, and I will meet thee some
other time. Just now I may not stay; I am engaged on important
business with the lady Elissa.”

“With Elissa, the king’s courtesan, now out of favour!” exclaimed
Xenacreon loudly. “Well, what is good for one is good for another. I
will not, so that I get thee, grudge her to Alexander here, who long
hath admired her; so take her, Alexander, I give her unto thee! But
come thou with me now, sweet Cleandra, no time is like the present.”
And while he sought to drag her within his tent, Alexander sprang
forward swiftly and attempted likewise to seize upon Elissa herself.

But she was far too quick for him, and leapt nimbly on one side,
discharging, as she did so, a dart which transfixed him through and
through. He fell groaning to the ground, writhing in agony.

“Now for thy turn, Xenacreon!” cried Elissa. “Take thou this for thy
dastardly insult to ‘the king’s courtesan, now out of favour.’”

And she plunged her sword deep into his body below the upraised arms
with which he held Cleandra. Snatching Cleandra from his grasp before
there was time even for her to be stained with his blood, Elissa
started running, dragging Cleandra after her, for she perceived that
the king himself had rushed out of his tent, followed by such of his
officers as could stand.

But, although raising hoarse, drunken cries, they ran in the direction
of the women, they could not see them, or, indeed, their own way, for
on coming out into the darkness from the brilliant light they were
blinded, and caught their feet in the numerous tent ropes, and fell
sprawling in all directions. Some of them even got so far as the
prostrate bodies of Alexander and Xenacreon, over whose still
breathing forms they fell heavily, while cursing loudly. But Cleandra
and Elissa easily escaped, and soon reached the Roman entrenchments in
safety, where Marcus Æmilius was waiting in person to receive them.

Welcoming them heartily, he quickly took them off to his ship. Then
withdrawing his guard, but leaving his camp standing so as to deceive
the Macedonians in the early morning, he set sail at once with his
three vessels, and soon they felt the cool breezes of the Ægean Sea
blowing in their faces. Long before dawn they were well out of sight
of land, and steering a course for Tarentum on the Iapygian
promontory.

 END OF PART V.




 PART VI.

 CHAPTER I.
 A SPELL OF PEACE.

For the first time for years Elissa was able to enjoy a space of
peace of mind and body. Lying back upon her cushions, beneath the
awnings on the deck of the stately ambassadorial quinquereme, she was
at length at rest. Lulled rather than disturbed by the swishing sound
of the five banks of oars moving in absolute unison, she gazed out
languidly at the successive red-cliffed and grass-clad islands of
Greece and felt happy. For now all suspense was over, she had resolved
upon her future course; and, as Polybius has said, there is naught so
terrible as suspense. Let the circumstances of life be good or bad,
while they are hanging in the balance there is ever anxiety,
agitation, impatience, to distress the mind. But once they be decided
one way or another the soul is relieved; if decided for evil, then the
worst is known already, if for good, the heart will cease from
painfully throbbing in anxious agitation, and be at rest.

Thus, then, was it with Elissa, as, for want of wind, propelled merely
by the oars, the ship glided steadily onward over the sunny summer
seas. Now she had no longer any anxiety as to the port for which her
life’s bark was steering. She had made up her mind at length to marry
Scipio, and was clearly satisfied that her ship of life was having its
course shaped by the great gods who ruled her destiny, and that
therefore that course must be right, and her own determination a
righteous one.

So, even while thinking of Maharbal with a softened regret--for he was
scarcely more to her than a dream of years long gone by--she allowed
herself the almost unknown luxury of being happy. And the happiness
came, not from any sense of satisfaction at a realised ambition, nor
from the feeling of joy that is experienced in the attainment of a
long-desired love, but simply from the relief obtained after long
battlings in stormy waters. Now the guest and not the prisoner of
Rome, she day after day enjoyed her calm repose, and, while fervently
thanking the gods for her relief from the degrading atmosphere of
Philip’s court, did not weary her mind with anxious forebodings or
misgivings for the future. She thought, it is true, of Scipio, and
thought of him frequently, but it was more in admiration of his
nobility of soul than with the ardent passion of a lover.

That passion, indeed, he had inspired years ago, but it had been in
spite of herself, and she had known how to do her duty to her absent
lover in repressing it. Now she felt that she loved him indeed, and
deeply, but the affection which she felt in her inmost womanhood was,
she was aware, more like that very love of a sister which she had
formerly professed for him, than that more thrilling love of mutual
passion which she knew they had both experienced in bygone days.

The moderated nature of her sensations, however, did not trouble her;
on the contrary, their very moderation was a part of the relief of
mind which she now experienced. She loved Scipio in a pure way, and
she longed to see him and to tell him her deep and great admiration
for the grandeur of his soul; the other feeling might come back again
later, on meeting again. If so, she would welcome its return gladly,
for she felt that Scipio deserved something more at her hands than
mere sisterly love; but in the meantime it suited her wearied brain to
think about him, as of all other things, tranquilly. For her past had
in very sooth been stormy enough under all its aspects, from its very
commencement as a child with her father in scenes of war; as a maiden,
in her mad and unreasoning passion for Maharbal and the grief of
separation from him; then later during the bloody and terrible sieges
of New Carthage and Syracuse; and last, but by no means least, the
terrible humiliation endured in the court of the Macedonian king.

Elissa was now no longer a girl, and, as she closed her eyes and
thought dreamily of all her past, she realised that for nothing on
earth would she live over again the terrible years that had rolled
over her head since she had changed from an inexperienced maiden to an
experienced woman, whose life was far too highly filled with incident
for anything approaching to real happiness to find a home within her
breast. But she was happy now at length for a season, after all her
warrings and wanderings, and, realising this fact, she wished that the
peaceful voyage might never come to an end.

Cleandra, in the meantime, was adapting herself to circumstances as
usual, and was happy too. For, forgetting her first husband, Imlico
the Carthaginian noble, whom she had taken as a mere means to an
end--to escape from slavery to wit; forgetting also her second
husband, the Roman flag-captain Ascanius, whom she had taken for a
similar reason, she had now for the first time in her life fallen
deeply and ardently in love. And this time her love was, she well
knew, as ardently and truly returned by Marcus Æmilius, the youngest
of the Roman ambassadors, whom King Philip had rightly designated as
the handsomest man of his time.

Thus Cleandra looked forward to the time when Elissa should be united
to Scipio with pleasant anticipations of herself, upon the same
occasion, becoming once more a bride, and this time a bride entirely
from choice, not from necessity. Meanwhile, as there was a band of
musicians on board the young ambassador’s ship, consisting of
minstrels and dancing girls, the evenings passed merrily with song and
dance. Thus the time sped gaily enough.

The ships, after passing through the Grecian islands, hit off the
southernmost coast of the Peloponnesus but did not touch anywhere. But
once the western side of the lowermost parts of Greece had been
gained, a strong western breeze set in, on account of which the land
was not only closely hugged, but frequent stoppages were made at
various ports or inlets. For the inhabitants of the western coast
were, if not exactly friendly to Rome, afraid of Rome, and, above all,
the name of Philip was abhorred in those parts. Therefore, frequent
landings were made in convenient creeks and inlets, and, to pass the
time, when the wind was too strong without, the seine nets would be
got out, and a morning or afternoon employed innocently in fishing
beneath the shadow of a headland in some land-locked bay.

It was delightful to Elissa now, her armour all laid aside, clad in
modest raiment given to her by the minstrel girls on board, to join in
these fishing parties. She loved also to watch the sea-gulls grouped
on the rocks, or the nimble-winged flying-fishes springing like a
covey of partridges from the foam. What, in her present softened mood,
when all relating to war and death was distasteful, grieved her,
however, was that even to capture the innocent fishes meant death to
some of the creatures created by the gods, while she soon learned that
when the flying-fishes sprang into the air, it was only because a
group of porpoises was pursuing them. Moreover, she observed that,
especially when near the coast, the ospreys or fish-eagles, swooping
down from their eyries, would often seize them in their talons. Thus,
if they escaped by taking flight from one danger in the sea, they,
nevertheless, succumbed to another danger in the air. And whenever
Elissa allowed herself to think at all, a thing that she, with all her
will, did her utmost to avoid, she vaguely hoped that her fate might
not be that of a flying-fish springing from one danger, that it knew
of close at hand in the water, to another, that it knew not of, in the
air.

But she realised, from thus observing the birds and the fishes, that,
even in the calmest scenes of nature, the eternal laws of death and
destruction are ever present and in force; that there is nought that
liveth but must die, and die, more frequently than not, by a cruel
death. All this only strengthened all the more her serious resolve to
do all within her power to save unhappy humanity from further
suffering, and for the future to work in the interests of peace alone.

Having made up her mind firmly on this point, she determined further
that never again would she raise her own hand in warfare, that never
would she wear armour more.

Calling Cleandra, she bade her bring to her, where she was reclining
under a silken canopy on the poop, the light cuirass and helmet
incrusted with gold that had protected her in many a fight, the trusty
sword with which she had struck in the wars with Mago, in the defence
of the New Town and in the streets of Syracuse, many a blow on behalf
of Carthage. She bade Cleandra bring also to her the sheath of darts,
whence she had drawn years before the weapon which had slain Cnœus
Scipio, and quite recently that which had procured her escape from
Alexander, son of Phidias, by causing his death.

Lastly, she bade Cleandra bring her beautiful shield of polished
steel, inlaid with gold, bearing on its centre a golden representation
of the horse of Carthage. When Cleandra had placed all these weapons
and arms by Elissa’s side on the deck, she asked, with some curiosity:

“What wilt thou do with thine armour to-day, Elissa? Here in this
land-locked bay there is nought for thee to fight, unless it be with
yonder monstrous shark, whose triangular back fin appeareth moving
lazily above the surface of the pellucid waters. Ugh! I hate sharks!
and this one hath followed us for days. Canst thou not fancy his
horrid teeth meeting through thy flesh?”

And, clasping her hands to her bosom, Cleandra shuddered.

“Ay, what would the lady Elissa do with her arms here upon my ship?”
asked courteously Marcus Æmilius, who had followed Cleandra. “Hath
she cause of offence against any person that she need defend herself
while being my guest? If so, by the Olympian Jove, the offender shall
suffer for it.”

“Nay, nay, good Marcus!” answered Elissa, laughing at the young man’s
serious looks, “I need not mine armour for any defensive purposes, but
merely as solid food wherewith to feed yonder hungry shark. For
henceforth I will be a woman only, and mine only defence shall be my
virtue; or, rather,” she continued, smiling bitterly, “so much of it
as King Philip hath left me. I have no longer need for sword or
shield, neither helmet nor cuirass can make me what I was; no arms,
alas! can give me back the self-respect that was mine before I fell
into the clutches of Philip of Macedon; thus I will no more employ
them to slaughter hapless beings who may already, perchance, have
suffered as deeply as I have myself.”

She paused, and furtively wiped away a tear, for she was, indeed, all
woman now. Stooping, she seized upon her helmet, rose, and cast it
overboard.

Like a streak of light did the shark, with gleaming side, dash through
the water. Turning belly upwards, he seized the helmet, displaying two
triple rows of teeth just below them as they stood by the bulwarks.

Cleandra screamed at the sight of the horrid monster so close to her,
and seized Marcus tightly by the arm.

“Dost thou see the brute?” quoth Elissa; “he eateth, with the
digestion of an ostrich, everything, no matter of what description,
that falls overboard; I have watched him for days. He would, indeed,
make but one bite of thy sweet rounded form, my dear Cleandra, so
grasp thy Marcus firmly.

“But now,” she continued, “he shall have that I never yet yielded to
living man--and much good may it do him.”

So saying, she cast her bared sword into the water. The savage brute
dashed at it as before, and caught the glittering weapon in its
gigantic maw.

In striving to close its mouth, however, the point entered deeply into
the upper jaw, while the hilt remained against the lower one. Thus,
the huge beast could not close its horrid teeth, but remained lashing
furiously with its tail the waters, which were soon tinged with blood.
Meanwhile, while watching the struggles of the gigantic shark, Elissa
threw over in turn her cuirass and her sheath of darts.

There now remained nought but her shield. Elissa picked this up,
intending that it should follow all the rest. But her hands were
unequal to the deed. As she gazed down upon the golden horse in its
centre, the salt tears fell upon the polished but dinted steel,
wherein she seemed to see as in a mirror all her warlike past, all
those deeds of arms that she was renouncing now for ever.

“Oh, I cannot do it, I cannot do it!” she sobbed. “I cannot cast away
my shield, my last defence, so oft my trusty friend.”

Gently, the loving Cleandra wound an arm round the beautiful young
woman and soothed her, while Marcus Æmilius, embarrassed beyond
measure, and, as a warrior, grieved also at the scene he had been
witnessing, in seeing these arms cast away, turned to the side of the
ship to watch the still struggling tiger of the deep, who, now that he
was in adversity, was being attacked by several others of his own
kind. For some small ground sharks, that had not hitherto shown
themselves, suddenly appeared from the bottom of the bay, and were
savagely tearing away at his defenceless sides, biting out huge
pieces.

Elissa, recovering herself, pointed out what was taking place to
Cleandra.

“How like humanity! where the little are ever ready to take advantage
of the misfortunes of the great. And how like a warrior deprived of
sword and shield, ay, even like myself, is that now defenceless
monster. But although in future I will be woman, not warrior, I will
not after all cast away that emblem of a warrior’s defence, for which
a woman hath no need.”

She drew herself up proudly, and approached the Roman.

“Marcus Æmilius, since thou art my defence at this moment, and since,
by all the gods! I do most sincerely trust in thine honour, I will
even confer upon thee that which hath been the safeguard of Hannibal’s
daughter from Roman weapons in many a bloody field. For no need have
I, now nought but a mere woman, for a shield, being under the care of
an honourable man. Therefore take thou my buckler, and keep it, for
Elissa’s sake.”

The handsome young ambassador was a most courtly knight. He threw
himself upon one knee to receive the tendered gift. While he received
the shield with one hand he raised the other to heaven in an
invocation.

“May the great god Jupiter destroy me with his thunderbolts, if ever I
should part from this most sacred shield, or should I ever harm a hair
of the head of the most gracious and lovely lady who hath bestowed it
upon me.”

He kissed Elissa’s hand, then rising and holding the shield with all
honour, as though it were an offering consecrated to the gods, Marcus
Æmilius bore it with him to his cabin.

Meanwhile, the little sharks were still tearing the big shark to
pieces, and, as the monster writhed about in its agony, the rays of
the sun were frequently brilliantly reflected from Elissa’s sword
blade fixed upright in the midst of its horrible fangs. But even as
Æmilius disappeared from view, bearing her shield, so with a last
convulsive struggle did the monster sink, followed by its tormentors.

Elissa accepted this as a good omen, a sign that her own troubles were
buried for ever with her sword at the bottom of the sea. And she felt
happier and altogether more womanly now that she had thus divested
herself of her arms and armour.

The voyage was a long one, owing to the adverse breezes, which made
the crossing of the southern part of the Adriatic impossible for a
time; but at length, the wind changing, the ships were able to issue
from the Grecian land-locked harbour, where they were lying, and pass
swiftly across to the entrance of the Tarentine Gulf, situated between
the Iapygian and Bruttian promontories, which form, as it were,
respectively the heel and the toe of the south of Italy.

As the ships sailed in, the day being remarkably clear, Æmilius
pointed out to Elissa and Cleandra something white glistening on the
hill-tops to the far west across the gulf. This, he informed them, was
the celebrated temple of Juno Lacinia, which was held most sacred by
all, and especially by seamen, as it formed a landmark for them to
steer by. What neither Æmilius nor Elissa knew, however, was that
Hannibal her father was at that very time encamped with his forces in
the sacred groves and parks surrounding the temple. For he had made of
that spot, known as the Lacinian Promontory, his head-quarters.

Although some Carthaginian vessels were sighted in the distance, and
Æmilius had some anxiety in consequence, he managed to elude them,
and to arrive with his three ships safely within the harbour of
Tarentum. Before entering the harbour, a great part of the town had
been passed, and Elissa noticed that it had a miserable and deserted
look. This was not surprising, for, upon its recent delivery by
treachery to the Romans, thirty thousand of its Greek inhabitants had
been sold into slavery, while all its Bruttian inhabitants had been
massacred. Moreover, all the famous statues and works of art in the
city had been taken away to Rome.




 CHAPTER II.
 ELISSA WRITES TO SCIPIO.

When the three Roman warships were safe within the shelter of the
harbour, the entrance to which was completely dominated by the
citadel, now full of Roman soldiers, the first thing that was pointed
out to Elissa was the place where her father Hannibal had, by night,
some years previously, withdrawn the Tarentine fleet from the waters
and conveyed the whole of the ships on wheels and rollers across the
isthmus into the open seas without. At the same time Æmilius dwelt
with pride upon the fact that, although Hannibal had entered the town
by the treachery of two of its inhabitants to Rome, and eventually
lost it again by the treachery of its commander to Carthage, yet had
her father never been able to capture the citadel, notwithstanding his
several years’ occupation of the city.

The arrival of the young ambassador and his squadron created no slight
stir in the place, and the three quinquiremes had no sooner cast
anchor than the Roman governor of the town, one Caius Tacitus, lost no
time in coming off in his State barge to visit the envoy, and to learn
the latest tidings from the court of Philip.

When the governor found that Elissa was on board, as the friend, not
the prisoner of Marcus Æmilius, his surprise knew no bounds. Nor was
his surprise modified when he learned that Hannibal’s daughter was on
her way to Rome to marry Scipio. Withholding any news of Italian
matters until later, Caius invited Marcus and his guests to come
ashore without delay, when he entertained them right royally to a
banquet in the citadel.

It was during this banquet that Elissa became aware of two
circumstances. The first was that her father was encamped with his
forces somewhere in the Bruttian Peninsula, at some point probably
within a hundred Roman miles of where she then was; the second that,
despite his youth, Scipio had been elected consul for the year, and
had been recently despatched into Sicily. Thither he had been sent
with two Roman legions as a nucleus, and was now busy raising a large
army from various sources and building a fleet with which to cross
over the sea to Carthaginian soil.

This information gave Elissa much cause for reflection; for it was,
indeed, thoroughly calculated to arouse all kinds of conflicting
feelings in her mind.

The calm which had so recently existed in her breast was already
disturbed, and once again all was riot and chaos within. For her duty
now scarcely seemed so clear to her as it had been, when all that was
required of her was to go straight to Rome and join Scipio, and when
she had had no idea of her own father’s likely proximity. She wondered
now if it were not rather her duty to endeavour by some means or other
to join her father.

That night, after her return to the ship, she pondered long on the
subject, nor would she hold any converse with Cleandra, who was
anxious to know how Elissa had taken the news. Her she sent to talk
with Æmilius, while keeping apart herself in a separate part of the
ship. And thinking of her father’s many exploits, by one alone of
which this very city of Tarentum was to be for ever celebrated, she
remained gazing into the night, and most ardently did Elissa offer up
her prayers to the great god Melcareth that he would guide her in this
juncture. She was not weighing in her mind the possibility of carrying
out any plan of escape to her father’s camp, but rather that which
would be right and just for her to do in the sight of heaven. At
length light came to her brain and her course seemed clear. Evidently
she was bound more than ever now to fall in with Scipio’s wishes;
bound in honour to him, for was she not now by his means safely
removed from the clutches of the detested Philip? and, more than ever,
for the very sake of Carthage, for, while the Phœnician power was
diminishing to a vanishing point all over the world, the power of Rome
was ever increasing by leaps and bounds.

Further, since Scipio had, in addition to all the honours he had won,
now been appointed consul, he would be in a far better position to
make himself heard before the Senate in a matter of peace and war.
Moreover, the invasion of Carthage clearly depended in a great measure
upon him alone, since he had only been provided with two legions to
start with, which legions consisted merely of the runaways from the
battle of Cannæ, who had been kept for punishment in Sicily ever
since. Thus, upon the celerity and ability which, acting entirely upon
his own resources, he might display in getting an army together and
likewise a fleet, would entirely depend the possibility of a descent
upon Libyan or Numidian soil. Should she therefore marry him, that
invasion would not take place.

Having argued these points out in her own mind, Elissa put entirely on
one side any hopes that she might have for the moment entertained of
once more seeing her father, and determined to carry out the line of
action she had marked out for herself upon the night of leaving the
burning city of Abydos. Then seeking her couch, she slept peacefully.

Upon the following morn Marcus Æmilius informed her that his three
ships were to remain in Tarentum for a short time to re-fit and
re-provision, and further, until he himself could obtain direct
instructions from Rome as to his own movements. He added that he was
sending, in addition to messengers by land to Rome, a direct report of
all that had taken place to Scipio himself. This report would leave
that same night by a swift and celebrated blockade-runner, a
quadrireme that had been captured from the Carthaginians during the
siege of Syracuse. This quadrireme he intended to send first of all to
Syracuse, and, if Scipio were not there, then on to Libybæum, and
Panormus. He would be surely found in the vicinity of one of the three
ports, and in all probability at Syracuse, the most adjacent of the
three.

Upon hearing this, while regretting the delay which she feared might
perchance prove fatal, or result in herself being sent, not to Scipio,
but to Rome, Elissa determined upon writing to the consul. But first
she demanded urgently of Æmilius to send her to Scipio upon the
blockade-runner. This was, however, a responsibility which the young
envoy felt he could not bring upon himself to incur; for was she not,
he urged, entrusted to his safeguard and keeping, with all honour and
comfort, and that with a squadron for her protection? But should he
place her upon the blockade-runner, which was manned by a mixed and
ruffianly crew of Etruscan and Sicilian sailors, little better indeed
than pirates, who could tell what might be her lot, or if she would
ever be heard of again? These men were ever ready to sell themselves
to the highest bidder, and they were very highly paid for the great
risks that they ran; but who could tell, if they had such a valuable
prize as the daughter of Hannibal upon their vessel, to what uses they
might not turn the possession of her person?

Upon these grounds Marcus felt himself bound to refuse to accede to
her request. Therefore Elissa wrote to Scipio as follows:--


 “From Elissa, daughter of Hannibal Barca, to Publius Cornelius Scipio.

 “In the name of the great god Melcareth, and in the name of the sweet
 goddess of love Tanais, greeting. My lord Scipio, I write unto thee in
 Greek, even as thou didst unto me, for thy letter was duly delivered
 unto me in the camp at Abydos by Marcus Æmilius, through the
 intermediary of that very Cleandra unto whom Caius Lælius did send
 greetings.

 “Thy servant Elissa was at that time in great tribulation of mind and
 body owing to the brutalities and wanton excesses of the Macedonian
 king, Philip, into whose hands the mighty gods, doubtless for the
 lowering of her pride, had surrendered her, helpless as the fly within
 the web of the spider, or the gazelle beneath the paw of the lion.
 Then was it that, with the nobility of soul that thy servant hath ever
 recognised in thee since first we did meet at the court of King
 Syphax, thou didst with thy letter procure calm for a troubled mind,
 and pave the bridge of escape over the waters of despair. Know then
 this, oh Scipio, I have carefully considered thy letter in all its
 bearings, and am convinced equally by the compassionate affection and
 the wisdom of thy words. Therefore is it that, braving the probable
 anger of my father Hannibal, and trusting to the mercy of the almighty
 gods to rightly guide my footsteps, I am willing to do thy will and
 become thy wife, and am even now arrived as far as the city of
 Tarentum upon my way to meet thee. One condition alone do I impose
 upon thee, my lord Scipio, namely, that should I become thy wife
 before the expiration of six full moons from this, the day of my
 writing this letter, thou wilt not proceed further with thy
 preparations for the invasion of Carthaginian soil, and wilt do thine
 utmost to further the interests of peace between thy country and mine.
 Should ought occur to prevent my placing my hand in thine before the
 expiration of the soon advancing winter season, I do absolve thee from
 any condition whatever. Further, neither will this my writing, nor
 these my words be of any avail. For then it will be too late, and thou
 must perforce put thine army in motion. In such case must we both
 recognise that the gods themselves have willed matters thus, and that
 the time will be past both for thee and for me to think of joining our
 lives, whether with a view merely to our own mutual and personal
 happiness, or to the welfare of our respective nations. Yet would I
 gladly come to thee now, Scipio, ay, even by the very despatch vessel
 that beareth thee this my letter. Yet hath Marcus Æmilius not deemed
 it wise to allow my departure, and in all things have I hitherto found
 him a man of rectitude and honour. Much would I write to thee, oh
 Scipio, of all that hath happened to me since that day, now long gone
 by, when I, no more then actually than thy slave by right of capture,
 did embrace thee and call thee brother upon bidding thee farewell.
 Alas! that the gods did not then point out to me the right path, else
 had I never left thee, and never submitted to the horror of the
 embraces of a Philip, a monarch unworthy of the name of king. Yet then
 was Maharbal still living, and I pledged; but now have I heard in
 Tarentum, even as thou didst write to me thyself, that both he and
 Chœras, and all the other leaders of the Numidians, fell with most of
 their men at Salapia, being caught without their horses, which were
 camped without the walls. Thus am I absolved from that ancient
 allegiance. Such is the will of the gods, and the fate of warriors and
 women. Even I, Elissa, since bidding thee last farewell, have been
 present in many bloody conflicts as of old; but now have I cast my
 sword and other arms into the waters, and renounced warfare for ever.
 Therefore, should it be the decree of Melcareth and of Tanais that we
 should eventually be joined as one, thou needest not fear in future,
 oh Scipio, for any such passages of arms beneath thy roof as when I
 did cast my javelines upon thee without the walls of the New Town, or
 strike down the men under Lælius in the palace garden. Nay, the only
 darts that thou wilt have to fear will be those from a woman’s usual
 weapon, the tongue. And even they shall only be delivered when thou
 dost absent thyself too long from thine Elissa’s side. Now, fare thee
 well, and may the gods preserve thee until we meet, and may that be
 soon! Commend me, I pray thee, to Caius Lælius; I was right loth to
 leave him in the ship before Syracuse without bidding him farewell,
 especially as he was lying wounded. But his is a noble heart like
 thine, Scipio, and he knew I could not do otherwise to get away. His
 flag-captain, who did espouse Cleandra, was afterward slain. Cleandra
 now doth love Æmilius, and would wed him, even when I wed thee. With
 this object in view, she beggeth me to crave the forgiveness of
 Lælius, that he will not enforce against her the rights against
 runaway slaves. And this, I know, he will not do, both for thy sake
 and for mine, for it was on my account only that Cleandra did escape
 with me. Moreover, she was ever most tender and watchful to him until
 then. And am not I, for that matter, thy runaway slave likewise?
 Farewell again, Scipio. I pray the gods may now lead our feet together
 into the paths of peace.

                                              “(Sealed) Elissa.”




 CHAPTER III.
 A TERRIBLE SEA FIGHT.

Elissa did not have so long to wait as she expected for a reply to
her letter to Scipio, for the blockade-runner found him at Syracuse.
Owing to her speed, the favourable breezes, and to clever seamanship,
the quadrireme, having avoided all Carthaginian cruisers on the way,
was back again and lying safely in the harbour of Tarentum within ten
days of her departure. Her captain brought back with him a letter for
Elissa, and definite instructions to Æmilius, who was instructed to
come to Syracuse at once, while keeping well out to sea to avoid the
rival fleets off Locri.

To Elissa Scipio responded with his usual delicacy of feeling, the joy
and anticipation of probably soon meeting being so plainly evident
that even Elissa’s heart, which she had thought at rest, beat
considerably faster than for long past as she read his words. To all
that she proposed he had agreed, whether as regards the cessation of
the preparations for the invasion of Africa, or the immunity of
Cleandra from the consequences of her evasion of Caius. This he
promised personally for his friend in his absence at the siege of
Locri, on the south-east corner of the Bruttian peninsula, which was
being besieged by forces of his both by land and sea.

Had Scipio but received Elissa’s letter some time previously he would
not have sent his troops to commence the siege of that city, so he
said; but now the national honour was engaged on both sides, and there
was no going back for one or for the other.

In conclusion, Scipio laughed at her fears lest they should not be wed
in six months’ time, and therefore not at all; for he said the merry
wine-god Bacchus had appeared to him in a vision, and had distinctly
told him that he should be joined to her in marriage by a hoary-headed
priest with a snow-white beard down to the knees. Further, that after
the nuptials there would be much consumption of wine. He reminded her
that never yet had a heaven-sent vision of his failed to come true. He
therefore bid Elissa be of good cheer, for, as he had told her years
previously, they might yet rule the world together after all, and then
would come the era of perpetual peace and universal happiness.

When Elissa read this letter the tears came to her eyes, but they were
tears of joy. For she devoutly believed in Scipio’s visions, and
looked forward with unbounded delight to that era of perpetual peace
which, after so many terrible years of misery, she should so soon help
to inaugurate.

In the meanwhile the Carthaginian garrison of the town of Locri, aided
by the Bruttian inhabitants, were making a most vigorous resistance,
for they had the fate of the inhabitants of Tarentum before their
eyes. They knew well that the Romans, who never once on Italian soil
were able to defeat Hannibal in the field, upon recapture spared not
from universal death or slavery the inhabitants of any of the cities,
of no matter what nationality, which had from fear, self-interest, or
compulsion, yielded to his arms.

In addition to Tarentum which, being near at hand, was the most lively
example, the inhabitants of Locri had doubtless heard of the massacre,
torture, and slavery of the inhabitants of Capua by Appius Claudius,
and of the frightful scenes in Syracuse, which had been previously an
ally of Rome for fifty years, upon its capture by Marcus Marcellus.
Thus the wretched Locrini knew that there was nothing to expect save
death for all the men and old women, and dishonour for all the young
women, should the city fall.

And as it happened, once more by treachery from within, the city of
Locri did fall, and fall upon the very day that Marcus Æmilius, with
his three ships, was sailing due southwards from Tarentum past the
Bruttian headlands, keeping, according to Scipio’s instructions, well
out to sea. At the very time that the three ships were, after having
passed the Lacinian Promontory at a considerable distance, steering
still due southwards, some of the most horrible atrocities and
cruelties that the world has ever known were being enacted in the
streets and the interiors of the houses of Locri.

On that particular day it would have been far better for the Romans on
the three ships if they had kept closer into the land and coasted
close down the shore, for suddenly, although well out to sea, the
three Roman vessels found themselves surrounded by a mass of fishing
vessels, small boats, luggers, and even by several small war pinnaces.
All of these were crowded with miserable fugitives, laden with all
kinds of articles of furniture, weighing the boats down to the water’s
edge. Old men with white hair, women with babies in their arms, young
marriageable girls, these were the chief occupants of the boats. There
was a small number of able-bodied rowers also. These poor wretches had
evidently not waited for the actual fall of the town, but had started
to fly as soon as the ramparts were first stormed, having got their
boats all ready in advance. They were all steering northwards for the
city of Croton, lying behind the Lacinian Promontory, then in the
occupation of Hannibal, and were taking the shortest cut across the
arc of the very considerable bay which lies behind a headland a few
miles to the north of Locri.

Seeing the three war vessels in the offing, the flying Locrini
thought, from the direction in which they were coming, that they were
three Carthaginian warships coming from Croton; therefore they all
rushed in a confused mass towards them for safety. This mistake of
theirs was the more excusable inasmuch that, for fear of being
discerned from the Lacinian Promontory on passing, the three Roman
vessels were flying Carthaginian colours.

It was not until the first of the boats had actually met them, and
when the whole sea in front was so encumbered that progress was almost
impossible, that it dawned upon Æmilius and his captains what it all
meant. And then at a considerable distance, in fact, from just behind
the headland lying to the north of Locri, they could see some ten or
twelve Roman war vessels advancing, with a steady sweep of the oars,
in a line, pursuing these poor wretches. Their progress was slow, for
they stopped to rifle all the boats they overtook, and themselves put
out boats full of armed men, for that purpose. All the old men, the
sailors, and the elderly women were ruthlessly cut down and
slaughtered, while the babies were torn from their mothers, and thrown
into the water. The young women, however, were seized, thrown
violently down into the bottom of the boats, and then conveyed to the
war vessels, where their hands and feet were lashed with roughly-tied
ropes. There they were left in a struggling mass, writhing and
screaming on the decks, while the work of capture and murder proceeded
as before. The whole air was full of the screams of the dying, the
water full of drowning people and sinking boats; but the cries of the
women whose babies were torn from them and thrown into the water were
the worst and most agonising of all.

Before Marcus Æmilius had time to change the Carthaginian colours on
the masts for Roman ones, which it was necessary to do lest they
should be shortly attacked by their own advancing war-ships, the
unhappy creatures in the boats were closing upon them on all sides,
and swarming up the sides of the ships, or clinging to the oars in all
directions.

Now, sighting a fleet of twenty Carthaginian vessels just appearing in
their rear from behind the Lacinian Promontory, the Romans knew that
they must be taken unless they could extricate themselves in time from
the swarming wretches whose boats were not only delaying them, but
whose numbers, if they gained the decks, would sink them.

Therefore, with every kind of implement, from spear, sword, or axe,
down to capstan-bar, or belaying-pin, were the Romans now bound, in
absolute self-defence, to strike down mercilessly the miserable,
unarmed creatures who were clinging to the oars and climbing up the
sides. In many cases the women threw their babies on board the ships
first, then themselves climbed up after them, and for a time, at
least, a considerable number were continually gaining the decks, only
to be cut down and thrust overboard again. The water was red with
blood, and the oars clogged with the long hair of dead and living
which had got twisted and entangled round them. And of all this
terrible sight were Elissa and Cleandra the horrified and unwilling
spectators.

At length the people in the remaining boats seemed to realise the
situation. Leaving the three ships clear, they commenced to row well
outside of them to the right and the left. Then turning their prows to
the eastward, the three Roman ships charged with all their oars the
now attenuated line of boats on that side, and thus by smashing some
up, and passing clean over others, they gained the open waters. Rowing
with all their might, and steering at first due eastward, it seemed
for a time as if they would clear the left flank of the advancing line
of Carthaginian ships, many of which were now hampered with the
fugitive boats as they had been themselves. And the greater number
stopped to take on board the survivors. But there were five ships on
the extreme Carthaginian left which had particularly fast rowers, and
it was impossible to clear them. Turning their heads south once more,
the Romans tried to join the squadron of twelve which had come in
pursuit of the boats. But these, now being full of female captives and
other spoils, were in full retreat for the harbour of Locri, outside
which lay the main body of the Roman fleet under command of Caius
Lælius.

Caius had, as usual upon such occasions, himself landed with a
storming party, and knew nothing of this affair, especially as the
fugitives had got well away to the north before being discovered. At
length, seeing that three of the Carthaginian vessels only were
gaining upon them, while the other two were now a long way astern,
Marcus Æmilius determined to fight. He signalled to his other two
ships to slacken speed, then to turn round, halt, and lay upon their
oars.

“Get ready to lower the crows,” he cried, “and let the boarders be
ready standing by them.”

The “crows,” long and wide gangways with an iron spike at the higher
end, were fixed to the foremasts, round which they revolved on an iron
ring at the bottom, the spike end being near the mast-head, to which
they were held by pulleys. Men now stood holding the ends of these
pulleys ready to let go. The three Carthaginian ships were coming near
at hand--two quinquiremes and one gigantic hexireme--the latter being
the one that Æmilius determined to charge himself. Before the shock
of the contact Marcus perceived the two ladies standing on the poop.
Doffing his helmet, he kissed both their hands in turn.

“Fair lady Elissa, if I cannot bear thee to a loving and expectant
husband in the Consul Scipio, there is one thing I can do--I can fight
and die like a man. That is what it must come to; there are five ships
of your countrymen to three of mine. If we conquer the first three,
the two others will come with fresh men, and both, I see, are
hexiremes. They will crush us! Maybe one of our three ships may
escape; it will not be mine, for I shall not retreat unless we can
defeat in time our three present opponents, and so can all escape
together. Ladies, take ye this Carthaginian flag, and should matters
be critical, then hold it aloft over your bodies--it may prove your
salvation.” Then he added, “Farewell, beloved Cleandra, one last
embrace!”

Cleandra sprung into his arms, her face white and pale, but
determined. Elissa, who had been in many fights, had never looked more
noble than did now Cleandra, who had never yet been present in the
actual warfare of hand-to-hand combat.

“Fight, my noble Marcus!” she cried. “Fight nobly and fight well, and
in this battle, for thy sake, I will fight, too; and if thou diest I
will die, since, save for the lady Elissa’s sake, I am, through my
love for thee, a very Roman even as thou art.”

She clung to him one moment only, their lips met, then without another
word she released him and waved him forward. Stooping, she herself
picked up a battle-axe, all bloody as it was with the gore of recent
victims.

Then there was a fearful crash. All the six ships were in violent
collision at once. The two women both lost their feet, but jumping up
again, saw the crows falling with a smashing blow clear over the
bulwarks of the Carthaginian ships, the iron beaks fixing themselves
in the decks, and thus binding the hostile vessels together side by
side.

In a second, taking the Carthaginians by surprise in their rush, the
Roman boarders sprung along the crows and fell upon the foemen on
their own decks.

Æmilius had disappeared in the throng, and long the battle raged,
unevenly at first, and then entirely in favour of the Romans, who
slaughtered unmercifully. When nearly all the Carthaginian marines
were slain, suddenly the Romans, by order, rushed back to their ships,
along the crows or over the sides. Æmilius re-appeared upon his own
deck, apparently unwounded save for a small stream of blood trickling
down his cheek.

“Raise the crows swiftly!” he shouted, “and backwater with all the
oars.” For he saw that there was a fair chance of escape, and with
honour, the other two Carthaginian ships being still some way off. He
might even yet carry Elissa home in safety to the Consul Scipio. And
there would have been a chance of escape for the whole three ships had
it not so happened that, by mischance, the rope of the crow upon his
own ship had run out of the block or pulley, and was lying useless on
the deck. The crow could not be raised.

“Escape!” he cried to those on the two other ships, “escape at once,
and tell Scipio that I did my duty.” For he saw that they had their
crows raised, and could get away easily; in fact, they were already at
some distance, and moving astern.

But they were men of mettle, and would not escape to leave their
comrades behind. Even as the two fresh Carthaginian hexiremes closed
up, one on each side of the ship of Æmilius, which was still locked
with the hexireme first engaged, the two outside Roman ships returned
and closed in upon their outer sides. Down fell the crows once more,
the spikes penetrating the decks, and once more the battle was raging
on all sides, and it raged with fury. At length, Æmilius, quite tired
out, was beaten to his knees by a heavy sword blow, which, falling on
the junction of neck and shoulder, went through the leather
armour-flaps lying between helmet and cuirass.

Like a tigress Cleandra sprung to his side, and, with a terrible blow
with her war axe, clove his assailant’s skull in twain before he could
repeat the blow. A Carthaginian soldier behind the fallen man now
pierced her in turn with a spear, full in the bosom. She fell upon
Æmilius, her life-blood mingling with his own, while a Roman struck
down the Carthaginian who had pierced Cleandra.

At length, it was becoming evident that the Romans were overmatched by
these two ships full of fresh men. Moreover, the oarsmen of the first
hexireme had now left their banks of oars, and arming themselves with
the arms of dead comrades or of foemen, were joining in the fray.

Elissa stood on the end of the poop looking on. The Carthaginian flag
was lying on the taffrail, and, unaware of what she was doing, she was
leaning against it, clasping it with one hand. While she was standing
thus, there came surging forward from one of the other ships, upon the
bloody deck of that whereon she stood herself, an enormous man, a
regular giant. He was smiting with a double-edged sword to right and
left, and clearing as he went a lane before him. The affrighted and
wearied-out Romans still alive upon Elissa’s ship fled before him, and
crossing the Carthaginian ships, sprung to their outer vessels, and
attempted to cast loose the crows again. One, and one ship only
succeeded in so doing, and now the battle was ending, indeed ended. At
that moment the giant arrived, with his bloody sword raised, before
Hannibal’s daughter herself. He saw the Carthaginian flag, and it
caught his attention before he recognised the woman’s face. Then he
knew her again.

“Elissa! Art not thou Elissa? By the great gods, ’tis Elissa herself!”

But she had recognised him for several moments past, despite his
scarred cheek and grizzling hair. Thinking him dead, she had been
watching him spell-bound, fancying that she saw a spirit.

“Ay, Maharbal, I am Elissa, even Hannibal’s daughter. And thou, art
thou indeed Maharbal in the flesh? I heard that thou wast slain at
Salapia.”

“And what dost thou on this Roman ship, Elissa? As for me, thou seest
I was but half slain, since I have just slain half of these Romans in
revenge.”

“I was on my way from Philip of Macedon, from whom these Romans did
rescue me; and I was about to marry Cornelius Scipio, and thus bring
about a peace between Carthage and Rome.” She looked him calmly in the
face as she replied thus.

“Thou marry Scipio! By Moloch, never! That intention of thine I have,
thank the gods, now frustrated.”

Maharbal cried thus, furiously gnashing his teeth, for he had in years
gone by heard reports about his lady-love and Scipio which had not
pleased him greatly. He turned and roared out furiously to those on
the Roman vessel which was just sheering off.

“Hark, ye Roman dogs! tell ye Scipio from me that it is Maharbal, the
son of Manissa, who hath once again frustrated him--say that the said
Maharbal, who hath thrice spared the dog Scipio’s life, is by no means
disposed to accord him in addition his own intended wife; nay, not for
any Roman jackdaw, thinking himself an eagle, is Elissa, Hannibal’s
daughter. Now, go!” he added, in a voice of thunder. He spoke clearly,
and in excellent Latin, and every word of the insulting message was
understood.

As the Carthaginians were quite unable to pursue, the Roman vessel got
away in safety, bearing with it only a small living remnant of each of
the original crews of the three ships.

When Maharbal turned back to Elissa he found her paying no regard to
him whatever; she was, he saw, down upon her knees by a dying woman
and a dying man. And the woman had her arm around the man’s neck.

“It is Cleandra,” said Elissa sadly; “dost thou not remember her,
Maharbal? And now one of thy ruffians hath slain her. Oh, my poor
faithful, good Cleandra!” And stooping down she kissed her on the
lips.

The dying woman recognised the Numidian hero, her friend since
earliest youth.

“Maharbal!” said Cleandra, in a faint voice, “be kind to Elissa, and I
will pray the gods for thee. I shall see them soon.” She added still
more faintly, “Fare thee well, Elissa; I did ever love thee
faithfully.” Then she turned towards Æmilius, feebly placed her lips
on his, gave a shudder, and died.

A shiver passed through the form of the Roman at the very same
instant. He also was now dead.

Elissa rose, her dress all dabbled in blood.

“And yet,” she said fiercely to Maharbal, “even amid scenes like
this,” and she pointed with open hand at the dead couple lying at her
feet, “thou canst thank the gods, Maharbal, that thou hast frustrated
my intention of marrying Scipio, thereby to bring about a peace
between Carthage and Rome. Well, thank the gods if thou wilt, thou art
nought to me, thou bloody man! Begone from my sight! Begone I say, and
leave me here with my dead, whom thou and thine have slain.” She
stamped her foot.

As many a courageous and bloodthirsty man has been before, he was
utterly cowed by the righteous anger of a woman.

In such sad wise was, after many years, the meeting again of Maharbal
and Elissa. He, bold warrior as he was, slunk off to give some orders
to his men, feeling, he knew not why, that whereas a minute ago it had
been Elissa who was most terribly, irretrievably in the wrong, now he
had himself done something that he feared she might never forgive
throughout his lifetime.

Thus can a fearless and clever woman ever turn the tables upon a man,
in the most tragic as in the most trivial moments of existence.




 CHAPTER IV.
 ELISSA’S MISERY.

It was not to a bed of roses that Elissa returned when she first
rejoined her father in his camp upon the Lacinian Promontory. The
world had not been using him well, and his formerly jovial temper was
considerably embittered in consequence. He hated the Romans more than
ever, and was most contented that his daughter had been prevented from
carrying out her intended union with Scipio. But he was above
everything just, and saw in her intention her wish to act for her
country’s welfare; but while at heart approving her motive, he
objected to the actual intention itself, and would have been furious
had it been successfully carried out.

With regard to Philip of Macedon he felt differently. He was proud of
his daughter, and openly praised her for her self-sacrifice in that
matter. It was not her fault if her country had not reaped all the
advantages that it might have done from her nobility of soul and
self-abnegation. Hannibal recognised them all the same.

Thus after a time, when father and daughter had, so to speak, renewed
each other’s acquaintance, confidence was restored. Hannibal ceased to
blame her even in the matter of Scipio, when he learned at the
beginning of the spring that Scipio had actually at length passed over
into Numidia and was laying siege to the city of Utica, while Caius
Lælius was devastating the coasts with his ships. And Hannibal well
knew there was now no general capable enough on Carthaginian soil to
combat the invader with any hopes of success. All this might have been
prevented if Elissa had only got safe through to Sicily.

While Hannibal still maintained his own upon Italian soil, almost
capturing the town of Rhegium at the extreme south, and being
successful in other directions whenever he chose to issue from his
entrenchments, there ever continued to come bad news from Numidia.

While Scipio was over-running Numidia from end to end, avoiding any
walled towns, save only Utica, and capturing all the unwalled cities,
Utica held out nobly; and eventually, so gallant was her resistance,
that the siege was raised by Scipio after a naval battle in which the
Romans were defeated.

After the raising of the siege of Utica, the party of Hanno sent
envoys to Rome to try to make a peace, and this with Scipio’s
approval, for he had himself dictated the terms. He had been
everywhere successful except before Utica, nearly all the army of
Carthage had been destroyed, and having won quite sufficient military
glory, he was thinking how Elissa might even yet be his, if only a
peace could be quickly brought about. Great warrior as he was, he was
absolutely sated with blood, and would willingly have given to
humanity, had it been possible, a cessation from warfare.

Meanwhile Hannibal remained in Italy, with as much confidence and
security as though it were his own property. And so indeed was his
corner of the mighty peninsula, which he had over-run from end to end,
and whence, had he but had the necessary reinforcements sent to him,
he would have been ready at any time to spring forth once more like a
lion and devastate the fair Italian plains, right back to those Alps
whence he had long years before descended upon this promised land. But
where now were all those to whom he had promised it? How many were
left of the original band who had set out with him upon that wonderful
march from Spain? Of all the generals and captains who had started on
that journey Maharbal alone remained. Chœras, the cheery,
light-hearted poet, had been slain at Salapia, and all those of
superior rank who had marched across the Ebro were dead
also--Monomachus, Hanno, Hasdrubal the pioneer, and thousands more,
ay, even Hasdrubal the brother of Hannibal, who had marched over the
Alps to join him, all--all were gone! Only old Sosilus still remained.
No wonder that Elissa found her father morose and inclined to find
fault with a pitiless fate which had allowed the miserable ineptitude
of the rulers in Carthage to rob him of the benefit of all his
victories, of all his many years of warfare, and which had cost him
the lives of nearly all his old friends, and given no commensurate
return.

But still, not all the twenty legions that had been raised that year
in Italy could put him out of that last corner of Italy which he had
selected for his own. There he sat, like an eagle upon the rock; and
still, when like the eagle he chose to sally forth and swoop over the
plain, even as the frightened game flying before the monarch of the
skies would the Roman legions retire before him in the open and take
shelter in walled towns or strongly-entrenched encampments, which,
owing to his reduced numbers, he was unable to besiege. And thus it
remained to the end. Hannibal was never defeated in Italy.

Meanwhile, her father’s original attachment to Maharbal had, Elissa
found, gone on increasing, if possible, through all the years that
they had fought side by side, and especially since he had so nearly
lost his noble lieutenant’s life at the terrible slaughter of the
Numidians at Salapia. From that place, wounded in half-a-dozen places,
he had been one of the very few who had managed to cut their way
through to the horses.

But now, poor Maharbal was but general of the Numidians in name, for
there were no more than at most some seventy-five of the far-famed
Numidians left. And to his great chagrin, his cousin Massinissa, after
killing his uncle, King Syphax, in Numidia, had now placed many
thousands of Numidian cavalry in the field on Carthaginian soil, side
by side with the Romans. For he had, so it was rumoured, added all the
forces of the late King Syphax to his own, and all were in active
alliance with Scipio against Carthage.

Maharbal was now often almost as morose and moody as Hannibal himself;
but the Numidian had an extra cause for sorrow. For throughout the
whole of his long years of warrings in Italy, he had remained faithful
to Elissa. And now he found that she had ceased to love him. He had
been quite prepared to overlook her doubtful alliance with King Philip
of Macedon; but he found, to his surprise, that no magnanimity was
required upon his side, for Elissa would have nothing of him. He had
been ready to excuse both the original flirtation with Scipio at the
Court of Syphax, of which an exaggerated report had reached him, and
also her later determination to marry Scipio; but he discovered that
to be excused either on the one count or the other was the very last
thing that Elissa herself desired. In fact she deliberately refused to
acknowledge his right to interfere in, question, or condone her
conduct from any point of view. And he felt somehow that through the
barrier of reserve, which she had raised from the very moment of their
meeting again, it would be far more difficult for him to break than it
would have been for him to break down, single-handed, the Colline gate
of the walls of Rome, over which Hannibal had cast his spear in token
of defiance.

It was not that he found her hard to him, for, on the contrary, she
was gentle; but she was no longer in love with him; she was
indifferent. There is nothing so terrible for a man to contend against
in the woman who once loved him with all her heart and soul, with
every fibre of her frame, than this same indifference, that is, if he
love her still himself. Now, Maharbal loved Elissa still, and the more
indifferent she showed herself to him, the more he loved her. But it
is not to be wondered at if, after all she had gone through, Elissa
could not find it in her to rush violently all at once into a renewal
of her former relations with Maharbal. Not only were all her dreams of
an Utopia with Scipio now dashed to the ground, but she heard daily of
the terrible reverses that had occurred to her beloved Carthage, which
she had never seen, owing to the failure of her marriage with him.

And who was it who had been the direct cause of her failing to join
Scipio in Syracuse but Maharbal himself, who had detached five
warships from the fleet, and captured her and killed her friends. Was
not poor Cleandra’s death directly attributable to Maharbal? and who,
in all her life, had been such a friend to her as Cleandra? And was
not Æmilius her friend? He had saved her from the court of Philip,
and yet Maharbal or his men--it was the same thing--had killed him.

“What,” thought Elissa, “has Maharbal ever given to me like the
devotion of a Cleandra, the love of a Scipio--ay, or even the courtesy
of a Lælius or an Æmilius?” Was it sufficient for Maharbal to leave
her alone for year after year, when he might have visited her instead
of her uncle Mago? Was it enough for him, while taking his fill of the
life he delighted in--a life of blood and military glory--to continue
to love her at a distance, and to expect her to fall at his feet at
his bidding after all, just because fate or chance placed her in his
way? “No,” cried Elissa to herself; “a thousand times no!” and she
thought of the old days, when she had wept her eyes out for Maharbal,
while he was with Melania at the court of King Andobales, and stamped
with her feet upon the ground with rage to think that she ever had
been such a fool.

But now she was so utterly miserable, so distressed at Cleandra’s
death, so disappointed at the terrible failure of her grand plans for
the happiness of the world in conjunction with Scipio, that really
this matter of Maharbal scarcely interested her. She had lived too
much, seen too much, suffered too much! So she told him plainly one
day that he must be content with the past. It might now indeed seem to
both of them almost as a dream. Well, so much the better! A dream it
must remain, for anything now more approaching a reality was utterly
impossible. And with that she left him.




 CHAPTER V.
 HIS LEGAL WIFE.

Meanwhile the Carthaginian embassy to Rome to sue for terms of peace
had not been a success. It was owing to the atrocious behaviour of the
Carthaginian party themselves, who had endeavoured to cast the whole
blame of the war from start to finish upon Hannibal, and Hannibal
alone, that the negotiations broke down.

For the Roman Senate were not children, and there were so many issues
at stake in which it could be clearly proved that the Carthaginians,
entirely apart from Hannibal, had held the leading hand, that the
Romans were disgusted at their excuses.

For the Senate well knew that, while the people in Carthage had been
glad enough to vaunt Hannibal’s victories, they had, from jealousy,
never supported him properly, or Rome might now have been a mere
province of Carthage. They also divined that, defeated in their own
country, the Carthaginians were treacherously inclined to give to Rome
as a scapegoat the glorious hero who, alone, unaided, and deserted by
his country, had won victory upon victory throughout three-quarters of
the then known world.

Therefore the Roman Senate refused the terms of peace, and ordained
that Scipio should go on with the war or get better terms.

Scipio was personally annoyed at the failure of the negotiations, for
he had ever the same object in view, the long-deferred hope of the
possession as his bride of the beloved Elissa. He had suffered much
since her recapture by her own countrymen off Locri, and, were it only
for revenge upon Maharbal, whose insulting message he had received, he
longed more than ever to marry her. But, all question of revenge
apart, since the letters that had passed between them, and when she
had so nearly reached his outstretched arms, he felt that he loved her
more than ever--more than it seemed possible for any man on earth to
love a woman.

Instead, therefore, of carrying on the war, Scipio for a while
continued the truce, pretending to play with the Carthaginian envoys
to deceive Rome, and with the Roman envoys to deceive Carthage.

For he argued: “Did I not see the wine-god Bacchus in a vision? and
did he not tell me that I shall be married to Elissa by a priest with
a long beard flowing to his knees? and has ever yet one of my visions
proved false?” For by this time he had himself really begun to believe
in these visions or dreams which had for so long been believed in by
others.

Scipio being thus inclined, peace might have been made, after all, but
for the treachery of the Carthaginians, who seized, during a time of
truce, upon some Roman transports full of provisions, which had been
driven ashore in a storm. After this no further ideas of peace were
possible, and Scipio recommenced the war with all the more fury
because he feared that he must for ever renounce his dearest hopes.

The cowardly Carthaginians, who had neglected him for so many years,
now wrote letters recalling Hannibal to the country which he had not
seen since he was a boy of nine, for they wanted him to come and
defend them. They also sent for his brother Mago, from Capua; but the
noble Mago, Maharbal’s friend, was wounded on his way down in a drawn
battle in the country of the Insubrian Gauls, and died at sea; never
living to greet either his brother or his friend Maharbal again, nor
indeed to see even his native soil once more.

Hannibal and his daughter, and Maharbal and all the troops, however,
obeyed the summons, thus voluntarily this wonderful general left the
country out of which the Romans would never have been able to drive
him.

“Oh! Elissa, Elissa!” cried the warrior, as for once, weak as a woman,
he fell upon his daughter’s breast in the temple of Juno Lacinia. “Oh,
my daughter, comfort me, comfort me! for truly the gods have laid a
heavy hand upon me, or why should I leave this fair country of Italy
without first taking Rome? See, on yonder brazen tablets, all the
exploits I have had carved in three languages for future generations
to read, yet one is not there inscribed. All mention that there is of
Rome is that I threw my javeline over the wall. Oh! my countrymen, my
countrymen! if ye had but supported me it would not now be on
Carthaginian soil that my services would be required. Alas! for Rome
untaken. Alas! alas! Comfort me, oh, my daughter!”

It was a terrible moment for Elissa, almost as terrible as for the
great warrior himself, for to both of them it was the moment when, no
matter what had been the untiring efforts of each in the country’s
cause--no matter what had been the successes, the end had come, and
that end, after long years of noble struggle, meant for both a
confession of utter failure--of bitter, terrible failure.

But let us draw a veil over that hour of bitter grief in the temple of
Juno Lacinia. Let us leave father and daughter alone in their
sorrow--alone in the darkening shades of night, with nought but the
dull red glow of the scarcely-burning sacrificial fire to cast a
lowering gleam of brightness through the thickening gloom around.

 * * * * * * * *

A fortnight later Hannibal had landed with all his troops, and they
were comparatively few, at Adrumentum, on the eastern coast of what is
now known as Tunisia, and upon arriving there he determined to put
into force, while waiting to collect an army, a project that he had
had in his head for some time past. This was no less than the union by
marriage of Elissa with Maharbal. Two reasons had he for wishing to
bring this about without delay. One was that he considered that after
many years of long and faithful services, his noble lieutenant
deserved the only reward that he could give him; the other, that now
that both his brethren were dead, he wished to raise up posterity to
himself in his own direct line.

Of Maharbal’s views he had no doubt, but he was by no means so sure of
Elissa. Upon his questioning her he found her distinctly averse to the
marriage. She would give no reason save that she did not now wish to
marry Maharbal. He had not come to espouse her when he might have done
so years before, and now her heart was not what it was when a mere
girl. She did not wish to marry him. At length her father twitted her
with loving Scipio. She confessed plainly that she did love Scipio;
but said that she did not, now that marriage between them could be of
no use to their country, wish to marry him either. It was clearly
impossible. Here she gave Hannibal an opening.

“Marry for thy country’s sake, Elissa? Why, ’tis the very thing I
would have thee to do. By all the gods! Maharbal doth love thee truly,
and hath he not fought for thy country for all these years with the
sole hope of thee as his reward? And now that thou art here and art
unmarried, and far more beautiful even than thou wast as a young girl,
wilt thou deny him the reward which he hath well merited at his
country’s hands in the shape of Hannibal’s only daughter for his
bride?”

“My father,” replied Elissa, “since we have, by the ruling of the
great gods, come to live together again, ever have I been submissive
to thee. Yet wilt thou own that mine, as apart from thine own, hath
been an independent career, throughout which I have continually
striven to carry out the precepts which thou didst thyself instil into
me in early youth. Only once did I neglect to follow them, yet that
neglect didst thou thyself condone, while punishing me by depriving me
of this very Maharbal, who was then my lover.

“Since then, my father, have I learnt to look upon all as a matter of
policy. Policy it would indeed have been had I married Scipio, and,
would to all the gods of Carthage and of Rome combined, that, for the
sake alone of Carthage, I had been permitted to do so. But putting
this love of his for me apart, wherein lies the policy of my now
espousing Maharbal the Numidian? Noble he is, I vow, and much, ay,
very much in him do I admire, chiefly his great devotion to thyself,
which caused him to neglect me when I was younger and more
impressionable. But, father! wherein lies the policy?”

“The policy--’tis simple enough, child! ’tis because he is a Numidian!
Through him we may win back all the other Numidians, ay even
Massinissa and his crew, or certainly all the old followers of Syphax
may desert to us, and there are others. Notably, there is a Numidian
prince named Tychæus, who hath several thousand horsemen, who might
join us for the sake of Maharbal.”

Elissa pondered a moment, then answered:

“But will they not join thee without my marrying Maharbal? Is not he
sufficiently devoted to thee to ask their services on thy behalf
without claiming now from me the hand he did not care to seek years
ago when it was his without question? At least, so I gathered from
mine uncle Mago.”

Hannibal became impatient.

“Do as thou wilt, thou headstrong woman!” he cried. “Wouldst thou have
a man give me all and I give him nothing in return? Dost thou call
that either patriotism or devotion to thy father’s cause? And is it
not now thy father’s name and his alone that doth represent the
highest interests of thy country to all the rest of the world if not
to thee?” He turned angrily as if to leave her.

Elissa turned very pale, but gently laid a restraining hand upon her
father’s sleeve.

“Very well, my father, I agree, but upon the condition that our
marriage be kept quite secret.”

“Secret!” answered Hannibal testily; “wherefore secret?”

“Simply that Scipio may not know of it,” she answered sadly. “’Twould
but enrage him the more, and do no good. Thou mayest yet some day, oh
my father, have reason to desire the good offices of Scipio, and,” she
sighed deeply, “although, before the gods, I would not willingly
deceive him, through whom could those good offices be so easily
obtained as through me? Therefore, ’twould, methinks, be perchance
more politic to keep it secret should I marry Maharbal. Then will I
yield to thy wishes in this matter, and feel, moreover, that I am not,
in so yielding, doing unto my country any possible injury. The
country, thou knowest, oh my father, is above all. I have now no wish
for marriage; but if thou deem it for our country’s welfare, I obey.”

“Ay,” replied Hannibal, stooping down and kissing her, at the same
time stroking her hair caressingly, “thou hast said the truth, Elissa.
The country is to be considered before all, and secrecy is advisable.
It shall be kept a secret.”

On the following day Elissa became the wife of Maharbal. But none knew
that she was actually his legal wife save the priest who united them
in Hannibal’s presence alone. And Hannibal threatened to cut out his
tongue if ever he should breathe a word of the matter to a living
soul. So the priest’s silence was assured.

Thus did Maharbal obtain his heart’s desire, and thus did Elissa once
again do her duty to her father and her country. And having now
married Maharbal, she strove to make him happy.

When once more upon his native soil, Hannibal was not the man to let
the grass grow under his feet. He was not long in organising an army
from one source and another, and soon he had collected a large force
of infantry and a considerable number of elephants; he only wanted
cavalry to make up an army which, in Italy, would have been
irresistible.




 CHAPTER VI.
 A MOMENTOUS MEETING.

Although Maharbal’s union with Elissa was kept absolutely secret,
yet, since he lived in the same building as that which his Chief had
selected as his head-quarters, it was easy for him to be with her at
all times. Moreover, since he was Hannibal’s right-hand man, there
were none who dared to criticise the terms of intimacy upon which he
might be with Hannibal’s daughter. In years gone by, she had been
looked upon as being virtually his wife, and it had been well known in
those days that it was only the dislike on the part of Hannibal to his
officers being married just before going on a campaign that had
prevented the union being then acknowledged. Now there were none of
the superior officers still alive who had left Spain with Hannibal at
the beginning of the Italian war, and, of all others present, none
dared to cast an aspersion upon the daughter of their great Chief and
greatest and most daring General, especially as her unusual intimacy
with Maharbal apparently met with the Chief’s own approval.

Thus it came to pass that during the few months passed at Adrumentum,
Elissa, while still passing as an unmarried woman, was constantly in
her husband’s society, and that gradually his single-mindedness, his
frank boyishness of character, which years of campaigning and
bloodshed had been unable to spoil, won somewhat upon her once more.
It was by degrees certainly, but they won upon her all the same.

Maharbal was ever so diffident, so conscious of his own shortcomings,
so ready to make excuses for everything in Elissa’s own past life,
that it would have been wonderful indeed, if, after having once become
his actual wife, she had not considerably melted towards him.

He, poor fellow, recognised the barrier at first, and with reason put
it down to his own fault in that he had not come back to her when
Hannibal had given him, upon two occasions, the opportunity of doing
so. He was now inclined to blame himself for his behaviour upon those
occasions, and treated his wife, in consequence, with an amount of
delicacy and respect which could scarcely have been expected in a man
whose whole life had been passed in scenes of carnage and slaughter.

But although a soldier, and even at times a cruel soldier, his own
life had ever been absolutely pure. As Scipio had been in the Roman
army, so had Maharbal been in the Carthaginian army. In an era when
rapine was law, when lust in its most brutal forms was not merely
tolerated but approved, each had selected for himself a higher
standard than that of the age. The unfortunate thing was that they had
both placed their whole affections upon the same woman, that that
woman had loved each in turn, and that, strive how she might, she had
been unable to fulfil her duty, or what she considered her whole duty
to either of them. For what she gave to one she took from the other.

Poor Elissa! It were useless to say that she ought only to have loved
one of them. Now, living with Maharbal, and being a woman of great
acumen, she soon recognised his greatness, and her mistake in having
condemned him too readily. For it became patent to her that it was no
idea of his own self-aggrandisement, his own military glory, that had
kept him from her side, but solely love and devotion to her own
father. With an open simple nature like his, there was no concealment
possible from such a clever woman as herself. Therefore, she very soon
learned the secret of the terrible act of self-renunciation which the
young warrior must have put upon himself at the time that he allowed
her uncle Mago to return to Iberia and New Carthage in his place, when
he might have come back himself to find a loving bride. As all this
dawned upon her, Elissa respected Maharbal more and more. She even
loved him in a way, yet it was never in the old way of early girlhood.
For all that, from sheer gratitude, she tried to persuade herself, and
easily succeeded in persuading him, that the old passion had come back
again with all its old intensity. Thus was she more nearly happy than
she had been for years past, while she made Maharbal supremely so.

While Hannibal was collecting troops at his head-quarters at
Adrumentum, he had not forgotten his idea of recruiting as many
Numidian cavalry as possible. For this purpose he sent Maharbal with a
large escort, to visit various Numidian chieftains, and upon this
expedition, although having for appearance sake a separate guard and a
separate camp, Elissa accompanied him.

The Roman armies had not traversed the districts of Libya through
which the Carthaginians were travelling, and as, for the first time in
her life, Elissa rode through the green fertile hills and villages of
Northern Africa, the tears came into her eyes at the peaceful beauty
of the scene, and with grief at the idea that all might soon be laid
waste and destroyed by the hand of the invader.

They had, however, a prosperous journey through the highlands and
lowlands lying on the banks of the winding Bagradus, and were
hospitably received at the city of the Numidian Prince Tychæus. This
prince, a kinsman to Maharbal, was at first loth to join Hannibal for
fear of their mutual kinsman Massinissa; but Elissa’s beautiful eyes
being once turned upon the young Numidian, carried the day, for their
soul-stirring appeal went deep down into his heart far more than all
the arguments of Maharbal. The result was that upon their return to
the head-quarters camp at Adrumentum, Maharbal and Hannibal’s daughter
carried back with them in their train not only the Prince Tychæus
himself, but also two thousand of his Numidian cavalry, whereupon
Hannibal determined upon taking the field instantly, and seeking
Scipio without more delay.

After Hannibal had once taken the field, confidence was restored to an
enormous extent throughout Libya, while the inhabitants of Carthage,
from having fallen to a state of the utmost gloom and despondency,
became elated to the highest degree. The foolish Carthaginians, who
had, since the time of Hamilcar, deteriorated more and more under the
long-continued ascendancy of the party of Hanno, now gave way to the
greatest excesses, so certain were they that their delivery was at
hand. Hence, not only did the horrible sacrifices to Moloch continue,
or rather, re-commence in full swing, but the worship of Tanais, the
Carthaginian Venus, was celebrated with an amount of debauchery that
had never been known before. Instead of devoting all their energies to
assisting the lion of Iberia and Italy, the inhabitants of Carthage,
under the pretence of thanking the gods for the mercies vouchsafed to
them in sending Hannibal to the rescue, vowed their slaves to Moloch,
and their daughters to Tanais. As regards the actual war, they had
sent to Hannibal a contingent of untrained men and of untrained
elephants, that was enough. Hannibal was expected to do all the rest.
And although in his heart he despised--ay, utterly despised this
people of Carthage--he determined to do the best he could with the
materials at his command. But neither in quantity nor in quality were
his new Carthaginian recruits what he would have wished, deteriorated
as they were by all the vices of the city of modern Carthage. He,
however, received valuable assistance at this period from Philip of
Macedon, who sent a considerable reinforcement of good troops.
Hannibal now marched across Libya from east to west, and had various
small successes over occasional detachments of Roman soldiers whom he
met with on his way. At length he found himself face to face with the
whole of Scipio’s army near a little town called Zama.

Elissa had accompanied her father upon the line of march, and occupied
a tent adjacent to his own. Once they had taken the field, there was
no more intimacy between Maharbal and his wife than had she been the
unmarried woman she was supposed to be.

When the two armies were still lying inactive face to face off Zama,
the same idea of a personal parley occurred to both of the commanders;
but Scipio it was who first put the idea into words. He sent a herald
with great state to Hannibal’s camp with a letter.

In this letter he demanded a personal interview with Hannibal ere they
should decide the most momentous issue at stake in mortal combat. And
as he knew that Hannibal’s daughter spoke Greek, a language with which
he was well acquainted, he requested that she might be present at the
interview and serve, moreover, as interpreter between them.

Hannibal accepted the invitation, and on the following morning rode
out into the plain separating the two armies, with his staff officers
and his daughter Elissa. The latter was attired in the garments of a
young Carthaginian nobleman, for although she had discarded her arms
for ever, she had assumed manly raiment upon taking the field. She was
gorgeously clad in raiment of light blue and silver, which, closely
fitting her figure, showed off to the greatest advantage the charms of
her person. Upon her head she wore a little silver casque surmounted
with wings. As she rode up upon her black charger, which she bestrode
gallantly Numidian-wise, being seated upon a pale blue and silver
saddle-cloth, she looked, so thought Scipio, as she approached, like
some delicate youth of sixteen. Her colouring was perfect, for, owing
to the fresh air in which she daily lived, Elissa was at this time in
the very perfection of feminine health and beauty.

Scipio was waiting in a group of palm trees, to which, having left his
staff officers at a distance, Hannibal advanced with Elissa. Scipio
sent all his own attendants to the rear as he saw Hannibal and his
daughter approaching. He dismounted, and giving his horse to a
gorgeously-attired slave, sent the man with the charger back out of
earshot. Then saluting the great Carthaginian conqueror and his
daughter most courteously, the great Roman conqueror advanced, and
giving his hand to Elissa, assisted her to alight.

And what an appealing look was there in that noble face as it looked
upwards into the beautiful eyes above him!

As Elissa involuntarily returned the pressure of the hand that held
hers, she could feel the pulses beating rapidly in its veins, while
she felt her heart throbbing painfully. She turned pale as she met
that fervent glance.

“Elissa, I have ever loved thee.”

“Scipio, thou hast been ever in my prayers.”

Unheard by Hannibal, whom a slave was helping to dismount, these two
short sentences were hurriedly whispered between them out there in the
grove, in the middle of the plain, whereon only a few scattered date
palms intercepted the view from the two enormous camps of armed men on
the one side and the other. There was no time for more, but in that
one glance from the eagle eye of the Roman, in that one whispered
word, Elissa recognised how true and devoted he had been to her
through all these years. She realised something more, and realised it
with a terrible fear at her heart, namely, that she herself loved him
still.

Scipio had only just time to note the piteous look upon his beloved’s
face when the situation was interrupted by Hannibal. He, advancing,
and waiving the services of Elissa as interpreter, spoke in Latin, and
spoke somewhat jocularly to begin with, for he seemed quite in one of
his old merry moods.

“I salute thee, Scipio, and right pleased am I at last to behold the
gallant young cockerel who hath sworn to clip for him the wings of the
old cock of the farmyard. Give me thy hand, for whatever the upshot of
this interview betwixt us may be, ’twill be historical, and it shall
not be said that two such warriors as Scipio and Hannibal could meet
and not take each other by the hand.”

“I salute thee, and gladly take thy hand, oh Hannibal, and greatly
doth the young cockerel appreciate such condescension on the part of
the eagle.”

And Scipio putting forth his hand, the two warriors clasped each other
warmly with mutual respect.

“Now would I salute the lady Elissa,” quoth Scipio, looking at
Hannibal as for permission.

“Ay, salute her by all means--embrace her an thou wilt--there is no
harm in it this once, her father being present, for ’tis the only
chance that ever thou shalt have, my gallant young friend, to embrace
her whom thou didst so nearly succeed in making thy bride. It would,
indeed, have been strange had I now been speaking with mine own
son-in-law. Embrace her, I say, an she will permit it, and I, her
father, do thank thee for all the most noble courtesies that thou
didst show unto her whom the fortune of war had made thy prisoner, and
further, for rescuing her from that scoundrel Philip. I would that
thou wert a Carthaginian, Scipio, by all the gods I do.”

But Scipio was not listening to Hannibal. He had thrown his arm around
Elissa and was embracing her tenderly. She felt her knees trembling so
that she could not have stood had it not been for his support. And
once, once only, she returned his embrace ardently full on the lips.
She knew it was a want of faith to Maharbal, but it could not be so
very sinful, she thought, since her father, the sole witness of the
action, permitted it, nay, encouraged it. Moreover, she felt that she
owed Scipio something, ay, much indeed, and a kiss was little enough
to give him after all that he had done for her.

Now, however, she sought to extricate herself from his embrace, while
Hannibal looked on amused. Gently restraining her still, Scipio
addressed her father.

“My lord Hannibal, thou hast said but now that I might have been thy
son-in-law--give me but this dear lady in mine arms and we will make
peace, a peace upon far less onerous terms than those that have been
already proposed to the Carthaginian Senate.”

“Nay, nay!” answered Hannibal, frowning. “I cannot make peace unless I
fight thee first, or unless thou wilt own that thou darest not fight
me lest thou should be beaten. I cannot give thee my daughter unless
thou wilt agree to that, and to withdraw with all thy forces beyond
the sea at once. Then thou canst go and take her with thee if thou
wilt, but thou shalt not claim a single one of our ships, nor a single
talent of our silver, but go recognising thyself in an inferiority. If
thou dost love my daughter so greatly thou canst well do that,
Scipio.”

The young Roman’s face flushed angrily as his arm fell from Elissa’s
waist, although he still clasped her hand.

“And what of the satisfaction to be given for the transports, which
came ashore and were seized in time of truce? and what of the
treacherous attack made upon the Roman ambassadors returning
unsuspectingly from Carthage by sea to mine own camp near Utica? Is
there to be no return, no punishment for those two great crimes
against international law, against every law of honour? How couldst
thou expect me, Hannibal, to go back to the Roman Senate with terms
like these? They are impossible, and thou dost know it, and thou
thyself wouldst despise me did I accept them.”

“Ay,” replied Hannibal, smiling grimly, “they are, perhaps, almost
impossible, and I might possibly despise thee, yet that would not hurt
thee much; but they are the only terms upon which I will give thee my
daughter; it all depends upon how much thou dost desire her, young
man.”

“Then we must fight,” cried Scipio, “and I must resign Elissa!”

He looked imploringly and sadly at her as he dropped her hand and
faced her.

“Ay, we must fight, Scipio,” replied Hannibal, “although, since great
hath already been thy success in Spain, thou wouldst do better not to
fight. For thy fame is now assured--it will be no greater shouldst
thou win this battle; while shouldst thou be defeated all will be lost
to thee. Look at me, see what an example I am of the reverses of
fortune, and such reverses may be thine own to-morrow. Better,
therefore, for thee to hearken unto my words. Leave Carthaginian soil
and do not fight, and if thou leave at once thou canst take Elissa
with thee.”

“It cannot be,” said Scipio sadly; “so fare thee well, dear Elissa.”
He kissed her hand gently, while her eyes were suffused with tears.
Scipio continued: “Hannibal, I salute thee; to-morrow we will meet in
mortal combat upon this plain, for, far from my submitting, thou it is
who must submit to me unconditionally, or conquer me in the field.”

“Farewell, Scipio, farewell, for to-morrow be it then; but thou art a
headstrong young man, and mayst live to regret it. But I wish thee no
ill, thou art a great general for one so young.”

Turning, they left the palm grove upon opposite sides. Hannibal and
Elissa, having regained their horses, rode back in silence. For the
daughter had not at all been able to understand the father’s line of
conduct during the interview, and he did not vouchsafe any information
on the subject.

One point, however, she had grasped from his behaviour. It was that,
so long as any object affecting the honour or advantage of Carthage
was at stake, Hannibal had been perfectly ready to ride rough-shod
over not only his own old prejudices against all and everything Roman,
but also ready utterly to disregard Maharbal’s happiness and possibly
her own also. For that he had not during the late interview considered
in the least his life-long friend Maharbal, to whom he yet was
absolutely devoted, would have been patent to the simplest mind, among
which class that of Elissa could hardly be reckoned.

But Hannibal had only been acting up to his own old theory and
practice. The State before everything!




 CHAPTER VII.
 ZAMA.

The following morning the opposing armies were drawn up in battle
array as follows. Scipio placed in front the Hastati, with an interval
between their maniples. The Principes came next, but these, contrary
to the usual plan, were not placed so as to cover the intervals behind
the Hastati. On the contrary, Scipio placed the maniples of the
Principes directly behind the maniples of the spearmen in the front
line. In the rear of these two lines he placed the Triarii, still
leaving intervals. This he did to leave room for the enemy’s elephants
to pass between the various ranks. Caius Lælius, who was fighting on
land now, commanded the Roman cavalry on the left wing; but on the
right was the traitor Massinissa with all his Numidians. As Maharbal
viewed, before the beginning of the battle, this noble force of
Numidian cavalry massed on the Roman side, some four thousand men in
all, he groaned aloud, and cursed his cousin by all the gods of
Avernus. And this he did the more heartily, since he saw waving amid
their ranks various standards and emblems which he well remembered
seeing in his boyhood borne by the troops of his jovial uncle Syphax.

Hannibal arranged his men as follows. He covered the whole of his
front with no less than eighty elephants. Behind the elephants came
twelve thousand mercenaries of various tribes and nationalities--Celts
and Ligurians, Mauretani and Balearic Islanders. Behind these
mercenaries came the native Libyans and Carthaginians, while in rear
of all he placed the men upon whom he knew he could thoroughly rely.
These were the men whom he had brought with him from Italy, whom he
held in reserve more than an eighth of a mile in the rear. He placed
his Numidian allies under Tychæus upon his left wing, while the
Carthaginian cavalry were on the right. And now all was ready for the
fray.

Before the battle actually commenced each of the commanders exhorted
his men. Scipio bid them remember their former victories, to show
themselves men of mettle worthy of their reputation and their country,
and to understand that the effect of their victory would be not only
to make themselves masters of Libya but to give them and their country
the supremacy and undisputed lordship of the world. Thus he urged them
to charge the enemy with the steady resolve to conquer or to die, and
not to think of disgraceful flight under any circumstances.

Hannibal left the task of exhorting the men of the various forces to
their own officers, with the exception of his own army of Italy. To
them he addressed himself personally, and seeing what was the final
result of the battle his speech was pathetic in the extreme. For he
begged this army of Italy “to remember the many years during which
they had been brothers in arms, and the number of battles they had
fought with the Romans in which they had never been beaten or given
the Romans even a hope of victory. Above all, putting all the
countless minor successes aside, he charged them to remember the
battle of the Trebia against Scipio’s father, the battle in Etruria
against Flaminius, and the battle of Cannæ against Æmilius, with
none of which was the present struggle to be compared, whether in
regard to the number or the excellence of the enemy’s men. Let them
only raise their eyes and look at the enemy’s ranks, they would see
that they were not merely fewer than those whom they had fought
before, but as to their soldierly qualities there was no comparison.
The former Roman armies had come to the struggle untainted by memories
of past defeats, while these men were the sons or the remnants of
those who had been beaten in Italy and fled before him again and
again. They ought not, therefore, to undo the glory and fame of their
former achievements, but to struggle with a firm and brave resolve to
maintain their former reputation of invincibility.”

Meanwhile the Numidians upon each side had become already engaged, and
the plain was covered with the wheeling, charging, retiring and
advancing bodies of cavalry. For the usual Numidian tactics were being
pursued at this opening stage.

Now Hannibal gave the order for the elephants to charge. But many of
these ferocious brutes, being only imperfectly trained, becoming
frightened at the blaring of the Roman trumpets and horns, turned back
again upon their own side and charged in among the allied Numidian
cavalry fighting Massinissa upon the left wing, thus making it easy
for that Numidian prince to rout his kinsman Tychæus thoroughly. The
rest of the elephants did a considerable amount of damage to the
Romans, but, owing to the spaces that Scipio had left between the
maniples, down which many of them charged, not half the amount of
damage that they ought to have done. And then, their bodies being full
of darts, they ran away to the right, being driven off the field by
further darts from the Roman cavalry in the Roman left wing. And the
elephants being out of the way, Caius Lælius with all his horse
charged the Carthaginian cavalry opposed to them and put them to
flight, being joined by Massinissa with his Numidians in the pursuit,
which resulted in an utter rout.

And now the Roman infantry and the mercenaries of the Carthaginian
front line charged each other, the Romans clashing with their swords
upon their shields as they advanced, making a deafening and terrible
din.

But the Celts and Mauretani, the Balearic Islanders and the Ligurians
were not disconcerted either by these terrifying sounds or by the
awe-inspiring sight of the huge sombre plumes waving above the helmets
of the advancing Romans, making them appear about two feet greater in
stature than ordinary men.

Raising in turn their own fierce war-cries, each in his own tongue,
the mercenaries stood their ground nobly, and now every man, foot to
foot, body to body, and shield to shield, cut and thrust and cut and
thrust again, while as each man went down, his comrade stepped up from
the rear and filled his vacant place. For long the issue of the combat
between the front lines of the infantry remained uncertain, while men
went down in hundreds, never to rise again.

At length, owing to the steadiness of the rear ranks of the Romans,
who supported and encouraged their front rank men, while on the other
hand, the cowardly Carthaginian levies, in rear of the mercenaries,
began to waver and then to give way, the Romans began to gain ground.
Thus the mixed bodies of foreign troops, being forced back by the
weight of the Romans, and realising that they were being shamelessly
deserted by their own side, turned their backs upon the Romans in
front of them and joined them in falling upon the Carthaginian troops
in their rear who had failed to support them.

And as Hannibal, who, with Maharbal, was remaining in rear with the
reserves of the army of Italy, would by no means allow them to enter
his ranks, but had them thrust back with the spear’s point, these
flying Carthaginians were now compelled, whether they would or no, to
face to the front again and fight. This they did with the fury and
courage of despair when it was too late, and, furiously charging their
own mercenaries and the Romans combined, not only killed many of their
own men, but threw the ranks of the hitherto successful Hastati into
confusion; whereupon Scipio advanced his Principes of the second line
to drive them back. By this time, however, the greater part of the
mercenaries and the Carthaginians had either killed each other or been
killed by the Hastati, who were also many of them dead or dying. The
ground was now so utterly encumbered with wounded men and corpses, and
so slippery with blood, while arms and shields were tossed about
everywhere in helpless confusion, that it was impossible for Scipio to
advance in line formation his Principes, with their supports of the
third line--that is, the Triarii against the main body of the army of
Italy which was waiting under Hannibal for their advance.

Sounding a bugle, therefore, Scipio recalled such of the Hastati as
had pursued beyond the zone where the bodies were lying thickest, and
halted them there.

Then putting his Principes and Triarii into formations of files two or
four deep, he threaded his way with them through the area where the
dead and dying lay in heaps, and then re-formed all these fresh men
into line again upon the other side, one line being as before in rear
of the other.

He now caused such of the Hastati as had survived to fall in on the
flanks of the new troops. These arrangements being made, he continued
his advance.

Now Hannibal and Maharbal and all their veterans of many a hundred
combats were thirsting for the fray, which they had been compelled,
while inactive themselves, to witness for so long.

“Charge!” cried Hannibal.

“Charge!” re-echoed Maharbal.

“Charge!” repeated every one of the captains.

With a roar like the roar of the sea did the gallant remnant of the
army of Italy advance and throw themselves upon the Romans with a fury
that was terrible to behold. For the Romans, man for man, were no
better, nay, not so good as their antagonists, and soon they began to
fall back, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until at length
they were falling backwards over the heaps of corpses they had, while
advancing, just passed, the Carthaginians following, cutting down and
slaying them with triumphant shouts of victory. It seemed as if the
day were indeed lost for Scipio, and as if, despite the double
misfortune of the stampede of the elephants and the cowardice of the
Carthaginian levies, Hannibal would once more prove the victor, upon
Carthaginian even as on Roman soil.

But alas! what is this? From the left rear comes a thundering sound!
it is the Numidian Massinissa returning from the pursuit of Tychæus
and falling with his horsemen in a solid body upon the Carthaginian
left flank and rear. And alas! what again is this? From the right rear
also there comes a thundering sound as Caius Lælius, with his five
thousand Roman cavalry, returning from the pursuit of the Carthaginian
horse, falls upon the right flank and rear in turn.

Fight hard now and invoke the gods, ye soldiers of Hannibal! fight
hard and strike home, for never again shall ye fight under your
beloved leader!

Strike now, Maharbal! strike, Bostar! strike, Hanno! Hamilcar!
Adherbal! Strike, all ye captains, for the dying lion’s sake, and if
ye must die, see that ye die as becometh your leader’s reputation. A
life for a life! die but yield not!

And so for want of cavalry, hemmed in upon all sides, even as Hannibal
himself had hemmed the Romans in at Cannæ, did the army of Italy
fall. Seeing at last that all was lost, hopelessly, irretrievably
lost, Hannibal called together Maharbal and such of the other mounted
officers as still lived, and forming them up into a little group,
boldly charged, sword in hand, the surrounding cavalry on the right
flank.

And as many of these were Roman soldiers, who had seen Hannibal and
Maharbal at Cannæ and in many other encounters, they were filled with
alarm at the sight of these two well-known warriors falling upon them.
Therefore even in this, their very moment of victory, they fell back,
terror-stricken, before the defeated lion and his giant companion.
Thus they cut their way through, themselves unharmed, and riding off
the battle-field, continued to retreat at full gallop for several
miles before drawing rein, taking the route to Adrumentum, which had
been left garrisoned. Thus ended the battle of Zama, which decided the
fate of the world; and thus, for the first and the last time in his
life, was Hannibal, the great, the hitherto invincible Hannibal,
forced to fly before the face of an enemy.




 CHAPTER VIII.
 CONCLUSION.

Although Elissa had seen the disposition of the troops, and even
been present on the field of battle during the earliest stages of the
combat, she had been spared the bitter humiliation of being an actual
witness of her father’s defeat.

For, with a view to possibly making use of his daughter later on in
the case of certain eventualities, no sooner had Hannibal witnessed
the disastrous stampede of the elephants than, determined at all
events to secure her safety, he had started her off with a small
escort of cavalry, with definite instructions to make all speed to
Adrumentum, and to remain there until his own arrival, or until he
should send for her to join him in Carthage itself. Alas! his own
arrival in Adrumentum almost coincided with her own; for when it came
to be a case of retreating, Hannibal retreated with as much rapidity
as he had been previously wont to advance. For well he knew how
quickly ill news can spread, and the absolute necessity of thoroughly
securing the town before the garrison had been given sufficient time
to become lukewarm or weak-hearted in his cause.

Once he had arrived upon the scene, he did not give anyone in the
place time to think, so actively did he keep everyone employed working
at the fortifications, drilling, bringing in provisions, and preparing
for a siege, or generally occupied in some capacity or other which
gave no time for treason or negligence.

Scipio, hearing soon of the state of security in which Hannibal had
placed Adrumentum, and that, moreover, he had a large fleet lying off
the place, determined not to invest that town. He marched to Carthage
instead, and sending for the Suffetes and the Council of One Hundred,
dictated to them the terms upon which alone he would make peace. And
that they were now ten times more crushing than those which he had
offered to Hannibal before the battle of Zama is not a matter for
surprise. The astute Scipio, however, had only made such terribly
onerous terms in order to be able, if necessary, to modify them in
some degree. Therefore, when the Hundred humbly suggested that they
would wish to send for Hannibal, to consult with him before agreeing
to the terms of the treaty to be forwarded to Rome, the Roman General
agreed at once. He sent word that Hannibal should have a safe conduct
to Carthage, and requested the Senate to convey to him his wishes that
his daughter should accompany him. For now he was in a position to
demand compliance with his wishes, and he knew it.

Hannibal came from Adrumentum to Carthage by sea, accompanied by
several ships, and anchored in the gulf exactly opposite the house on
the Tœnia, whence he had started with his father Hamilcar, when only
a boy of nine, on his march along the Mediterranean to the Pillars of
Hercules.

The house on the Tœnia still belonged to him, and he disembarked
there with his daughter and Maharbal, bitterness in his soul. No
joyous demonstrations were there to welcome his return, although an
enormous throng of people crowded on the port to obtain a sight of
him. But he dismissed all those who would have speech of him, and
having entered the house, wherein every passage and doorway was well
known to him, he proceeded at once to the verandah on the first floor
and looked out.

There was everything just as it had been upon that memorable occasion
when his father Hamilcar had called him in upon the day of Matho’s
execution. Across the gulf the high hills of the Hermæan Promontory
were as dark and serrated as ever, the waters of the gulf itself were
just as green and flecked with white foam as they had been then. The
headland named Cape Carthage stood up as boldly as in days gone by,
while between him and it lay the whole expanse of the city of
Carthage, with its various temples to Moloch and Tanais in the
distance, and the Forum in the foreground, all absolutely unchanged.

Hannibal moved round the balcony to the back of the house. Ay! there
was the very fig-tree in the garden, under which he had been playing
at war with his brothers Hasdrubal and Mago when his father had called
him. Ah! the place might not have changed, but the people! What had
become of them? His little brother Hasdrubal to begin with. Had not
his head, all bloody and disfigured, after being cut off at the battle
of the Metaurus, been brutally cast over the palisades into his own
camp in Southern Italy, the first warning that he had of his brothers
having crossed the Alps. And little Mago, who had been with Hasdrubal
up in the fig-tree, where was he now? But recently dead, also killed
like Hasdrubal by the Romans. And he, Hannibal, what was his own
position? That of a disgraced man, disgraced by the Romans. Oh! how he
hated them, how well he remembered his vow of hatred made with his
father in the temple of Melcareth, of which he could espy the roof
yonder. He yearned that for every Roman he had slain he might have
slain ten, ay, might yet slay ten. And yet he was, he knew it, but
here himself in Carthage solely on the sufferance of the Roman General
Scipio, a young man who had vanquished him in war, and yet one who
loved his daughter. Vainly now did Hannibal wish that he had allowed
Elissa to pursue her voyage to Syracuse after the sea-fight at Locri,
and fulfil her engagement to espouse this Scipio. For he well saw how
much better it would have been for his country. He vainly wished also
that he had not been so severe with Scipio during the interview before
the battle of Zama. But how could he foretell that all the elephants
were going to stampede, or that the Carthaginian levies would prove
such arrant cowards? He cursed the Carthaginians in his heart even
more than the Romans when he thought of it all; but even while
despising his fellow-countrymen he did not despise his native country,
but loved it as much as ever.

Ay! as he looked out and saw the olive groves, the pomegranate trees,
the waving cornfields, the orange trees, the houses, the marble
temples, and the green dancing sea beyond, he felt, indeed, that he
loved his country as much as ever. But never could he have dreamed
that the hour of his return could have been so bitter as the hour of
anguish through which he was then passing. The mighty warrior thought
of his father and the past, the long past of years and years ago. Then
he laid his head upon the cold marble of the balustrade and wept--wept
bitter tears at that very spot where, when a little boy, his father
Hamilcar had bade him look well around and impress every land-mark,
every headland, on his memory. For to this spot had he not
returned--disgraced!

The following morning Hannibal was informed that the Roman General
Scipio wished to see him. He was obliged to repair to the palace in
the suburbs which Scipio occupied. The latter strove to receive him in
a manner not to hurt his dignity, for whatever he might feel for the
other Carthaginian generals, for Hannibal himself he had the most
unbounded respect. A long conference took place between Hannibal and
Scipio in private upon the terms of the treaty about to be concluded,
and Scipio made to him a suggestion, which was absolutely for his ears
alone. It was to the following effect: Although, so he said, it was
now utterly impossible for him, the Roman General, to modify the
general terms of the treaty, which were, he owned, excessively
severe--as, owing to the various acts of treachery on the part of the
Carthaginians, they deserved to be--on one very important clause
Scipio proposed a modification, but upon one condition only. This
clause was that the Roman General and the Roman army should remain in
Carthage at the expense of the Carthaginians until the whole of the
war indemnity should be paid. This implied a Roman occupation of the
country for at least twenty years to come, for so enormous was the
indemnity required it could not be paid sooner. And after twenty years
would they ever go? This clause Scipio expressed to Hannibal his
willingness to forego should the Carthaginian General give him even
now his daughter in marriage. Under such circumstances Scipio pledged
himself to evacuate Carthage with all his army, and sail for Sicily at
once, leaving the care of protecting Roman interests to his ally
Massinissa. And he vowed, by all the gods of Rome, that, should he
once set foot on Sicilian soil in company with Hannibal’s daughter,
not only would he never again himself set foot upon Carthaginian soil,
but that he would, to the utmost, discourage all future attempts upon
Carthage from any Roman sources.

Hannibal was too astute to allow to appear upon his countenance the
joy that he felt at this proposal. On the contrary, he made
difficulties, talked of Elissa having changed her mind since the
battle of Zama, and being, he now feared, thoroughly averse to Scipio.
So well did he manage matters that Scipio was quite pleased when,
almost as a favour, Hannibal consented in the end to consider the
matter, and promised to speak to Elissa about it. The next morning,
without acquainting Elissa or Maharbal with the subject of his
conversation with Scipio, he requested them both to accompany him to
the temple of the great god Melcareth, there to offer a solemn
sacrifice at the same altar at which he had participated in the
sacrifice with his father Hamilcar.

To the temple of Melcareth the three accordingly proceeded, and with
the most serious and awful rites, offered up, under the instructions
and guidance of an ancient priest, named Himilco, a most solemn and
terrible sacrifice. This old man, Himilco, was the same who had been a
priest in the temple in the time of Hannibal’s youth, and had known
him from a boy. He was now an old man eighty years of age, with a
white beard that reached down to his knees. His sanctity was most
renowned, and he was looked upon, with reason, as a prophet by all the
people. Under his guidance, for he had doubtless been somewhat, if
only partly, prompted in his part by Hannibal, Maharbal and Elissa
each made a most terrible vow, invoking, in case of failure to observe
it, the most awful penalties of all the gods, to sacrifice themselves
to the very last for the good of their country. The priest now caused
them to plunge their arms up to the elbow in the blood of the
sacrifice, and to vow solemnly to be guided, without question, by
Hannibal alone as to what was to be considered for the good of their
country; for the old man told them that the great god Melcareth was
even at that very moment there present, and pervading all the space in
the temple, and that the god had informed him that Hannibal alone was
at this moment the arbiter of his country’s fate. To disobey him would
therefore be death here and awful damnation hereafter.

While the old man was impressively dictating to the pair the terms of
the prescribed oath, the temple became dark. Sounds of rolling thunder
were heard, and sudden flames flew from the altar to the roof, to be
as suddenly extinguished. There could now be no doubt about the
presence of the mighty god among them. They all fell upon their faces
during his manifestation. At length Hannibal arose, and most solemnly
declared that he had had a vision. That vision was that he had seen
Elissa being joined in marriage to Scipio by the very high priest now
before them. He further said that it had been revealed to him by the
god in his vision that by that means alone could salvation come to
unhappy Carthage, for upon Scipio being united to Elissa in marriage
he would leave Carthage with all his army, and, he added, that it
would be sufficient for Scipio to be accompanied by Elissa as far as
the island of Sicily for the god to lay a spell upon him under which
he would never return to Libyan soil.

Vainly did Maharbal declare to the high priest and to Hannibal that
Elissa was his wife, and his alone.

“Where are thy witnesses?” replied the high priest. “’Tis true the
gods did allow a semblance of a marriage between ye, yet had not the
priest my license. And, in token of their displeasure, that priest is
already dead. A marriage without two witnesses is no legal marriage.
Thou sayest that Hannibal was thy witness. One witness is not enough,
oh Maharbal, in Carthage, whatever it may be in Spain or Italy.
Moreover, think of thine awful oath. And is not the great god
Melcareth speaking through Hannibal, whom ye have bound yourselves to
obey?”

Now it was Elissa’s turn to protest. With tears in her eyes she
declared that she was indeed Maharbal’s wife in very sooth, and could
not now possibly give herself to any other man with honour.

“Think of thine oath!” firmly replied the aged priest, “and fear the
anger of the immortal gods. ’Tis thou, Elissa, alone who canst save
thy country; ’tis thou alone who canst withdraw the invader hence.
Land with him but in Sicily and thou shalt be free; but dare thou but
to breathe to him one word, and such an awful curse shall fall, not
only upon thee and Maharbal, but upon thy country and thy father
Hannibal, through thee, that ye had all better have died a thousand
deaths on Zama’s battle-field. Thou must be wed to Scipio by me. That
is thy fate, for I, too, have had a vision. Ah! the terrible gods are
now angry. Submit thyself, proud woman, to their immortal will.”

At this moment the rolling thunder recommenced louder than before,
while the lightning flashes from the altar were more frequent and more
vivid. The scene in the temple was most awful and impressive, and all,
including the aged priest, fell upon their faces.

Elissa hesitated no longer.

“It is the will of the gods!” she muttered. “I must obey.”

“And thou?” inquired the high priest, turning to Maharbal.

“If it be the will of the gods,” he replied, “how can I resist? But I
would that the gods were men that I might fight this matter out with
them at the point of my sword. I could soon show them who was in the
right.”

But, upon Maharbal uttering this awful blasphemy, such a peal of
thunder shook the sacred fane that it seemed as though it would fall.
He now fell upon his face, repentant, for he realised that he was
failing in his vow, and it was indeed evident that the gods were
angry.

Before they all left the temple in fear and trembling, both Maharbal
and Elissa had humbly asked forgiveness of the gods for trying,
against their immortal wishes, to set up their own weak wills, and had
once more vowed, in order to appease them, to consider their country,
and their country only. To confirm this feeling in both their hearts,
the old priest informed them that it would be impious on their parts
to consider themselves any longer as husband and wife, and that they
must separate as such from that moment. For, whether she would or no,
the salvation of her country depended upon Elissa marrying Scipio.
Therefore, with sadness, these twain became once more strangers to
each other at the temple door.

Ten days afterwards the marriage of Elissa with Scipio was solemnised
in that very temple, when the Roman General declared that he
recognised in the high priest him whom he had seen in his vision. He
reminded his bride, with a happy smile, of what he had written to her;
but Elissa’s face wore in return no corresponding glow of happiness.
For so terribly complex were her feelings that she knew she had no
right to be happy, and, had it not been for her vow, would doubtless
have taken her own life. Hannibal had, however, reminded her that in
no wise could she benefit her country by so doing, and that her duty
to Carthage lay in taking Scipio and his army away from its shores and
completely beyond the seas. Once she had landed there her life was in
her own hands. She would meanwhile have the satisfaction of having
obeyed the mandates of the gods by sacrificing herself upon this
occasion.

There were indeed reasons why she should not have married Scipio, the
man whom she really loved, and yet her terrible oath prevented her
from revealing them to him. And Elissa felt it all the more deeply
because she was at heart the very soul of honour.

Upon the same afternoon that the marriage took place did Scipio and
all his army embark for Sicily. He himself and his pale but beautiful
bride were accommodated upon a most luxurious and stately hexireme.
Upon the voyage, which lasted two days, Scipio could not in any way
account for the apparent state of alternate gaiety and despondency of
his bride. She scarcely seemed to know what she was doing, and despite
all the caresses that he showered upon her, ever seemed to shudder and
draw back if inadvertently she had herself returned but one of them.

Upon landing at Libybæum in Sicily, no sooner had she disembarked,
than, falling on her knees before him, Elissa presented Scipio with
the hilt of a dagger, and, with many bitter tears, told him all,
absolutely without reserve, beseeching him to slay her on the spot.

At first his fury was so great that he was even about to do so, but
then he mastered himself completely, and his wonted nobility and
greatness of character did not desert him even in this awful crisis.

Scipio dashed the dagger to the ground violently.

“Nay!” he exclaimed, “I will not slay thee, Elissa, for thou art but
like myself, the victim of a cruel, a pitiless fate, and not thyself
to blame. May the gods protect thee in the future as in the past, and
guide thee to do that which is right. As for me, I do forgive thee,
for now I know the truth indeed, which is that thou dost love me most.
But to mine enemy Maharbal do I owe my life thrice over. To him,
therefore, will I return two lives--thine and that of his unborn
child. Farewell, Elissa!--farewell for ever, beloved!”

He kissed her tenderly on the forehead, and thus they parted, to meet
no more in this world, for Scipio sent her back to Carthage that same
day.

But Elissa never held up her head again; she pined, and grew paler day
by day. And when at the expiration of the half-year her son was born,
she died in giving him birth.

Thus perished in all the bloom of her beauty one who was ever a martyr
to duty and to her country’s cause, Elissa, Hannibal’s daughter.

 THE END.




 TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

The available copies of the source text have the following two defects
(illegible words).

(p. 376) “…that Elissa returned when she fir[***] rejoined her father
in his camp…” Use _first_.

(p. 377) “…that the siege was raised by Scipio [***]r a naval battle
in which the Romans were defeated.” Use _after_.

If you have access to an intact copy of the text and can confirm that
either of these changes are wrong please contact Project Gutenberg
support.

Minor spelling inconsistencies (_e.g._ earrings/ear-rings, hunting
party/hunting-party/, praetor/pretors/prætors, etc.) have been
preserved.

Alterations to the text:

Add title and author’s name to cover image.

Punctuation: sentences missing periods, quotation mark pairings, etc.

[Part I/Chapter III]

Change “they more than equalled in valour and _dermination_” to
_determination_.

“Greeks who had fled to Carthage from _Lilybœum_ to escape” to
_Lilybæum_.

“Could Lutatius Catulus have conquered _Lilybœum_ even had” to
_Lilybæum_.

“for their _long continued_ neglect of him and all the best” to
_long-continued_.

[Part II/Chapter II]

“remember, writing now, _Oh_! Elissa, as a father” to _oh_.

[Part II/Chapter V]

“He unmasked his battery without _futher_ delay” to _further_.

“my men will, storm the palace, and, unless they find me” delete
first comma.

[Part III/Chapter IV]

“the _heavy armed_ cavalry men being in the former, two men” to
_heavy-armed_.

[Part III/Chapter XII]

“shyly responding to the advances of the the Prince Massinissa” delete
one _the_.

[Part IV/Chapter VI]

“To him then was the Princess _Cœcilla_ offered as his wife” to
_Cœcilia_.

[Part V/Chapter I]

“after various sieges and conflicts _wiih_ each power in turn” to
_with_.

[Part V/Chapter II]

“magnificent camp, of which the the tents were made of purple” delete
one _the_.

[End of text]








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