“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.”