But with the imprudence of youth he exposed almost his entire body beyond the merlon, and when he managed to plunge an arrow into the tower he laughed, standing in the open crenel insulting the besiegers with his boisterous peals of boyish laughter.
A stone from a catapult in the tower came whizzing and struck his head with a mournful crash. Blood and torn flesh spattered over those nearest him, and the boy, doubling up as if made of rags, rolled through the crenel and fell outside the wall. The arrows from his quiver struck roundabout his body with a metallic ring.
"Mopsus! Mopsus!" shouted Actæon, striving to restrain the bowman.
The old man had rushed out upon the wall, wholly unprotected, his eyes glassy, his gray beard quivering, impotent from grief and rage.
Three times he tried to draw his bow to shoot at the platform in the tower which held the catapult, but in spite of his efforts he could not bend his weapon. Grief, surprise, despair, at being unable to exterminate his enemies with a single blow deprived him of his strength.
While he stood struggling with the rigid bow which seemed to rebel against him, the enemy's projectiles were hissing around his head. Finding himself powerless, aged in an instant by grief, gazing down upon the mangled body of his son, and unable to avenge him, he uttered a moan, and summoning all the strength of his will he sprang outside the wall, and fell upon the corpse of Erotion. His head struck against the stones with a resounding thud, a stream of blood ran from it, and father and son formed a motionless pile a short distance from the assailants, who continued pounding with the battering-rams, and digging at the base of the wall.
The unequal struggle lasted almost throughout the day. The Saguntines defending this part of the wall could not repulse the advance of the enemy. They felt the dull thud of the pickaxes, the wall seemed to reel beneath their feet, and they could do nothing to prevent the progress of the besiegers.
Slowly the defenders began to retire. Actæon, saddened by the tragic death of his compatriot, and convinced that it was useless to remain at that point, advised them to retreat into the interior of the city. He fell back with some of his men, and soon a tower, eaten away at its base by the battering-ram, tottered and fell to the ground with a great roar of rubbish, and filled the air with dust. After this two other towers were battered down, and a long stretch of wall collapsed, burying in the débris the most obstinate defenders who had remained at their posts until the last moment.
An awe-inspiring acclamation, a howl of savage joy from without greeted the overthrow of the walls. From the city streets the desolated fields and one end of the camp could be seen through the open breach. Arms glittered in the dense atmosphere, reddened by the dust of the shattered walls; dark bodies of troops could be seen advancing, and trumpet blasts resounded.