“I have not the honour of being in the Regent’s confidence, my lord. Maybe that my lord will get the information that he requires on perusal of these two letters which I have the honour to present to his lordship.”
And with another obeisance the herald presented them to Adherbal, who tossed them carelessly on the table before him, and called for a cup of wine.
A loud laugh from one of the young nobles seated negligently close by here interrupted the colloquy; he was evidently in a jovial mood, and in no awe of the general.
“Upon my word, Adherbal, I think the fellow’s right, and by Astarte, the sweet goddess of love, he got thee that time. He seems a model of discretion, at all events. I think that while thou art discussing thy stoup of wine, I had better take him in hand a bit and see if I can make him a little more communicative. Look here, my fine fellow, how many women have they up in the palace there on the hill, and are they fond of love, and are they pretty, and are there any men there making love to them, and who is the lover of this Regent and daughter, or I don’t know what you call her, of New Carthage? And is there any chance for a good-looking fellow like me, Imlico, the son of Mago, or for an ugly fellow like that Ariston yonder, son of—who art thou the son of, Ariston? the wine hath caused me to forget completely thy distinguished parentage. Or again, think ye, Sir Herald, that there is to be found within this precious town a distinguished-looking female who could reciprocate the loving glances of my portly friend here, the noble Zeno, formerly of Rhodes? A very firebrand of love is Zeno, and the very prince of good fellows. I daresay thou art a good enough fellow thyself, by the bye. Take a cup of wine and think of all my questions and answer them afterwards. Take thou mine own goblet, ’tis but newly filled; and are we not both Carthaginians? I wager thee ’tis the first time ever thou drankest from a golden cup belonging to one of the Sacred Band.”
And he handed the cup to the herald, who, fearful of offending, took and drank slowly, sip by sip, as if he were a connoisseur, thus obviating the necessity for the reply which Imlico awaited patiently.
“Sayest thou nought?” said the somewhat stout noble called Zeno. “Tell me, Sir Herald, what is the news from Saguntum?”
“Saguntum fell more than a week ago,” answered the herald readily.
“Saguntum fallen, by Pluto!” exclaimed Adherbal, who had been getting moody and sulky over his wine, and was sitting with a frown on his face.
“And what news of Hannibal?” asked Ariston, thinking that his turn had now come for a question.
“Some of Hannibal’s troops are expected in from Saguntum very shortly,” answered the herald once more, with equal readiness.