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.