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.