Lælius, carried away by these words, sprang up enthusiastically.
“By Jupiter and Juno! By Mars and Venus! ’tis true, Scipio! ’twould bring a lasting peace. Well, ask her straight out, and may all the gods speed thy wooing. For on this matter I now see well hangs a most notable crisis. If thou canst win her now, the war ’twixt Rome and Carthage will be stayed. This Elissa is, in very truth, most wondrous beautiful, and once she were thy wife she would become a Roman. The world is quite big enough for Rome and Carthage together, therefore why should they not join hands? and, in sooth, what might we not do could we but form a combination? Think of it! Scipio, a combination between Rome and Carthage—Rome with all its glorious records of land victories, Carthage with its splendid fleets and immense naval power. Together we could conquer all the known and unknown worlds. ’Tis glorious, oh Scipio! I am with thee; there is my hand.”
Scipio was about to reply.
“Nay, speak not yet,” continued the other. “Think what we could win together. The League of the Achæans, the League of the Ætolians, the power of Macedon, the strength of Antiochus in Asia Minor, the pride of the Ptolemies in Egypt, all this together Carthage and Rome can subdue. And the honest love of a man for a maiden may accomplish all this. And a most glorious maiden is she, too. For whether or no she hath loved this Numidian Maharbal, there never yet was in this world such a woman as this Elissa, so strong is she in herself, so beautiful and so powerful. Make her thy wife, Scipio; then shall Rome and Carthage together conquer and reign supreme over all the world. Now, I leave thee.”
Gripping his friend’s hand warmly, Caius Lælius turned and left him. Every word that he had said was true: the whole future fate of the world depended upon that infinitesimal part of the world contained in one tiny unit—the body of one fair woman.
CHAPTER III.
FIGHTING WITH FATE.
There was a cool and refreshing northern breeze wafted off the seas when one morning the young warrior Scipio persuaded the Carthaginian maid to accompany him on horseback to a green, palm-studded headland stretching far out into the sea. Having dismounted and left their steeds with some slaves, the twain wandered on until they came to a sort of cave.
It was a natural archway overhung with wild fig and caper bushes, and having an aspect towards the delightfully blue waters of the Mediterranean. There had once been a temple to some god or goddess at the spot, and they seated themselves upon a fallen column in the recess. This was shaded by overhanging and luxuriant tufts of dew-bespangled maidenhair fern; it was, in fact, a most enchanting spot. Never was there such a glorious day; it was a day when merely to live was in itself an infinite joy. Across the sea could be seen, a hundred miles away, the faint outline of the Spanish land in a radiant haze, while close at hand, the rock-doves uttered cooing notes of love.
Placing his arm round Elissa’s shoulder and drawing her face near to his own, Scipio spoke.
“Elissa, thou canst see in the far distance the headlands showing; they are the coasts of Iberia. But what thou canst not see is the future of the world, and that thou hast it in thine own hands to shape that future now. Now, I can foresee much. And this I tell thee. I love thee, dear, and love thee deeply, and, wilt thou but give me thy love in return, thy nation and mine can conquer the world together. But before all I ask one thing, I ask thy love.”