It so happened that shortly after daybreak a small fishing craft coming from the south crept into the harbour. The occupants, three in number, had with them a plentiful supply of fish of several kinds. The more ordinary sorts they readily disposed of to the soldiery, but a particularly fine selection of the choicer red mullets and grey mullets they would on no account part with, saying that they were a present for the Roman General himself. Carrying their burden between them, the fishermen had no difficulty in approaching the headquarters of the General, especially as one of them, the youngest and most ragged-looking of the three, strange to say, not only spoke the Latin tongue but spoke it well.
When the fishermen arrived in front of the guard posted over the young General’s tent, they were allowed to proceed no further. They created, however, such an uncouth clamour, after the manner of fishermen, that Scipio and Lælius looked out from the tent where they were sitting to see what was the cause of the disturbance. They arrived on the scene just in time to prevent the audacious fishermen from being struck down by the butt ends of the soldiers’ spears.
“Publius Scipio! Publius! dost thou not know me?” cried out the ragged one, laughing. “ ’Tis thy kinsman, Marcus Primus, that would greet thee with a present of fish, ay, and of his own catching, too! Approach, I pray thee, and see these red mullets. Never yet hast thou seen the like,” and he drew out several from the basket at his feet, letting them slip back again through his fingers with an air of pride.
Both Scipio and Lælius stared a moment in surprise, and then they too burst out into hearty laughter, while, to the astonishment of the guards, the General embraced the ragged fisherman most heartily, all covered with scales as he was.
“By Poseidon, king of the seas! my kinsman,” cried he, “a right good fisherman indeed thou art; but by all the gods! whence brought ye these fish? Are they perchance just fresh from the River Styx, for I did greatly fear that thou hadst gained the dark Plutonian shore some moons ago?”
“Nay, nay, Scipio, my cousin, these be no fish from Hades, and I am not dead, but truly living, and have much to tell thee, so ye will first but order me a bath and fitting attire in which to appear before the Roman Commander. But now let me commend unto thee these my comrades in many a perilous adventure by land and sea. See to it, I pray thee, that thou have them well treated, for much good have they done for the Roman cause in thus saving me and bringing me to thee, oh Scipio, as thou and Lælius shall learn anon.”
The guards soon took care of the fishermen, while Marcus was himself instantly taken into Scipio’s own tent, rendered presentable, and provided with a repast, of which he seemed much in need, and in which he was joined by the two generals. There were no traces of effeminacy now about his sunburnt features as he lay there on a couch, eating the first decently-served meal he had seen since he had escaped from New Carthage.
“By Bacchus!” exclaimed he gleefully, as he drained off a cup of old wine. “I tell thee, Caius Lælius, I envy thee thy profession of the sea. Nought is there like a few months in an open boat to make thee healthy and hearty. Then, again, how glorious the good red wine tasteth after nought but the trickling springs of water collected in caves in the rocks, or the rain water caught in the hollow of a sail when far out at sea. How dost thou like my fish, most noble Scipio? Ho, ho! a fisherman’s life for me, say I! There is now none so cunning as I with a hook, and thou shalt, my kinsman, appoint me no longer to the command of thy vulgar maniples and squadrons, to fight with Libyans and Iberians, but to the command of a noble fleet of fishing boats; and then Piscator General Marcus Primus shall daily make war upon the finny monsters of the deep, and provide the army on shore with dainties fit for Lucullus himself.”
Laughing again, he tossed off another cup of wine, for he was in high good humour to find himself once more with friends and comrades. While Caius Lælius did ample justice to the finny trophies of their guest, Scipio could hardly eat a morsel, so anxiously was he awaiting the moment when he might, with decent politeness, send away the attendant slaves, and ask the question nearest to his heart.
At last the time came.