Blind with rage they drew their bows against him but the arrows fell short of the spot where the Celtiberians were encamped. The maddened crowd experienced one slight consolation. The groups along the wall made way for Theron, the priest of Hercules, who advanced with the majesty of a god, his eyes fixed on the enemy, insensible to the general adoration which surrounded him.
The Saguntines persuaded themselves that they beheld Hercules himself, who perhaps had abandoned his temple on the Acropolis to come down to their walls. He was nude; an enormous lion skin covered his back. The wild beast's claws were crossed over his breast, and his head was covered by the cranium of the animal, with bristling whiskers, sharp teeth, and yellow glass eyes which shone between the tossed golden mane. His right hand clutched without visible effort the entire trunk of an oak tree which served him as a cudgel in imitation of the mace of the god. His shoulders towered above all other heads. His breasts were round and strong as shields, on which the veins and sinews were traced like tendrils winding round the muscles, and his columnar limbs, all excited admiration. His virility was the very type of sovereign power. He was so enormous that his head seemed small between his great shoulders, exaggerated in size by the cushion of his muscles; his chest heaved like a bellows, and instinctively all took a step backward, fearing contact with that machine of flesh created for strength.
Sónnica's friends, the young gallants, who, even on this extraordinary occasion had not forgotten to paint their faces, followed and admired him, ordering the crowd, to give them passage.
"Hail, Theron!" shouted Lachares. "We will see what Hannibal will do when he meets you in battle."
"Hail to the Saguntine Hercules!" replied the other youths, leaning weakly on the backs of their little slave boys.
The giant looked over the encampment, in which trumpets began to sound, and the soldiers ran to form in rank. The slingers cautiously advanced, sheltering themselves behind buildings and hummocks. The attack was about to begin. On the walls the bowmen drew their bows, and the boys piled up stones to hurl with their slings. The old men compelled the women to retire. At the head of the stairway leading up to the top of the wall, Euphobias the philosopher stood haranguing in the midst of a group, paying no heed to the indignation of his hearers.
"Blood is going to flow," he shouted; "you will all perish, and for what? I ask you what do you gain by not obeying Hannibal? You will always have a master, and it is just as well to be friends of Carthage as of Rome. The siege will be prolonged, and you will die of hunger; I shall outlive you all, because I know hunger from of old like a faithful friend. But again I ask you, what more does it profit you to be Romans than Carthaginians? Live and enjoy! Leave shedding of blood to the butchers, and before you think of putting another man to death, study your own selves. If you would give heed to my wisdom, if instead of scorning me, you would feed me in exchange for my advice, you would not be shut up in your city like foxes in a trap."
A chorus of imprecations and a row of threatening fists answered the philosopher.
"Parasite! Slave of poverty!" they shouted. "You are worse than those lupas who throw themselves at the barbarians."
Euphobias, whose insolence increased as the indignation blazed higher, opened his mouth to reply; but he hesitated, beholding a dark mass which shut out the sunlight. The gigantic Theron was before him, looking at him as scornfully as would one of those elephants that the besiegers had near the river. He raised his left hand carelessly, as if he were going to flip off an insect; he barely grazed the insolent face when the philosopher tumbled down the steps from the wall, his head bleeding, silent, bumping from step to step without a groan, like a man accustomed to such caresses, and convinced that pain is but a figment of the imagination.