News came that Hannibal had set forth upon his campaign and was slowly approaching, and with such tidings a gust of war seemed to sweep over Saguntum inflaming the minds of the most prudent. The peace-loving merchants with the mute choler of pacific-minded men who see their possessions endangered, stood in the doorways of their shops cleaning the rust from old arms, or they went down to the river bank to practise using them, mingling with the young men, who, since sunrise, had been making their horses caracole, gaining skill in the management of the lance, or improving themselves in archery under the direction of Mopsus.
Actæon now began to spend his days away from the villa, deaf to the prayers of Sónnica, who longed to have him ever near her. The Senate had given him command of the peltasts, the light infantry, and at the head of some hundreds of young men, barefooted and with no other defensive arm than a cuirass of wool and a shield of osiers, he ran along the river bank, teaching them to hurl darts without stopping in their race, to wound an enemy as they passed swiftly by his side, without giving him time to respond with another blow.
This exercise over, the perspiring youths dived into the river to refresh themselves with a swim, while the Greek slowly returned to the villa, lingering in the most smiling spots of the domain.
One afternoon the Athenian met Erotion, the potter, at the foot of an enormous cherry tree, gazing into the tallest branches, from which fell a shower of red fruit shaken down by an invisible hand. They had not met since the day when Actæon surprised him modeling before the nude shepherdess.
The youth greeted the Greek with a smile.
"Are you no longer busy?" asked Actæon with paternal kindness. "Have you finished your work?"
The boy answered with a gesture of indifference: "My work! Do not laugh at me, Greek. I have nothing to do."
"And where is Rhanto?"
"She is in the top of that tree, gathering the finest cherries for me. She climbs like a wood-nymph and she will not let me go with her. She is afraid I shall hurt myself."
The branches of the cherry tree shook, and the shepherdess descended, agile as a squirrel, her limbs bare, her skirt gathered up and filled with cherries. She and her lover devoured them amid laughter, their lips ruddy with the crimson fruit-juice, and they decorated each other's hair or hung yokes of cherries over their ears, forming picturesque ruby-colored earrings.