Hannibal's daughter

by Andrew Haggard

PART VI.

CHAPTER I.
A SPELL OF PEACE.

For the first time for years Elissa was able to enjoy a space of peace of mind and body. Lying back upon her cushions, beneath the awnings on the deck of the stately ambassadorial quinquereme, she was at length at rest. Lulled rather than disturbed by the swishing sound of the five banks of oars moving in absolute unison, she gazed out languidly at the successive red-cliffed and grass-clad islands of Greece and felt happy. For now all suspense was over, she had resolved upon her future course; and, as Polybius has said, there is naught so terrible as suspense. Let the circumstances of life be good or bad, while they are hanging in the balance there is ever anxiety, agitation, impatience, to distress the mind. But once they be decided one way or another the soul is relieved; if decided for evil, then the worst is known already, if for good, the heart will cease from painfully throbbing in anxious agitation, and be at rest.

Thus, then, was it with Elissa, as, for want of wind, propelled merely by the oars, the ship glided steadily onward over the sunny summer seas. Now she had no longer any anxiety as to the port for which her life’s bark was steering. She had made up her mind at length to marry Scipio, and was clearly satisfied that her ship of life was having its course shaped by the great gods who ruled her destiny, and that therefore that course must be right, and her own determination a righteous one.

So, even while thinking of Maharbal with a softened regret—for he was scarcely more to her than a dream of years long gone by—she allowed herself the almost unknown luxury of being happy. And the happiness came, not from any sense of satisfaction at a realised ambition, nor from the feeling of joy that is experienced in the attainment of a long-desired love, but simply from the relief obtained after long battlings in stormy waters. Now the guest and not the prisoner of Rome, she day after day enjoyed her calm repose, and, while fervently thanking the gods for her relief from the degrading atmosphere of Philip’s court, did not weary her mind with anxious forebodings or misgivings for the future. She thought, it is true, of Scipio, and thought of him frequently, but it was more in admiration of his nobility of soul than with the ardent passion of a lover.

That passion, indeed, he had inspired years ago, but it had been in spite of herself, and she had known how to do her duty to her absent lover in repressing it. Now she felt that she loved him indeed, and deeply, but the affection which she felt in her inmost womanhood was, she was aware, more like that very love of a sister which she had formerly professed for him, than that more thrilling love of mutual passion which she knew they had both experienced in bygone days.

The moderated nature of her sensations, however, did not trouble her; on the contrary, their very moderation was a part of the relief of mind which she now experienced. She loved Scipio in a pure way, and she longed to see him and to tell him her deep and great admiration for the grandeur of his soul; the other feeling might come back again later, on meeting again. If so, she would welcome its return gladly, for she felt that Scipio deserved something more at her hands than mere sisterly love; but in the meantime it suited her wearied brain to think about him, as of all other things, tranquilly. For her past had in very sooth been stormy enough under all its aspects, from its very commencement as a child with her father in scenes of war; as a maiden, in her mad and unreasoning passion for Maharbal and the grief of separation from him; then later during the bloody and terrible sieges of New Carthage and Syracuse; and last, but by no means least, the terrible humiliation endured in the court of the Macedonian king.

Elissa was now no longer a girl, and, as she closed her eyes and thought dreamily of all her past, she realised that for nothing on earth would she live over again the terrible years that had rolled over her head since she had changed from an inexperienced maiden to an experienced woman, whose life was far too highly filled with incident for anything approaching to real happiness to find a home within her breast. But she was happy now at length for a season, after all her warrings and wanderings, and, realising this fact, she wished that the peaceful voyage might never come to an end.

Cleandra, in the meantime, was adapting herself to circumstances as usual, and was happy too. For, forgetting her first husband, Imlico the Carthaginian noble, whom she had taken as a mere means to an end—to escape from slavery to wit; forgetting also her second husband, the Roman flag-captain Ascanius, whom she had taken for a similar reason, she had now for the first time in her life fallen deeply and ardently in love. And this time her love was, she well knew, as ardently and truly returned by Marcus Æmilius, the youngest of the Roman ambassadors, whom King Philip had rightly designated as the handsomest man of his time.

Thus Cleandra looked forward to the time when Elissa should be united to Scipio with pleasant anticipations of herself, upon the same occasion, becoming once more a bride, and this time a bride entirely from choice, not from necessity. Meanwhile, as there was a band of musicians on board the young ambassador’s ship, consisting of minstrels and dancing girls, the evenings passed merrily with song and dance. Thus the time sped gaily enough.

The ships, after passing through the Grecian islands, hit off the southernmost coast of the Peloponnesus but did not touch anywhere. But once the western side of the lowermost parts of Greece had been gained, a strong western breeze set in, on account of which the land was not only closely hugged, but frequent stoppages were made at various ports or inlets. For the inhabitants of the western coast were, if not exactly friendly to Rome, afraid of Rome, and, above all, the name of Philip was abhorred in those parts. Therefore, frequent landings were made in convenient creeks and inlets, and, to pass the time, when the wind was too strong without, the seine nets would be got out, and a morning or afternoon employed innocently in fishing beneath the shadow of a headland in some land-locked bay.

It was delightful to Elissa now, her armour all laid aside, clad in modest raiment given to her by the minstrel girls on board, to join in these fishing parties. She loved also to watch the sea-gulls grouped on the rocks, or the nimble-winged flying-fishes springing like a covey of partridges from the foam. What, in her present softened mood, when all relating to war and death was distasteful, grieved her, however, was that even to capture the innocent fishes meant death to some of the creatures created by the gods, while she soon learned that when the flying-fishes sprang into the air, it was only because a group of porpoises was pursuing them. Moreover, she observed that, especially when near the coast, the ospreys or fish-eagles, swooping down from their eyries, would often seize them in their talons. Thus, if they escaped by taking flight from one danger in the sea, they, nevertheless, succumbed to another danger in the air. And whenever Elissa allowed herself to think at all, a thing that she, with all her will, did her utmost to avoid, she vaguely hoped that her fate might not be that of a flying-fish springing from one danger, that it knew of close at hand in the water, to another, that it knew not of, in the air.

But she realised, from thus observing the birds and the fishes, that, even in the calmest scenes of nature, the eternal laws of death and destruction are ever present and in force; that there is nought that liveth but must die, and die, more frequently than not, by a cruel death. All this only strengthened all the more her serious resolve to do all within her power to save unhappy humanity from further suffering, and for the future to work in the interests of peace alone.

Having made up her mind firmly on this point, she determined further that never again would she raise her own hand in warfare, that never would she wear armour more.

Calling Cleandra, she bade her bring to her, where she was reclining under a silken canopy on the poop, the light cuirass and helmet incrusted with gold that had protected her in many a fight, the trusty sword with which she had struck in the wars with Mago, in the defence of the New Town and in the streets of Syracuse, many a blow on behalf of Carthage. She bade Cleandra bring also to her the sheath of darts, whence she had drawn years before the weapon which had slain Cnœus Scipio, and quite recently that which had procured her escape from Alexander, son of Phidias, by causing his death.

Lastly, she bade Cleandra bring her beautiful shield of polished steel, inlaid with gold, bearing on its centre a golden representation of the horse of Carthage. When Cleandra had placed all these weapons and arms by Elissa’s side on the deck, she asked, with some curiosity:

“What wilt thou do with thine armour to-day, Elissa? Here in this land-locked bay there is nought for thee to fight, unless it be with yonder monstrous shark, whose triangular back fin appeareth moving lazily above the surface of the pellucid waters. Ugh! I hate sharks! and this one hath followed us for days. Canst thou not fancy his horrid teeth meeting through thy flesh?”

And, clasping her hands to her bosom, Cleandra shuddered.

“Ay, what would the lady Elissa do with her arms here upon my ship?” asked courteously Marcus Æmilius, who had followed Cleandra. “Hath she cause of offence against any person that she need defend herself while being my guest? If so, by the Olympian Jove, the offender shall suffer for it.”

“Nay, nay, good Marcus!” answered Elissa, laughing at the young man’s serious looks, “I need not mine armour for any defensive purposes, but merely as solid food wherewith to feed yonder hungry shark. For henceforth I will be a woman only, and mine only defence shall be my virtue; or, rather,” she continued, smiling bitterly, “so much of it as King Philip hath left me. I have no longer need for sword or shield, neither helmet nor cuirass can make me what I was; no arms, alas! can give me back the self-respect that was mine before I fell into the clutches of Philip of Macedon; thus I will no more employ them to slaughter hapless beings who may already, perchance, have suffered as deeply as I have myself.”

She paused, and furtively wiped away a tear, for she was, indeed, all woman now. Stooping, she seized upon her helmet, rose, and cast it overboard.

Like a streak of light did the shark, with gleaming side, dash through the water. Turning belly upwards, he seized the helmet, displaying two triple rows of teeth just below them as they stood by the bulwarks.

Cleandra screamed at the sight of the horrid monster so close to her, and seized Marcus tightly by the arm.

“Dost thou see the brute?” quoth Elissa; “he eateth, with the digestion of an ostrich, everything, no matter of what description, that falls overboard; I have watched him for days. He would, indeed, make but one bite of thy sweet rounded form, my dear Cleandra, so grasp thy Marcus firmly.

“But now,” she continued, “he shall have that I never yet yielded to living man—and much good may it do him.”

So saying, she cast her bared sword into the water. The savage brute dashed at it as before, and caught the glittering weapon in its gigantic maw.

In striving to close its mouth, however, the point entered deeply into the upper jaw, while the hilt remained against the lower one. Thus, the huge beast could not close its horrid teeth, but remained lashing furiously with its tail the waters, which were soon tinged with blood. Meanwhile, while watching the struggles of the gigantic shark, Elissa threw over in turn her cuirass and her sheath of darts.

There now remained nought but her shield. Elissa picked this up, intending that it should follow all the rest. But her hands were unequal to the deed. As she gazed down upon the golden horse in its centre, the salt tears fell upon the polished but dinted steel, wherein she seemed to see as in a mirror all her warlike past, all those deeds of arms that she was renouncing now for ever.

“Oh, I cannot do it, I cannot do it!” she sobbed. “I cannot cast away my shield, my last defence, so oft my trusty friend.”

Gently, the loving Cleandra wound an arm round the beautiful young woman and soothed her, while Marcus Æmilius, embarrassed beyond measure, and, as a warrior, grieved also at the scene he had been witnessing, in seeing these arms cast away, turned to the side of the ship to watch the still struggling tiger of the deep, who, now that he was in adversity, was being attacked by several others of his own kind. For some small ground sharks, that had not hitherto shown themselves, suddenly appeared from the bottom of the bay, and were savagely tearing away at his defenceless sides, biting out huge pieces.

Elissa, recovering herself, pointed out what was taking place to Cleandra.

“How like humanity! where the little are ever ready to take advantage of the misfortunes of the great. And how like a warrior deprived of sword and shield, ay, even like myself, is that now defenceless monster. But although in future I will be woman, not warrior, I will not after all cast away that emblem of a warrior’s defence, for which a woman hath no need.”

She drew herself up proudly, and approached the Roman.

“Marcus Æmilius, since thou art my defence at this moment, and since, by all the gods! I do most sincerely trust in thine honour, I will even confer upon thee that which hath been the safeguard of Hannibal’s daughter from Roman weapons in many a bloody field. For no need have I, now nought but a mere woman, for a shield, being under the care of an honourable man. Therefore take thou my buckler, and keep it, for Elissa’s sake.”

The handsome young ambassador was a most courtly knight. He threw himself upon one knee to receive the tendered gift. While he received the shield with one hand he raised the other to heaven in an invocation.

“May the great god Jupiter destroy me with his thunderbolts, if ever I should part from this most sacred shield, or should I ever harm a hair of the head of the most gracious and lovely lady who hath bestowed it upon me.”

He kissed Elissa’s hand, then rising and holding the shield with all honour, as though it were an offering consecrated to the gods, Marcus Æmilius bore it with him to his cabin.

Meanwhile, the little sharks were still tearing the big shark to pieces, and, as the monster writhed about in its agony, the rays of the sun were frequently brilliantly reflected from Elissa’s sword blade fixed upright in the midst of its horrible fangs. But even as Æmilius disappeared from view, bearing her shield, so with a last convulsive struggle did the monster sink, followed by its tormentors.

Elissa accepted this as a good omen, a sign that her own troubles were buried for ever with her sword at the bottom of the sea. And she felt happier and altogether more womanly now that she had thus divested herself of her arms and armour.

The voyage was a long one, owing to the adverse breezes, which made the crossing of the southern part of the Adriatic impossible for a time; but at length, the wind changing, the ships were able to issue from the Grecian land-locked harbour, where they were lying, and pass swiftly across to the entrance of the Tarentine Gulf, situated between the Iapygian and Bruttian promontories, which form, as it were, respectively the heel and the toe of the south of Italy.

As the ships sailed in, the day being remarkably clear, Æmilius pointed out to Elissa and Cleandra something white glistening on the hill-tops to the far west across the gulf. This, he informed them, was the celebrated temple of Juno Lacinia, which was held most sacred by all, and especially by seamen, as it formed a landmark for them to steer by. What neither Æmilius nor Elissa knew, however, was that Hannibal her father was at that very time encamped with his forces in the sacred groves and parks surrounding the temple. For he had made of that spot, known as the Lacinian Promontory, his head-quarters.

Although some Carthaginian vessels were sighted in the distance, and Æmilius had some anxiety in consequence, he managed to elude them, and to arrive with his three ships safely within the harbour of Tarentum. Before entering the harbour, a great part of the town had been passed, and Elissa noticed that it had a miserable and deserted look. This was not surprising, for, upon its recent delivery by treachery to the Romans, thirty thousand of its Greek inhabitants had been sold into slavery, while all its Bruttian inhabitants had been massacred. Moreover, all the famous statues and works of art in the city had been taken away to Rome.

CHAPTER II.
ELISSA WRITES TO SCIPIO.

When the three Roman warships were safe within the shelter of the harbour, the entrance to which was completely dominated by the citadel, now full of Roman soldiers, the first thing that was pointed out to Elissa was the place where her father Hannibal had, by night, some years previously, withdrawn the Tarentine fleet from the waters and conveyed the whole of the ships on wheels and rollers across the isthmus into the open seas without. At the same time Æmilius dwelt with pride upon the fact that, although Hannibal had entered the town by the treachery of two of its inhabitants to Rome, and eventually lost it again by the treachery of its commander to Carthage, yet had her father never been able to capture the citadel, notwithstanding his several years’ occupation of the city.

The arrival of the young ambassador and his squadron created no slight stir in the place, and the three quinquiremes had no sooner cast anchor than the Roman governor of the town, one Caius Tacitus, lost no time in coming off in his State barge to visit the envoy, and to learn the latest tidings from the court of Philip.

When the governor found that Elissa was on board, as the friend, not the prisoner of Marcus Æmilius, his surprise knew no bounds. Nor was his surprise modified when he learned that Hannibal’s daughter was on her way to Rome to marry Scipio. Withholding any news of Italian matters until later, Caius invited Marcus and his guests to come ashore without delay, when he entertained them right royally to a banquet in the citadel.

It was during this banquet that Elissa became aware of two circumstances. The first was that her father was encamped with his forces somewhere in the Bruttian Peninsula, at some point probably within a hundred Roman miles of where she then was; the second that, despite his youth, Scipio had been elected consul for the year, and had been recently despatched into Sicily. Thither he had been sent with two Roman legions as a nucleus, and was now busy raising a large army from various sources and building a fleet with which to cross over the sea to Carthaginian soil.

This information gave Elissa much cause for reflection; for it was, indeed, thoroughly calculated to arouse all kinds of conflicting feelings in her mind.

The calm which had so recently existed in her breast was already disturbed, and once again all was riot and chaos within. For her duty now scarcely seemed so clear to her as it had been, when all that was required of her was to go straight to Rome and join Scipio, and when she had had no idea of her own father’s likely proximity. She wondered now if it were not rather her duty to endeavour by some means or other to join her father.

That night, after her return to the ship, she pondered long on the subject, nor would she hold any converse with Cleandra, who was anxious to know how Elissa had taken the news. Her she sent to talk with Æmilius, while keeping apart herself in a separate part of the ship. And thinking of her father’s many exploits, by one alone of which this very city of Tarentum was to be for ever celebrated, she remained gazing into the night, and most ardently did Elissa offer up her prayers to the great god Melcareth that he would guide her in this juncture. She was not weighing in her mind the possibility of carrying out any plan of escape to her father’s camp, but rather that which would be right and just for her to do in the sight of heaven. At length light came to her brain and her course seemed clear. Evidently she was bound more than ever now to fall in with Scipio’s wishes; bound in honour to him, for was she not now by his means safely removed from the clutches of the detested Philip? and, more than ever, for the very sake of Carthage, for, while the Phœnician power was diminishing to a vanishing point all over the world, the power of Rome was ever increasing by leaps and bounds.

Further, since Scipio had, in addition to all the honours he had won, now been appointed consul, he would be in a far better position to make himself heard before the Senate in a matter of peace and war. Moreover, the invasion of Carthage clearly depended in a great measure upon him alone, since he had only been provided with two legions to start with, which legions consisted merely of the runaways from the battle of Cannæ, who had been kept for punishment in Sicily ever since. Thus, upon the celerity and ability which, acting entirely upon his own resources, he might display in getting an army together and likewise a fleet, would entirely depend the possibility of a descent upon Libyan or Numidian soil. Should she therefore marry him, that invasion would not take place.

Having argued these points out in her own mind, Elissa put entirely on one side any hopes that she might have for the moment entertained of once more seeing her father, and determined to carry out the line of action she had marked out for herself upon the night of leaving the burning city of Abydos. Then seeking her couch, she slept peacefully.

Upon the following morn Marcus Æmilius informed her that his three ships were to remain in Tarentum for a short time to re-fit and re-provision, and further, until he himself could obtain direct instructions from Rome as to his own movements. He added that he was sending, in addition to messengers by land to Rome, a direct report of all that had taken place to Scipio himself. This report would leave that same night by a swift and celebrated blockade-runner, a quadrireme that had been captured from the Carthaginians during the siege of Syracuse. This quadrireme he intended to send first of all to Syracuse, and, if Scipio were not there, then on to Libybæum, and Panormus. He would be surely found in the vicinity of one of the three ports, and in all probability at Syracuse, the most adjacent of the three.

Upon hearing this, while regretting the delay which she feared might perchance prove fatal, or result in herself being sent, not to Scipio, but to Rome, Elissa determined upon writing to the consul. But first she demanded urgently of Æmilius to send her to Scipio upon the blockade-runner. This was, however, a responsibility which the young envoy felt he could not bring upon himself to incur; for was she not, he urged, entrusted to his safeguard and keeping, with all honour and comfort, and that with a squadron for her protection? But should he place her upon the blockade-runner, which was manned by a mixed and ruffianly crew of Etruscan and Sicilian sailors, little better indeed than pirates, who could tell what might be her lot, or if she would ever be heard of again? These men were ever ready to sell themselves to the highest bidder, and they were very highly paid for the great risks that they ran; but who could tell, if they had such a valuable prize as the daughter of Hannibal upon their vessel, to what uses they might not turn the possession of her person?

Upon these grounds Marcus felt himself bound to refuse to accede to her request. Therefore Elissa wrote to Scipio as follows:—

“From Elissa, daughter of Hannibal Barca, to Publius Cornelius Scipio.

“In the name of the great god Melcareth, and in the name of the sweet goddess of love Tanais, greeting. My lord Scipio, I write unto thee in Greek, even as thou didst unto me, for thy letter was duly delivered unto me in the camp at Abydos by Marcus Æmilius, through the intermediary of that very Cleandra unto whom Caius Lælius did send greetings.

“Thy servant Elissa was at that time in great tribulation of mind and body owing to the brutalities and wanton excesses of the Macedonian king, Philip, into whose hands the mighty gods, doubtless for the lowering of her pride, had surrendered her, helpless as the fly within the web of the spider, or the gazelle beneath the paw of the lion. Then was it that, with the nobility of soul that thy servant hath ever recognised in thee since first we did meet at the court of King Syphax, thou didst with thy letter procure calm for a troubled mind, and pave the bridge of escape over the waters of despair. Know then this, oh Scipio, I have carefully considered thy letter in all its bearings, and am convinced equally by the compassionate affection and the wisdom of thy words. Therefore is it that, braving the probable anger of my father Hannibal, and trusting to the mercy of the almighty gods to rightly guide my footsteps, I am willing to do thy will and become thy wife, and am even now arrived as far as the city of Tarentum upon my way to meet thee. One condition alone do I impose upon thee, my lord Scipio, namely, that should I become thy wife before the expiration of six full moons from this, the day of my writing this letter, thou wilt not proceed further with thy preparations for the invasion of Carthaginian soil, and wilt do thine utmost to further the interests of peace between thy country and mine. Should ought occur to prevent my placing my hand in thine before the expiration of the soon advancing winter season, I do absolve thee from any condition whatever. Further, neither will this my writing, nor these my words be of any avail. For then it will be too late, and thou must perforce put thine army in motion. In such case must we both recognise that the gods themselves have willed matters thus, and that the time will be past both for thee and for me to think of joining our lives, whether with a view merely to our own mutual and personal happiness, or to the welfare of our respective nations. Yet would I gladly come to thee now, Scipio, ay, even by the very despatch vessel that beareth thee this my letter. Yet hath Marcus Æmilius not deemed it wise to allow my departure, and in all things have I hitherto found him a man of rectitude and honour. Much would I write to thee, oh Scipio, of all that hath happened to me since that day, now long gone by, when I, no more then actually than thy slave by right of capture, did embrace thee and call thee brother upon bidding thee farewell. Alas! that the gods did not then point out to me the right path, else had I never left thee, and never submitted to the horror of the embraces of a Philip, a monarch unworthy of the name of king. Yet then was Maharbal still living, and I pledged; but now have I heard in Tarentum, even as thou didst write to me thyself, that both he and Chœras, and all the other leaders of the Numidians, fell with most of their men at Salapia, being caught without their horses, which were camped without the walls. Thus am I absolved from that ancient allegiance. Such is the will of the gods, and the fate of warriors and women. Even I, Elissa, since bidding thee last farewell, have been present in many bloody conflicts as of old; but now have I cast my sword and other arms into the waters, and renounced warfare for ever. Therefore, should it be the decree of Melcareth and of Tanais that we should eventually be joined as one, thou needest not fear in future, oh Scipio, for any such passages of arms beneath thy roof as when I did cast my javelines upon thee without the walls of the New Town, or strike down the men under Lælius in the palace garden. Nay, the only darts that thou wilt have to fear will be those from a woman’s usual weapon, the tongue. And even they shall only be delivered when thou dost absent thyself too long from thine Elissa’s side. Now, fare thee well, and may the gods preserve thee until we meet, and may that be soon! Commend me, I pray thee, to Caius Lælius; I was right loth to leave him in the ship before Syracuse without bidding him farewell, especially as he was lying wounded. But his is a noble heart like thine, Scipio, and he knew I could not do otherwise to get away. His flag-captain, who did espouse Cleandra, was afterward slain. Cleandra now doth love Æmilius, and would wed him, even when I wed thee. With this object in view, she beggeth me to crave the forgiveness of Lælius, that he will not enforce against her the rights against runaway slaves. And this, I know, he will not do, both for thy sake and for mine, for it was on my account only that Cleandra did escape with me. Moreover, she was ever most tender and watchful to him until then. And am not I, for that matter, thy runaway slave likewise? Farewell again, Scipio. I pray the gods may now lead our feet together into the paths of peace.

“(Sealed) Elissa.”

CHAPTER III.
A TERRIBLE SEA FIGHT.

Elissa did not have so long to wait as she expected for a reply to her letter to Scipio, for the blockade-runner found him at Syracuse. Owing to her speed, the favourable breezes, and to clever seamanship, the quadrireme, having avoided all Carthaginian cruisers on the way, was back again and lying safely in the harbour of Tarentum within ten days of her departure. Her captain brought back with him a letter for Elissa, and definite instructions to Æmilius, who was instructed to come to Syracuse at once, while keeping well out to sea to avoid the rival fleets off Locri.

To Elissa Scipio responded with his usual delicacy of feeling, the joy and anticipation of probably soon meeting being so plainly evident that even Elissa’s heart, which she had thought at rest, beat considerably faster than for long past as she read his words. To all that she proposed he had agreed, whether as regards the cessation of the preparations for the invasion of Africa, or the immunity of Cleandra from the consequences of her evasion of Caius. This he promised personally for his friend in his absence at the siege of Locri, on the south-east corner of the Bruttian peninsula, which was being besieged by forces of his both by land and sea.

Had Scipio but received Elissa’s letter some time previously he would not have sent his troops to commence the siege of that city, so he said; but now the national honour was engaged on both sides, and there was no going back for one or for the other.

In conclusion, Scipio laughed at her fears lest they should not be wed in six months’ time, and therefore not at all; for he said the merry wine-god Bacchus had appeared to him in a vision, and had distinctly told him that he should be joined to her in marriage by a hoary-headed priest with a snow-white beard down to the knees. Further, that after the nuptials there would be much consumption of wine. He reminded her that never yet had a heaven-sent vision of his failed to come true. He therefore bid Elissa be of good cheer, for, as he had told her years previously, they might yet rule the world together after all, and then would come the era of perpetual peace and universal happiness.

When Elissa read this letter the tears came to her eyes, but they were tears of joy. For she devoutly believed in Scipio’s visions, and looked forward with unbounded delight to that era of perpetual peace which, after so many terrible years of misery, she should so soon help to inaugurate.

In the meanwhile the Carthaginian garrison of the town of Locri, aided by the Bruttian inhabitants, were making a most vigorous resistance, for they had the fate of the inhabitants of Tarentum before their eyes. They knew well that the Romans, who never once on Italian soil were able to defeat Hannibal in the field, upon recapture spared not from universal death or slavery the inhabitants of any of the cities, of no matter what nationality, which had from fear, self-interest, or compulsion, yielded to his arms.

In addition to Tarentum which, being near at hand, was the most lively example, the inhabitants of Locri had doubtless heard of the massacre, torture, and slavery of the inhabitants of Capua by Appius Claudius, and of the frightful scenes in Syracuse, which had been previously an ally of Rome for fifty years, upon its capture by Marcus Marcellus. Thus the wretched Locrini knew that there was nothing to expect save death for all the men and old women, and dishonour for all the young women, should the city fall.

And as it happened, once more by treachery from within, the city of Locri did fall, and fall upon the very day that Marcus Æmilius, with his three ships, was sailing due southwards from Tarentum past the Bruttian headlands, keeping, according to Scipio’s instructions, well out to sea. At the very time that the three ships were, after having passed the Lacinian Promontory at a considerable distance, steering still due southwards, some of the most horrible atrocities and cruelties that the world has ever known were being enacted in the streets and the interiors of the houses of Locri.

On that particular day it would have been far better for the Romans on the three ships if they had kept closer into the land and coasted close down the shore, for suddenly, although well out to sea, the three Roman vessels found themselves surrounded by a mass of fishing vessels, small boats, luggers, and even by several small war pinnaces. All of these were crowded with miserable fugitives, laden with all kinds of articles of furniture, weighing the boats down to the water’s edge. Old men with white hair, women with babies in their arms, young marriageable girls, these were the chief occupants of the boats. There was a small number of able-bodied rowers also. These poor wretches had evidently not waited for the actual fall of the town, but had started to fly as soon as the ramparts were first stormed, having got their boats all ready in advance. They were all steering northwards for the city of Croton, lying behind the Lacinian Promontory, then in the occupation of Hannibal, and were taking the shortest cut across the arc of the very considerable bay which lies behind a headland a few miles to the north of Locri.

Seeing the three war vessels in the offing, the flying Locrini thought, from the direction in which they were coming, that they were three Carthaginian warships coming from Croton; therefore they all rushed in a confused mass towards them for safety. This mistake of theirs was the more excusable inasmuch that, for fear of being discerned from the Lacinian Promontory on passing, the three Roman vessels were flying Carthaginian colours.

It was not until the first of the boats had actually met them, and when the whole sea in front was so encumbered that progress was almost impossible, that it dawned upon Æmilius and his captains what it all meant. And then at a considerable distance, in fact, from just behind the headland lying to the north of Locri, they could see some ten or twelve Roman war vessels advancing, with a steady sweep of the oars, in a line, pursuing these poor wretches. Their progress was slow, for they stopped to rifle all the boats they overtook, and themselves put out boats full of armed men, for that purpose. All the old men, the sailors, and the elderly women were ruthlessly cut down and slaughtered, while the babies were torn from their mothers, and thrown into the water. The young women, however, were seized, thrown violently down into the bottom of the boats, and then conveyed to the war vessels, where their hands and feet were lashed with roughly-tied ropes. There they were left in a struggling mass, writhing and screaming on the decks, while the work of capture and murder proceeded as before. The whole air was full of the screams of the dying, the water full of drowning people and sinking boats; but the cries of the women whose babies were torn from them and thrown into the water were the worst and most agonising of all.

Before Marcus Æmilius had time to change the Carthaginian colours on the masts for Roman ones, which it was necessary to do lest they should be shortly attacked by their own advancing war-ships, the unhappy creatures in the boats were closing upon them on all sides, and swarming up the sides of the ships, or clinging to the oars in all directions.

Now, sighting a fleet of twenty Carthaginian vessels just appearing in their rear from behind the Lacinian Promontory, the Romans knew that they must be taken unless they could extricate themselves in time from the swarming wretches whose boats were not only delaying them, but whose numbers, if they gained the decks, would sink them.

Therefore, with every kind of implement, from spear, sword, or axe, down to capstan-bar, or belaying-pin, were the Romans now bound, in absolute self-defence, to strike down mercilessly the miserable, unarmed creatures who were clinging to the oars and climbing up the sides. In many cases the women threw their babies on board the ships first, then themselves climbed up after them, and for a time, at least, a considerable number were continually gaining the decks, only to be cut down and thrust overboard again. The water was red with blood, and the oars clogged with the long hair of dead and living which had got twisted and entangled round them. And of all this terrible sight were Elissa and Cleandra the horrified and unwilling spectators.

At length the people in the remaining boats seemed to realise the situation. Leaving the three ships clear, they commenced to row well outside of them to the right and the left. Then turning their prows to the eastward, the three Roman ships charged with all their oars the now attenuated line of boats on that side, and thus by smashing some up, and passing clean over others, they gained the open waters. Rowing with all their might, and steering at first due eastward, it seemed for a time as if they would clear the left flank of the advancing line of Carthaginian ships, many of which were now hampered with the fugitive boats as they had been themselves. And the greater number stopped to take on board the survivors. But there were five ships on the extreme Carthaginian left which had particularly fast rowers, and it was impossible to clear them. Turning their heads south once more, the Romans tried to join the squadron of twelve which had come in pursuit of the boats. But these, now being full of female captives and other spoils, were in full retreat for the harbour of Locri, outside which lay the main body of the Roman fleet under command of Caius Lælius.

Caius had, as usual upon such occasions, himself landed with a storming party, and knew nothing of this affair, especially as the fugitives had got well away to the north before being discovered. At length, seeing that three of the Carthaginian vessels only were gaining upon them, while the other two were now a long way astern, Marcus Æmilius determined to fight. He signalled to his other two ships to slacken speed, then to turn round, halt, and lay upon their oars.

“Get ready to lower the crows,” he cried, “and let the boarders be ready standing by them.”

The “crows,” long and wide gangways with an iron spike at the higher end, were fixed to the foremasts, round which they revolved on an iron ring at the bottom, the spike end being near the mast-head, to which they were held by pulleys. Men now stood holding the ends of these pulleys ready to let go. The three Carthaginian ships were coming near at hand—two quinquiremes and one gigantic hexireme—the latter being the one that Æmilius determined to charge himself. Before the shock of the contact Marcus perceived the two ladies standing on the poop. Doffing his helmet, he kissed both their hands in turn.

“Fair lady Elissa, if I cannot bear thee to a loving and expectant husband in the Consul Scipio, there is one thing I can do—I can fight and die like a man. That is what it must come to; there are five ships of your countrymen to three of mine. If we conquer the first three, the two others will come with fresh men, and both, I see, are hexiremes. They will crush us! Maybe one of our three ships may escape; it will not be mine, for I shall not retreat unless we can defeat in time our three present opponents, and so can all escape together. Ladies, take ye this Carthaginian flag, and should matters be critical, then hold it aloft over your bodies—it may prove your salvation.” Then he added, “Farewell, beloved Cleandra, one last embrace!”

Cleandra sprung into his arms, her face white and pale, but determined. Elissa, who had been in many fights, had never looked more noble than did now Cleandra, who had never yet been present in the actual warfare of hand-to-hand combat.

“Fight, my noble Marcus!” she cried. “Fight nobly and fight well, and in this battle, for thy sake, I will fight, too; and if thou diest I will die, since, save for the lady Elissa’s sake, I am, through my love for thee, a very Roman even as thou art.”

She clung to him one moment only, their lips met, then without another word she released him and waved him forward. Stooping, she herself picked up a battle-axe, all bloody as it was with the gore of recent victims.

Then there was a fearful crash. All the six ships were in violent collision at once. The two women both lost their feet, but jumping up again, saw the crows falling with a smashing blow clear over the bulwarks of the Carthaginian ships, the iron beaks fixing themselves in the decks, and thus binding the hostile vessels together side by side.

In a second, taking the Carthaginians by surprise in their rush, the Roman boarders sprung along the crows and fell upon the foemen on their own decks.

Æmilius had disappeared in the throng, and long the battle raged, unevenly at first, and then entirely in favour of the Romans, who slaughtered unmercifully. When nearly all the Carthaginian marines were slain, suddenly the Romans, by order, rushed back to their ships, along the crows or over the sides. Æmilius re-appeared upon his own deck, apparently unwounded save for a small stream of blood trickling down his cheek.

“Raise the crows swiftly!” he shouted, “and backwater with all the oars.” For he saw that there was a fair chance of escape, and with honour, the other two Carthaginian ships being still some way off. He might even yet carry Elissa home in safety to the Consul Scipio. And there would have been a chance of escape for the whole three ships had it not so happened that, by mischance, the rope of the crow upon his own ship had run out of the block or pulley, and was lying useless on the deck. The crow could not be raised.

“Escape!” he cried to those on the two other ships, “escape at once, and tell Scipio that I did my duty.” For he saw that they had their crows raised, and could get away easily; in fact, they were already at some distance, and moving astern.

But they were men of mettle, and would not escape to leave their comrades behind. Even as the two fresh Carthaginian hexiremes closed up, one on each side of the ship of Æmilius, which was still locked with the hexireme first engaged, the two outside Roman ships returned and closed in upon their outer sides. Down fell the crows once more, the spikes penetrating the decks, and once more the battle was raging on all sides, and it raged with fury. At length, Æmilius, quite tired out, was beaten to his knees by a heavy sword blow, which, falling on the junction of neck and shoulder, went through the leather armour-flaps lying between helmet and cuirass.

Like a tigress Cleandra sprung to his side, and, with a terrible blow with her war axe, clove his assailant’s skull in twain before he could repeat the blow. A Carthaginian soldier behind the fallen man now pierced her in turn with a spear, full in the bosom. She fell upon Æmilius, her life-blood mingling with his own, while a Roman struck down the Carthaginian who had pierced Cleandra.

At length, it was becoming evident that the Romans were overmatched by these two ships full of fresh men. Moreover, the oarsmen of the first hexireme had now left their banks of oars, and arming themselves with the arms of dead comrades or of foemen, were joining in the fray.

Elissa stood on the end of the poop looking on. The Carthaginian flag was lying on the taffrail, and, unaware of what she was doing, she was leaning against it, clasping it with one hand. While she was standing thus, there came surging forward from one of the other ships, upon the bloody deck of that whereon she stood herself, an enormous man, a regular giant. He was smiting with a double-edged sword to right and left, and clearing as he went a lane before him. The affrighted and wearied-out Romans still alive upon Elissa’s ship fled before him, and crossing the Carthaginian ships, sprung to their outer vessels, and attempted to cast loose the crows again. One, and one ship only succeeded in so doing, and now the battle was ending, indeed ended. At that moment the giant arrived, with his bloody sword raised, before Hannibal’s daughter herself. He saw the Carthaginian flag, and it caught his attention before he recognised the woman’s face. Then he knew her again.

“Elissa! Art not thou Elissa? By the great gods, ’tis Elissa herself!”

But she had recognised him for several moments past, despite his scarred cheek and grizzling hair. Thinking him dead, she had been watching him spell-bound, fancying that she saw a spirit.

“Ay, Maharbal, I am Elissa, even Hannibal’s daughter. And thou, art thou indeed Maharbal in the flesh? I heard that thou wast slain at Salapia.”

“And what dost thou on this Roman ship, Elissa? As for me, thou seest I was but half slain, since I have just slain half of these Romans in revenge.”

“I was on my way from Philip of Macedon, from whom these Romans did rescue me; and I was about to marry Cornelius Scipio, and thus bring about a peace between Carthage and Rome.” She looked him calmly in the face as she replied thus.

“Thou marry Scipio! By Moloch, never! That intention of thine I have, thank the gods, now frustrated.”

Maharbal cried thus, furiously gnashing his teeth, for he had in years gone by heard reports about his lady-love and Scipio which had not pleased him greatly. He turned and roared out furiously to those on the Roman vessel which was just sheering off.

“Hark, ye Roman dogs! tell ye Scipio from me that it is Maharbal, the son of Manissa, who hath once again frustrated him—say that the said Maharbal, who hath thrice spared the dog Scipio’s life, is by no means disposed to accord him in addition his own intended wife; nay, not for any Roman jackdaw, thinking himself an eagle, is Elissa, Hannibal’s daughter. Now, go!” he added, in a voice of thunder. He spoke clearly, and in excellent Latin, and every word of the insulting message was understood.

As the Carthaginians were quite unable to pursue, the Roman vessel got away in safety, bearing with it only a small living remnant of each of the original crews of the three ships.

When Maharbal turned back to Elissa he found her paying no regard to him whatever; she was, he saw, down upon her knees by a dying woman and a dying man. And the woman had her arm around the man’s neck.

“It is Cleandra,” said Elissa sadly; “dost thou not remember her, Maharbal? And now one of thy ruffians hath slain her. Oh, my poor faithful, good Cleandra!” And stooping down she kissed her on the lips.

The dying woman recognised the Numidian hero, her friend since earliest youth.

“Maharbal!” said Cleandra, in a faint voice, “be kind to Elissa, and I will pray the gods for thee. I shall see them soon.” She added still more faintly, “Fare thee well, Elissa; I did ever love thee faithfully.” Then she turned towards Æmilius, feebly placed her lips on his, gave a shudder, and died.

A shiver passed through the form of the Roman at the very same instant. He also was now dead.

Elissa rose, her dress all dabbled in blood.

“And yet,” she said fiercely to Maharbal, “even amid scenes like this,” and she pointed with open hand at the dead couple lying at her feet, “thou canst thank the gods, Maharbal, that thou hast frustrated my intention of marrying Scipio, thereby to bring about a peace between Carthage and Rome. Well, thank the gods if thou wilt, thou art nought to me, thou bloody man! Begone from my sight! Begone I say, and leave me here with my dead, whom thou and thine have slain.” She stamped her foot.

As many a courageous and bloodthirsty man has been before, he was utterly cowed by the righteous anger of a woman.

In such sad wise was, after many years, the meeting again of Maharbal and Elissa. He, bold warrior as he was, slunk off to give some orders to his men, feeling, he knew not why, that whereas a minute ago it had been Elissa who was most terribly, irretrievably in the wrong, now he had himself done something that he feared she might never forgive throughout his lifetime.

Thus can a fearless and clever woman ever turn the tables upon a man, in the most tragic as in the most trivial moments of existence.

CHAPTER IV.
ELISSA’S MISERY.

It was not to a bed of roses that Elissa returned when she first rejoined her father in his camp upon the Lacinian Promontory. The world had not been using him well, and his formerly jovial temper was considerably embittered in consequence. He hated the Romans more than ever, and was most contented that his daughter had been prevented from carrying out her intended union with Scipio. But he was above everything just, and saw in her intention her wish to act for her country’s welfare; but while at heart approving her motive, he objected to the actual intention itself, and would have been furious had it been successfully carried out.

With regard to Philip of Macedon he felt differently. He was proud of his daughter, and openly praised her for her self-sacrifice in that matter. It was not her fault if her country had not reaped all the advantages that it might have done from her nobility of soul and self-abnegation. Hannibal recognised them all the same.

Thus after a time, when father and daughter had, so to speak, renewed each other’s acquaintance, confidence was restored. Hannibal ceased to blame her even in the matter of Scipio, when he learned at the beginning of the spring that Scipio had actually at length passed over into Numidia and was laying siege to the city of Utica, while Caius Lælius was devastating the coasts with his ships. And Hannibal well knew there was now no general capable enough on Carthaginian soil to combat the invader with any hopes of success. All this might have been prevented if Elissa had only got safe through to Sicily.

While Hannibal still maintained his own upon Italian soil, almost capturing the town of Rhegium at the extreme south, and being successful in other directions whenever he chose to issue from his entrenchments, there ever continued to come bad news from Numidia.

While Scipio was over-running Numidia from end to end, avoiding any walled towns, save only Utica, and capturing all the unwalled cities, Utica held out nobly; and eventually, so gallant was her resistance, that the siege was raised by Scipio after a naval battle in which the Romans were defeated.

After the raising of the siege of Utica, the party of Hanno sent envoys to Rome to try to make a peace, and this with Scipio’s approval, for he had himself dictated the terms. He had been everywhere successful except before Utica, nearly all the army of Carthage had been destroyed, and having won quite sufficient military glory, he was thinking how Elissa might even yet be his, if only a peace could be quickly brought about. Great warrior as he was, he was absolutely sated with blood, and would willingly have given to humanity, had it been possible, a cessation from warfare.

Meanwhile Hannibal remained in Italy, with as much confidence and security as though it were his own property. And so indeed was his corner of the mighty peninsula, which he had over-run from end to end, and whence, had he but had the necessary reinforcements sent to him, he would have been ready at any time to spring forth once more like a lion and devastate the fair Italian plains, right back to those Alps whence he had long years before descended upon this promised land. But where now were all those to whom he had promised it? How many were left of the original band who had set out with him upon that wonderful march from Spain? Of all the generals and captains who had started on that journey Maharbal alone remained. Chœras, the cheery, light-hearted poet, had been slain at Salapia, and all those of superior rank who had marched across the Ebro were dead also—Monomachus, Hanno, Hasdrubal the pioneer, and thousands more, ay, even Hasdrubal the brother of Hannibal, who had marched over the Alps to join him, all—all were gone! Only old Sosilus still remained. No wonder that Elissa found her father morose and inclined to find fault with a pitiless fate which had allowed the miserable ineptitude of the rulers in Carthage to rob him of the benefit of all his victories, of all his many years of warfare, and which had cost him the lives of nearly all his old friends, and given no commensurate return.

But still, not all the twenty legions that had been raised that year in Italy could put him out of that last corner of Italy which he had selected for his own. There he sat, like an eagle upon the rock; and still, when like the eagle he chose to sally forth and swoop over the plain, even as the frightened game flying before the monarch of the skies would the Roman legions retire before him in the open and take shelter in walled towns or strongly-entrenched encampments, which, owing to his reduced numbers, he was unable to besiege. And thus it remained to the end. Hannibal was never defeated in Italy.

Meanwhile, her father’s original attachment to Maharbal had, Elissa found, gone on increasing, if possible, through all the years that they had fought side by side, and especially since he had so nearly lost his noble lieutenant’s life at the terrible slaughter of the Numidians at Salapia. From that place, wounded in half-a-dozen places, he had been one of the very few who had managed to cut their way through to the horses.

But now, poor Maharbal was but general of the Numidians in name, for there were no more than at most some seventy-five of the far-famed Numidians left. And to his great chagrin, his cousin Massinissa, after killing his uncle, King Syphax, in Numidia, had now placed many thousands of Numidian cavalry in the field on Carthaginian soil, side by side with the Romans. For he had, so it was rumoured, added all the forces of the late King Syphax to his own, and all were in active alliance with Scipio against Carthage.

Maharbal was now often almost as morose and moody as Hannibal himself; but the Numidian had an extra cause for sorrow. For throughout the whole of his long years of warrings in Italy, he had remained faithful to Elissa. And now he found that she had ceased to love him. He had been quite prepared to overlook her doubtful alliance with King Philip of Macedon; but he found, to his surprise, that no magnanimity was required upon his side, for Elissa would have nothing of him. He had been ready to excuse both the original flirtation with Scipio at the Court of Syphax, of which an exaggerated report had reached him, and also her later determination to marry Scipio; but he discovered that to be excused either on the one count or the other was the very last thing that Elissa herself desired. In fact she deliberately refused to acknowledge his right to interfere in, question, or condone her conduct from any point of view. And he felt somehow that through the barrier of reserve, which she had raised from the very moment of their meeting again, it would be far more difficult for him to break than it would have been for him to break down, single-handed, the Colline gate of the walls of Rome, over which Hannibal had cast his spear in token of defiance.

It was not that he found her hard to him, for, on the contrary, she was gentle; but she was no longer in love with him; she was indifferent. There is nothing so terrible for a man to contend against in the woman who once loved him with all her heart and soul, with every fibre of her frame, than this same indifference, that is, if he love her still himself. Now, Maharbal loved Elissa still, and the more indifferent she showed herself to him, the more he loved her. But it is not to be wondered at if, after all she had gone through, Elissa could not find it in her to rush violently all at once into a renewal of her former relations with Maharbal. Not only were all her dreams of an Utopia with Scipio now dashed to the ground, but she heard daily of the terrible reverses that had occurred to her beloved Carthage, which she had never seen, owing to the failure of her marriage with him.

And who was it who had been the direct cause of her failing to join Scipio in Syracuse but Maharbal himself, who had detached five warships from the fleet, and captured her and killed her friends. Was not poor Cleandra’s death directly attributable to Maharbal? and who, in all her life, had been such a friend to her as Cleandra? And was not Æmilius her friend? He had saved her from the court of Philip, and yet Maharbal or his men—it was the same thing—had killed him.

“What,” thought Elissa, “has Maharbal ever given to me like the devotion of a Cleandra, the love of a Scipio—ay, or even the courtesy of a Lælius or an Æmilius?” Was it sufficient for Maharbal to leave her alone for year after year, when he might have visited her instead of her uncle Mago? Was it enough for him, while taking his fill of the life he delighted in—a life of blood and military glory—to continue to love her at a distance, and to expect her to fall at his feet at his bidding after all, just because fate or chance placed her in his way? “No,” cried Elissa to herself; “a thousand times no!” and she thought of the old days, when she had wept her eyes out for Maharbal, while he was with Melania at the court of King Andobales, and stamped with her feet upon the ground with rage to think that she ever had been such a fool.

But now she was so utterly miserable, so distressed at Cleandra’s death, so disappointed at the terrible failure of her grand plans for the happiness of the world in conjunction with Scipio, that really this matter of Maharbal scarcely interested her. She had lived too much, seen too much, suffered too much! So she told him plainly one day that he must be content with the past. It might now indeed seem to both of them almost as a dream. Well, so much the better! A dream it must remain, for anything now more approaching a reality was utterly impossible. And with that she left him.

CHAPTER V.
HIS LEGAL WIFE.

Meanwhile the Carthaginian embassy to Rome to sue for terms of peace had not been a success. It was owing to the atrocious behaviour of the Carthaginian party themselves, who had endeavoured to cast the whole blame of the war from start to finish upon Hannibal, and Hannibal alone, that the negotiations broke down.

For the Roman Senate were not children, and there were so many issues at stake in which it could be clearly proved that the Carthaginians, entirely apart from Hannibal, had held the leading hand, that the Romans were disgusted at their excuses.

For the Senate well knew that, while the people in Carthage had been glad enough to vaunt Hannibal’s victories, they had, from jealousy, never supported him properly, or Rome might now have been a mere province of Carthage. They also divined that, defeated in their own country, the Carthaginians were treacherously inclined to give to Rome as a scapegoat the glorious hero who, alone, unaided, and deserted by his country, had won victory upon victory throughout three-quarters of the then known world.

Therefore the Roman Senate refused the terms of peace, and ordained that Scipio should go on with the war or get better terms.

Scipio was personally annoyed at the failure of the negotiations, for he had ever the same object in view, the long-deferred hope of the possession as his bride of the beloved Elissa. He had suffered much since her recapture by her own countrymen off Locri, and, were it only for revenge upon Maharbal, whose insulting message he had received, he longed more than ever to marry her. But, all question of revenge apart, since the letters that had passed between them, and when she had so nearly reached his outstretched arms, he felt that he loved her more than ever—more than it seemed possible for any man on earth to love a woman.

Instead, therefore, of carrying on the war, Scipio for a while continued the truce, pretending to play with the Carthaginian envoys to deceive Rome, and with the Roman envoys to deceive Carthage.

For he argued: “Did I not see the wine-god Bacchus in a vision? and did he not tell me that I shall be married to Elissa by a priest with a long beard flowing to his knees? and has ever yet one of my visions proved false?” For by this time he had himself really begun to believe in these visions or dreams which had for so long been believed in by others.

Scipio being thus inclined, peace might have been made, after all, but for the treachery of the Carthaginians, who seized, during a time of truce, upon some Roman transports full of provisions, which had been driven ashore in a storm. After this no further ideas of peace were possible, and Scipio recommenced the war with all the more fury because he feared that he must for ever renounce his dearest hopes.

The cowardly Carthaginians, who had neglected him for so many years, now wrote letters recalling Hannibal to the country which he had not seen since he was a boy of nine, for they wanted him to come and defend them. They also sent for his brother Mago, from Capua; but the noble Mago, Maharbal’s friend, was wounded on his way down in a drawn battle in the country of the Insubrian Gauls, and died at sea; never living to greet either his brother or his friend Maharbal again, nor indeed to see even his native soil once more.

Hannibal and his daughter, and Maharbal and all the troops, however, obeyed the summons, thus voluntarily this wonderful general left the country out of which the Romans would never have been able to drive him.

“Oh! Elissa, Elissa!” cried the warrior, as for once, weak as a woman, he fell upon his daughter’s breast in the temple of Juno Lacinia. “Oh, my daughter, comfort me, comfort me! for truly the gods have laid a heavy hand upon me, or why should I leave this fair country of Italy without first taking Rome? See, on yonder brazen tablets, all the exploits I have had carved in three languages for future generations to read, yet one is not there inscribed. All mention that there is of Rome is that I threw my javeline over the wall. Oh! my countrymen, my countrymen! if ye had but supported me it would not now be on Carthaginian soil that my services would be required. Alas! for Rome untaken. Alas! alas! Comfort me, oh, my daughter!”

It was a terrible moment for Elissa, almost as terrible as for the great warrior himself, for to both of them it was the moment when, no matter what had been the untiring efforts of each in the country’s cause—no matter what had been the successes, the end had come, and that end, after long years of noble struggle, meant for both a confession of utter failure—of bitter, terrible failure.

But let us draw a veil over that hour of bitter grief in the temple of Juno Lacinia. Let us leave father and daughter alone in their sorrow—alone in the darkening shades of night, with nought but the dull red glow of the scarcely-burning sacrificial fire to cast a lowering gleam of brightness through the thickening gloom around.

* * * * * * * *

A fortnight later Hannibal had landed with all his troops, and they were comparatively few, at Adrumentum, on the eastern coast of what is now known as Tunisia, and upon arriving there he determined to put into force, while waiting to collect an army, a project that he had had in his head for some time past. This was no less than the union by marriage of Elissa with Maharbal. Two reasons had he for wishing to bring this about without delay. One was that he considered that after many years of long and faithful services, his noble lieutenant deserved the only reward that he could give him; the other, that now that both his brethren were dead, he wished to raise up posterity to himself in his own direct line.

Of Maharbal’s views he had no doubt, but he was by no means so sure of Elissa. Upon his questioning her he found her distinctly averse to the marriage. She would give no reason save that she did not now wish to marry Maharbal. He had not come to espouse her when he might have done so years before, and now her heart was not what it was when a mere girl. She did not wish to marry him. At length her father twitted her with loving Scipio. She confessed plainly that she did love Scipio; but said that she did not, now that marriage between them could be of no use to their country, wish to marry him either. It was clearly impossible. Here she gave Hannibal an opening.

“Marry for thy country’s sake, Elissa? Why, ’tis the very thing I would have thee to do. By all the gods! Maharbal doth love thee truly, and hath he not fought for thy country for all these years with the sole hope of thee as his reward? And now that thou art here and art unmarried, and far more beautiful even than thou wast as a young girl, wilt thou deny him the reward which he hath well merited at his country’s hands in the shape of Hannibal’s only daughter for his bride?”

“My father,” replied Elissa, “since we have, by the ruling of the great gods, come to live together again, ever have I been submissive to thee. Yet wilt thou own that mine, as apart from thine own, hath been an independent career, throughout which I have continually striven to carry out the precepts which thou didst thyself instil into me in early youth. Only once did I neglect to follow them, yet that neglect didst thou thyself condone, while punishing me by depriving me of this very Maharbal, who was then my lover.

“Since then, my father, have I learnt to look upon all as a matter of policy. Policy it would indeed have been had I married Scipio, and, would to all the gods of Carthage and of Rome combined, that, for the sake alone of Carthage, I had been permitted to do so. But putting this love of his for me apart, wherein lies the policy of my now espousing Maharbal the Numidian? Noble he is, I vow, and much, ay, very much in him do I admire, chiefly his great devotion to thyself, which caused him to neglect me when I was younger and more impressionable. But, father! wherein lies the policy?”

“The policy—’tis simple enough, child! ’tis because he is a Numidian! Through him we may win back all the other Numidians, ay even Massinissa and his crew, or certainly all the old followers of Syphax may desert to us, and there are others. Notably, there is a Numidian prince named Tychæus, who hath several thousand horsemen, who might join us for the sake of Maharbal.”

Elissa pondered a moment, then answered:

“But will they not join thee without my marrying Maharbal? Is not he sufficiently devoted to thee to ask their services on thy behalf without claiming now from me the hand he did not care to seek years ago when it was his without question? At least, so I gathered from mine uncle Mago.”

Hannibal became impatient.

“Do as thou wilt, thou headstrong woman!” he cried. “Wouldst thou have a man give me all and I give him nothing in return? Dost thou call that either patriotism or devotion to thy father’s cause? And is it not now thy father’s name and his alone that doth represent the highest interests of thy country to all the rest of the world if not to thee?” He turned angrily as if to leave her.

Elissa turned very pale, but gently laid a restraining hand upon her father’s sleeve.

“Very well, my father, I agree, but upon the condition that our marriage be kept quite secret.”

“Secret!” answered Hannibal testily; “wherefore secret?”

“Simply that Scipio may not know of it,” she answered sadly. “ ’Twould but enrage him the more, and do no good. Thou mayest yet some day, oh my father, have reason to desire the good offices of Scipio, and,” she sighed deeply, “although, before the gods, I would not willingly deceive him, through whom could those good offices be so easily obtained as through me? Therefore, ’twould, methinks, be perchance more politic to keep it secret should I marry Maharbal. Then will I yield to thy wishes in this matter, and feel, moreover, that I am not, in so yielding, doing unto my country any possible injury. The country, thou knowest, oh my father, is above all. I have now no wish for marriage; but if thou deem it for our country’s welfare, I obey.”

“Ay,” replied Hannibal, stooping down and kissing her, at the same time stroking her hair caressingly, “thou hast said the truth, Elissa. The country is to be considered before all, and secrecy is advisable. It shall be kept a secret.”

On the following day Elissa became the wife of Maharbal. But none knew that she was actually his legal wife save the priest who united them in Hannibal’s presence alone. And Hannibal threatened to cut out his tongue if ever he should breathe a word of the matter to a living soul. So the priest’s silence was assured.

Thus did Maharbal obtain his heart’s desire, and thus did Elissa once again do her duty to her father and her country. And having now married Maharbal, she strove to make him happy.

When once more upon his native soil, Hannibal was not the man to let the grass grow under his feet. He was not long in organising an army from one source and another, and soon he had collected a large force of infantry and a considerable number of elephants; he only wanted cavalry to make up an army which, in Italy, would have been irresistible.

CHAPTER VI.
A MOMENTOUS MEETING.

Although Maharbal’s union with Elissa was kept absolutely secret, yet, since he lived in the same building as that which his Chief had selected as his head-quarters, it was easy for him to be with her at all times. Moreover, since he was Hannibal’s right-hand man, there were none who dared to criticise the terms of intimacy upon which he might be with Hannibal’s daughter. In years gone by, she had been looked upon as being virtually his wife, and it had been well known in those days that it was only the dislike on the part of Hannibal to his officers being married just before going on a campaign that had prevented the union being then acknowledged. Now there were none of the superior officers still alive who had left Spain with Hannibal at the beginning of the Italian war, and, of all others present, none dared to cast an aspersion upon the daughter of their great Chief and greatest and most daring General, especially as her unusual intimacy with Maharbal apparently met with the Chief’s own approval.

Thus it came to pass that during the few months passed at Adrumentum, Elissa, while still passing as an unmarried woman, was constantly in her husband’s society, and that gradually his single-mindedness, his frank boyishness of character, which years of campaigning and bloodshed had been unable to spoil, won somewhat upon her once more. It was by degrees certainly, but they won upon her all the same.

Maharbal was ever so diffident, so conscious of his own shortcomings, so ready to make excuses for everything in Elissa’s own past life, that it would have been wonderful indeed, if, after having once become his actual wife, she had not considerably melted towards him.

He, poor fellow, recognised the barrier at first, and with reason put it down to his own fault in that he had not come back to her when Hannibal had given him, upon two occasions, the opportunity of doing so. He was now inclined to blame himself for his behaviour upon those occasions, and treated his wife, in consequence, with an amount of delicacy and respect which could scarcely have been expected in a man whose whole life had been passed in scenes of carnage and slaughter.

But although a soldier, and even at times a cruel soldier, his own life had ever been absolutely pure. As Scipio had been in the Roman army, so had Maharbal been in the Carthaginian army. In an era when rapine was law, when lust in its most brutal forms was not merely tolerated but approved, each had selected for himself a higher standard than that of the age. The unfortunate thing was that they had both placed their whole affections upon the same woman, that that woman had loved each in turn, and that, strive how she might, she had been unable to fulfil her duty, or what she considered her whole duty to either of them. For what she gave to one she took from the other.

Poor Elissa! It were useless to say that she ought only to have loved one of them. Now, living with Maharbal, and being a woman of great acumen, she soon recognised his greatness, and her mistake in having condemned him too readily. For it became patent to her that it was no idea of his own self-aggrandisement, his own military glory, that had kept him from her side, but solely love and devotion to her own father. With an open simple nature like his, there was no concealment possible from such a clever woman as herself. Therefore, she very soon learned the secret of the terrible act of self-renunciation which the young warrior must have put upon himself at the time that he allowed her uncle Mago to return to Iberia and New Carthage in his place, when he might have come back himself to find a loving bride. As all this dawned upon her, Elissa respected Maharbal more and more. She even loved him in a way, yet it was never in the old way of early girlhood. For all that, from sheer gratitude, she tried to persuade herself, and easily succeeded in persuading him, that the old passion had come back again with all its old intensity. Thus was she more nearly happy than she had been for years past, while she made Maharbal supremely so.

While Hannibal was collecting troops at his head-quarters at Adrumentum, he had not forgotten his idea of recruiting as many Numidian cavalry as possible. For this purpose he sent Maharbal with a large escort, to visit various Numidian chieftains, and upon this expedition, although having for appearance sake a separate guard and a separate camp, Elissa accompanied him.

The Roman armies had not traversed the districts of Libya through which the Carthaginians were travelling, and as, for the first time in her life, Elissa rode through the green fertile hills and villages of Northern Africa, the tears came into her eyes at the peaceful beauty of the scene, and with grief at the idea that all might soon be laid waste and destroyed by the hand of the invader.

They had, however, a prosperous journey through the highlands and lowlands lying on the banks of the winding Bagradus, and were hospitably received at the city of the Numidian Prince Tychæus. This prince, a kinsman to Maharbal, was at first loth to join Hannibal for fear of their mutual kinsman Massinissa; but Elissa’s beautiful eyes being once turned upon the young Numidian, carried the day, for their soul-stirring appeal went deep down into his heart far more than all the arguments of Maharbal. The result was that upon their return to the head-quarters camp at Adrumentum, Maharbal and Hannibal’s daughter carried back with them in their train not only the Prince Tychæus himself, but also two thousand of his Numidian cavalry, whereupon Hannibal determined upon taking the field instantly, and seeking Scipio without more delay.

After Hannibal had once taken the field, confidence was restored to an enormous extent throughout Libya, while the inhabitants of Carthage, from having fallen to a state of the utmost gloom and despondency, became elated to the highest degree. The foolish Carthaginians, who had, since the time of Hamilcar, deteriorated more and more under the long-continued ascendancy of the party of Hanno, now gave way to the greatest excesses, so certain were they that their delivery was at hand. Hence, not only did the horrible sacrifices to Moloch continue, or rather, re-commence in full swing, but the worship of Tanais, the Carthaginian Venus, was celebrated with an amount of debauchery that had never been known before. Instead of devoting all their energies to assisting the lion of Iberia and Italy, the inhabitants of Carthage, under the pretence of thanking the gods for the mercies vouchsafed to them in sending Hannibal to the rescue, vowed their slaves to Moloch, and their daughters to Tanais. As regards the actual war, they had sent to Hannibal a contingent of untrained men and of untrained elephants, that was enough. Hannibal was expected to do all the rest. And although in his heart he despised—ay, utterly despised this people of Carthage—he determined to do the best he could with the materials at his command. But neither in quantity nor in quality were his new Carthaginian recruits what he would have wished, deteriorated as they were by all the vices of the city of modern Carthage. He, however, received valuable assistance at this period from Philip of Macedon, who sent a considerable reinforcement of good troops. Hannibal now marched across Libya from east to west, and had various small successes over occasional detachments of Roman soldiers whom he met with on his way. At length he found himself face to face with the whole of Scipio’s army near a little town called Zama.

Elissa had accompanied her father upon the line of march, and occupied a tent adjacent to his own. Once they had taken the field, there was no more intimacy between Maharbal and his wife than had she been the unmarried woman she was supposed to be.

When the two armies were still lying inactive face to face off Zama, the same idea of a personal parley occurred to both of the commanders; but Scipio it was who first put the idea into words. He sent a herald with great state to Hannibal’s camp with a letter.

In this letter he demanded a personal interview with Hannibal ere they should decide the most momentous issue at stake in mortal combat. And as he knew that Hannibal’s daughter spoke Greek, a language with which he was well acquainted, he requested that she might be present at the interview and serve, moreover, as interpreter between them.

Hannibal accepted the invitation, and on the following morning rode out into the plain separating the two armies, with his staff officers and his daughter Elissa. The latter was attired in the garments of a young Carthaginian nobleman, for although she had discarded her arms for ever, she had assumed manly raiment upon taking the field. She was gorgeously clad in raiment of light blue and silver, which, closely fitting her figure, showed off to the greatest advantage the charms of her person. Upon her head she wore a little silver casque surmounted with wings. As she rode up upon her black charger, which she bestrode gallantly Numidian-wise, being seated upon a pale blue and silver saddle-cloth, she looked, so thought Scipio, as she approached, like some delicate youth of sixteen. Her colouring was perfect, for, owing to the fresh air in which she daily lived, Elissa was at this time in the very perfection of feminine health and beauty.

Scipio was waiting in a group of palm trees, to which, having left his staff officers at a distance, Hannibal advanced with Elissa. Scipio sent all his own attendants to the rear as he saw Hannibal and his daughter approaching. He dismounted, and giving his horse to a gorgeously-attired slave, sent the man with the charger back out of earshot. Then saluting the great Carthaginian conqueror and his daughter most courteously, the great Roman conqueror advanced, and giving his hand to Elissa, assisted her to alight.

And what an appealing look was there in that noble face as it looked upwards into the beautiful eyes above him!

As Elissa involuntarily returned the pressure of the hand that held hers, she could feel the pulses beating rapidly in its veins, while she felt her heart throbbing painfully. She turned pale as she met that fervent glance.

“Elissa, I have ever loved thee.”

“Scipio, thou hast been ever in my prayers.”

Unheard by Hannibal, whom a slave was helping to dismount, these two short sentences were hurriedly whispered between them out there in the grove, in the middle of the plain, whereon only a few scattered date palms intercepted the view from the two enormous camps of armed men on the one side and the other. There was no time for more, but in that one glance from the eagle eye of the Roman, in that one whispered word, Elissa recognised how true and devoted he had been to her through all these years. She realised something more, and realised it with a terrible fear at her heart, namely, that she herself loved him still.

Scipio had only just time to note the piteous look upon his beloved’s face when the situation was interrupted by Hannibal. He, advancing, and waiving the services of Elissa as interpreter, spoke in Latin, and spoke somewhat jocularly to begin with, for he seemed quite in one of his old merry moods.

“I salute thee, Scipio, and right pleased am I at last to behold the gallant young cockerel who hath sworn to clip for him the wings of the old cock of the farmyard. Give me thy hand, for whatever the upshot of this interview betwixt us may be, ’twill be historical, and it shall not be said that two such warriors as Scipio and Hannibal could meet and not take each other by the hand.”

“I salute thee, and gladly take thy hand, oh Hannibal, and greatly doth the young cockerel appreciate such condescension on the part of the eagle.”

And Scipio putting forth his hand, the two warriors clasped each other warmly with mutual respect.

“Now would I salute the lady Elissa,” quoth Scipio, looking at Hannibal as for permission.

“Ay, salute her by all means—embrace her an thou wilt—there is no harm in it this once, her father being present, for ’tis the only chance that ever thou shalt have, my gallant young friend, to embrace her whom thou didst so nearly succeed in making thy bride. It would, indeed, have been strange had I now been speaking with mine own son-in-law. Embrace her, I say, an she will permit it, and I, her father, do thank thee for all the most noble courtesies that thou didst show unto her whom the fortune of war had made thy prisoner, and further, for rescuing her from that scoundrel Philip. I would that thou wert a Carthaginian, Scipio, by all the gods I do.”

But Scipio was not listening to Hannibal. He had thrown his arm around Elissa and was embracing her tenderly. She felt her knees trembling so that she could not have stood had it not been for his support. And once, once only, she returned his embrace ardently full on the lips. She knew it was a want of faith to Maharbal, but it could not be so very sinful, she thought, since her father, the sole witness of the action, permitted it, nay, encouraged it. Moreover, she felt that she owed Scipio something, ay, much indeed, and a kiss was little enough to give him after all that he had done for her.

Now, however, she sought to extricate herself from his embrace, while Hannibal looked on amused. Gently restraining her still, Scipio addressed her father.

“My lord Hannibal, thou hast said but now that I might have been thy son-in-law—give me but this dear lady in mine arms and we will make peace, a peace upon far less onerous terms than those that have been already proposed to the Carthaginian Senate.”

“Nay, nay!” answered Hannibal, frowning. “I cannot make peace unless I fight thee first, or unless thou wilt own that thou darest not fight me lest thou should be beaten. I cannot give thee my daughter unless thou wilt agree to that, and to withdraw with all thy forces beyond the sea at once. Then thou canst go and take her with thee if thou wilt, but thou shalt not claim a single one of our ships, nor a single talent of our silver, but go recognising thyself in an inferiority. If thou dost love my daughter so greatly thou canst well do that, Scipio.”

The young Roman’s face flushed angrily as his arm fell from Elissa’s waist, although he still clasped her hand.

“And what of the satisfaction to be given for the transports, which came ashore and were seized in time of truce? and what of the treacherous attack made upon the Roman ambassadors returning unsuspectingly from Carthage by sea to mine own camp near Utica? Is there to be no return, no punishment for those two great crimes against international law, against every law of honour? How couldst thou expect me, Hannibal, to go back to the Roman Senate with terms like these? They are impossible, and thou dost know it, and thou thyself wouldst despise me did I accept them.”

“Ay,” replied Hannibal, smiling grimly, “they are, perhaps, almost impossible, and I might possibly despise thee, yet that would not hurt thee much; but they are the only terms upon which I will give thee my daughter; it all depends upon how much thou dost desire her, young man.”

“Then we must fight,” cried Scipio, “and I must resign Elissa!”

He looked imploringly and sadly at her as he dropped her hand and faced her.

“Ay, we must fight, Scipio,” replied Hannibal, “although, since great hath already been thy success in Spain, thou wouldst do better not to fight. For thy fame is now assured—it will be no greater shouldst thou win this battle; while shouldst thou be defeated all will be lost to thee. Look at me, see what an example I am of the reverses of fortune, and such reverses may be thine own to-morrow. Better, therefore, for thee to hearken unto my words. Leave Carthaginian soil and do not fight, and if thou leave at once thou canst take Elissa with thee.”

“It cannot be,” said Scipio sadly; “so fare thee well, dear Elissa.” He kissed her hand gently, while her eyes were suffused with tears. Scipio continued: “Hannibal, I salute thee; to-morrow we will meet in mortal combat upon this plain, for, far from my submitting, thou it is who must submit to me unconditionally, or conquer me in the field.”

“Farewell, Scipio, farewell, for to-morrow be it then; but thou art a headstrong young man, and mayst live to regret it. But I wish thee no ill, thou art a great general for one so young.”

Turning, they left the palm grove upon opposite sides. Hannibal and Elissa, having regained their horses, rode back in silence. For the daughter had not at all been able to understand the father’s line of conduct during the interview, and he did not vouchsafe any information on the subject.

One point, however, she had grasped from his behaviour. It was that, so long as any object affecting the honour or advantage of Carthage was at stake, Hannibal had been perfectly ready to ride rough-shod over not only his own old prejudices against all and everything Roman, but also ready utterly to disregard Maharbal’s happiness and possibly her own also. For that he had not during the late interview considered in the least his life-long friend Maharbal, to whom he yet was absolutely devoted, would have been patent to the simplest mind, among which class that of Elissa could hardly be reckoned.

But Hannibal had only been acting up to his own old theory and practice. The State before everything!

CHAPTER VII.
ZAMA.

The following morning the opposing armies were drawn up in battle array as follows. Scipio placed in front the Hastati, with an interval between their maniples. The Principes came next, but these, contrary to the usual plan, were not placed so as to cover the intervals behind the Hastati. On the contrary, Scipio placed the maniples of the Principes directly behind the maniples of the spearmen in the front line. In the rear of these two lines he placed the Triarii, still leaving intervals. This he did to leave room for the enemy’s elephants to pass between the various ranks. Caius Lælius, who was fighting on land now, commanded the Roman cavalry on the left wing; but on the right was the traitor Massinissa with all his Numidians. As Maharbal viewed, before the beginning of the battle, this noble force of Numidian cavalry massed on the Roman side, some four thousand men in all, he groaned aloud, and cursed his cousin by all the gods of Avernus. And this he did the more heartily, since he saw waving amid their ranks various standards and emblems which he well remembered seeing in his boyhood borne by the troops of his jovial uncle Syphax.

Hannibal arranged his men as follows. He covered the whole of his front with no less than eighty elephants. Behind the elephants came twelve thousand mercenaries of various tribes and nationalities—Celts and Ligurians, Mauretani and Balearic Islanders. Behind these mercenaries came the native Libyans and Carthaginians, while in rear of all he placed the men upon whom he knew he could thoroughly rely. These were the men whom he had brought with him from Italy, whom he held in reserve more than an eighth of a mile in the rear. He placed his Numidian allies under Tychæus upon his left wing, while the Carthaginian cavalry were on the right. And now all was ready for the fray.

Before the battle actually commenced each of the commanders exhorted his men. Scipio bid them remember their former victories, to show themselves men of mettle worthy of their reputation and their country, and to understand that the effect of their victory would be not only to make themselves masters of Libya but to give them and their country the supremacy and undisputed lordship of the world. Thus he urged them to charge the enemy with the steady resolve to conquer or to die, and not to think of disgraceful flight under any circumstances.

Hannibal left the task of exhorting the men of the various forces to their own officers, with the exception of his own army of Italy. To them he addressed himself personally, and seeing what was the final result of the battle his speech was pathetic in the extreme. For he begged this army of Italy “to remember the many years during which they had been brothers in arms, and the number of battles they had fought with the Romans in which they had never been beaten or given the Romans even a hope of victory. Above all, putting all the countless minor successes aside, he charged them to remember the battle of the Trebia against Scipio’s father, the battle in Etruria against Flaminius, and the battle of Cannæ against Æmilius, with none of which was the present struggle to be compared, whether in regard to the number or the excellence of the enemy’s men. Let them only raise their eyes and look at the enemy’s ranks, they would see that they were not merely fewer than those whom they had fought before, but as to their soldierly qualities there was no comparison. The former Roman armies had come to the struggle untainted by memories of past defeats, while these men were the sons or the remnants of those who had been beaten in Italy and fled before him again and again. They ought not, therefore, to undo the glory and fame of their former achievements, but to struggle with a firm and brave resolve to maintain their former reputation of invincibility.”

Meanwhile the Numidians upon each side had become already engaged, and the plain was covered with the wheeling, charging, retiring and advancing bodies of cavalry. For the usual Numidian tactics were being pursued at this opening stage.

Now Hannibal gave the order for the elephants to charge. But many of these ferocious brutes, being only imperfectly trained, becoming frightened at the blaring of the Roman trumpets and horns, turned back again upon their own side and charged in among the allied Numidian cavalry fighting Massinissa upon the left wing, thus making it easy for that Numidian prince to rout his kinsman Tychæus thoroughly. The rest of the elephants did a considerable amount of damage to the Romans, but, owing to the spaces that Scipio had left between the maniples, down which many of them charged, not half the amount of damage that they ought to have done. And then, their bodies being full of darts, they ran away to the right, being driven off the field by further darts from the Roman cavalry in the Roman left wing. And the elephants being out of the way, Caius Lælius with all his horse charged the Carthaginian cavalry opposed to them and put them to flight, being joined by Massinissa with his Numidians in the pursuit, which resulted in an utter rout.

And now the Roman infantry and the mercenaries of the Carthaginian front line charged each other, the Romans clashing with their swords upon their shields as they advanced, making a deafening and terrible din.

But the Celts and Mauretani, the Balearic Islanders and the Ligurians were not disconcerted either by these terrifying sounds or by the awe-inspiring sight of the huge sombre plumes waving above the helmets of the advancing Romans, making them appear about two feet greater in stature than ordinary men.

Raising in turn their own fierce war-cries, each in his own tongue, the mercenaries stood their ground nobly, and now every man, foot to foot, body to body, and shield to shield, cut and thrust and cut and thrust again, while as each man went down, his comrade stepped up from the rear and filled his vacant place. For long the issue of the combat between the front lines of the infantry remained uncertain, while men went down in hundreds, never to rise again.

At length, owing to the steadiness of the rear ranks of the Romans, who supported and encouraged their front rank men, while on the other hand, the cowardly Carthaginian levies, in rear of the mercenaries, began to waver and then to give way, the Romans began to gain ground. Thus the mixed bodies of foreign troops, being forced back by the weight of the Romans, and realising that they were being shamelessly deserted by their own side, turned their backs upon the Romans in front of them and joined them in falling upon the Carthaginian troops in their rear who had failed to support them.

And as Hannibal, who, with Maharbal, was remaining in rear with the reserves of the army of Italy, would by no means allow them to enter his ranks, but had them thrust back with the spear’s point, these flying Carthaginians were now compelled, whether they would or no, to face to the front again and fight. This they did with the fury and courage of despair when it was too late, and, furiously charging their own mercenaries and the Romans combined, not only killed many of their own men, but threw the ranks of the hitherto successful Hastati into confusion; whereupon Scipio advanced his Principes of the second line to drive them back. By this time, however, the greater part of the mercenaries and the Carthaginians had either killed each other or been killed by the Hastati, who were also many of them dead or dying. The ground was now so utterly encumbered with wounded men and corpses, and so slippery with blood, while arms and shields were tossed about everywhere in helpless confusion, that it was impossible for Scipio to advance in line formation his Principes, with their supports of the third line—that is, the Triarii against the main body of the army of Italy which was waiting under Hannibal for their advance.

Sounding a bugle, therefore, Scipio recalled such of the Hastati as had pursued beyond the zone where the bodies were lying thickest, and halted them there.

Then putting his Principes and Triarii into formations of files two or four deep, he threaded his way with them through the area where the dead and dying lay in heaps, and then re-formed all these fresh men into line again upon the other side, one line being as before in rear of the other.

He now caused such of the Hastati as had survived to fall in on the flanks of the new troops. These arrangements being made, he continued his advance.

Now Hannibal and Maharbal and all their veterans of many a hundred combats were thirsting for the fray, which they had been compelled, while inactive themselves, to witness for so long.

“Charge!” cried Hannibal.

“Charge!” re-echoed Maharbal.

“Charge!” repeated every one of the captains.

With a roar like the roar of the sea did the gallant remnant of the army of Italy advance and throw themselves upon the Romans with a fury that was terrible to behold. For the Romans, man for man, were no better, nay, not so good as their antagonists, and soon they began to fall back, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until at length they were falling backwards over the heaps of corpses they had, while advancing, just passed, the Carthaginians following, cutting down and slaying them with triumphant shouts of victory. It seemed as if the day were indeed lost for Scipio, and as if, despite the double misfortune of the stampede of the elephants and the cowardice of the Carthaginian levies, Hannibal would once more prove the victor, upon Carthaginian even as on Roman soil.

But alas! what is this? From the left rear comes a thundering sound! it is the Numidian Massinissa returning from the pursuit of Tychæus and falling with his horsemen in a solid body upon the Carthaginian left flank and rear. And alas! what again is this? From the right rear also there comes a thundering sound as Caius Lælius, with his five thousand Roman cavalry, returning from the pursuit of the Carthaginian horse, falls upon the right flank and rear in turn.

Fight hard now and invoke the gods, ye soldiers of Hannibal! fight hard and strike home, for never again shall ye fight under your beloved leader!

Strike now, Maharbal! strike, Bostar! strike, Hanno! Hamilcar! Adherbal! Strike, all ye captains, for the dying lion’s sake, and if ye must die, see that ye die as becometh your leader’s reputation. A life for a life! die but yield not!

And so for want of cavalry, hemmed in upon all sides, even as Hannibal himself had hemmed the Romans in at Cannæ, did the army of Italy fall. Seeing at last that all was lost, hopelessly, irretrievably lost, Hannibal called together Maharbal and such of the other mounted officers as still lived, and forming them up into a little group, boldly charged, sword in hand, the surrounding cavalry on the right flank.

And as many of these were Roman soldiers, who had seen Hannibal and Maharbal at Cannæ and in many other encounters, they were filled with alarm at the sight of these two well-known warriors falling upon them. Therefore even in this, their very moment of victory, they fell back, terror-stricken, before the defeated lion and his giant companion. Thus they cut their way through, themselves unharmed, and riding off the battle-field, continued to retreat at full gallop for several miles before drawing rein, taking the route to Adrumentum, which had been left garrisoned. Thus ended the battle of Zama, which decided the fate of the world; and thus, for the first and the last time in his life, was Hannibal, the great, the hitherto invincible Hannibal, forced to fly before the face of an enemy.

CHAPTER VIII.
CONCLUSION.

Although Elissa had seen the disposition of the troops, and even been present on the field of battle during the earliest stages of the combat, she had been spared the bitter humiliation of being an actual witness of her father’s defeat.

For, with a view to possibly making use of his daughter later on in the case of certain eventualities, no sooner had Hannibal witnessed the disastrous stampede of the elephants than, determined at all events to secure her safety, he had started her off with a small escort of cavalry, with definite instructions to make all speed to Adrumentum, and to remain there until his own arrival, or until he should send for her to join him in Carthage itself. Alas! his own arrival in Adrumentum almost coincided with her own; for when it came to be a case of retreating, Hannibal retreated with as much rapidity as he had been previously wont to advance. For well he knew how quickly ill news can spread, and the absolute necessity of thoroughly securing the town before the garrison had been given sufficient time to become lukewarm or weak-hearted in his cause.

Once he had arrived upon the scene, he did not give anyone in the place time to think, so actively did he keep everyone employed working at the fortifications, drilling, bringing in provisions, and preparing for a siege, or generally occupied in some capacity or other which gave no time for treason or negligence.

Scipio, hearing soon of the state of security in which Hannibal had placed Adrumentum, and that, moreover, he had a large fleet lying off the place, determined not to invest that town. He marched to Carthage instead, and sending for the Suffetes and the Council of One Hundred, dictated to them the terms upon which alone he would make peace. And that they were now ten times more crushing than those which he had offered to Hannibal before the battle of Zama is not a matter for surprise. The astute Scipio, however, had only made such terribly onerous terms in order to be able, if necessary, to modify them in some degree. Therefore, when the Hundred humbly suggested that they would wish to send for Hannibal, to consult with him before agreeing to the terms of the treaty to be forwarded to Rome, the Roman General agreed at once. He sent word that Hannibal should have a safe conduct to Carthage, and requested the Senate to convey to him his wishes that his daughter should accompany him. For now he was in a position to demand compliance with his wishes, and he knew it.

Hannibal came from Adrumentum to Carthage by sea, accompanied by several ships, and anchored in the gulf exactly opposite the house on the Tœnia, whence he had started with his father Hamilcar, when only a boy of nine, on his march along the Mediterranean to the Pillars of Hercules.

The house on the Tœnia still belonged to him, and he disembarked there with his daughter and Maharbal, bitterness in his soul. No joyous demonstrations were there to welcome his return, although an enormous throng of people crowded on the port to obtain a sight of him. But he dismissed all those who would have speech of him, and having entered the house, wherein every passage and doorway was well known to him, he proceeded at once to the verandah on the first floor and looked out.

There was everything just as it had been upon that memorable occasion when his father Hamilcar had called him in upon the day of Matho’s execution. Across the gulf the high hills of the Hermæan Promontory were as dark and serrated as ever, the waters of the gulf itself were just as green and flecked with white foam as they had been then. The headland named Cape Carthage stood up as boldly as in days gone by, while between him and it lay the whole expanse of the city of Carthage, with its various temples to Moloch and Tanais in the distance, and the Forum in the foreground, all absolutely unchanged.

Hannibal moved round the balcony to the back of the house. Ay! there was the very fig-tree in the garden, under which he had been playing at war with his brothers Hasdrubal and Mago when his father had called him. Ah! the place might not have changed, but the people! What had become of them? His little brother Hasdrubal to begin with. Had not his head, all bloody and disfigured, after being cut off at the battle of the Metaurus, been brutally cast over the palisades into his own camp in Southern Italy, the first warning that he had of his brothers having crossed the Alps. And little Mago, who had been with Hasdrubal up in the fig-tree, where was he now? But recently dead, also killed like Hasdrubal by the Romans. And he, Hannibal, what was his own position? That of a disgraced man, disgraced by the Romans. Oh! how he hated them, how well he remembered his vow of hatred made with his father in the temple of Melcareth, of which he could espy the roof yonder. He yearned that for every Roman he had slain he might have slain ten, ay, might yet slay ten. And yet he was, he knew it, but here himself in Carthage solely on the sufferance of the Roman General Scipio, a young man who had vanquished him in war, and yet one who loved his daughter. Vainly now did Hannibal wish that he had allowed Elissa to pursue her voyage to Syracuse after the sea-fight at Locri, and fulfil her engagement to espouse this Scipio. For he well saw how much better it would have been for his country. He vainly wished also that he had not been so severe with Scipio during the interview before the battle of Zama. But how could he foretell that all the elephants were going to stampede, or that the Carthaginian levies would prove such arrant cowards? He cursed the Carthaginians in his heart even more than the Romans when he thought of it all; but even while despising his fellow-countrymen he did not despise his native country, but loved it as much as ever.

Ay! as he looked out and saw the olive groves, the pomegranate trees, the waving cornfields, the orange trees, the houses, the marble temples, and the green dancing sea beyond, he felt, indeed, that he loved his country as much as ever. But never could he have dreamed that the hour of his return could have been so bitter as the hour of anguish through which he was then passing. The mighty warrior thought of his father and the past, the long past of years and years ago. Then he laid his head upon the cold marble of the balustrade and wept—wept bitter tears at that very spot where, when a little boy, his father Hamilcar had bade him look well around and impress every land-mark, every headland, on his memory. For to this spot had he not returned—disgraced!

The following morning Hannibal was informed that the Roman General Scipio wished to see him. He was obliged to repair to the palace in the suburbs which Scipio occupied. The latter strove to receive him in a manner not to hurt his dignity, for whatever he might feel for the other Carthaginian generals, for Hannibal himself he had the most unbounded respect. A long conference took place between Hannibal and Scipio in private upon the terms of the treaty about to be concluded, and Scipio made to him a suggestion, which was absolutely for his ears alone. It was to the following effect: Although, so he said, it was now utterly impossible for him, the Roman General, to modify the general terms of the treaty, which were, he owned, excessively severe—as, owing to the various acts of treachery on the part of the Carthaginians, they deserved to be—on one very important clause Scipio proposed a modification, but upon one condition only. This clause was that the Roman General and the Roman army should remain in Carthage at the expense of the Carthaginians until the whole of the war indemnity should be paid. This implied a Roman occupation of the country for at least twenty years to come, for so enormous was the indemnity required it could not be paid sooner. And after twenty years would they ever go? This clause Scipio expressed to Hannibal his willingness to forego should the Carthaginian General give him even now his daughter in marriage. Under such circumstances Scipio pledged himself to evacuate Carthage with all his army, and sail for Sicily at once, leaving the care of protecting Roman interests to his ally Massinissa. And he vowed, by all the gods of Rome, that, should he once set foot on Sicilian soil in company with Hannibal’s daughter, not only would he never again himself set foot upon Carthaginian soil, but that he would, to the utmost, discourage all future attempts upon Carthage from any Roman sources.

Hannibal was too astute to allow to appear upon his countenance the joy that he felt at this proposal. On the contrary, he made difficulties, talked of Elissa having changed her mind since the battle of Zama, and being, he now feared, thoroughly averse to Scipio. So well did he manage matters that Scipio was quite pleased when, almost as a favour, Hannibal consented in the end to consider the matter, and promised to speak to Elissa about it. The next morning, without acquainting Elissa or Maharbal with the subject of his conversation with Scipio, he requested them both to accompany him to the temple of the great god Melcareth, there to offer a solemn sacrifice at the same altar at which he had participated in the sacrifice with his father Hamilcar.

To the temple of Melcareth the three accordingly proceeded, and with the most serious and awful rites, offered up, under the instructions and guidance of an ancient priest, named Himilco, a most solemn and terrible sacrifice. This old man, Himilco, was the same who had been a priest in the temple in the time of Hannibal’s youth, and had known him from a boy. He was now an old man eighty years of age, with a white beard that reached down to his knees. His sanctity was most renowned, and he was looked upon, with reason, as a prophet by all the people. Under his guidance, for he had doubtless been somewhat, if only partly, prompted in his part by Hannibal, Maharbal and Elissa each made a most terrible vow, invoking, in case of failure to observe it, the most awful penalties of all the gods, to sacrifice themselves to the very last for the good of their country. The priest now caused them to plunge their arms up to the elbow in the blood of the sacrifice, and to vow solemnly to be guided, without question, by Hannibal alone as to what was to be considered for the good of their country; for the old man told them that the great god Melcareth was even at that very moment there present, and pervading all the space in the temple, and that the god had informed him that Hannibal alone was at this moment the arbiter of his country’s fate. To disobey him would therefore be death here and awful damnation hereafter.

While the old man was impressively dictating to the pair the terms of the prescribed oath, the temple became dark. Sounds of rolling thunder were heard, and sudden flames flew from the altar to the roof, to be as suddenly extinguished. There could now be no doubt about the presence of the mighty god among them. They all fell upon their faces during his manifestation. At length Hannibal arose, and most solemnly declared that he had had a vision. That vision was that he had seen Elissa being joined in marriage to Scipio by the very high priest now before them. He further said that it had been revealed to him by the god in his vision that by that means alone could salvation come to unhappy Carthage, for upon Scipio being united to Elissa in marriage he would leave Carthage with all his army, and, he added, that it would be sufficient for Scipio to be accompanied by Elissa as far as the island of Sicily for the god to lay a spell upon him under which he would never return to Libyan soil.

Vainly did Maharbal declare to the high priest and to Hannibal that Elissa was his wife, and his alone.

“Where are thy witnesses?” replied the high priest. “ ’Tis true the gods did allow a semblance of a marriage between ye, yet had not the priest my license. And, in token of their displeasure, that priest is already dead. A marriage without two witnesses is no legal marriage. Thou sayest that Hannibal was thy witness. One witness is not enough, oh Maharbal, in Carthage, whatever it may be in Spain or Italy. Moreover, think of thine awful oath. And is not the great god Melcareth speaking through Hannibal, whom ye have bound yourselves to obey?”

Now it was Elissa’s turn to protest. With tears in her eyes she declared that she was indeed Maharbal’s wife in very sooth, and could not now possibly give herself to any other man with honour.

“Think of thine oath!” firmly replied the aged priest, “and fear the anger of the immortal gods. ’Tis thou, Elissa, alone who canst save thy country; ’tis thou alone who canst withdraw the invader hence. Land with him but in Sicily and thou shalt be free; but dare thou but to breathe to him one word, and such an awful curse shall fall, not only upon thee and Maharbal, but upon thy country and thy father Hannibal, through thee, that ye had all better have died a thousand deaths on Zama’s battle-field. Thou must be wed to Scipio by me. That is thy fate, for I, too, have had a vision. Ah! the terrible gods are now angry. Submit thyself, proud woman, to their immortal will.”

At this moment the rolling thunder recommenced louder than before, while the lightning flashes from the altar were more frequent and more vivid. The scene in the temple was most awful and impressive, and all, including the aged priest, fell upon their faces.

Elissa hesitated no longer.

“It is the will of the gods!” she muttered. “I must obey.”

“And thou?” inquired the high priest, turning to Maharbal.

“If it be the will of the gods,” he replied, “how can I resist? But I would that the gods were men that I might fight this matter out with them at the point of my sword. I could soon show them who was in the right.”

But, upon Maharbal uttering this awful blasphemy, such a peal of thunder shook the sacred fane that it seemed as though it would fall. He now fell upon his face, repentant, for he realised that he was failing in his vow, and it was indeed evident that the gods were angry.

Before they all left the temple in fear and trembling, both Maharbal and Elissa had humbly asked forgiveness of the gods for trying, against their immortal wishes, to set up their own weak wills, and had once more vowed, in order to appease them, to consider their country, and their country only. To confirm this feeling in both their hearts, the old priest informed them that it would be impious on their parts to consider themselves any longer as husband and wife, and that they must separate as such from that moment. For, whether she would or no, the salvation of her country depended upon Elissa marrying Scipio. Therefore, with sadness, these twain became once more strangers to each other at the temple door.

Ten days afterwards the marriage of Elissa with Scipio was solemnised in that very temple, when the Roman General declared that he recognised in the high priest him whom he had seen in his vision. He reminded his bride, with a happy smile, of what he had written to her; but Elissa’s face wore in return no corresponding glow of happiness. For so terribly complex were her feelings that she knew she had no right to be happy, and, had it not been for her vow, would doubtless have taken her own life. Hannibal had, however, reminded her that in no wise could she benefit her country by so doing, and that her duty to Carthage lay in taking Scipio and his army away from its shores and completely beyond the seas. Once she had landed there her life was in her own hands. She would meanwhile have the satisfaction of having obeyed the mandates of the gods by sacrificing herself upon this occasion.

There were indeed reasons why she should not have married Scipio, the man whom she really loved, and yet her terrible oath prevented her from revealing them to him. And Elissa felt it all the more deeply because she was at heart the very soul of honour.

Upon the same afternoon that the marriage took place did Scipio and all his army embark for Sicily. He himself and his pale but beautiful bride were accommodated upon a most luxurious and stately hexireme. Upon the voyage, which lasted two days, Scipio could not in any way account for the apparent state of alternate gaiety and despondency of his bride. She scarcely seemed to know what she was doing, and despite all the caresses that he showered upon her, ever seemed to shudder and draw back if inadvertently she had herself returned but one of them.

Upon landing at Libybæum in Sicily, no sooner had she disembarked, than, falling on her knees before him, Elissa presented Scipio with the hilt of a dagger, and, with many bitter tears, told him all, absolutely without reserve, beseeching him to slay her on the spot.

At first his fury was so great that he was even about to do so, but then he mastered himself completely, and his wonted nobility and greatness of character did not desert him even in this awful crisis.

Scipio dashed the dagger to the ground violently.

“Nay!” he exclaimed, “I will not slay thee, Elissa, for thou art but like myself, the victim of a cruel, a pitiless fate, and not thyself to blame. May the gods protect thee in the future as in the past, and guide thee to do that which is right. As for me, I do forgive thee, for now I know the truth indeed, which is that thou dost love me most. But to mine enemy Maharbal do I owe my life thrice over. To him, therefore, will I return two lives—thine and that of his unborn child. Farewell, Elissa!—farewell for ever, beloved!”

He kissed her tenderly on the forehead, and thus they parted, to meet no more in this world, for Scipio sent her back to Carthage that same day.

But Elissa never held up her head again; she pined, and grew paler day by day. And when at the expiration of the half-year her son was born, she died in giving him birth.

Thus perished in all the bloom of her beauty one who was ever a martyr to duty and to her country’s cause, Elissa, Hannibal’s daughter.

THE END.