Hannibal's daughter

by Andrew Haggard

PART IV.

CHAPTER I.
AFTER THE BATTLE.

On the morning after the great battle, the wearied troops were occupied in pillaging the bodies of the slain. Gathering together the golden rings of the fallen Roman knights, they collected four or five bushels, of which three bushels were sent to Carthage, and poured out before the Hundred on the floor of the Senate house. The number of Roman Eagles taken, and also forwarded to Carthage, was incredible. At the same time Hannibal sent an urgent demand for reinforcements in elephants, men, and money, since for three years, from the day he had marched out from Saguntum, he had contrived, by his wonderful ability and skill, to make his army entirely self-supporting, replacing his losses in men by levies of Gauls, and paying the troops with the pillage of captured towns and cities. Unfortunately for Carthage, the Hundred did not listen to his demand. Had they but done so at this juncture, Carthage and not Rome might have become the conqueror of all the then known world. The Phœnician Senators foolishly considered that if Hannibal had in the past, with the assistance of mere Gauls, been able to win such astounding successes as the Trebia, Thrasymene, and Cannæ, he might still very well continue to shift for himself.

They imagined that by making levies among the Italian colonies of Rome, or in the semi-independent Greek cities, in the provinces of Calabria, Lucania, and Bruttium, Hannibal would still be able to obtain for himself the supplies that he needed, whether of men or money. Further, they imagined that, with the reinforcements thus obtained, he would be able to continue his unbroken career of success. They were not far wrong in their estimate of his indomitable will, for he did act much in this manner. But the Carthaginians, instead of assisting the world’s greatest commander, when he earnestly asked for assistance, shamefully refused to listen to his demands. They sent reinforcements, under Mago, to Spain, and a large fleet and land forces as well under another general to Sicily, in neither of which places was there at the time any great urgency. Hannibal himself, with only half of the men that were denied him, would, after Cannæ, once and for all have conquered not only the Romans, as he had already done repeatedly, but also the city of Rome itself.

While the army were pillaging the thousands of dead, Hannibal and Maharbal were walking about among the corpses on the battle-field, trying to pick out the bodies of the commanders, and to see which of the consuls were slain. They could not ride, for the now stiffened bodies, encased in armour, tripped up the horses. Thus the whole day was passed in climbing and scrambling over the heaps of slain, and in tumbling about over the thousands of shields, spears, and swords, thrown wildly about by the dying warriors in all directions, the points of spears or their hafts sticking up everywhere. It was a most perilous journey over the battle-field, for some of the metal shields were lying face uppermost, with the centre boss, upon which was a sharp point used for striking, most inconveniently pointing upwards. Others, again, were downwards, which made it difficult to avoid getting the feet caught in the straps. But perhaps the worst of all were those jammed edgeways between the stiffened corpses.

“May the curse of all the Roman gods light upon these Roman shields!” cried Hannibal, as, catching his shin upon the edge of one of them, he pitched headlong. It so happened that he fell upon a corpse clad in magnificent armour.

“I have got a severer wound from a dead Roman’s shield to-day than I received from any live Roman’s sword yesterday. See ye here, Maharbal!”

And, seating himself upon the corpse, for they were here so thick that he could not sit elsewhere, he held up his leg to the Numidian. The shin was barked and bleeding where it had been scraped. Maharbal laughed:

“A Roman dead, oh Hannibal, is sometimes apparently more dangerous than a Roman living. I also got a nasty scratch just now from a spear point. I think we shall be lucky when we get out again from this sea of corpses. ’Tis fortunate the blood hath dried up, or mostly sunk into the soil, or we could not move a step. I am most weary.” And Maharbal in turn sunk down upon the piled-up heaps of dead, observing carefully the while the features of the dead Roman knight upon whom Hannibal was resting while nursing his damaged shin.

“Dost thou see upon whom thou art sitting, Hannibal? Thou hast met him before, but not as now. He was more active the last time.”

Glancing round, the chief looked at the dead face.

“Marcus Minucius! by Melcareth! the co-dictator with Quintus Fabius, who did once snatch him from my very hands even when we were face to face. Well, we will give him an honourable burial, and I will no longer sit, like Monomachus at the crossing of the Rhodanus, upon his corpse, for he was, although too rash, a most brave and honourable soldier.”

And Hannibal shifted his seat to another body.

“Hannibal!” quoth Maharbal, “while sitting by the corpse of Minucius, reflect how fatal for Rome hath been the policy of his colleague, the lingerer—Fabius, which hath in the end only resulted in all this carnage. Wilt thou not, after thy glorious success, rather emulate the rashness of this Minucius, and let me instantly make a dash with all the cavalry for the city of Rome, which will be in a terrible state of panic when the news of this battle arrives? I may even be able to force my way into the town before any fugitives bring the news, and then, seizing the gates, can hold them until thou arrive in person with thine army, that is, with all the infantry.”

“I would that I could let thee go,” quoth Hannibal, “but ’twould be useless. See the distance. There is all Apulia to be crossed, and all Samnium likewise. Then, again, the enormous province of Latium is to be traversed ere Rome be reached. Thou mightest get there, ’tis true; but with all this enormous spoil to be gathered and placed in the Citadel of Cannæ, of which I will form an arsenal, I could not march to-day or to-morrow. And even ere thou couldst get there thyself, the gates would be shut. Every man and boy in the whole of the enormous city will soon be in arms. They will not be many of them trained soldiers, ’tis true, but consider the city’s defences! How canst thou with thy cavalry alone break down the massive walls? The place can only be taken by a regular siege. And I cannot, before the reinforcements for which I am writing earnestly arrive, invest so large a city with any hopes of success by starvation. For we have lost ourselves at least five thousand five hundred men in this action, and we have as many thousand wounded. Nay, let us wait for the new troops which will doubtless arrive in a short space from Carthage, then we will at once invest and storm the city. ’Tis impracticable at present, absolutely, believe me, lad.”

“Hannibal, thou art a great general and I am but thy servant. There is none like unto thee to win a victory, but, by the gods! thou dost not know how to profit by thy victory when won, or else wouldst thou let me go—ay, allow me to start in an hour’s time.”

And, savagely in his disappointment, Maharbal kicked at an adjacent shield, making it ring like a bell.

Hannibal sprang to his feet.

“Maharbal, listen unto me! Thou art young and rash—ay, rash even as dead Minucius yonder. But on me alone depends the whole safety of the army, the whole honour of Carthage. By all the gods! were I to listen to mine own wishes in this matter, I would instantly do as thou dost suggest, for I long to follow thine advice, and make an instant dash for Rome. ’Tis, by Moloch, the greatest disappointment I have ever felt not to be able to do so instantly; but, for all my wishing, I must not think of self alone in this matter, and prudence tells me plainly that ’tis not wise; therefore, regretfully—ay, with very deep regret—must I wait for the reinforcements from Carthage. Let us now go forward; ’tis useless our talking over the matter further—I am determined.”

Alas, for Hannibal! those reinforcements never came. But still, he could not have added to his fame had they arrived, and had he then taken Rome. It is for the marvellous manner in which, for many years, he maintained himself in Italy without them that he is so justly famous.

But now we must leave him and Maharbal for a time, ever over-running the country, and capturing or receiving the submission of important Italian cities, such as Capua in Campania, where the inhabitants first smothered all the Romans in the public baths and then yielded; or of Greek cities such as Tarentum in Calabria, where the gates were opened to him through the treachery to Rome of two young hunters, and where Hannibal himself pulled all the beleagured Tarentine warships, under the very nose of the Romans, out of the harbour and overland across the isthmus. It is not our province here to give in detail the many Italian campaigns of Elissa’s father and Elissa’s lover, for we must see what Elissa herself is doing elsewhere.

CHAPTER II.
WIFE OR MISTRESS.

We left Hannibal’s daughter at the Court of Syphax after a serious fall out boar-hunting, from the effects of which, however, she soon recovered.

The young ædile Scipio was now madly in love with her, and the very fact that she had, while apparently returning his embraces, called upon the hated name of Maharbal, made him all the more anxious to win her for himself. For if he had been three times worsted by Maharbal in the field, he was only all the more anxious to conquer him in the lists of love.

Elissa herself was, it must be owned, exceedingly attracted by the charm of the young Roman; and, still feeling very sore at the neglect of Maharbal, she let herself go rather more than she intended, and encouraged him considerably. At first she did so merely for amusement, thinking it a triumph to subjugate a Roman noble; and then she went on with the game because it pleased her, for Scipio was a most loveable man. Yet had Hannibal’s daughter not the least idea of what her own feelings really were. She only knew that she was attracted by the young Roman, for she had, since her affair with Maharbal, so seldom met anyone of rank equal to her own to whom she could allow herself to be attracted, that she was no mistress in the arts of love-making, or allowing herself to be made love to. She, therefore, wondered if it were possible that this attraction could be more than a passing liking. She wondered again if it could be possible that this Roman, the enemy of her country, whom she now met daily as a friend in the intimacy of a foreign court, could ever become to her anything more than a friend. She did not know if she wished that he should do so; but she certainly knew that his presence gave her pleasure. Therefore, without arguing out the matter with herself too far, she took the pleasure of the moment.

Very early in their acquaintance, they found politics a dangerous subject. Therefore the old vexed questions of the rights of Rome to Sicily, or the rights of Carthage to Sardinia, the justification of the invasion of Libya by Regulus, or, in defiance of all treaties, the attack by Hannibal on Saguntum and his subsequent invasion of Italy, were entirely abandoned between them from a controversial standpoint. But as they were both educated in the art of war, all these incidents were discussed between them from their strategical aspects, and thrashed out to the full. Thus, as the daily gossip of the palace was soon exhausted, these two always had a mutual subject of conversation. But it was only natural that when a handsome young man and a handsome young woman were constantly together—and when, moreover, the latter had good grounds for believing that her lover was neglecting her—strategy sometimes was a subject that ceased to be referred to, and a softer theme engrossed the thoughts of both.

When Scipio, however, became ardent and made love to her, Elissa ever retired like a hermit crab within a shell, putting out a claw wherewith to give a little defensive pinch to keep at a distance the man who would explore too closely what the shell contained.

For thus have ever, since the beginning of the world, been the wiles of women.

The unfortunate Scipio, becoming more enamoured day by day, was by degrees almost driven to despair. Now, he had with him at the Court of Syphax his bosom friend, Caius Lælius, a man whose nature was much similar to his own. For Caius was brave to a degree, a splendid soldier, and sailor, too, for that matter, as his many naval exploits proved, yet he was gentle and kind, and altogether unspoiled by the rough manners of the camp.

Caius Lælius noticed with great concern the growing attachment of his friend for the beautiful Carthaginian maiden. He was much attracted towards her himself, but his loyalty to his friend made him leave the field clear. Thus he never put himself forward in any way to gain the notice of Elissa, of whom he knew Scipio to be so much enamoured. On the other hand, he purposely devoted himself to some of the other beauteous maidens present at the Numidian Court. These were only too pleased to shower their favours upon him, for he was universally popular. Thus no party of pleasure, no joyous hunting-party or picnic, for they had picnics in those days even as now, was complete for the merry ladies of the Court of Syphax without the presence of the ever light-hearted Lælius. And Elissa herself knew full well the nobility of the young man, and was ever most courteous and friendly to him.

One day Lælius took his friend and chief to task.

“Scipio,” quoth he, “in the name of all the gods of Olympus! what is this game that thou art playing with the daughter of Hannibal? Wouldst thou make of her thy mistress?”

Scipio flared out in a rage.

“Caius, thou and I have been friends from boyhood; but dare to utter such a suggestion again and I strike thee to the ground!” And he laid his hand upon his sword.

“By Cupid and Venus! ’tis more serious even than I imagined,” replied his companion, laughing. “So thou wilt kill me—because of what? simply because being thy dearest friend I would see thee happy. Tut, tut, man, ’tis childish. I but meant to infer that ’twould be difficult for thee to make her thy wife, and if all that rumour says be true she hath already been the mistress of thine old enemy Maharbal, the Numidian, then why not thine? There is an old Roman saying that there are many women who have never had a lover; but there are none who remain with only one. Then why shouldst thou not succeed, especially in the absence of thy rival?”

“Simply because Elissa is far too noble-minded, and I myself would not take her so unless all other means failed. But why should I not marry her, Lælius? It would be the best thing for both Rome and Carthage. For once she were my wife, how could the war continue? To make her so would be the greatest act of policy that hath ever been wrought since the commencement of the first Punic war. For Hannibal could no longer prosecute the war in Italy were his daughter the wife of Scipio. Neither could Hasdrubal nor Mago continue the war in Iberia against our legions were their niece to become my spouse. Only think of the thousands of lives that may be saved—the thousands of homesteads that may be spared from destruction, the cities that may never sustain a siege, the matrons and maidens that will never run the risk of violation or slavery, should the daughter of Hannibal become the wife of Scipio.”

Lælius, carried away by these words, sprang up enthusiastically.

“By Jupiter and Juno! By Mars and Venus! ’tis true, Scipio! ’twould bring a lasting peace. Well, ask her straight out, and may all the gods speed thy wooing. For on this matter I now see well hangs a most notable crisis. If thou canst win her now, the war ’twixt Rome and Carthage will be stayed. This Elissa is, in very truth, most wondrous beautiful, and once she were thy wife she would become a Roman. The world is quite big enough for Rome and Carthage together, therefore why should they not join hands? and, in sooth, what might we not do could we but form a combination? Think of it! Scipio, a combination between Rome and Carthage—Rome with all its glorious records of land victories, Carthage with its splendid fleets and immense naval power. Together we could conquer all the known and unknown worlds. ’Tis glorious, oh Scipio! I am with thee; there is my hand.”

Scipio was about to reply.

“Nay, speak not yet,” continued the other. “Think what we could win together. The League of the Achæans, the League of the Ætolians, the power of Macedon, the strength of Antiochus in Asia Minor, the pride of the Ptolemies in Egypt, all this together Carthage and Rome can subdue. And the honest love of a man for a maiden may accomplish all this. And a most glorious maiden is she, too. For whether or no she hath loved this Numidian Maharbal, there never yet was in this world such a woman as this Elissa, so strong is she in herself, so beautiful and so powerful. Make her thy wife, Scipio; then shall Rome and Carthage together conquer and reign supreme over all the world. Now, I leave thee.”

Gripping his friend’s hand warmly, Caius Lælius turned and left him. Every word that he had said was true: the whole future fate of the world depended upon that infinitesimal part of the world contained in one tiny unit—the body of one fair woman.

CHAPTER III.
FIGHTING WITH FATE.

There was a cool and refreshing northern breeze wafted off the seas when one morning the young warrior Scipio persuaded the Carthaginian maid to accompany him on horseback to a green, palm-studded headland stretching far out into the sea. Having dismounted and left their steeds with some slaves, the twain wandered on until they came to a sort of cave.

It was a natural archway overhung with wild fig and caper bushes, and having an aspect towards the delightfully blue waters of the Mediterranean. There had once been a temple to some god or goddess at the spot, and they seated themselves upon a fallen column in the recess. This was shaded by overhanging and luxuriant tufts of dew-bespangled maidenhair fern; it was, in fact, a most enchanting spot. Never was there such a glorious day; it was a day when merely to live was in itself an infinite joy. Across the sea could be seen, a hundred miles away, the faint outline of the Spanish land in a radiant haze, while close at hand, the rock-doves uttered cooing notes of love.

Placing his arm round Elissa’s shoulder and drawing her face near to his own, Scipio spoke.

“Elissa, thou canst see in the far distance the headlands showing; they are the coasts of Iberia. But what thou canst not see is the future of the world, and that thou hast it in thine own hands to shape that future now. Now, I can foresee much. And this I tell thee. I love thee, dear, and love thee deeply, and, wilt thou but give me thy love in return, thy nation and mine can conquer the world together. But before all I ask one thing, I ask thy love.”

Elissa’s heart beat fast. The memory of her own love, Maharbal, came to her mind. This man, this Scipio, told upon her strangely, yet could she not forget Maharbal. She remained silent, gazing over the sea and nervously twisting her fingers together.

“Canst thou not love me?” Scipio asked, as he rose and confronted her, capturing and holding her not altogether unyielding fingers in his own strong grasp. “Look out, dear one, over the seas; all those seas may be ours. Watch those far distant headlands. They now belong to Carthage, ’tis true, but they will, should thou not accede unto my prayer, most undoubtedly one day belong to Rome. Yet, give me but thy love, thy hand, and together, thou and I, will conquer and rule the world, and Rome and Carthage will be one alone.”

Bending low, he kissed her hands with gentle kisses, stealing all along from finger-tips to wrist. Still she remained silent, lost in deepest thought. For she was thinking of her country and her past.

After a period of thought she suddenly threw his hands from her.

“And Maharbal?” she exclaimed, “what share is he to have in this ruling of the world?”

The young Roman had not expected this.

“Maharbal!” he answered scornfully, “what share can such a one as Maharbal have in the universal dominion that I propose to thee shouldst thou but unite thy lot with mine? Maharbal, if he be not already dead, can still continue his career as a bold cavalry leader; but what can he do for the world save send many men out of it before their time? ’Tis out of place, methinks, to talk of Maharbal when the future of nations is at stake, and all dependeth but on thee and me.”

Elissa sprung to her feet in turn, and looked Scipio straight in the eyes.

Laughing half scornfully, “Listen unto me,” she said, “oh Scipio. Thou art but a boy for all thine exploits, and art carried away partly by thine enthusiasm and partly by thy love of me, for which, believe me, I am truly grateful, for thou art indeed one worthy to be loved. Yet listen, thou art dreaming a dream which is impossible of completion. Thy union with me could never carry with it the weight that thou dost imagine. I, being Hannibal’s daughter, should be hated by Rome. Thy marriage would not be recognised; I should soon be reduced to the position of thy mere mistress. Rome and Carthage together would never conquer the world, for the sole object of each is to conquer the other, and thus the old racial hatred would never permit it. Could I for one instant believe that it could be so, I would, for my country’s sake, and even in the interest of all humanity, throw over mine allegiance to Maharbal and give myself unto thee now. But I see it is but a dream, and, therefore, were there even no Maharbal in existence—although my heart tells me that I should love thee and love thee dearly—yet would I not give myself unto thee. Nay! it may not be; my natural intelligence persuades me that party feeling in Rome and Carthage, and mine own father’s hatred of Rome, would never allow this glorious union between the two countries which thou hast most patriotically imagined. Therefore, Scipio, leave thou me for ever, for I can never be thine. Things being thus, I only belong to one man living, and to him I will be true.”

Scipio stamped his foot with rage.

“Curse him!” he cried. “Curse him, by all the gods of Olympus and Hades! He needs must come between me and victory at every turn, and never more so than now. And thou art acting ill for thy country, Elissa; mark thou my word. Some day, moreover, in spite of this thrice-accursed Maharbal, thou shalt be mine whether thou wilt or no.”

Elissa’s colour rose, and she laughed at him.

“Thine! whether I wilt or no, my lord Scipio? Surely a somewhat presumptuous boast, seeing how my father Hannibal is slaying thy compatriots by tens of thousands in Italia, and how I myself have been present at the terrible discomfiture of thy relatives in Spain—a proud boast indeed. Thine, indeed!” she added scornfully, “never while Maharbal exists will I be thine, unless thou capture me in honest war; but remember Hannibal’s daughter is accustomed to warfare, and will not be easily taken, I assure thee.”

“Nevertheless,” responded Scipio sternly, “since thou hast thus rejected my proposals, thou knowest, full well, Elissa, that should I capture thee as thou sayst in honest warfare, thou wilt no longer have the chance of becoming my wife. Thou wilt become my slave, ay, my slave, nothing more. And how wouldst thou submit to the consequences?”

“Scipio,” answered Elissa smilingly, for her anger had evaporated, knowing as she did the utter devotion of her companion, “shouldst thou conquer me in war, as I have conquered thee in love, I would submit without demur to all the penalties of the situation; and who knows but I might perchance not be so over-sad if thou shouldst thus capture me, and I have no voice in the matter. For despite thy nationality, that thou art most congenial to me, I must confess. Yet, until I am thy slave, with all due deference to thee, I may, I think, venture to retain, oh thou most amiable Scipio, my liberty of person, and likewise my fidelity both to my country Carthage and my lover Maharbal.”

And with a playful laugh she gently seized him by the arm and led him away, saying:

“Now, that is a bargain between us, so let us not talk of such foolish matters further.”

But Scipio, exasperated and sick at heart, even while allowing himself to be led by her caressing hand back to where the horses stood, swore by all his Roman gods that she should regret it yet, and that if ever she should fall into his hands he would bind her to keep her promise. And so they returned.

A few days later, Syphax having announced his approaching marriage with Sophonisba, and his consequent definite espousal of the Carthaginian cause, Scipio and Lælius had no other course left to them but to quit the Numidian Court and return to Rome.

Scipio had a parting with Elissa that was almost tragic. He ended by bidding her to remember that she might, for all her flouting him, yet some day become the mere slave of the man who now adored her so madly, and who was willing to make her his bride. Then ashamed of himself for having spoken thus, and having lost all control of himself, he pressed her madly in his arms for one short passionate second. And so they parted!

Shortly after the departure of Scipio and his suite, the marriage of King Syphax and Sophonisba was celebrated with great magnificence. Everyone at the Numidian court seemed happy and overjoyed at the event save Massinissa alone. He himself had sought the lovely Sophonisba’s hand, but she had repulsed him in the most unmistakable terms. Therefore, in high dudgeon and vowing revenge, he had quitted his uncle’s court with all his suite, without waiting for the marriage festivities.

When these were completed, bidding a tender farewell to her friend, now queen of Massaesyllia, and a warm farewell to her kindly host the Numidian King, Elissa with General Hasdrubal set sail for New Carthage, whither she arrived without accident. Her uncle Hasdrubal was but awaiting her return to once more prosecute the war in the northern provinces, and General Hasdrubal, the son of Gisco, having been despatched to the south-western parts with an army, Elissa herself once more resumed her old position as Regent and Governor of New Carthage.

She found upon her return the foolish little Princess Cœcilia still in the palace, quite as vain and foolish as ever, and what was worse, on terms of considerable intimacy with a certain young Roman noble, one Marcus Primus, a prisoner in the palace awaiting a ransom from Rome. A patrician and of very high family, Marcus was a young officer of distinction, closely connected with the family of the Scipios. He had escaped on the occasion of the defeat of Cnœus Scipio, but Mago had wounded and unhorsed him in a subsequent encounter, after which, on account of his rank, he had not been treated as an ordinary prisoner, but sent to New Carthage, and there during his recovery had been placed on parole. Hasdrubal, finding him of a somewhat pliant disposition, and hoping to make use of him later, had purposely kept him under semi-restraint only, and lodged him in some out-buildings within the palace grounds, to the walls of which he was confined. The Carthaginian General likewise occasionally entertained his prisoner at his own table.

Being of a particularly pleasing if somewhat effeminate appearance, and having an agreeable manner, the amorous Cœcilia was instantly attracted by him. She had not been long in taking advantage of the new opportunity thus afforded her of a flirtation, and during his convalescence had become intimate with the young Marcus Primus to an extent of which Hasdrubal had not the slightest idea. Elissa, however, upon her return, well knowing her aunt’s disposition, was by no means so easily blinded to what was going on, and very soon had an explanation with the princess upon the subject.

“By whose orders,” she inquired severely, “oh Cœcilia, hath this young Roman been admitted to the palace, and how cometh it to pass that, not content to be for ever wandering about with him in the gardens, thou must even bring him to the dining-table and place him by thy side? It is, methinks, somewhat unseemly on thy behalf to be thus closely consorting with a prisoner. Wilt thou never have done with thy folly and philanderings, that thou must needs bring our enemies thus under our very roof-trees?”

The Princess Cœcilia blushed through her paint, and answered nervously:

“I, my dear! I assure thee I have nothing at all to do with it, my dear. The young man is most estimable, I assure thee, and perfectly harmless and well-behaved. ’Twas thine uncle Hasdrubal himself that brought him hither; I had no voice in the matter whatever, for he is nothing to me. But he seemeth, nevertheless, most amiable and—”

“And not at all averse to being made love to in the summer-house in the orange grove, as I have seen myself,” interrupted Elissa. “Well, since Hasdrubal brought him about the palace, and he is nothing to thee, he can, now Hasdrubal hath gone, henceforth remain even in his own quarters, and so no longer trouble thee with his presence. I do not at all approve of what hath much the appearance of a love-affair taking place here in our palace between a high-placed lady of the Carthaginian court and a Roman officer, no matter how well-bred or amiable he may be.”

“Oh! certainly, my dear Elissa! as thou wilt; send him back to his quarters by all means. But, since thou art so particular, may I inquire if ’tis then only in the court of Syphax that thou dost approve of friendships, or even love-makings between Carthaginian ladies and Roman officers of rank?”

It was now the turn for Elissa’s cheek to redden, for it was evident, from this sly cut, that Cœcilia had heard of the intimate terms upon which she herself had been with young Scipio.

She disdained, however, to notice the allusion further than to say sternly:

“I shall give mine instructions, mine aunt, and do thou see to it that thou consort with this Marcus Primus no longer. Thou mayst, however, see him once to bid him farewell if thou choosest.”

“Oh, certainly,” replied the little princess spitefully, “even as thou didst, so they say, take a somewhat prolonged farewell of thy Scipio.” And she bounced off in a temper to find the latest object of her affections, with whom she concocted a plan whereby she could secretly visit him.

One morning not very long after this, it was reported that the young Roman was missing.

His raiment was discovered upon the battlements on the side next to the lagoon. In a courteously worded letter which he left behind him, he expressed his thanks for the kindness and hospitality which had been extended to him during his captivity. But he further stated that, wearied out with long waiting for the ransom that never came, he was determined to take his own life, especially as he was now placed under closer restraint. Thus it was concluded in the palace that Marcus Primus had committed suicide, and the hysterical little princess made a somewhat exaggerated show of grief at the untimely end of her protégé.

Elissa, however, when no signs of the Roman’s body were seen either in the lagoon or in the gulf, had very considerable doubts, not only of the genuineness of the suicide, but of Cœcilia’s grief. Nor was she wrong in her suspicions, for the facts were these:

The princess, knowing that the water in the lagoon became fordable at certain periods, had, by bribing two of the guards and some fishermen of her own Iberian race, assisted Marcus to make his escape, which he had done in the garb of a fisherman, for since his confinement to his quarters he considered himself freed from his parole. She herself had made arrangements with the fishermen to carry her off also on a subsequent night, to the hiding-place where the Roman was to be concealed for a few days until she could join him.

This plan, however, was entirely frustrated by Elissa, whose suspicions were so thoroughly aroused that she had her aunt’s movements watched day and night. When the frivolous little woman discovered this, she was wretched. Cursing Elissa in her heart, she flung herself upon her couch and wept bitterly for her sorrows, as being one of the most ill-treated women in the world. For she had really become passionately attached to this the latest of her lovers, and the difference between their ages had only made her affection all the stronger.

CHAPTER IV.
THE FRUITS OF FOLLY.

Not long after this, Scipio landed with reinforcements for the army at Tarraco in Northern Spain, and assumed command of all the shattered remnants of his two uncles’ forces. He had with him his bosom friend, Caius Lælius, whom he placed in command of the fleet that had brought them over from Italy, and he set about at once to see what he could do to restore the damaged prestige of Rome throughout Iberia. In this he was much assisted by an incident that occurred a very few mornings after his arrival.

It so happened that shortly after daybreak a small fishing craft coming from the south crept into the harbour. The occupants, three in number, had with them a plentiful supply of fish of several kinds. The more ordinary sorts they readily disposed of to the soldiery, but a particularly fine selection of the choicer red mullets and grey mullets they would on no account part with, saying that they were a present for the Roman General himself. Carrying their burden between them, the fishermen had no difficulty in approaching the headquarters of the General, especially as one of them, the youngest and most ragged-looking of the three, strange to say, not only spoke the Latin tongue but spoke it well.

When the fishermen arrived in front of the guard posted over the young General’s tent, they were allowed to proceed no further. They created, however, such an uncouth clamour, after the manner of fishermen, that Scipio and Lælius looked out from the tent where they were sitting to see what was the cause of the disturbance. They arrived on the scene just in time to prevent the audacious fishermen from being struck down by the butt ends of the soldiers’ spears.

“Publius Scipio! Publius! dost thou not know me?” cried out the ragged one, laughing. “ ’Tis thy kinsman, Marcus Primus, that would greet thee with a present of fish, ay, and of his own catching, too! Approach, I pray thee, and see these red mullets. Never yet hast thou seen the like,” and he drew out several from the basket at his feet, letting them slip back again through his fingers with an air of pride.

Both Scipio and Lælius stared a moment in surprise, and then they too burst out into hearty laughter, while, to the astonishment of the guards, the General embraced the ragged fisherman most heartily, all covered with scales as he was.

“By Poseidon, king of the seas! my kinsman,” cried he, “a right good fisherman indeed thou art; but by all the gods! whence brought ye these fish? Are they perchance just fresh from the River Styx, for I did greatly fear that thou hadst gained the dark Plutonian shore some moons ago?”

“Nay, nay, Scipio, my cousin, these be no fish from Hades, and I am not dead, but truly living, and have much to tell thee, so ye will first but order me a bath and fitting attire in which to appear before the Roman Commander. But now let me commend unto thee these my comrades in many a perilous adventure by land and sea. See to it, I pray thee, that thou have them well treated, for much good have they done for the Roman cause in thus saving me and bringing me to thee, oh Scipio, as thou and Lælius shall learn anon.”

The guards soon took care of the fishermen, while Marcus was himself instantly taken into Scipio’s own tent, rendered presentable, and provided with a repast, of which he seemed much in need, and in which he was joined by the two generals. There were no traces of effeminacy now about his sunburnt features as he lay there on a couch, eating the first decently-served meal he had seen since he had escaped from New Carthage.

“By Bacchus!” exclaimed he gleefully, as he drained off a cup of old wine. “I tell thee, Caius Lælius, I envy thee thy profession of the sea. Nought is there like a few months in an open boat to make thee healthy and hearty. Then, again, how glorious the good red wine tasteth after nought but the trickling springs of water collected in caves in the rocks, or the rain water caught in the hollow of a sail when far out at sea. How dost thou like my fish, most noble Scipio? Ho, ho! a fisherman’s life for me, say I! There is now none so cunning as I with a hook, and thou shalt, my kinsman, appoint me no longer to the command of thy vulgar maniples and squadrons, to fight with Libyans and Iberians, but to the command of a noble fleet of fishing boats; and then Piscator General Marcus Primus shall daily make war upon the finny monsters of the deep, and provide the army on shore with dainties fit for Lucullus himself.”

Laughing again, he tossed off another cup of wine, for he was in high good humour to find himself once more with friends and comrades. While Caius Lælius did ample justice to the finny trophies of their guest, Scipio could hardly eat a morsel, so anxiously was he awaiting the moment when he might, with decent politeness, send away the attendant slaves, and ask the question nearest to his heart.

At last the time came.

“And what about Hannibal’s daughter? How is she looking, Marcus? Tell me of her.”

“Looking! why most radiantly beautiful. That is she ever, although, alas! she looked not very kindly upon me. It seemeth that she did not approve over much of flirtations between Carthaginian ladies and young Roman nobles. Didst thou find her so in Numidia, Scipio?”

Caius Lælius joined in the good-natured laugh against Scipio, who himself remained silent, as in deep thought. Presently Marcus continued:

“Personally I have nothing but thanks to give to the beautiful lady Elissa, for it was her very severity towards me that brought about my salvation, since by making me a prisoner to my house she absolved me from my parole. Further, her kind but foolish Aunt Cœcilia, who had fallen in love with me, and who procured me mine escape, would never have allowed me to go had not Elissa forbidden her to see me openly. As it was, she purposed to have joined me, but as she never arrived, after waiting three days in concealment, I put to sea without her. I hope no harm hath befallen her, for by her means have I learned all about the defences of New Carthage, which I shall presently tell thee, Scipio; but what could I have done in an open boat with a plump little lady ten years older than myself, one too whose sole fear is lest her complexion should be spoiled by the sun? She would have died of lamentation and weeping when she saw herself day by day becoming, even as I am myself, burned as black as a coal.”

“Thou wert far better without her, Marcus,” quoth Scipio. “Besides, I would not have had her in the camp, since I like not traitors, and, put the matter whichever way thou wilt, that she was nought but a traitor to her own kinswoman and chief, Elissa, in this matter of thine escape is most apparent. Nevertheless, all is fair in love and war, and I trust that, by the aid of the gods, we shall be able to take advantage of her treachery. Thus shalt thou soon enter with me, at the head of a victorious army, the very city in which thou wert but lately a prisoner. After that thou canst take the lady out fishing with thee if thou choosest, and then either take care of her complexion for her or drown her as thou wilt, the latter I should say for choice. She will have served her turn anyway. Perhaps Lælius would like to take her off thy hands, and for a cruise in his flag-ship; he can provide her there with proper awnings to shade her from the sun.”

“Not I, by Pluto!” cried Lælius, spitting disdainfully on the ground. “I too, like thee, hate a traitor, Scipio. I have far too high a regard and liking for our beautiful enemy, Elissa, ever, should it be in my power, to spare one who hath wronged her, as hath this Princess Cœcilia in enabling us to learn from Primus all the secrets of the defences of her city. Therefore the Princess Cœcilia had better beware of one Caius Lælius, whatever she may, from her passion, have done for thee personally, oh, Marcus, in the past and, through her treason, for Rome in general in the future.”

“Well,” returned Marcus Primus, “I for my part wish no ill to either the Lady Elissa or the Princess Cœcilia, since between them they have, although working differently, been the means of my obtaining my liberty. Moreover, the former is so lovely that no man could possibly wish her any harm, while the latter is merry and frivolous, and one well calculated to help the wearisome hours to pass agreeably for an unfortunate prisoner.

“But talking of women, Lælius, there is one now in New Carthage whom I warrant thee thou wouldst not disdain if thou hadst a chance of her. She is a young widow, named Cleandra, just back from Carthage, and as plump a little partridge as ever thou didst set eyes upon. Her mouth is a perfect rosebud, while as for her eyes—”

“What colour are her eyes?” interrupted Scipio, getting interested.

And then the talk degenerated into the usual conversation about women that is so common among young men, be they princes or ploughboys, in the pleasant half hour after a satisfactory meal.

Later on in the day, leaving the ever delightful theme of the fair sex on one side, Scipio revealed to his two friends that marvellous ability of generalship which afterwards astonished the world, and with these two alone he laid his plans, which were kept a secret from all else in the camp.

“Lælius,” quoth he, “I am about to take a leaf out of our enemy’s book, and in the same way that they crushed my father and mine uncle, will I now deal them a notable blow, should but the fates prove propitious. For, as they took advantage of my father and uncle being separated to crush them both in detail, so will I now take advantage of the separation of their own armies. Owing to their bad treatment of their Iberian allies, in by force raising money from them, and taking their daughters as hostages, nominally as guarantees for their good behaviour, and then dishonouring them, as though not the daughters of allied princes but mere slave girls captured in war, they have now stirred up a great part of Iberia against themselves. Thus, owing to the disaffection of the tribes, instead of combining to attack us here in Tarraco, see how they are split up! Hasdrubal, Hannibal’s brother, is besieging a city of the Caspetani; the other Hasdrubal, him whom we met at the court of Syphax and found then to be a right good boon companion, is away near the mouth of the Tagus in Lusitania; Mago again, Hannibal’s other brother, even he, whom I well remember springing upon us from an ambush at that unlucky business of the Trebia, and to whom thou, Marcus, didst owe thy wound and thy captivity, is, so I learn, away to the south-west, beyond the Pillars of Hercules. Thus they are all separated from one another.

“How foolish hath been the conduct of these Carthaginians! who, not content with behaving badly to the daughters of the lesser princes, have, so I learn, even made nominal hostages, but really concubines, of the daughters of the greatest chiefs of all, ay, even of their oldest and staunchest friends, such as Andobales, King of Central Iberia, and his brother Mandonius.

“Now, see the result of all this! Yesterday I received an embassy from Andobales, offering friendship to Rome, and complaining bitterly of the Carthaginians, his old allies. That offer I shall accept. And no doubt many more of the tribes will come in at once when they see with what honour I shall treat those that come first. Then, having nothing to fear from the Iberians and Celtiberians, I shall give it out publicly that I am about to sally forth to attack Hasdrubal among the Caspetani, but shall carefully avoid doing anything of the kind. For, while they are anxiously expecting me in one place, I shall promptly proceed to another. And I regret to say that it is against the New Town, Lælius, ay, even against our one dear friend among the Carthaginians, the charming Elissa herself, that I must deliver an unexpected attack.

“For each of the three armies of the enemy is at a distance of more than ten days’ march from the New Town. Now, were I to try to take them all in detail, our losses would be so great, that even if we conquered one, we might fall in a combat with the next. Again, if I were to attack one force alone, in a fortified camp, one of the others might come to its assistance, and we so be destroyed. With the New Town, however, things are different. For thou, Marcus, hast given me the most minute details of all the defences, and it seemeth that they have there an utterly inadequate garrison, so sure have they been of the strength of the defences of the city. But the information thou hast given me, which, thanks to thy foolish mistress Cœcilia, thou hast learned, to the effect that the lagoon on the landward side runs nearly dry each tide, changes the whole aspect of those defences. And I see my way, therefore, to carrying the place by a sudden storm. It will doubtless, alas, cost us many lives; but what are soldiers meant for but to be killed in their country’s cause? It hath been the fate of the Scipios for generations past to die in battle, and may be mine and thine as well.”

“Ay,” here interposed Marcus, cheerily, “we all run an equal risk in battle, and even if we do go under, we three at all events shall not share the ill-luck of the raw recruit who falls in his very first engagement.”

“This, then, is my plan,” continued Scipio. “While pretending that we are going north we will go south. In the meantime, we will get many scaling ladders ready, having them made in sections that can be joined together easily. Thou, Lælius, shalt, with the whole fleet, proceed by sea to New Carthage and carry them for us. But not a word, not a single breath beyond the walls of this tent to give a suspicion of our design.”

“Poor Elissa!” sighed Lælius, “I am truly sorry for her; she had better have hearkened unto thee in Numidia, Scipio—for, unless she die, she will assuredly soon now be thy slave. And hath she not made a certain compact with thee, Scipio?”

“Ay, she hath made a compact with me, Lælius,” replied Scipio, smiling sadly; “but by Jupiter and Venus! I know not when the time cometh whether I shall enforce the fulfilment of her share of the contract or no. Besides, who knoweth the fortune of war? It may prove, perchance, that it be I who become her slave, and she may put me in chains,” and he sighed thoughtfully. “Not that that will alter matters much,” he added half-pathetically, half-humorously, “for by Venus and Cupid! I became her slave and was in chains from the very first moment that ever I cast eyes upon her beautiful face.”

“Ah, well,” replied his friend lightly, “there will be at all events one happy man should we take New Carthage. For Marcus will find his turtle-dove once more, and ’twould, methinks, but be fitting that he should reward his fair princess by marrying her—eh, Scipio?”

“Hum!” replied Marcus Primus, smiling, “marriage is a somewhat serious matter for a soldier. Now, thou, Lælius, art a sailor, and like the snail thou carryest thy house with thee. Therefore I will display a little self-sacrifice. Thou shalt, if she be captured, take the princess, even as Scipio said, for a while with thee on thy ship. Then if, after some months of close observation, thou shouldst still deem her worthy of matrimony—”

“I may marry her myself, I suppose? and Marcus Primus will find that he hath pressing business elsewhere! is that thine idea? Nay, nay, my friend, I will have none of thy Spanish beauty; but I will, under such circumstances, wed her off at once to my chief boatswain; he is a fine fellow, and will make her a right good husband, I warrant thee. With all due deference to this grand princess of thine, I think that ’twould be she and not the boatswain that would be most honoured by the union.”

Scipio smiled, but Marcus looked rather glum at the jest. He was still young enough to be a little proud of his conquest. But he was a good-natured young fellow, and far too happy at his recent escape to care much for any of their banter. Therefore, he only called for a cup of wine, and ostentatiously raising it to his lips, invoked the blessing of the gods upon his preserver, the fair and rotund Cœcilia. Wherein he showed himself in soul a very gentleman, one who did not forget a woman as soon as he had profited by her benefits towards himself.

CHAPTER V.
MARS VICTORIOUS.

Scipio soon set his army in motion. He was still a young man of less than seven-and-twenty when, with twenty-five thousand infantry and two thousand five hundred cavalry, he made one of the most wonderful marches on record in any age, arriving in front of New Carthage in only seven days. Lælius, having taken on board his ship Marcus Primus and the two fishermen who had helped the young man to escape, managed things so well that he arrived in the harbour of New Carthage at the very same hour that Scipio with his host appeared and encamped in front of the town on the land side. There had been no time to place the booms across the harbour, for it was a thorough surprise for Elissa; but she was nevertheless, with her small garrison, ever prepared for war. She had long since, especially since her city had been drained of troops for the armies in the field, trained many of the townspeople to warlike exercises. Therefore when she received from Scipio, before any hostilities began, a most courteous invitation to surrender, expressed in friendly terms and offering life and safety to all within the walls, she answered equally courteously but firmly, saying that she was there to defend the city, and would only yield to force, and fight to the last.

Poor Elissa! she knew full well, when she saw the large fleet of Caius Lælius anchored well within the gulf on one side, and the large force of Scipio encamped almost within arrow-shot of the walls, just across the lagoon on the other, that she had not much chance; for that if the city should fall by no other means, it must fall by starvation, unless she could hold out until such time as one of the Carthaginian armies should come to her relief. Nevertheless, she determined to do all in her power, and strain every nerve to uphold the honour of her country and her father’s name. Therefore, before the fighting actually began, she rode all over the town, all round the defences, and exhorted everyone, whether soldier or civilian, to do his duty. She encouraged them by falsely saying that she had just received advices from her uncle Mago, that he was advancing with a large force to the relief of the city, and thus generally contrived to put the inhabitants of the New Town in good heart. For no one within the walls ever dreamt of the possibility of such a strongly-fortified place being carried by storm.

It will be remembered that New Carthage stood upon a high hill jutting out into a gulf, while upon the land side it was, save for the part near the causeway and bridge on the isthmus opposite the main gate, protected by the lagoon, which had been artificially connected with the sea. High walls protected the town upon every side, while steep cliffs covered with the red-flowered, prickly cactus further protected its sea front.

When the Roman soldiers first saw the place, their hearts fell within them, for it looked so utterly impregnable. But young Scipio, who was throughout his career, despite his good qualities, much of a charlatan, informed them in an address that Neptune, or Poseidon, king of the seas, had appeared to him in a dream, and informed him that he would personally assist him in the capture of the city. Thus he greatly raised the spirits of his men. Moreover, as he had often done the same kind of thing before, and had usually been lucky in the result, he was looked upon as one protected by the gods. Therefore, his bare-faced assertion of their promised intervention on his behalf was believed by the ignorant and superstitious soldiery, with the result of inspiring them with redoubled courage for the tremendous enterprise before them. Scipio continued his address by pointing out to his army the immense advantage the capture of the town would be to the Romans, by giving them an excellent seaport from which they might invade Africa; he dwelt also upon the enormous booty within the walls, and further, that as it contained all the Spanish hostages, should these fall into his hands, he could, by restoring them to their native countries, make friends with all the princes of Iberia, after which the utter defeat of the Carthaginians throughout the peninsula would be assured.

And, finally, he promised mural crowns of gold to such of his men as should be the first to escalade the walls.

Meanwhile, within the city, Elissa ordered the Carthaginian flag to be hoisted on every post and every house, in order that the presence everywhere of the blessed white horse upon the purple ground, an ensign given to Dido by the ancient and immortal gods, should remind each and every one of his duty.

Thus, with the standards gaily fluttering in the breeze from every eminence, and festoons of flags across the streets, the fair city of New Carthage looked more like a city celebrating some joyous festival than a town about to be plunged into all the horrors of a most bloody combat.

The trained veterans at her disposal did not much exceed some two thousand men. Fifteen hundred of these Elissa placed under the orders of a chief named Mago, with instructions to post the greater number along the walls, both on the land side and the sea side, upon the battlements of which, at every point, were heaped-up piles of darts, huge stones, and masses of lead. Moreover, cross-bows, called scorpions, on account of the sting they discharged in the shape of a small but deadly missile, were ranged round the walls at short intervals, with their ammunition placed ready beside them.

The remainder of Mago’s men were stationed either upon the commanding eastern hill that jutted out into the sea, upon which stood the temple of Æsculapius, or in the citadel.

Another superior officer whom she had under her orders was named Armes. Him she posted, with two thousand men of those whom she had trained from the townspeople, at the gate leading to the isthmus.

A body of one hundred men of the veterans she reserved to herself as a personal guard, to accompany her whither she would throughout the expected siege, and another hundred under old Captain Gisco she left in charge of the palace and the women therein. The palace was so situated that it was only immediately in danger from the sea side on the south-east, where the walls of the garden formed a part of the actual walls of the city. Upon the other three sides the high and battlemented walls of the garden were so placed that, while they overlooked the town, they were quite separate from its outward defences, and the only entrance upon that side was a gateway, so defended by a drawbridge over a deep fosse that a few men could defend it against thousands. The small postern door on the south-east side, leading to the harbour, Elissa caused to be barricaded with stones, while the marble steps leading down to the sea she had partially destroyed and partially blocked up with strongly tethered masses of the prickly pear cactus which grew so freely on the cliffs, and which were calculated to form a terrible obstacle to any escalading foe.

In conclusion Elissa gave instructions for bands of the armed inhabitants of the town to be placed on the walls at intervals along the whole of the sea front, which was menaced by the powerful fleet of Lælius, and upon the land front facing the isthmus, as either of these parts could, although the walls were very high, be assailed with scaling ladders. She had thus made the very best disposition of the small force at her command. One place, however, she failed to garrison in strength, partly from want of men and partly on account of its natural strength, and this was where, on the north side of the isthmus, the lagoon washed the walls of the city. And now, having done all in her power for the defence, she returned to her palace, and assembled all the frightened women therein to the morning repast.

Elissa herself was clad in her war gear, and merely removed her golden helmet, and cast her beautiful shield, inlaid with its golden horse, upon one side ere she sank upon one of the silk-cushioned divans around the board whereon was spread the meal. The eye of the young maiden was bright, her look determined, and her cheek flushed with a noble courage. Although still only in her twenty-first year, she had all the ability and experience of an old commander; and, noting her confident appearance, her youth was quite forgotten by the other women present, who looked to her for protection.

One of them was a most lovely maiden named Idalia, a girl of seventeen summers, with large, dreamy eyes like those of a fawn. Her beauty was so great, her face such a pure oval and so gentle, her willowy form so bewitchingly enticing and rounded, that she was quite the equal in beauty of Elissa herself, although in an entirely different style. She was, by nature, timorous even as the fawn whom her eyes resembled.

Rising from her seat, Idalia approached Elissa, whose glorious masses of dark, ruddy hair, having broken loose from their restraining fillet, were streaming over the light steel cuirass inlaid with gold which covered her. The sunlight, breaking in from an open window behind, shone through the almost black tresses, distinctly showing up the ruddy lights beneath. Without a word Idalia, whose eyes were filled with tears, caressingly laid an arm round Elissa’s neck and kissed her gently, almost reverently. Then, lifting up the flowing locks, she pressed them also to her lips, then quietly readjusted them below the silver fillet which had previously restrained them.

“Wherefore dost thou weep?” exclaimed Elissa kindly, patting the pale cheek so near her own. “Fear not, we shall beat off the Romans, and thou shalt come to no harm. So banish these tears; I will protect thee, pretty one. Come, be reassured by me; do I look fearful of the result? That thy life shall be safe I warrant thee, for whoever else may fall, the great goddess Tanais, whose votary thou art, will surely protect such a beauteous young maid as thou.”

“Oh, Elissa, dear Elissa!” replied the fair maid, in sad but musical tones, “believe me that I trust in thee and in the goddess Tanais also; but ’tis not for myself I weep. ’Tis with fear for my beloved Allucius. Canst thou or the goddess Tanais protect him? Alas! I fear ’tis not in thy power, and I weep lest he may fall.”

“Allucius, Prince of the Celtiberians, must do his duty with the rest of us,” rejoined Elissa straightforwardly but not unkindly; “and he hath a post of honour, since I have placed him as second in command to Armes at the city gate. But should he fall, he will die a most honourable death, and one that will be worthy of thee. Therefore, sweet one, put a more cheerful face upon the matter, I pray thee, for thou wouldst not have him act the poltroon, and shield himself behind thy chiton, wouldst thou? But thou canst pray to the gods for him.”

“Nay, nay,” cried the girl proudly, drawing herself up and dashing away her tears, “I would not have him other than a noble soldier. I thank thee for teaching me my duty, Elissa, and I will be brave.”

“I think thou art making a most unnecessary fuss, Idalia,” here interrupted the Princess Cœcilia spitefully. “What folly thou dost talk about this Allucius. Why trouble about him at all when thou knowest that, with thy youth and thy beauty, thou are safe thyself? For the worst that can happen to thee is that thou mayst fall perchance to the lot of some Roman noble. Who knows but Scipio might take a fancy to thee himself. Thou hast already met him, since thou wast with Elissa at the Court of Syphax.”

“Princess Cœcilia!” exclaimed Idalia.

But Cœcilia continued peevishly in a torrent of words: “Nay, interrupt me not; I know what thou wouldst say, that ’tis merely for Elissa he hath come here, and that ’tis on account of her late foolish coquettings with him in Numidia that all these miseries are come upon us. For what other reason, save to make her his, hath he come here to attack us women instead of going to fight Hasdrubal or Mago as, had he been worth calling a man, he would have done? But fear not thou, Idalia, those Romans are not particular as to whether they have one girl or twenty; and since Elissa hath brought him here, and thou art moreover a worshipper of Tanais, thou wilt doubtless be but too pleased to save thyself at the expense of thine honour.”

“Princess Cœcilia!” exclaimed Elissa, whose eyes were flaming with fury as she rose to her feet, “begone! retire to thine apartment, and see thou stir not thence without mine orders. For despite thy calumnies, I do much misdoubt me but ’tis thine own traitorous conduct that hath brought the Romans upon us. Should it prove so, beware! Cleandra, I beg thee accompany the princess to her apartment, and give instructions to the palace guard that mine aunt is to be considered a prisoner.”

“Oh! in sooth, Elissa!” exclaimed the now utterly cowed little princess, turning pale, “in good sooth, Elissa, thou hast altogether misunderstood me. I did but speak in jest. Indeed, I did not mean a word.”

“Begone!” replied Elissa, “I will not hear thee more,” and she waved her hand to Cleandra to lead her off.

This Cleandra did with some difficulty, for the little woman’s whole body was now convulsed with sobs, and her knees trembled and shook so together that she could scarcely stand. It was almost impossible not to feel pity for her as the huge tears washed the paint from her now considerably damaged complexion. But Cleandra obeyed her orders, and then rejoined her mistress and friend, to whose home in Spain she had voluntarily returned from Carthage upon her husband’s recent death in a drunken brawl. This she had done, even although by doing so she was exposing herself to a renewal of the state of slavery in which she had been before her departure. But the ties of mutual gratitude that united Elissa and Cleandra were so great that there could scarcely now be considered to exist ought save friendship between them.

After this incident the repast proceeded in peace. It was scarcely concluded when two messengers rushed in, one crying out that the Romans on the land side were advancing across the isthmus and threatening the gate, the other that the Roman fleet was also advancing and the sailors attempting to warp their ships to the base of the cliff on the seaward side of the city so as to land the marines. Elissa speedily arose, seized her shield and a sheaf of darts, and repaired first to the battlements on the seaward side of the palace. There she saw that the enemy were in the greatest confusion. The ships were so numerous that they were getting in each other’s way. There was a great deal of clamour, but owing to the vigorous defence that was being made, Lælius was not likely for some time to come to be able to land his men in any numbers upon the sloping rocks. For the missiles being hurled upon the assailants from the walls, falling upon the confused ships and boats, were causing the greatest disorder. Some Carthaginian ships, moreover, which were lying under the shelter of the walls, were advancing gallantly to a counter attack, and although their numbers were few, they being only eighteen, they were able to create an excellent diversion.

Accompanied by her body-guard, the young Regent next hurried down to the battlements near the main gate of the city. Thence she beheld the splendid and awe-inspiring sight of the whole of the Roman army with ensigns flying and eagles displayed, drawn up in line at some distance behind the bridge which crossed the waters of the lagoon where it flowed out into the gulf.

The men of this noble army, whose arms and polished shields were glittering with dazzling brilliancy in the sun, were standing motionless.

Far in advance of the main body, however, a considerable detached column of heavy-armed troops, consisting of Hastati, Principes, and Triarii, in their three lines, were crossing the bridge, maniple by maniple, and deploying the maniples into line, alternately to the right and left in succession, as they arrived upon the city side of the bridge over the narrow channel that traversed the isthmus. Without a moment’s hesitation, Elissa gave the order from the top of the ramparts where she was standing to Armes, the tribune commanding the force of two thousand citizens within the gates, to engage this attacking column of Romans. With promptitude this order was obeyed; and sallying forth with gallantry, the troops under Armes rushed upon the foe. Those who had crossed the bridge were, with much slaughter, driven backwards, and thrust, either into the lagoon to the one side, or into the inrunning waters of the gulf on the other, while the centre of the Romans, falling back upon those who were still crossing the bridge in rear, created considerable confusion, and thus the centre also suffered much loss. The whole body of Romans then fell back gradually towards their own main body, the Carthaginians crossing the bridge, deploying in turn into line, and pursuing them.

From her vantage point upon the battlements over the gateway, Elissa could plainly see the error into which Armes was falling, for she perceived that the Romans were gradually pushing up more and more supports from their main body. She therefore sent instant instructions to Armes to fall back again to the city gates. But her messenger arrived too late, for before he had reached the contending forces the largely reinforced Romans were advancing once more, and, after a terrible hand-to-hand conflict, driving the Carthaginians back again over the bridge. Armes was now slain; and although Allucius, the lover of Idalia, made most heroic efforts to rally the citizens, they were at length driven back headlong up to and through the city gates, Allucius himself being sorely wounded. The Romans would have entered the gates with the fugitives, but those upon the wall commenced casting down a rain of missiles upon them, causing much loss. Scipio, moreover, who was watching the contest from a hill called the Hill of Mercury, caused the trumpets to sound the retreat, for the number of men engaged was far too few, and had they got through the gate they would have been eaten up inside.

So the Romans fell back leisurely after a terrible carnage.

While the remnants of the Carthaginians were rallying within the walls, Scipio, without giving them time for rest, instantly despatched a large number of men with scaling ladders to assault that part of the walls which was situated near the principal gate. He himself followed to superintend. Racing across the open, carrying the long ladders, the Romans speedily reared them in a hundred places at once. But the ladders were scarcely long enough to reach the top; moreover, Elissa was ever present in person to animate and encourage the defenders. In many cases the ladders broke with the weight of the many armed men upon them, who were thus cast headlong; in other cases, the men at the top became giddy, and fell off, carrying others with them, while those who actually reached the top of the battlements were hurled backwards upon their comrades.

Scipio himself, covered by three men armed with linked oblong shields, to protect him from the vast number of missiles being hurled, visited every part of the line in turn to encourage his followers; but it was, he saw, of no use. Elissa, from the top of the ramparts, for her part soon recognised him. Standing exposed upon the wall, she cried out to him scornfully by name, saying that she, although only a woman, had but one shield to his three, and that, nevertheless, she defied him to single combat. And then she cast several javelines, accompanying each dart with bitter and mocking remarks; but they were all warded off by the shields of his three protectors. A second time was Scipio now compelled to sound a retreat, and this time his men fell back in confusion. Scipio, however, noticed that now the time had come for the ebb of the tide from the lagoon, and further, that a strong north wind was causing the waters to run out very swiftly.

Therefore, to engage the attention of the triumphant Carthaginians, he now sent a fresh body of a thousand troops, with more scaling ladders, to the assault at the same place as before, while he himself with another large body of men, after a lateral movement to his left, plunged into the lagoon, crying out to his troops that Neptune was, as he had foretold, coming to his assistance by draining off its waters.

The water was not at first more than waist deep, and soon only knee deep. Therefore, quite unobserved by the combatants near the gate, he contrived to cross in safety and to mount the walls unopposed. Then, rushing along the walls with one party, he soon drove most of the defenders off the ramparts. Another party he sent to attack the defenders of the gate from the inside. At the same time, the Romans on the outside, hacking away at the gate with axes, cut it through, and thus was it captured from within and without at once. In the meantime, the Romans with the scaling ladders, who had attacked from the dry land, also got over the walls as the defenders fell back before Scipio’s party.

The loss on the Carthaginian side was now terrible, as the Romans, forcing their way into the town by the gate and ramparts alike, advanced, killing every living creature they met, whether man, woman, child, or even domestic animals. This was done to strike terror into the heart of the people, and was an old Roman custom upon such occasions. Scipio, meanwhile, with a band of warriors continued to advance along the ramparts, and soon met in hand-to-hand combat Elissa with her guard. He cried to her to yield, but her only reply was a dart, which transfixed his shield, for he had now but one. The terrible hand-to-hand struggle continued on the walls, the assailants and defenders alike seizing each other by the waist and casting each other over.

At length, just as Scipio thought he was about to capture Elissa and her few remaining followers, she gave an order to her men, who, all turning swiftly, ran until they reached the gate in the wall of the palace, which they entered, the gate being closed and the drawbridge raised in the face of the victorious Scipio, who was thus baulked, for the moment at all events, of his prey. It would, indeed, have been a triumph for Elissa could she have but continued the struggle until nightfall. For then she and those with her might have escaped by a secret path they knew of down the rocks. But it was not to be! Scarcely had she gained the shelter of the garden when a storming party of truculent seamen, headed by Caius Lælius himself, with whom was also Marcus Primus, burst over the walls on the seaward side. And now another terrible struggle took place—this time in the garden—the flowers being all trampled down, and the garden walks and statues being soon covered with blood.

At length, old Gisco and nearly all her guard being killed, Elissa herself now quite exhausted, with a javeline transfixed in her shoulder, resolved to die, sword in hand. She rushed upon Caius Lælius, calling upon him loudly by name to slay her and so save her from dishonour. But, her foot slipping in a pool of blood upon some marble slabs near the fountain, she fell. Caius Lælius himself seized her, and easily disarming her, made her his prisoner, thus protecting her from further injury. And then Caius took the palace and all within it without more bloodshed. For none but women were left alive inside.

In the meanwhile, Mago and all his remaining men in the citadel and upon the hill of Æsculapius had surrendered, and after this the order was given to plunder the town.

Thus did the city of New Carthage fall into the hands of the Romans under Scipio. He, the gates of the garden being thrown open to him from within, arrived upon the scene before Elissa had been removed within the palace walls, and terrible, indeed, was the scene of carnage that met his view in the once peaceful garden. For, animated by Elissa’s personal presence, the palace guard and Elissa’s own body-guard had fought around her with the heroism of despair. Thus, there were quite as many corpses or wounded men of the Romans as of the Carthaginians lying about in all directions. Some even were lying dead or dying, half in and half out of the fish-pond, the waters of which were crimson with blood, while the gold-fish, sickened by the gore, were swimming round and round in little circles, belly uppermost.

In other places the bodies of dead men, some of whom yet grasped each other by the throat, were half-buried in masses of geranium or carnation plants, the crimson of whose petals formed but a variety of colour with the crimson and purple hues of the still warm life-blood with which the green leaves were all drenched and befouled. Others, again, in falling, had clasped a standard rose-bush, and, pulling it down with them, now lay with their pale faces turned skywards, buried in a mass of sweet-scented roses pressing against their ghastly cheeks.

Although her left shoulder was pierced and mangled, Elissa’s wound was not apparently very dangerous. She had retained perfect consciousness while Caius Lælius extracted the weapon, which he did by cutting off the haft and drawing the head through; but from the agony caused by this operation she had swooned and fallen back insensible only a moment before Scipio arrived upon the scene of the bloody conflict; and she was now lying as one dead.

CHAPTER VI.
CŒCILIA’S DEGRADATION.

Scipio burst into the palace garden flushed with the joy of victory, but when he saw his beloved Elissa lying at his feet, he forgot everything, save that there lay, apparently lifeless, the body of the woman whom he loved. He stood for a moment gazing, then angrily turned upon Lælius.

“What is this, Caius? Hast thou slain her? Thou hast surely not dared to slay Elissa? But nay, my friend,” he continued, his anger quickly turning to grief, “I know that thou didst love her even as I did. Forgive me for thus wronging thee. Give me thy hand, my comrade.”

Then throwing himself upon the ground by her side, Scipio cried:

“Oh, Elissa, my beloved Elissa, art thou dead? for if thou art, then will I not survive thee! Gone is the glory of my victory! thrice accursed be the hand that hath struck thee down!”

Gently he raised her in his arms, and, aided by Caius Lælius, reverently they removed her golden helmet and the corselet of steel inlaid with gold, beneath which she was clad in but a silken vest of Tyrian purple, which, being all drenched with blood, they were forced partly to remove in order to staunch the still flowing gore.

Commanding his followers to fall back to a distance, Scipio remained upon his knees supporting her, with her beautiful face lying upon his shoulder; while Caius Lælius brought some water in his helmet from the waters of the upspringing fountain, which were fresh, and unstained with blood.

While she was being supported thus, and the two men were ministering to her, bathing her face and binding up her wound, Elissa recovered her senses with a sigh.

For a few seconds she did not realise the situation, and remained motionless, and then the whole sad truth burst upon her. With a bitter smile she spoke.

“And so it hath then come to pass, oh, Scipio! and thou hast conquered me and killed my faithful troops, and I am now thy slave. I have not forgotten! I was but now, even as thou art thyself, a warrior, then why hast thou removed my harness and exposed my person to the crowd, and why dost thou embrace me thus, even on the battlefield itself? Surely ’tis unmanly of thee. Oh, I do hate thee, Scipio! Release me, I beg of thee, and insult me not in public.”

With a look of repulsion on her beautiful pale face, she turned from him, and would have withdrawn herself from his embrace, but was too weak.

“Nay, nay, dear Elissa, mistrust me not,” rejoined Scipio, with the air not of a conqueror, but of a very suppliant. “Thou dost wrong me. ’Twas but to save thy life that Caius and I alone, both thy friends, have thus removed thine armour; and even now the joy of seeing thee living far outweighs the grief caused by the bitterness of thy words.”

“And so ye are my friends, are ye? Pretty friends, in sooth, to war upon a woman and murder all my people!” answered Elissa, arguing, like a woman, unreasonably, and forgetting that all the bloodshed could have been spared and no lives lost had she but accepted the offered terms of amnesty.

“Is that, too, a friend?” she asked, pointing with her unwounded arm to a Roman warrior who, sorely smitten, was lying near, in whom she recognised Marcus Primus. “Art thou my friend, oh Marcus? Thou who hast eaten the bread of our hospitality here, but who as a return did by treachery escape, and lead back an army to slay those who succoured thee when thou wast wounded and in distress. And is thy paramour, the Princess Cœcilia, likewise my friend? Oh! I see it all now, thy pretended suicide arranged with her, and that ’twas she who taught thee the secret of the lowering of the waters of the lagoon. If this be friendship, a curse I say upon all such friends! and may the dreadful and undying curse of all the almighty gods fall upon both thee and thine accomplice.”

“Nay, curse me not, and I so near death, Elissa,” the young man replied feebly; and the tears came to his eyes, partly from pain at witnessing the bitter distress of this noble young woman, partly from excessive weakness. “I do most deeply grieve for thy sorrow, believe me, and I have but fought for my country as thou hast so nobly done for thine. I pray thee, then, remove thine awful curse from the head of a dying man, or I may not die in peace. Remove that curse, I pray thee once more, then may we meet as brethren in a country where is no war, when it shall be thine own time to cross the Styx.”

“I pray the great god Melcareth that that time be now near at hand, oh, Marcus. In sooth, I feel anew so weak that we may perhaps cross the Styx together; and since ’twould be strange and sad to commence a new existence together as enemies, I will even revoke my curse upon thee, yet not my curse from the head of Cœcilia.”

“Who hath never done thee any wrong, and is most loyal,” replied the dying Marcus Primus. “I thank thee much, Elissa,” he added, with a gasp. And then, with this noble lie upon his lips, uttered merely to save the woman who had loved and befriended him, he gave a long, sad sigh, and fell back dead.

“Scipio,” quoth Elissa, now very faintly, for she had lost much blood, “I think I likewise am dying, and ’tis not meet that I should die thus in the arms of an enemy of my country; therefore, if thou hast any nobility of soul, thou wilt release me and send for Cleandra, one of my women. Know this, I do not, nay, I cannot hate thee as I ought. I might even have loved thee had things been otherwise, for thou art most wondrous kind; but if thou dost love me, then let me not, for my country’s sake, for my lover Maharbal’s sake, for mine own honour’s sake, die thus in thine arms; but yet I thank thee and Lælius likewise.”

Her last words were scarcely audible.

Scipio, himself nearly as pale as Elissa, pressed one reverent kiss upon her lips, and murmured:

“I obey thy behest, Elissa.” Then he laid her gently down, and, leaving Lælius with her, dashed within the palace for the first time, wandering vaguely about, and calling for the woman named Cleandra, who was soon brought out to him from among the captives.

Leading her to Elissa, he gave his fair foe into Cleandra’s charge.

Elissa, now speechless with pain and weakness, yet still sensible, gave him one look of gratitude, and then closed her eyes. And thus, with instructions that she should be borne gently into her own apartments, Scipio left her to see to his troops and to the thousands of prisoners. The whole scene had not taken more than some ten minutes.

There was plenty for Scipio to do, for now were all his generals and captains attending upon him from all parts of the town to ask for instructions on every subject. Among other points to be decided two men were brought before him, each a claimant for the mural crown in gold, promised to the first man who had escaladed the wall.

One of them was Quintus Trebellius, a centurion of the fourth legion; the other was Sextus Digitius, a seaman; and a hot contest was on foot between the soldiers of the land forces, and the seamen and marines of the fleet, who espoused their rival claims with great warmth.

Although Scipio appointed three commissioners to decide the case, the contest between the soldiers and the sailors became so hot that Caius Lælius soon pointed out to his friend and leader that unless the matter were decided so as to please both parties, a conflict would probably break out.

Thereupon Scipio showed his tact. Calling both Trebellius and Digitius before him, he complimented each of them warmly, said he was convinced that they had both mounted the wall at the same time, and granted them both mural crowns for valour. To his friend Lælius he also awarded a mural crown, and gave him besides thirty head of oxen. Many other rewards he gave to those who had distinguished themselves. In this way he preserved peace in his camp, and all were satisfied and pleased with their general.

There was another incident which occurred on the following day, which did much to enhance young Scipio’s reputation with his troops, and his popularity with the Iberians, hitherto the allies of Carthage.

From the period when, after the morning repast, Elissa had sallied forth to repel the stormers, the lovely young girl Idalia had been missing from the palace. In the confusion of the assault and subsequent events, none of the frightened women in the palace had observed her absence, but, once the storm completed and the Romans masters of the place, the women, who were now prisoners, noticed that she was no longer among their number.

When on the following morning Scipio was superintending the division of the enormous plunder among the legions, a small knot of soldiers were seen approaching him, leading a young girl, who was thickly veiled from head to foot. Their leader, coming forward to Scipio, addressed him as follows:

“Oh, Scipio, well is it known throughout the army that thou dost give great rewards and mete out justice to others, and yet, save the reward of honour, nought hast thou retained for thine own self. Now we, some of thy followers, seeing that thou art a young man, and known from thy youth to love the fair, have discovered a gift which we would offer unto thee in the shape of a young virgin, who is fit for a king. For we have thought that such a gift would be acceptable unto thee. We took the girl yesterday, and she hath been religiously respected and carefully veiled, lest any of the tribunes or prefects, seeing her, should have become enamoured of her beauty and taken her away from us, who would save her for thee.”

The young general’s curiosity was at once excited. Smiling, he said:

“I thank ye, my men, for your kind thought of your general; but come, let us see this paragon of beauty. Unveil her.”

When the thick covering which alone concealed the face and form of the maiden was removed, Scipio and all the officers near him were simply astounded at the excessive loveliness of the charming Idalia, who, her eyes suffused with tears and her face and bosom with burning blushes, stood revealed, trembling before him.

Scipio was moved to pity for her wretched condition.

“By Hymen and Venus! thou hast spoken the truth, my men, and I do greatly thank ye for this beautiful present. For never save in one woman alone,”—he was thinking of Elissa—“have I seen aught so lovely in the human form. My men, since ye have made me the gift, I shall retain it to do as I choose with, and ye shall be all suitably rewarded. And were I other than the general commanding the forces, there is no present which could have been so acceptable. But seeing that I am the general, it becomes me to use a little self-denial in this matter. Therefore, lest from gazing too long upon such charms I should begin to think that I am but a private person who can do as he chooseth in such a matter, give me that veil.”

Taking the heavy veil he went up to the trembling girl, and reassuring her kindly, covered her shoulders and limbs with it. At the same time he gave her a fraternal kiss on the cheek, bidding her not to fear, for he would be as a brother to her. But Idalia, broken down with all the suffering and shame that she had undergone, and moved by Scipio’s unexpected kindness, threw herself down and, clasping his knees, would have kissed his feet. This he would by no means allow, but raising her gently, inquired into her condition and the circumstances attending her capture.

Then the soldiers told him that on the previous day, when the order had been given for a space to slay every living thing that they met, but not to begin to plunder until further orders, they had pursued some fugitives into the porch of a doorway and killed them. Glancing within a room beyond, they had seen a wounded Iberian chieftain, and were about to kill him also, but that this maiden had flung her body full length upon the Iberian, and clung to him so tightly that they had been unable to slay him without wounding or perhaps slaying her also. Then had their leader, the same who now had addressed Scipio, reminded the men that the order was to kill all whom they should meet in the streets, but that there was no order to slay those in the houses, and as the young man himself also offered, in the Latin tongue, a large ransom for his life, they had spared them both.

“In that ye have done well,” said Scipio; “and thy reward shall be the greater,” continued he to the leader, “for that thou didst exactly obey and follow out mine orders to the letter. For mine order was indeed but to slay all living things ye met in the street; there was no order to slay those in the houses. Now tell the Quæstors, whose duty it is to take the money for such as are ransomed, where this young man lies, and when they have rewarded you as I shall direct, ye can depart, leaving the maiden here.”

So the soldiers all received large sums of money, and their leader in addition had a magnificent golden ring presented to him, and they departed rejoicing.

Scipio took Idalia with him to the palace, where Elissa was delighted to see her once more. Scipio, then sending for Allucius, prince of the Celtiberians, whose life had been twice saved by his beautiful lover, first by dragging him when wounded into a house, and then by covering his body with her own, caused him to be brought before him in a litter. The ransom for his life was paid by the father and mother of the maiden, the former being an Iberian noble and the latter a Carthaginian lady.

When they were all assembled together before him, Scipio handed over the ransom that had been paid for his life to Allucius as a wedding portion, and ordered the father and mother to have the wedding celebrated at once between him and the lovely Idalia, without even waiting for his recovery from his wound.

The fame of this action soon spread throughout all Spain and inclined the Iberians greatly to Scipio; but whether he would have acted thus had it not been for his own great love for Elissa, no man can tell.

The next few days were passed by the young Roman general in making arrangements about his prisoners, of whom he disposed in various ways, generally acting with great leniency to the Iberians, and pressing all the surviving soldiers of other nationalities into his own navy, thus largely augmenting his fleet. Of such men and women as were made slaves he made a suitable disposition, rewarding his generals and tribunes with the best of each. And thus Cleandra was presented to Caius Lælius and the other women in the palace were disposed of according to rank and beauty to the higher nobles in the army. Of Elissa there was no word said, but it was understood as a matter of course that she belonged to Scipio himself. Yet was she treated with all honour. As Lælius remained in the palace with Scipio, she still had her friend Cleandra to minister to her; and Scipio himself, much as he longed to see her face again, refrained entirely from intruding upon her privacy.

One woman there was however in the palace for whom neither the general nor the admiral felt any goodwill, and this was the Princess Cœcilia. Young Marcus Primus being dead, there was now none to speak for her, and both Scipio and Lælius resented the knowledge of the fact that never could the battlements have been so easily surmounted or the city captured by the passing of the lagoon had it not been for the treachery of that woman towards her niece Elissa.

Therefore, at the instance of Lælius, his original proposition, made in jest at the camp of Tarraco, was carried out. It was resolved that she should be married to the chief boatswain of the flag-ship. This man’s name was Valerius, and he was a most truculent-looking ruffian, of great size. He was much renowned for his bloodthirstiness in action, but was a good sailor, and extremely feared by all in authority under him.

To him then was the Princess Cœcilia offered as his wife by his chief, Caius Lælius. He was given to understand that a lady of such high rank was offered to him as a reward for his bravery in the storming of the town. When, moreover, he was promised a considerable dowry of her own money, as well as her person, he was both flattered and delighted. He could not speak any language save Latin, and of that tongue his intended bride did not understand a word. For the diversion of the nobles in the palace, the marriage was, despite the pitiable lamentations of the unwilling bride, celebrated one day with much festivity and license, for much wine was purposely given to the seamen at the feast that the traitress might be made to feel her punishment the more. And when night fell the now drunken boatswain carried off his bride, who had been forced to attire herself with great splendour, from the palace, where she had lived for so many years, to a mean fisherman’s cottage by the port. She had been given to Valerius for the purpose intentionally, that she might be able to reflect therein at leisure upon the vicissitudes of life, of which her treachery to her niece had been the direct cause, and of her own repeated acts of folly that had led to the treachery. Elissa, who was aware of what was about to take place, had, although the princess had begged her in their sole interview to intercede on her behalf, refused absolutely, with the utmost scorn and loathing to do so. She had, moreover, reproached her bitterly with being the cause of all the bloodshed and of the loss of the town and of the enslavement of them all. In conclusion, she informed Cœcilia that, should she open her lips to mention her name to Scipio, it would not be to ask for a reconsideration of the matter of her marriage, but only to beg that he would inflict some far more terrible punishment.

This was the last time that Elissa and Cœcilia ever met, and from this time forth the princess disappears entirely from this history, for her subsequent fate is unknown. One thing only is certain, that when Caius Lælius sometime later sailed for Italy, the boatswain did not take his wife with him. So it is probable that he had either drowned her in the gulf, wrung her neck, or sold her into slavery.

CHAPTER VII.
A RENUNCIATION.

A few days after the marriage of the boatswain to the unworthy Princess Cœcilia, Elissa was able to rise from her couch and attire herself with Cleandra’s aid. Very miserable and down-hearted was she when, looking forth from that same window whence some years before she had seen the fleet of the treacherous Carthaginian Adherbal, she could now see nought but warships flying the Roman standard. Looking towards the battlements, she saw now, instead of Carthaginians, only Roman soldiers pacing up and down in their coats of mail, or resting upon their long pikes and looking out over the walls. Upon gazing from another window first towards the citadel and then to the hill of Æsculapius, she saw flying from both, instead of the white horse on the purple ground, the Roman eagle proudly displayed.

She groaned aloud and beat her breast, then covering her eyes, burst into a flood of weeping.

“Oh, Cleandra!” she cried, “it is then indeed a reality, a sad reality! During my great sickness I have thought almost that ’twas but a bad dream. But those Roman ensigns, those Roman soldiers everywhere, are, alas! too convincing. Oh, why are the gods so cruel? Why was I ever born to experience such bitter and great humiliation? Oh, hast thou no poison concealed with which I may end my miserable existence forthwith, rather than live another day to witness my country’s shame and endure mine own dishonour? Give me but a dagger or a sword that I may slay myself, for live I cannot! I long for instant death.”

“Nonsense, dear Elissa,” said Cleandra. “To talk of death at thine age is but folly. Thou must live, if only in the hopes that the day may come when thou shalt see fortune’s wheel spin back the other way again. Thou must live if only for the sake of thy country, to whom thou mayst bring some succour living, but to whom thou wilt be assuredly most useless dead. Besides, I have no poison to give thee, nor is any weapon at hand. All such have been carefully removed by Scipio’s orders.”

“Then, wouldst thou, Cleandra, have me live to see me the slave of Scipio? I, Elissa, daughter of Hannibal, how could I ever survive the terrible indignity? Nay, if there be no poison, if there are no arms, I can yet cast myself from the walls, and I will do so even now.”

Springing forward and opening the door of her apartment, she ran down a corridor, pursued by Cleandra begging her to stay. However, she found the end guarded by Roman soldiers, who respectfully, but firmly, barred her way. Elissa then turned down another corridor which led to a side exit into the garden. There again she found Roman guards. It was now occupied as the barrack-room of the officers’ attendants, the sleeping apartments of some of the generals and superior officers leading out on either side from the corridor.

Caius Lælius himself, hearing a disturbance, came forth.

“What is the matter, Cleandra?” he inquired, seeing that the girl was supporting in her arms the pale-faced and unhappy Elissa, who was leaning back panting against a wall. “I fear that Elissa is distraught, Cleandra,” he continued; “lead her back carefully to her apartment, and see to it that thou dost watch her well.”

Lælius spoke kindly but as one in authority to Cleandra, for she was now his slave. And he gave Cleandra assistance in taking the unhappy girl back to her apartment, where he left her under Cleandra’s care.

Cleandra sought to console her.

“Listen, Elissa, thou saidst but now that thou couldst not survive the indignity of being Scipio’s slave. How think ye do I survive, then, the indignity of being the slave of the Roman Lælius? If I find Caius Lælius kind and considerate to me, whom he hath never seen before, how much more kindness and consideration hast not thou to expect from Scipio? He, it is well known, loves the very ground thou walkest on, and would formerly, hadst thou but been willing, have made thee his wife. Thy fate can, therefore, whatever it be, in no ways be so very terrible. Would to the gods, I say, that thou hadst but listened to him over there at the Court of King Syphax. Then, instead of being in the hands of enemies, we should all have been happy together here as friends, and thou, Elissa, mightest have been Scipio’s wife and queen of all Iberia. For even now the Iberians are commencing to hail him as their king.”

“The fickle populace, Cleandra,” replied Elissa, partly recovering herself, and sitting on her couch, “will ever follow success. Had I but defeated Scipio, which, alas! was quite impossible with the means at my command, they would have doubtless proclaimed me queen of Iberia. ’Tis useless talking of such things. Nought now am I, who was so much formerly, but a slave girl, subject to the will of Scipio. And I love Maharbal.”

“Who scarce can love thee as doth Scipio,” interposed Cleandra; “and ’twould, indeed, be more like the truth, Elissa, wert thou to say that thou didst thyself formerly love Maharbal, and that thou now lovest the recollection of thy love for Maharbal. For how canst thou love him now? ’Tis nearly five years since thou hast seen him, and but one letter hast thou received from him in all those years. Love under such circumstances is an impossibility, unless it be filial love or fraternal love. A feeling of honour, which is to be commended in thee, may make thee fancy that ye still belong to each other; yet ’tis misplaced. For what are the facts as I have learned them from Cœcilia? Taking the law into thine own hands, thou, when a mere girl not yet seventeen, didst give thyself unto Maharbal, and, contrary to thy father Hannibal’s wishes and without his consent, didst call thyself his wife. That marriage was never ratified. Therefore, what art thou, after five years have elapsed, to Maharbal? Again, thine uncle Mago did inform thee that when Hannibal offered to let Maharbal return and espouse thee, he did refuse, and elected rather to remain in Italy. Therefore, what can he be to thee?”

“Yet am I bound to him in honour, and so must I ever consider myself, until either I learn of his death, or until he of his own free will shall give me up.”

Elissa answered thus somewhat doubtingly, for she was beginning to feel the force of Cleandra’s arguments, which had doubtless often occurred to herself.

But Cleandra continued: “I maintain, Elissa, that thou art in no wise bound to Maharbal, and I would impress upon thee that much canst thou do for Carthage even yet by living, since this great Roman General Scipio loves thee. And that he is in turn one worthy to be loved is proved by his conduct with reference to Idalia, whom he relinquished as he did, doubtless, for thine own sake alone.”

Elissa sprang to her feet, the colour, for the first time for days, returning to her cheek.

“And ’tis this very love that Scipio bears to me that I do so dread, Cleandra! For, loving me, how will he spare me now? And I, too, may the gods forgive me, may perchance—” She paused and clutched her breast convulsively. “Nay,” she continued, after a pause, “I will not say what I do not know, and that which, did I know it for certain, were best unsaid. My love is for Maharbal, and my duty is to him—to him alone.”

And she sank back upon her couch, and would speak no more. For she was half convinced by Cleandra, and the longer the conversation continued the less convinced was she with what she maintained herself, therefore she wisely thought that her best refuge lay in silence.

Shortly afterwards, Scipio, who had been exercising his troops, returned to the palace. Being informed by Lælius of what had occurred, he was very much concerned and alarmed for Elissa’s welfare. For there was nothing that he dreaded more than that she might in a fit of desperation take her own life.

His anxiety to see once more this woman, who was the darling of his heart, had now become unbearable. Accordingly, sending her in some choice dishes and wine by the hands of a female slave, he, with many salutations, requested permission to visit her alone in the evening.

“Tell Scipio that his slave is at the disposal of his lordship’s orders, for that Elissa hath now no free will of her own.”

This was the ungracious message that he received in return for his kind words.

Nevertheless, he accepted it as the required permission, and in the evening, when the day’s work was over, repaired to her apartment, where he found her attired, without ornaments of any sort, in the utmost assumed humility.

The interview between them was long and harrowing. Scipio assured her of his love as before, and by all the gods conjured her even yet to be his bride. Every argument that he could think of he brought to bear, and he spoke, too, with all the modesty of a diffident lover, with none of the arrogance of a conqueror. He was so noble in his bearing, so honestly genuine in his immense love for her, that Elissa, who had begun by insulting him, was at length moved. The tears came to her eyes, her bosom heaved, it burst upon her that she too loved him, enemy of her country though he might be. Her hardness melted, and she almost confessed it. Rising, she stretched out her arms to him.

“Oh, Scipio!” she cried, “why art thou so generous, so kind unto me? Oh! what wouldst thou of me? Is it to tear my heart in pieces that thou art come to me thus? and wouldst thou have me own—oh! Scipio, that I also, in defiance of all honour—” Then she suddenly recovered herself, all her pride returning, she dropped her arms to her side, and with the stony look of a statue upon her face, continued: “Forgive me, my lord, that I address thee thus familiarly; I am forgetting myself, indeed. There can be no question between me and thee of my feeling ought but obedience. Thou dost desire thy slave thou sayest, then take thy slave—she is here before thee to obey thy behest, thou canst make of her thy toy, thy plaything, if thou choosest. The body thou canst indeed take, but not the soul; thy will is my law, and I must obey; but my soul will not suffer, for while thou canst take thy slave at thy will, know this, that the soul of Elissa, ay, the real Elissa herself, can never be thine. All that is divine, all that cometh as the attribute of the gods to make a human woman worth the possessing by a noble man, that is what thou canst never have, for it is given and belongeth to another for ever. ’Tis not for thee. Take me then, my lord, shouldst thou so choose, and great will be thy victory.” She gave a low, mocking laugh, and then, with drooping head, resumed her attitude of humility before him; and thus she provoked him.

Driven to madness, especially after having witnessed the tender, indeed the passionate, glance when, in her recent ebullition of feeling, Elissa had seemed on the very point of confessing her love to him, Scipio sprung forward and seized her in his arms, holding her madly, violently.

“By all the gods of Olympus and Hades,” he cried bitterly, “thou shalt then be mine, Elissa, soul or no soul! What thou sayest thyself is true, thou art my slave, and must obey me. Keep thou that divine attribute which thou dost deny to me for thine accursed Maharbal, and I will take what there is left. ’Tis, in sooth, fair enough for my heaven; I would not have the Elyssian maids themselves more fair than thee.”

Convulsively he pressed her in his arms, and wildly sought her lips with his own.

No resistance made Elissa, only when in his violent embrace Scipio hurt her wounded shoulder, she uttered a low cry of pain. Scipio instantly released her, and was at her feet in a moment, all his better instincts returning.

“Oh! do I hurt thee, my beloved? Pardon me, I pray thee, for my utter brutality. May the Olympian Jove himself punish me for my momentary wickedness, yea may the beloved Venus in her divine mercy forgive me for this sacrilege of her most wondrous work, thy lovely person. For know this, Elissa, I vow by all the gods of both Rome and Carthage that I would not willingly harm a single hair of thy head. It is not thus indeed that I would have thee, and I did lie to thee just now. For ’tis, indeed, my whole heart and soul which are burning with passion, it is that spiritual part of thee which thou dost deny me that I would possess rather even than the earthly tenement wherein it is contained. Now wilt thou forgive me, dear one, and give me but that one little word of love I saw trembling on thy lips a short while since?” He pressed her hand tenderly, and never had he looked more noble than at that moment.

But Elissa would not melt. She looked down without the slightest change upon her stony features.

“I have said all I have to say, my lord. I told thee that I am thy slave; I now tell thee, Scipio, that I do not love thee. But I am thine, if thou so will it, according to the promise I made to thee in Numidia.”

Scipio rose to his feet, dropped her hand, and spoke with great and self-contained dignity.

“Then be it so, Elissa; thou art my slave—nothing more! but never shall it be said that a Scipio knew not how to master himself, nor how to treat even an unwilling slave-girl with respect.” And he left her.

When he was gone, Elissa’s whole face changed. With the agony of despair she threw herself upon her knees, and buried her face in the cushions.

“Oh, Melcareth! great and invisible Melcareth! forgive me the lie!—forgive me the lie! For I love him, and thou who hast made me as I am dost know it. But mine honour forbade me to utter the word that would have made both him and me happy—oh, so happy! Oh, Tanais! thou, too, goddess of love, forgive me the dreadful lie!” and she wept bitterly.

And thus on her knees Cleandra found her some time after. For, as frequently happens to good women, the unhappy Elissa, in striving to do that which according to her conscience seemed to her to be right, had unjustly inflicted equal suffering upon herself and upon the man who adored her.

After this painful interview Scipio saw very little of the captive Elissa, whom, however, he ordered to be treated with the greatest deference, in no way taking advantage of the situation to treat her, as she herself had demanded, as a mere slave.

He himself, while constantly exercising the men under his command in military tactics, was always thinking how he should dispose of her person. For all hopes of making her his wife with her own consent were, to his great distress of mind, at an end, and his character was too noble to admit of his taking her in any other way.

The soldiers at this period suffered considerably from the morose humour into which he fell, and there was no end to their exercisings and drillings. By these incessant occupations, however, he soon got his army into a most excellent state of training, and then he determined to march northward again to Tarraco, and prosecute the war against Hasdrubal and Mago. At length he made up his mind about Elissa.

Summoning his friend Caius Lælius before him one day, he spoke as follows:

“Caius, thou hast been my dearest companion from earliest boyhood, and from thee I have no secrets. Therefore, it is nothing new to tell thee the great unhappiness with which it hath pleased the gods to afflict me, owing to the immense and fruitless love that I bear to the Carthaginian maiden. Now, having communed with the gods and offered sacrifices, I plainly see that her continued presence anywhere near me is enervating to me, both as a man and a warrior, rendering me unfit to continue in the command of a large body of troops, and to properly protect the destinies of our nation. I have therefore, my friend, determined to send her away from me entirely, and thou must take her. When I march northward to Tarraco the fleet also will return thither. The exception will be thine own vessel and two others to form thine escort. On the former thou shalt take Elissa and thine own slave girl, Cleandra. On the two other ships will be embarked the Carthaginian Captain Mago, who surrendered the citadel to us, and fourteen others of the superior officers whose names I have noted. They are to be divided between the two ships, and kept, by all means, from access with Elissa, that there may be no chance of any combination between them to escape or to raise a tumult on board.

“Thou wilt sail hence in two days’ time, and as the war between Carthage and Rome hath now broken out with great and renewed fury in Sicily, thou wilt first of all, taking all due precaution, visit the Sicilian ports of Panormus, Lilybæum, Agrigentum, and Syracuse, and acquaint the Roman consuls, or the commanders now in possession of or besieging those places of our great success here. Should they be able to spare any troops to reinforce us, then point out to them the advisability of sending us forthwith as many men as possible, in order that I may complete the conquest of Spain, and, above all things, be able to prevent Hasdrubal from marching to Italy. For I have information that he is thinking of leaving the defence of Iberia to his brother Mago, himself following in his brother Hannibal’s footsteps, and marching through Gallia and over the Alps to reinforce Hannibal, wherever he may be in Italia. After accomplishing these missions, thou wilt sail through the straits, between Messana and Rhegium, and landing at the most convenient port, disembark with thy captives and the spoils of New Carthage which I shall send, and proceed instantly to Rome. There thou wilt acquaint the Senate of all that is needful, and, with their approval, which cannot be withheld, wilt lodge Hannibal’s daughter in the house of my mother to remain a prisoner until my return, whenever it may please the gods to allow me to see my native land once more. And I do beseech thee, for our great friendship’s sake, to beg my mother, as she loveth me, to see to it that Elissa’s captivity be not made unbearable to her, but that she be treated with all fitting kindness.”

“Ay, that will I promise faithfully, Scipio. But stay, I have an idea! Why shouldst not thou hand over the command of the land forces to me and take the girl thyself? Our rank is so nearly equal that the Senate could say nought. In sooth, I think it would be wiser so; and thou wilt have far more prospect of obtaining new reinforcements when thou dost arrive in person with the news of thy great victory. And then during the voyage, who knows, the girl may relent, and, perhaps, long before its termination, of her own free will throw herself into thine arms. For Cleandra hath informed me—the wench speaks Latin well, by-the-bye—that she doth believe that deep down in her heart this Elissa doth really love thee. It would be a grand opportunity to make sure of her affection.”

Scipio’s face flushed; he sprang from his seat, and clasped Lælius by the hand.

“And why not, indeed?” he cried; “I thank thee, Caius. Thou art every whit as able a leader of men as am I. Our rank is equal, too; and ’tis true that were I to go in person now, just after taking New Carthage, I should carry greater weight than thee in the matter of the reinforcements. It seemeth not only feasible but right.”

Scipio looked happier than he had done for days; he looked like a scholar who had obtained an unexpected holiday. Lælius, who was delighted to see him thus, warmly returned the pressure of his hand.

Alas! Scipio’s joy was not long-lived, and the joyous expression soon left his face as reason came to his aid.

“Nay, nay,” he continued, with a deep sigh, “it may not be, my dear friend Caius, for, put it which way thou choosest, ’twould be really leaving my post for the sake of a woman. And ’twould surely end most miserably. For supposing the girl were to continue to prove recalcitrant, it could but end in tragedy, perchance in the death of Elissa herself, or mine own suicide, or maybe both. For the madness of this love hath gotten such a hold upon me, I could not bear to live by her side day by day knowing her mine, and yet not mine! I will not risk it, either for my own sake or Elissa’s; it would indeed be trying myself too high. ’Tis thou who must take her, and I must suffer here alone.”

Thus was the matter decided, and Scipio himself that day communicated his decision to Elissa, in Cleandra’s presence. He spoke to her so kindly, so nobly, showing, moreover, so plainly that in this great act of self-abnegation in sending her away he was thinking as much of her as of himself, that Elissa’s long-sustained pride broke down. The tears came to her eyes.

“Oh, Scipio!” she cried, “would that things might have been different! Yet are we both but the servants of the gods, and must obey the divine will, and bow our heads beneath the almighty hand. Would that I could come to thee with honour, and lay my hand in thine. But thou knowest that with honour I cannot, I may not, do so. And were I known to thee to be a woman without honour, thou wouldst neither love me nor respect me as thou dost now. Moreover, the gods would themselves despise me. But, Scipio, the gods cannot prevent my giving thee a sister’s love. And daily for thy great, thy noble treatment of me while here, thy prisoner and thy slave, will I call down upon my beloved brother’s head the blessings of the most high and invisible Melcareth, and pray and beseech him to protect thee from all dangers. And now as a sister only will I embrace thee with a sacred kiss.”

She threw her arms about his neck, and they stood thus awhile, mingling their tears together, while clinging in a close embrace, which for all Elissa’s brave words, could scarcely be deemed that of mere brother and sister.

Cleandra, kind-hearted girl that she was, utterly overcome by this sad and pathetic scene, sobbed audibly in a corner of the chamber.

At length they separated.

Saying, in a heart-broken voice, “I accept the compact, then fare thee well, oh, Elissa, for we must meet now no more,” Scipio withdrew.

Two days later, without seeing him again, Elissa embarked upon the flagship with Lælius, and that same day Scipio marched for Tarraco.

END OF PART IV.