“Oh, dragons from Carthage, are you going to murder us?” he began in tones more indignant than terrified.
“No, save as Heaven enjoins it!” quoth the master, clapping his hands to urge on the rowing stroke. “Pray, then, your Æolus, Hellene, to stiffen the breeze.”
“Pray, then, to Pluto, whelps,” bawled the undaunted fishmonger, “to give you a snug berth in Orcus. Ha! but it’s a merry thought of you and all your pretty lads stretched on crosses and waiting for the crows.”
But a violent screech came from Lampaxo, who had just comprehended the fate awaiting.
“Ai! ai! save me, fellow-Hellenes!” she bawled toward the penteconter, “a citizeness of Athens, the most patriotic woman in the city, slaughtered by Barbarians—”
“Silence the squealing sow!” roared Hasdrubal. “They’ll [pg 381]hear her on the war-ship. Aft with her and overboard at once.”
But as they dragged Lampaxo on the poop, her outcry rose to a tempest till Lars the Etruscan clapped his hand upon her mouth. Her screaming stilled, but his own outcry more than replaced it. In a twinkling the virago’s hard teeth closed over his fingers. Two ran from the oars to him. But the woman, conscious that she fought for life or death, held fast. Curses, blows, even a dagger pried betwixt her lips—all bootless. She seemed as a thing possessed. And all the time the Etruscan howled in mortal agony.
The thin dagger, bent too hard, snapped betwixt her teeth. Lars’s clamour could surely be heard on the penteconter. Again the breeze was falling.
They seized the fury’s throat, and pressed it till she turned black, but the grip of her jaw only tightened.
“Attatai! attatai!” groaned the victim, “forbear. Don’t throttle her. Her teeth are iron. They are biting through the bone. If you strangle her, they will never relax. Attatai! attatai!”