“There, would that not do for Sosilus? He would be delighted to parse, dissect, and destroy that little verse of mine, if he were only here. But, by Melcareth, Maharbal! versifying apart, do let me get at them soon; I can hardly keep my seat upon my horse for impatience.”
“Well spoken, my gallant poet,” replied Maharbal, smiling; “thou shalt, I wager, soon have plenty of mountaineering work to do in climbing over the bodies of the slain, so be not impatient. But one word. In attacking, look thou well to thy guard—you poets are so incautious. After striking, ever raise thy wrist and cover thyself again before another blow. Now farewell, and the gods be with thee; return to thy troops.”
Very shortly after these orders had been given, Maharbal issued from the wood and waved his sword with the attached handkerchief twice. Like arrows Chœras and his men started from their cover, and sweeping over the plain, avoiding the flanks, fell upon the rear of the Romans. Dreadful then was the slaughter of the footmen who had retired behind the Roman cavalry. At the same instant Maharbal swept round the other flank, and, leaving the footmen alone, fell with his men upon the rear of the Roman cavalry. The whole aspect of the battle was changed in a moment. The whole Roman force, with the exception of a band that rallied around Scipio, broke and fled, and the greater part of the Carthaginian horse pursued them. Maharbal, however, charged the serried foes around the Roman leader, and with his terrible blows had soon cut a lane right through their ranks up to the Commander himself, slaying the standard-bearer and seizing the standard. Vainly did Scipio raise his already tired arm to ward off the fearful blow that Maharbal now dealt. He struck at the Consul with all his force, but his sword, glancing off the Consul’s helmet, clove his shoulder. It cut clean through his armour and half-severed his right arm. The shock threw Scipio from the saddle, and his attendants now fled to a man. Maharbal was about to dismount, and secure the person of the Consul as his prisoner, when suddenly Monomachus burst upon the scene, wounded and dismounted, brandishing a bared dagger which he stooped to strike into the prostrate Roman’s throat. But first he plunged his hand in the Roman’s blood.
“Hold! hold, Monomachus!” cried Maharbal. “Slay him not, he is the General and a noble foe, and he is moreover my prisoner. Thou shalt not slay him!”
“Curse thee!” cried the slaughterer furiously, “I tell thee I will slay him, ay, and thee too if thou interfere,” and he knelt over the body of Scipio to despatch him.
At that moment there came a shock. A young Roman officer with five or six followers charged in upon the scene. With one spear-thrust the leader transfixed the neck of the bloody Monomachus, and then he instantly turned upon Maharbal.
“Ha! we meet again,” he cried, and rushed upon him. It was young Scipio! But he was no match for Maharbal, who easily avoided the spear-thrust, and then with a scornful laugh charged him in turn. Striking him merely with his fist, he knocked him off his saddle.
“Ay, once again we meet and once again I spare thee, Roman!” he cried, “and again I spare thee simply for thy valour’s sake.”
Then seeing himself surrounded by Romans, he struck down a couple of them, and pressing his horse out of the throng, escaped, bearing the Roman eagle with him.