Adherbal himself was a dark, very powerfully built, and handsome man of about thirty. He was continually laughing and showing his white teeth, and seemed to be generally well contented with his own person. But his smiles were too many, and his bonhomie often deceptive, for, although he was personally brave, he was nevertheless at heart a thorough villain. His wealth being unbounded, he had been hitherto always able to indulge to the utmost in the debauchery in which he revelled, and there was no baseness or fraud to which, by means of his wealth, he had not frequently descended, in the pursuit of women of immaculate life and high station in Carthage. He was the leader of the most dissolute band of young nobles in all Carthage, and his high rank and station alone as Commander of the Sacred Band, and as the head of the now paramount family in that city, had hitherto been the means of his immunity from punishment in any way, either for his own notorious escapades or for those of the followers who consorted with him, and who, under his protection, vied with each other in imitating his iniquities. Among these companions it had frequently been his boast that there was no woman, no matter of what rank or family, upon whom he had cast his eyes, who had not, sooner or later, either by force or fraud, become his victim. And these boasts were, unfortunately, true; many a family having been made miserable, many a happy home made wretched by his unbridled license and wickedness. It was during a drinking bout to which he had invited the Roman envoys, and when he was boasting as usual in his cups, that Ariston, one of his companions, jealous of his success where some woman, whom he himself fancied, was concerned, had taunted him before all those assembled.
“Oh, yes!” said Ariston banteringly, “we all know that thou art a sad dog, Adherbal, and that here in Carthage thou wilt soon be compelled to weep like Alexander, because thou hast no more worlds left to conquer. For soon, doubtless, either all the maidens will be dead for love of thee, or else all the fathers of families or the husbands of pretty wives will have destroyed them to preserve them from thee. And yet, for all that, I venture to state that there is one Carthaginian family, whose dishonour thou wouldst more willingly compass than any other, where even such a seductive dog as thyself can never hope for success, and whose honour, despite all thine arts, shall always remain inviolable. And yet, if report says true, there is a beautiful young maiden in that family, one so lovely, indeed, that not one of all those who have hitherto felt thy kisses can be mentioned in the same breath with her. But she is not for thee, oh, Adherbal! thou most glorious votary of Tanais; no, this is game, my noble falcon, at which even thou darest not to fly.”
“For whom, then, is this pretty pigeon reserved, my good Ariston? Is it, perchance, for thine own dovecote that she hath the distinguished honour of being reserved? Well, here’s to thy success!”
Thus he answered, scornfully tossing off a huge bumper of wine.
“No, not for me either,” replied Ariston; “it is not for me to rashly venture in where the bold Adherbal dares not even place a foot within the doorway. But I am sorry for thee, Adherbal, for the pretty bird would well have suited thy gilded cage in the suburbs of the Megara.”
“I will wager thee five hundred talents that thou liest, Ariston,” replied the other, inflamed with wine, and irritated at the banter which was making the other boon companions laugh at his expense. “I will wager thee five hundred silver talents,” he repeated, “that there is no family in Carthage where, if it so please me, I dare not place a foot; there is no quarry upon whom I dare not swoop, if I so choose, ay, nor fail to bear off successfully to mine eyrie in the Megara. But name this most noble family, pray, name this peerless beauty of thine, and we will see,” and he laughed defiantly, and took another deep draught of wine.
“I said not a family in Carthage, I said a Carthaginian family,” answered Ariston, purposely provoking and tantalising him. “I spoke of a more beautiful girl than either thou or any one at this festive board hath ever yet seen.”
But now the curiosity of all the other convives, including the Roman envoys, was aroused.
“The name, the name!” they cried tumultuously; “name the family and name the girl.”
“The family is that of Hannibal; the girl whose favours even Adherbal dareth not seek to obtain is Elissa, Hannibal’s daughter.”