Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
SÓNNICA
BY
VICENTE BLASCO IBÁÑEZ
Translated from the Spanish by
FRANCES DOUGLAS
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
DUFFIELD & COMPANY
1919
COPYRIGHT 1912
By DUFFIELD & COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. AT APHRODITE'S TEMPLE 3
II. SAGUNTUM 45
III. DANCING GIRLS FROM GADES 95
IV. GREEK AND CELTIBERIAN 143
V. INVASION 174
VI. ASBYTE AND HANNIBAL 200
VII. THE WALLS OF SAGUNTUM 234
VIII. THE ROME OF FABIUS THE DELAYER 258
IX. THE HUNGRY CITY 285
X. THE LAST NIGHT 311
SÓNNICA
CHAPTER I
AT APHRODITE'S TEMPLE.
When the ship of Polyanthus, the Saguntine pilot, arrived off the port
of his native land, the mariners and fishermen, their vision sharpened
by ever watching the distant horizon, had already recognized his
saffron-dyed sail and the image of Victory, which, with extended wings,
and holding a crown in her right hand, stretched along the prow until it
dipped its feet in the waves.
"It is Polyanthus' ship! It is the Victoriata returning from Gades and
New Carthage!"
To obtain a better view they rushed out upon the stone breakwater
surrounding the three basins of the port of Saguntum, which were
connected with the sea by a long canal.
The low marshy land, overgrown with reeds and tangled aquatic plants,
extended as far as the Gulf of Sucro, which bounded the horizon by its
curving blue belt, and over which the fishermen's smacks skimmed like
dragon flies. The trireme slowly advanced. The colored sail fluttered in
the breeze without filling, but the triple banks of oars, with rhythmic
movement along its flanks caused the vessel to spring over the white
foam lashing the entrance of the canal.
Night was falling. On the hill near the port the temple of Venus
Aphrodite reflected from the polished surface of its pediment the fire
of the setting sun. A golden atmosphere wrapped the columns and the blue
marble walls, as if the father of day, before sinking to rest, were
greeting the goddess of the waters with a kiss of light. The chain of
dark mountains, covered with pines and shrubbery, swung around the sea
in a gigantic semicircle, embracing the fertile valley in which lay the
Saguntine gardens, the white villas, the rustic towers and the hamlets
rising among the clustering green trees of the fields. At the other
extreme of this mountain barrier, dimmed by the distance and the haze of
the landscape, could be seen the city, the ancient Zacynthus, with its
dwellings compressed within walls and citadels upon the fold of the
hill. Far above was the Acropolis, with cyclopean ramparts above which
rose the high-roofed temples and public buildings.
The port was enlivened by the stir of labor. Two ships from Massilia
were loading with wine in the big basin. One from Liburnia was taking on
a cargo consisting of Saguntine pottery and dried figs, to be sold in
Rome, while a galley from Carthage contained in its hold great bars of
silver brought from the mines of Celtiberia. Other ships, with sails
furled and their banks of oars fallen against their sides, swung at
anchor near the wharf, like great sleeping birds gently nodding their
prows with figureheads of crocodiles or of horses, used by the navy of
Alexandria, or displaying on the stern a hideous red dwarf resembling
that which decorated the vessel of the Phoenician Cadmus in his
astounding voyages over many seas.
The slaves bending under the weight of amphoræ and silver ingots,
wearing no other clothing than a loin-cloth and a white hood, their
fretted and sweating bodies bare, passed like an endless rosary along
the boards leading from the mole to the ships, as they carried the
merchandise from where it lay piled on the wharf into the concave holds
of the vessels.
In the centre of the great middle basin rose a tower guarding the
entrance to the port; a solid structure with its stone foundations laid
in the deepest water. Moored to the rings which adorned its walls lay a
ship of war, a Liburnian galley, high of stern, the prow a sheep's head,
the great square sail furled, an armored fore-castle near the mast, and
on the gunwales, forming a double row, the shields of the _classiarii_,
soldiers destined for marine combats. It was a Roman vessel which at
daybreak next morning was to set sail, bearing the ambassadors sent by
the great Republic to settle the political disorders which agitated
Saguntum.
In the second basin, a tranquil square of water where boats were
constructed and repaired, sounded the hammers of the calkers striking
against the wood. The dismasted galleys lay on the bank like sick
monsters, showing through their lacerated flanks their strong frames and
their pitch-blackened interiors. In the third and smallest, a lake of
filthy waters, the fishermen's barks were anchored. Flocks of gulls
whirled around them, darting down upon the spoils which floated on the
water, while along the bank crowded women, old men, and boys, awaiting
the arrival of the barks with fish from the Sucronian Gulf, which were
sold in the interior to the more advanced tribes of Celtiberia.
The arrival of the Saguntine ship had drawn all the people of the port
away from their tasks. The slaves worked lazily while their overseers
were preoccupied by the entrance of the trireme, and even phlegmatic
citizens seated on the mole, rod in hand, trying to capture corpulent
eels which abounded in the basin, forgot their fishing while they
watched the advance of the Victoriata. She had by this time come into
the canal. Her hull could not be seen. The mast, with its motionless
sail, rose above the tall reeds which bordered the entrance to the port.
The afternoon silence was interrupted by the hoarse cry of innumerable
frogs croaking in the marshes and the chattering of birds which
fluttered in the olive trees near the fane of Aphrodite. The
hammer-blows of the arsenal rung more and more slowly; the people of the
port were silent, watching the progress of the ship of Polyanthus. As
the Victoriata rounded the sharp bend of the canal the gilded image of
the prow hove into sight, and then the first oars quickly followed, like
enormous red talons, clutching the glossy surface of the water with a
force which flung aloft the white spray.
The crowd, amid which chafed the eagerly watching families of the
mariners, burst into acclamations as the ship swung into the port.
"Greeting, Polyanthus! Welcome, son of Aphrodite! May Sónnica, your
mistress, overwhelm you with riches!"
Naked, brown-skinned boys dived head-first into the basin, swimming
around the ship like a swarm of young Tritons.
The people of the port praised their compatriot Polyanthus,
exaggerating his skill. According to them his ship lacked nothing; well
might the rich Sónnica be satisfied with her freedman. Forward on the
vessel stood the _proreta_, motionless as a statue, watching with swift
glances to discover the presence of obstacles; the crew, naked, their
sweaty backs glistening in the sun, bent over the oars, and on the poop
the _gubernator_, Polyanthus himself, insensible to weariness, wrapped
in his ample red mantle, the tiller firmly held in his right hand, and
in his left a white staff which he waved rhythmically, marking the swing
of the rowers. Near the mast stood men in strange costumes, and
motionless women wrapped in flowing mantles.
The ship glided into the port like an enormous crustacean, parting the
dead and silent waters with her prow, which but recently had been
fretting the waters of the gulf.
As she cast anchor near the mole and threw out her gang-plank, the
rowers were forced to club back the multitude which crowded forward
eager to board the ship.
The pilot gave orders from the poop; his red robe moved from place to
place like a flame kindled by the setting sun.
"Eh! Polyanthus! Welcome, navigator! What cargo do you bring?"
The pilot saw two young horsemen on the bank. The one who addressed him
was wrapped in a white mantle; one of its corners covered his head,
leaving exposed his beard done into curls and lustrous with pomatum. The
other clung to the back of his steed with his strong bare legs; he wore
the sagum of the Celtiberians, a short wool tunic over which the
broadsword hung from his shoulder, and his hair, as thick and
dishevelled as his beard, outlined a brown and manly countenance.
"Greeting, Lachares! Greeting, Alorcus!" replied the pilot with an
expression of respect. "Shall you see Sónnica, my mistress?"
"This very night," answered Lachares. "We sup at her country-seat. What
bring you?"
"Tell her that I have argentiferous lead from New Carthage, and wool
from Bætica. Excellent voyage!"
The two youths tugged at their horses' reins.
"Ah! Wait a moment," added Polyanthus. "Tell her that I have not
forgotten her instructions. I am bringing what you so greatly desire,
the dancing girls from Gades."
"We are all grateful to you," said Lachares, laughing. "Hail,
Polyanthus; may Neptune favor you!"
The two riders set off at a gallop, becoming lost to view among the
hovels grouped around the base of the temple of Aphrodite.
Meanwhile one of the ship's passengers landed, making his way through
the crowd. He was a Greek. All knew his origin by the _pilos_ which
covered his head, a conical leather helmet, after the fashion of that
worn by Ulysses in Greek paintings. He was clad in a short, dark tunic,
adjusted around his waist by a leather belt, from which hung a pouch.
His chlamys, which did not reach his knees, was fastened at the right
shoulder by a copper brooch; worn and dusty laced shoes covered his
stockingless feet, and his sinewy arms, carefully freed from hair,
rested on a great dart which was almost a lance. His hair, short and
arranged in thick curls, hung beneath the _pilos_, forming a hollow
crown around his head. It was black, but silvery threads shone in it and
also in his broad short beard. His upper lip was carefully shaved in the
Athenian style.
He was a strong and agile man, in the prime of life, healthy and
vigorous. His eyes had an ironic glance, and in them sparkled something
of that fire which reveals men born for warfare and for contact with the
world. He walked at ease about the unfamiliar port, like a traveler
accustomed to all manner of contrasts and surprises.
The sun began to sink, and work at the port had ceased. The crowd which
had swarmed on the wharf was gradually scattering. Bands of slaves
stretching their aching limbs and wiping off the sweat, passed near the
stranger. Controlled by the clubs of their guards, they were about to be
locked up until the next morning in caves in the nearby hill, or in the
oil mills situated beyond the mariners' taverns, the inns, and the
brothels, with their mud walls and broad roofs, which as a complement to
the port were grouped at the foot of the hill of Aphrodite.
The merchants also left in search of their horses and chariots to ride
to the city. They passed in groups, looking over the records on their
tablets, and discussing the operations of the day. Their diverse types,
dress, and bearing, showed a great mixture of races in Zacynthus, a
commercial city to which in ancient times flocked the vessels of the
Mediterranean, and whose traffic was in rivalry with that of Emporion
and Massilia. The Asiatic or African merchants who imported ivory,
ostrich feathers, spices, and perfumes for the rich of the city, were
distinguished by their majestic step, their tunics with flowers and
birds embroidered in gold, their green buskins, their tall embroidered
tiaras, and their beards falling over their breasts, curled so as to lie
in horizontal waves. The Greeks laughed and talked incessantly, jesting
over their business affairs, and overwhelming with volubility the grave,
bearded, diffident Iberian exporters dressed in coarse wool, who, with
their silence seemed to protest against the stream of useless words.
The wharves were deserted one after another, the life of the place
flowing along the road toward the city. Horses galloped, raising clouds
of dust, chariots rolled along, and little African donkeys passed with a
short trot, bearing on their backs some corpulent citizen or other,
seated like a woman.
The Greek walked slowly along the mole behind two men clad in short
tunics, wearing buskins and little conical hats with drooping brims,
like those of the Hellenic shepherds. They were two artisans from the
city. They had spent the day fishing, and were returning to their
houses, gazing with ill dissimulated pride at their baskets in which
writhed and wriggled barbels and eels. They were talking in Iberian,
frequently mixing Greek and Latin words in their conversation. It was a
not unusual dialect in that ancient colony, which was in continual
contact through commerce with the principal peoples of the earth. The
Greek, as he followed them down the wharf listened to their conversation
with the curiosity of a stranger.
"You will come in my cart," said one of them. "My donkey awaits me at
Abiliana's inn. The beast as you know is the envy of all my neighbors.
We shall yet reach the city before the gates are closed."
"I thank you, neighbor. It is not prudent to travel alone when the
country is swarming with adventurers whom we take as hirelings for the
wars with the Turdetani, and all the people who fled from the city after
the last revolt. Day before yesterday, as you know, the dead body of
Acteio, the barber of the Forum, was found in the road. He was
assassinated and robbed as he was returning from his little
country-house at night-fall."
"They say that we shall live more tranquilly now since the Roman
intervention. The legates from Rome have ordered a few heads cut off;
and they affirm that after this we shall have peace."
The two men stopped a moment and turned their heads to look at the Roman
liburna, which could barely be distinguished near the tower in the port,
wrapped in the shadows of evening. Then they walked slowly onward, as if
in deep thought.
"You know," continued one of them, "that I am only a shoemaker who has
his shop near the Forum and has been able to save a sack of silver
victoriati in order to live at ease in his old age, and to spend the
afternoons at the port, rod in hand. I do not know as much as those
rhetoricians who stroll up and down outside the city wall disputing and
shouting like Furies, nor do I worry my brain as do the philosophers who
gather on the porticos of the Forum to quarrel amid the jests of the
merchants as to whether this or that one of the men who occupy
themselves there in Athens with such matters is in the right. But, with
all my ignorance, I ask myself, neighbor, why this strife between us
men who live in the same city who should deal with one another like good
brothers? Why?"
The shoemaker's comrade replied with vigorous nods of assent.
"I understand," continued the artisan, "that from time to time we shall
be at war with our neighbors the Turdetani. Sometimes on account of a
question of irrigation, again on account of pasture-grounds, but mainly
because of boundary lines, and to keep them from enjoying this beautiful
port, I understand that the citizens take up arms and seek battle, going
out to destroy their fields and burn their huts. But those people are
not of our race, and that is how a great city makes itself respected.
Besides, war yields slaves, which often are scarce, and what would we
men, we citizens, do without slaves?"
"I am poorer than you, neighbor," said the other fisherman. "I do not
earn as much making saddles as you do making shoes; but in spite of my
poverty I can afford to have a Turdetan slave, who helps me very much,
and I desire war, because it brings in considerably more work."
"War with our neighbors--that is welcome. The young men are restless,
and seek ways of distinguishing themselves, the Republic acquires
importance in consequence, and, after tramping through valleys and
mountains, all will buy shoes and have their saddles mended. Very well;
that enlivens business. But why have we been at work for over a year
converting the Forum into a battlefield and turning every street into a
fortress? At best you are in your shop extolling to a citizeness the
elegance of a pair of papyrus sandals of Asiatic fashion, or of Greek
buskins of great majesty, when you hear in the nearest plaza the clash
of arms, shouts, death cries, and you rush to shut the door so that a
stray missile will not nail you to your seat! And why? What reason is
there for living like cats and dogs in the bosom of this Zacynthus,
which used to be so tranquil and so industrious?"
"The pride and riches of the Greeks"----began his companion.
"Yes, I know that reason. The hatred between Iberians and Greeks; the
belief that the latter, by their riches and wisdom, dominate and exploit
the former--as if in the city there actually existed Iberians and
Greeks! Iberians are those who are behind those mountains which mark off
our horizon; a Greek is he whom we have seen disembark, and who is
following our footsteps; but we are only sons of Zacynthus or of
Saguntum, as they wish to call our city. We are the product of a
thousand encounters by land and by sea, and Jupiter himself would be
driven into a corner to tell who our grandparents were. Who can
enumerate the people that have come here and have remained, in spite of
others having come afterward to wrest from them the dominion of these
lands and mines, since Zacynthus was bitten by the serpent in these
fields, and our father Hercules raised the great walls of the Acropolis?
Hither came the peoples of Tyre with their red sailed ships for the
silver from the interior; the mariners from Zante fleeing with their
families from the tyrants of their country; the Rutulian race from
Ardea, people from Italy, who were powerful in the times when Rome did
not as yet exist; Carthaginians of the epoch in which they thought more
of commerce than of arms--and how do I know how many other peoples? You
should hear the pedagogues when they explain our history on the portico
of the temple of Diana! And I, do I know, perchance whether I am Greek
or Iberian? My grandfather was a freedman from Sicily who came to take
charge of a pottery and married a Celtiberian from the interior. My
mother was a Lusitanian who came here on an expedition to sell gold dust
to merchants from Alexandria. I call myself a Saguntine like all the
rest. Those who consider themselves Iberians in Saguntum believe in the
gods of the Greeks; the Greeks unconsciously adopt many Iberian customs;
they think themselves different because they have divided the city in
half and live separate; but their feasts are the same, and in the next
Panathenæa you will see, together with the daughters of the Hellenic
merchants, those of the citizens who cultivate the earth and who dress
in coarse cloth and let their beards grow to more closely resemble the
tribes of the interior."
"Yes, but the Greeks dominate everywhere, they are masters of
everything, they have taken possession of the life of the city."
"They are the wisest, the bravest; they have something almost divine
about them," said the shoemaker sententiously. "See if that is not true
of the one who is following us. He is poorly dressed; perhaps he has not
an obolus in his pocket for supper; perhaps he will sleep beneath the
open sky, and yet, it seems as if Zeus had come down from the heavens in
disguise to visit us."
The two artisans turned their gaze instinctively to look at the Greek,
and continued on their way. They had arrived near the huts which formed
an animated town around the port.
"There is another reason," said the leather-worker, "for the war which
divides us. It is not only the hatred between Greeks and Iberians, it is
because some want us to be friends of Rome and others of Carthage."
"We should not affiliate with either," said the shoemaker tersely.
"Tranquilly carrying on our commerce as in other times is the way in
which we should prosper best. I reproach the Greeks of Saguntum for
having allied us with Rome."
"Rome is the conqueror."
"Yes, but Rome is very far away, and the Carthaginians are almost at our
doors. Troops from New Carthage can come here by a few days' journey."
"Rome is our ally and she will protect us. Her legates, who leave
to-morrow, have put an end to our strifes, beheading the citizens who
disturbed the peace of the city."
"Yes, but those citizens were friends of Carthage and old-time protégés
of Hamilcar. Hannibal will not easily forget his father's friends."
"Bah! Carthage wants peace and wide commerce to enrich herself. Since
her defeat in Sicily she fears Rome."
"The senators may be afraid, but Hamilcar's son is very young, and, for
my part, I am afraid of these boys converted into chiefs, who forget
wine and love to dream only of glory."
The Greek could hear no more. The two artisans had disappeared among
the huts, and the echo of their argument was lost in the distance.
The stranger was alone in the unfamiliar port. The wharves were
deserted; lights began to glisten on the poops of the ships, and in the
distance, over the waters of the bay, rose the moon like an enormous
honey-colored disk. Only in the small fishermen's ports lingered
animation. The women, naked from above the waist, tucking between their
legs the rags which served them as a tunic, walked into the water up to
their knees to wash the fish, and then putting them into broad baskets
on their heads they took up their journey, dragging their big-bellied,
naked youngsters after them. From the silent and motionless ships came
groups of men who traveled toward the wretched settlement spread around
the foot of the temple. They were sailors going in search of taverns and
brothels.
The Greek knew those customs well; it was a port like many others he had
seen--the temple on the hill to guide the navigator, and below, wine in
abundance, easy love, and the sanguinary fight as a termination of the
feast. He thought for a moment of starting on the journey to the city,
but the way was long, he did not know the road, and he preferred to
remain, sleeping where he could until sunrise.
He had entered one of the winding lanes formed by the hovels thrown
together at hazard, as if they had fallen in confusion from the sky,
with their walls of earth and roofs of reeds and straw, with narrow
slits for light, and with only a few rags sewn together or a bit of
threadbare tapestry, for a door. In some, with less wretched exteriors,
dwelt the modest traders of the port, ship chandlers, dealers in grain,
and those who, with the assistance of slaves, brought casks of water
from the springs in the valley to the vessels; but the majority of the
hovels were taverns and lupanars.
Some of the houses had alongside the doors signs in Greek, Iberian, or
Latin, painted with red ochre.
The Greek heard some one calling him. It was a little, bald, fat man
beckoning from the door of his dwelling.
"Greeting, son of Athens!" he said, to flatter him with the name of the
most famous city of Greece. "Come in! Here you will be among your own,
for my forefathers also came from Athens. See the sign on my tavern, 'To
Pallas Athene'. Here you will find wine from Laurona, as excellent as
that from Attica; if you wish to try the Celtiberian beer, I have it
also, and if you desire, I can serve you with a certain flask of wine
from Samos, as authentic as the goddess of Athens which adorns my
counter."
The Greek answered with a smile and a shake of his head, while the
loquacious tavern-keeper went into his hut, lifting the tapestry to
allow a group of mariners to enter.
After a few steps he stopped, attracted by a faint whistle which seemed
to be calling him from the interior of a cabin. An old woman, wrapped in
a black mantle, stood in her doorway making signs to him. Within, by the
light of an earthen lamp hanging by a slender chain, he could see
several women squatting on mats in the attitude of placid beasts, with
no other sign of life than a fixed smile which displayed their shining
teeth.
"I am in haste, good mother," said the stranger, smiling.
"Stay awhile, son of Zeus!" urged the old woman in the Hellenic idiom,
disfigured by the harshness of her accent and by the hiss of breathing
between toothless gums. "The moment I saw you I knew you for a Greek.
All who come from your country are gay and beautiful; you look like
Apollo seeking his celestial sisters. Enter! Here you will find
them----"
Approaching the stranger, and catching him by the border of his chlamys,
she enumerated the charms of her Iberian, Balearic, or African wards;
some majestic and grand like Juno, others small and graceful like the
hetæræ of Alexandria and Greece; and seeing that the customer released
his garment from her clutch and continued on his way, she raised her
voice, believing that she had not divined his taste, and she spoke of
white youths with long hair, beautiful as the Syrian boys who were
contended for by the gallants of Athens.
The Greek had passed out of the winding lane, but he could still hear
the voice of the old woman, who seemed to become shamelessly intoxicated
crying her infamous wares. He was now in the country, at the beginning
of the high road to the city. On his right rose the hill of the temple,
and at its base, opposite the flight of stone steps, he saw a house
larger than the others, an inn with doors and windows illuminated by
lamps of red earthenware.
Seated on stone benches were sailors from all countries, demanding food
in their several languages--Roman soldiers wearing corselets of bronze
scales, short swords hanging from their shoulders; at their feet
helmets topped by a crest of red horsehair in the form of a brush;
rowers from Massilia, almost naked, their knives half hidden among the
folds of the rag knotted around their waists; Phoenician and
Carthaginian mariners with wide trousers, wearing tall caps in the form
of mitres with heavy silver pendants; negroes from Alexandria, athletic
and slow of movement, displaying their sharp teeth as they smiled,
making one think of frightful cannibalistic scenes; Celtiberians and
Iberians with gloomy dress and tangled hair, looking suspiciously in all
directions, and instinctively raising their hands to their broad knives;
some redmen from Gaul, with long mustaches and coarse red hair tied
behind and falling down their necks; people, in fine, who had come, or
had been flung by the hazards of war and the sea, from one point of the
known world to another, one day victorious warriors, and slaves the
next, now sailors and anon pirates, acknowledging no law nor
nationality; with no other respect than the fear of the master of the
vessel who was quick to order them to the whip or the cross; with no
other religion than that of the sword and the strong arm; testifying by
the wounds which covered their bodies, in the long cicatrices which
furrowed their muscles, by cuts on their ears covered by matted hair, to
a past mysterious with horrors.
Some ate standing by the counter, behind which were ranged the amphoræ
corked with fresh leaves; others seated on the stone benches along the
walls held earthenware plates on their knees. Most had thrown themselves
down on the floor upon their bellies, like wild beasts devouring their
prey, reaching into their plates with their hairy claws, crunching the
food in their jaws as they talked. They had not yet upset their wine
nor asked for the women. They ate and drank with the appetite of ogres
tormented by the deprivations of the long voyages, and morally starved
by the brutal discipline on shipboard.
Finding themselves huddled together in a small space, filled with smoke
from the lamps and with vapors from the food, they felt the necessity of
communicating with each other, and between mouthfuls, each spoke to his
neighbor, paying no heed to difference of idiom, making themselves
understood finally by a language composed more of gestures than of
words. A Carthaginian was telling a Greek about his last voyage to the
islands of the Great Sea, beyond the Pillars of Hercules, through a gray
body of water covered with fog, until they arrived at an abrupt coast
known only to the pilots of his country, where tin was found. Farther
down the bench a negro, with grotesque mimicry, was describing to a
couple of Celtiberians an excursion down the Red Sea, until they reached
mysterious shores, deserted by day, but covered by night with moving
fires and inhabited by hairy men as agile as monkeys, the skins of some
of whom they stuffed with straw and carried to the temples of Egypt to
offer to the gods. The older Roman soldiers, paying no attention, in
their insolence as conquerors, to the humiliated Carthaginians who were
listening, told of their great victory on the Ægates islands which drove
the Carthaginians out of Sicily, ending the first Punic War. The Iberian
shepherds mixed in among the navigators wished to off-set the effect of
these maritime adventures, and they bragged of the horses belonging to
their tribe, and of their marvelous swiftness, while a little Greek,
lively and keen, in order to overwhelm the barbarians and to demonstrate
the superiority of his race, began to declaim fragments of some ode
learned in the port of Piræus, or he intoned a lyric poem, slow and
sweet, which was lost amid the noise of conversation, of crunching jaws,
and of clattering plates.
They called for more light. The smoky atmosphere of the inn was
constantly growing denser, and the frames of the lamps were scarcely
more distinctly visible than drops of blood on the soot-blackened walls.
From the kitchen floated an odor of piquant sauces and smoky wood which
made many of the customers cough and weep. Some were drunk soon after
beginning dinner, and they asked the slaves for crowns of flowers to
adorn themselves as in the banquets of the rich. Others growled applause
as they saw the den illuminated by the lurid flame of the candlewood
which the proprietor lighted. The slaves passed behind the stone counter
overturning great amphoræ, and ran into the kitchen only to rush back
again immediately, red with suffocation, bearing great platters. Wine
ran across the floor as a crater was overturned. When there appeared at
the window the painted faces of some of the prostitutes--she-wolves of
the port--who were awaiting the moment for making an irruption into the
inn, the mariners greeted them with hoarse laughter, imitating the howl
of the beast after whom they were nicknamed, and throwing them a portion
of their food, over which the women fought, scratching and shrieking.
The food was all thirst-giving, so that each mouthful should be
accompanied by a sip. The Greeks ate snails floating in a sauce of
saffron; fresh sardines from the gulf appeared arranged in circles
around the dishes, festooned with laurel leaves; birds' heads were
served covered with green sauce; the Iberian shepherds were satisfied
with dried fish and hard cheese; the Romans and Gauls devoured great
chunks of lamb dripping blood, and eels from the basins of the port
decorated with hard-boiled eggs. All these dishes and many others were
loaded with salt, pepper, and herbs of acrid odor, to which the
strangest qualities were attributed. Everybody was eager to spend his
money, to satisfy his hunger and thirst, and to roll on the floor drunk,
consoling himself thus for the hard life of privation which awaited him
on shipboard. The Romans who were to sail the next day had collected
their back pay and were determined to leave their sestertii in the port
of Saguntum; the Carthaginians boasted of their Republic, the richest in
the world, and other mariners praised their masters, ever generous when
they touched that port where business was excellent. The innkeeper was
continually throwing into an empty amphora coins of all kinds, those
from Zacynthus, bearing the prow of a ship, with Victory flying above
it; those from Carthage with the legendary horse and the frightful
Cabiric deities; and Alexandrian coins with their elegant Ptolemaic
profile.
The meanest of the rowers felt the caprices of a potentate, the itch to
imitate the opulent for a night that they might console themselves with
its memory in future days of hunger; and they asked for oysters from
Lucrinus, which an occasional ship brought packed in amphoræ with sea
water as a delicacy for the great merchants of Saguntum, or the
_oxygarum_, salted fishmilt, prepared with vinegar and spices as an
appetizer for which the patricians of Rome paid a great price. Black
wine from Laurona and the pink wine from the Saguntine vineyards were
scorned by those who had money. The wine from Massilia they despised
also, sneering at the rosin and gypsum employed in its preparation, and
they called for wines from the Campagna, Falerno, Monte Massico, or
Cæcubum, which, in spite of the price, they drank in capacious
cymbas--boat-shaped drinking vessels of Saguntine clay. Hungry for the
fresh products of the field after their long sojourn on the sea, these
men devoured immense quantities of vegetables and fruits, in addition to
the hot dishes and a great variety of drinks ranging from Celtiberian
beers to foreign wines. They fell greedily upon the plates of mushrooms;
they ate handfuls of radishes dressed with vinegar; leeks, beets,
garlic, and heaps of fresh lettuce from the gardens of the Saguntine
domain disappeared down their throats, while they littered the floor
with green, muddy leaves.
The Greek stood in the doorway with a few of the mariners who could not
find room within, and contemplated the spectacle. As he gazed on the
rude banquet the stranger remembered that he had not eaten since
morning, when the master of the rowers on Polyanthus' ship had given him
a piece of bread. The novelty of disembarking in an unknown land had
quieted his stomach, accustomed as it was to privations; but now in
sight of so many different foods he felt the pangs of hunger, and
instinctively set one foot within the tavern, drawing it back
immediately. What was the use of going in? The pouch hanging from his
shoulder held papyri testifying to his past achievements; tablets for
memoranda; even pincers for extracting his beard; a comb; all the small
objects of which a good Greek, addicted to the scrupulous care of his
person, would not deprive himself, but search in it as he might he could
find not a single obolus. The pilot, who respected the Greeks of Attica,
had given him free passage on the ship when he met him wandering along
the wharves at New Carthage. He was hungry and alone in a strange land,
and if he should enter the hostelry to eat without offering money, he
would be treated like a slave, and be driven out with a club.
Mocked by the odor of the viands and sauces, he turned to flee, tearing
himself away from this torture of Tantalus, but as he drew back he
bumped against a tall man clad only in a dark sagum and sandals with
straps crossed to the knees. He resembled a Celtiberian shepherd; but
the Greek, as he collided with him, received the impression in a hasty
exchange of glances that this was not the first time he had looked into
those imperious eyes which recalled to his mind the eyes of the eagle
perched at the feet of Zeus.
The Greek shrugged his shoulders with indifference. What he desired was
to satiate his hunger and to sleep if possible until sunrise. Turning
his back on the wretched suburb, illuminated and noisy, he sought a
place where he might rest, and he took the road toward the fane of
Aphrodite. The temple, situated on the crest of the hill, was approached
by a broad stairway of blue marble, its first step rising from the quay.
The Greek seated himself on the polished stone, proposing to await there
the coming of the day. The moon illuminated the whole upper part of the
temple; the sounds from the houses near the port, the murmur of the sea,
the whisper of the olive trees, and the monotonous croaking of the frogs
hidden in the marshes, floated to him muffled, as if lulled by the great
calm of night.
Again and again the Greek heard a strident, dismal cry, like the howl of
a wolf. Suddenly it whined behind him, he felt a warm breath on his
back, and as he turned he saw a woman bending toward him, her hands on
her knees, her mouth rent by a stupid smile which displayed gums, in
places lacking teeth.
"Greeting, handsome stranger! I saw you flee from the tumult. You must
be sad here all alone. I have come to make you happy.----What! Can it
not be?"
The Greek recognized her immediately--a "she-wolf" from the port, a
wretched woman such as he had seen swarming around the wharves in many
countries; miserable, cosmopolitan strumpets, flames for a single night
of men of all colors and races, with no other ambition than to earn a
few oboli, slinking near a stone or in the shadow of a boat, old hetæræ
sunk in brutality, fugitive slaves seeking liberty in obscenity and
drunkenness; females who represented all that cruel men of the sea knew
of love; poor beasts, weakened in their youth by excessive caresses, and
destined to be treated with blows in their old age.
The stranger looked at the woman, who was still young, and detected some
traces of beauty. But she was wasted, her eyes lachrymose, her mouth
disfigured by broken teeth. She was wrapped in an ample mantle which
must have been of beautiful weave but was now dirty and threadbare; her
feet were naked, and her tangled hair, in which the unhappy creature
had thrust a branch of wild flowers, was held by a copper comb.
"You are wasting your time here," said the Greek with a kindly smile. "I
have not so much as an obolus in my pouch."
The man's gentle accent seemed to intimidate the poor unfortunate. She
was accustomed to blows; man to her represented brutal assault,
gratification revealed with bites, and in the presence of the Greek's
tender manner she seemed disconcerted and shy, as if she suspected
danger.
"Have you no money?" she said with humility, after a long silence. "It
matters not; here I am. You please me; I am your slave. Among all those
people rioting at the hostelry my eyes have turned to you."
She bent over the Greek, caressing his curly hair with her calloused
hands, while he regarded her with compassionate eyes, seeing her
shrunken breast and hollow form. Hungry and alone in an unknown land he
felt attracted by the kindness of the unhappy creature; there was the
fraternity of misery between them.
"If you desire company, stay near me," he said; "talk as much as you
wish, but do not caress me. I am hungry; I have eaten nothing since
dawn, and at this moment I would exchange all the joys of Cytherea for
the pittance of any mariner."
The harlot stood up straight, so great was her surprise.
"You hungry? You faint with hunger, when I thought you nourished on the
ambrosia of Zeus?"
Her eyes displayed astonishment such as she would have felt had she seen
Aphrodite, the nude, white, goddess who was guarded up there in her
temple, descend from her marble pedestal and offer herself with open
arms to the rowers of the port for an obolus.
"Wait, wait!" she cried with resolution, after a moment's reflection.
The Greek saw her running toward the huts, and when at last weariness
and weakness began to close his eyes, he felt her near him again,
touching his shoulder.
"Take this, my master! It has cost me dear to obtain it. The cruel Lais,
an old woman as horrible as the Pareæ, who helps us to live through days
of privation, has agreed to give me her supper, after making me take
oath that by the time the sun rises I will hand her two sestertii. Eat,
my love; eat and drink!"
She placed upon the steps a loaf of brown bread, made in the form of a
disk, some dried fish, half a Saguntine cheese, tender and oozing whey,
and a jar of Celtiberian beer.
The Greek fell upon the food, and began to devour it, followed by the
gaze of the _lupa_, which sweetened at times, and acquired an almost
maternal expression.
"I should like to be as rich as Sónnica, a woman who they say began like
any one of us, and is now mistress of many of these ships, and has
gardens as wonderful as Olympus, troops of slaves, potteries, and half
the domain of the commonwealth as her own property. I should like to be
rich if only for to-night, to regale you on the best there is in the
city; to give you a banquet like one of Sónnica's, which last till dawn,
and where, crowned with roses, you should drink the Samian wine from a
golden cup."
The Greek, touched by the simplicity and ingenuousness with which she
spoke, gazed at her tenderly.
"Do not thank me," she continued. "It is I who should be grateful for
the joy of feeding you. What is this? I know not. Never has a man
approached me before without giving me something; some give me copper
coins, others a piece of cloth or a patera of wine; most of them blows
and bites; all have given me something, and I have accepted, though I
detested them. But you, who come poor and hungry, who do not seek me but
reject me, who give me nothing, just your being near me has made a new
pleasure surge through my body. As I give you food I feel intoxicated,
as if I were fresh from a banquet. Tell me, Greek, are you really a man,
or are you the father of the gods, descending to earth to honor me?"
Exalted by her own words, she arose, standing half way up the marble
steps, and extending her rigid arms toward the temple, bathed in
moonlight, exclaimed:
"Aphrodite! My goddess! If some day I manage to get together the price
of two white doves, I will present them on thy altar, adorned with
flowers and fire-colored ribbons, in memory of this night."
The Greek drank the bitter liquid from the jar and offered it to the
woman, whose lips sought the same spot on the rim which had been touched
by his.
She did not taste the supper which the Greek held out to her; she
continued drinking, and the wine made her more talkative.
"If you only knew what it has cost me to get all this! The lanes are
full of drunken men, who wallow in the mire and drag themselves along on
their hands, tearing one's clothing and biting one's legs. Wine runs
out of the doorways of the inns. They were fighting on the wharf a
little while ago. Some Africans were holding one of their companions
head down in the water to cure his broken skull; a Celtiberian had
opened a great gash in it with his clenched fist. Others amused
themselves by catching Tuga, an Iberian girl, by the feet, and thrusting
her head in the biggest vat in the tavern as long as they dared. She was
half drowned when they pulled her out. It is their usual diversion. I
saw poor Albura, a friend of mine, seated on the ground covered with
blood, holding in the palm of her hand one of her eyes which a drunken
Egyptian had knocked out with a fisticuff. This kind of thing happens
every night! And yet, all at once, I have become afraid. I have only
just met you, and still it seems to me as if I were living in a new
world, and that for the first time I give heed to my surroundings."
She told him the story of her life. They called her Bacchis, and she was
uncertain what was her native land. No doubt she was born in some other
port, for she vaguely remembered in her childhood a long voyage in a
ship. Her mother must have been a _lupa_ also, and she herself the
result of a meeting with a mariner. The name of Bacchis, which had been
given her when she was little, had been borne by many famous courtesans
of Greece. No doubt she had been sold to some old woman by the pilot who
had brought her to Saguntum, and, while still a child, long before
coming to maturity, was visited in the old woman's hut by aged merchants
of the port or libertines of the city.
When her owner died she became a _lupa_, and passed into submission to
mariners, fishermen, shepherds from the mountains, and to all the brutal
horde which swarmed around the port. She was not yet twenty, but she was
aged, disfigured, wasted by excesses and by blows. She had always seen
the city from a distance. She had only entered it twice. The _lupas_
were not tolerated there. They were allowed to remain near the fane of
Aphrodite, as a guarantee of the security of Saguntum, that thus the
rabble which came to the port from all lands might be held at a
distance, but in the city the Iberians of cleanly habits became
indignant at the mere sight of the wantons, and the corrupt Greeks were
too refined in their tastes to feel pity for those sellers of the body
who fell like beasts beside the roadway for a bunch of grapes or a
handful of nuts.
There in the shadow of the temple of Aphrodite she had spent her life,
ever awaiting new ships and new men, hairy and obscene, brutal as
satyrs, made ferocious by the abstinence of the sea, to be at last
assassinated in some mariners' fight, or found the victim of hunger,
dead beside some abandoned boat.
"And you--who are you?" Bacchis asked at last. "What is your name?"
"My name is Actæon; my native land is Athens. I have traveled over the
world; in some parts I have been a soldier, in others a navigator; I
have fought, I have trafficked, and I have even written verses, and
discussed with philosophers things which you do not understand. I have
been rich many times, and now you give me food. That is all my story."
Bacchis looked at him with eyes full of admiration, divining through his
concise words a past crammed with adventures, with terrible dangers and
prodigious changes of fortune. She thought of the deeds of Achilles, and
of the adventurous life of Ulysses, so often heard in the verses
declaimed by Greek mariners when they were drunk.
The courtesan, reclining on the Greek's breast, fondled his hair. The
Greek, grateful, smiled fraternally on Bacchis, with indifference, as if
she were a child.
Two mariners came out from among the huts, and began to stagger along
the wharf. A penetrating howl, which seemed to cleave the air, sounded
close to Actæon's ears. His companion, impelled by habit, with the
instinct of the vendor who sees a customer in the distance, had arisen
to her feet.
"I will return, my master. I had almost forgotten the terrible Lais. I
must give her her money before the sun rises. She will beat me as she
has done before if I do not fulfill my promise. Wait for me here."
Repeating her wild howl, she went in search of the sailors, who had
stopped, hailing the "she-wolf's" cries with loud laughter and obscene
words.
When the Greek found himself alone, his hunger placated, he felt a
certain disgust in thinking of his recent adventure. Actæon the
Athenian, he for whom the richest hetæræ of the beautiful city used to
dispute in the Cerameicus, protected and adored by a strumpet of the
port! To avoid meeting her again he hurriedly left the temple steps,
losing himself in the streets by the harbor.
Again he stopped before the hostelry in the doorway of which he had
experienced the torment of hunger. The sailors were in the midst of an
orgy. The tavern keeper could barely command respect behind the
counter. The slaves, terrified by blows, had taken refuge in the
kitchen. Some amphoræ lay broken on the floor letting the wine escape
like streams of blood, and the drunken men wallowed in the gurgling
liquid as it soaked into the earthen floor, calling for drinks of which
they had vaguely heard on distant voyages, or for fantastic dishes
conceived by the little tyrants of Asia. One Herculean Egyptian was
running on all fours imitating the growl of the jackal, and biting the
women who had entered the tavern. Some negroes were disporting with
feminine movements, as if hypnotized by the whirling of the umbilical
dance. In the corners, on the stone benches, men and women embraced in
the crude light of the torches; the smell of bare and sweaty flesh
mingled with the aroma of wine; in the atmosphere of viands and of
wild-beast odor, seamen, forgetting shame, committed crimes peculiar to
the aberration of the epoch.
In the midst of this disorder a few men stood motionless near the
counter, arguing with apparent calmness. They were two Roman soldiers,
an old Carthaginian mariner, and a Celtiberian. The torpid slowness of
their words, which in their anger acquired flute-like tones, their
inflamed and blood-shot eyes, and their hawk-like noses, seeming to grow
sharper as they talked, revealed that terrible drunkenness, stubborn and
quarrelsome, which culminates in murder.
The Roman was telling of his presence in the combat on the Ægates
islands, fourteen years before.
"I know you," he said insolently to the Carthaginian. "You are a
republic of merchants born for lying and bad faith. If someone who knows
how to sell at top prices and cheat the buyer is wanted, I agree that
you stand first; but talking of soldiers, of men, we are the best, we
sons of Rome, who grasp the plow in one hand and the lance in the
other."
He proudly raised his round head with its close-cropped hair and shaven
cheeks, on which the chin-straps of his helmet had worn hard calloused
lines.
Actæon looked through the window at the Celtiberian, the only one of the
group who remained silent, but who had his glittering eyes fastened upon
the bare neck showing above the Roman legionary's bronze corselet, as if
attracted by the coarse veins outlined beneath the skin. Surely the
Greek had seen those eyes before; they were like an old acquaintance
whose name one cannot recall. There was something artificial about his
person, which the Greek divined with his keen perception.
"I would swear by Mercury that that man is not what he pretends to be.
He looks something more than a shepherd, and the bronze color of his
face is not that of the Celtiberians, no matter how sunburned they may
be. Perhaps that long hair which falls around his shoulders is
false----"
He was unable to observe him longer because of the dispute between the
legionary and the old Carthaginian, who gradually approached each other
to hear better in the midst of the clamor which reigned in the tavern.
"I also was on that sad expedition to the Ægates," said the
Carthaginian; "there is where I received this wound that crosses my
face. It is true that you conquered us; but what does that show? Many
times did I see your ships flee before ours, and more than once I
counted Roman corpses by the hundred on the fields of Sicily. Ah, if
Hanno had not arrived too late that day of the combat at the islands! If
Hamilcar had only had reinforcements!"
"Hamilcar!" disdainfully exclaimed the Roman. "A great chief who had to
sue for peace! A merchant turned warrior!"
And he laughed with the insolence of the strong, not fearing the anger
of the old Carthaginian, who began to stammer an answer.
The Celtiberian, who had remained silent, laid his hand upon the old
man.
"Silence, Carthaginian! The Roman is right. You are peddlers incapable
of measuring up with them in war. You love money too much to dominate by
the sword. But Carthage is not made of those of your breed; there are
others born there who will know how to stand up before those peasants of
Italy!"
The Roman, seeing the rustic intervene in the dispute, became still more
arrogant and insolent.
"And who can that be?" he shouted scornfully. "The son of Hamilcar? That
youngster who they say had a slave for a mother?"
"Those who founded your city, Roman, were sons of a prostitute, and the
day is not far distant when the horse of Carthage shall trample under
foot the wolf of Romulus!"
The legionary arose trembling with fury, feeling for his sword, but he
suddenly gave a savage growl and fell, pressing his hands against his
throat.
Actæon had seen the Celtiberian introduce his right hand into the sleeve
of his sagum, and, drawing a knife, stab the legionary in the thick neck
he had been staring at with the fixity of a wild beast while the fallen
man mocked at Carthage.
The tavern shook with the strain of the combat. The other Roman seeing
his companion down, hurled himself at the Celtiberian with raised sword,
but quick as a flash he received a thrust in the face and was blinded by
a stream of blood.
The agility of the man was astounding. His movements had the elasticity
of the panther; blows seemed to rebound from his body without doing him
harm. Around him fell a shower of jars, of broken amphoræ, of swords
hurled through the air; but with extended arm, and knife held before
him, he made a spring toward the door and disappeared.
"After him! After him!" clamored the Romans, starting in pursuit.
Attracted by the brutal joy of a man hunt, all who were sober enough to
retain mastery of their legs followed him out of the hostelry. The horde
of men, fired by the sight of blood, sprang over the bodies of the dying
Roman and the drunken sailors who lay snoring near him. The Greek saw
them break up into groups, running in all directions after the
Celtiberian, who had disappeared a few steps distant from the hostelry
as if dissolved into the shadow of the night.
The port thrilled with the ardor of the chase. Lights flashed along the
wharves and through the village streets; the lupanars and taverns were
subjected to a brutal overhauling by the Romans who were mad with fury;
a fresh fight started at the door of every hut; blood was about to flow
anew, when the Greek, fearing to become involved in a riot, fled to the
temple. Bacchis had not returned, and the Greek climbed up the steps
and stretched out on the portico, a broad terrace paved with blue
marble, over which the fluted columns supporting the pediment flung
oblique bars of shadow.
When Actæon awoke he felt the warmth of the sun on his face. Birds were
singing in the olive trees, and he heard voices near. As he arose he was
surprised to see that day had dawned, for it seemed but a few minutes
had passed since he fell asleep.
A woman, a patrician, stood not far away, smiling upon him. She was
robed in a flowing white linen mantle which fell to her feet in graceful
folds like the drapery of statues. A few curls of blonde hair fell over
her forehead. Her lips were painted red, and her black eyes, velvety,
and with a silky caress in their gaze, were surrounded by blue circles
suggesting a night of fatigue. Moving her arms beneath her mantle,
hidden ornaments jingled with silvery tones, and the toe of her sandal,
peeping from beneath the border of her garment, shone like a jewelled
star.
She was followed by two slender Celtiberian slaves, their brown,
swelling breasts almost bare, their limbs wrapped in multicolored cloth.
One carried a pair of white doves, the other bore on her head a basket
of roses.
Actæon recognized Polyanthus, the Saguntine pilot, and also the perfumed
young gallant who had been on the wharf with another horseman when the
ship came in, standing near the handsome patrician.
The Greek arose, amazed at the beautiful apparition smiling upon him.
"Athenian," she said in Greek of the purest accent, "I am Sónnica, the
mistress of the ship which brought you hither. Polyanthus is my
freedman and he has done well in giving you passage, for he is aware of
my interest in your people. Who are you?"
"I am Actæon, and I ask the gods to shower blessings upon you for your
kindness. May Venus guard your beauty while you live."
"Are you a navigator? Are you engaged in commerce? Are you traveling
about the world giving lessons in rhetoric and poetry?"
"I am a soldier, as were all my ancestors. My grandfather died in Italy
covering with his body the great Pyrrhus who wept for him as for a
brother. My father was a captain of mercenaries in the service of
Carthage, and was cruelly assassinated in the war called 'inexorable.'"
He was silent a moment as if overcome by this recollection. His voice
choked, but presently he added: "I fought until recently under the
orders of Cleomenes, the last Lacedæmonian. I was one of his companions,
and when the hero suffered defeat I accompanied him to Alexandria,
afterward traveling over the world because I could not endure the
inactivity of exile. I have also been a merchant in Rhodes, a fisherman
on the Bosphorus, a farmer in Egypt, and a satirical poet in Athens."
The handsome Sónnica approached him smiling. He was an Athenian
possessed of all the qualities so loved by her; one of those adventurers
accustomed to rapid changes of fortune, rounders of the world, who
frequently chronicle their achievements when they have reached old age.
"And why have you come hither?"
"I have come by chance. Your pilot offered to bring me to Zacynthus, and
I came. I felt stifled in New Carthage. I might have enlisted in
Hannibal's army; it would have been sufficient perhaps to have revealed
my origin to meet with welcome. The Greeks are paid great prices in
every army. But a war is in progress here also, and I prefer to go
against the Turdetani, to serve a city which I do not know, but which
has never done me any harm."
"And did you sleep here last night? Could you not find a bed in any of
the inns?"
"What I could not find was an obolus in my pouch. If I appeased my
hunger, it was due to the charity of a forlorn harlot who shared her
meagre supper with me. I am poor, and I was faint for food. Do not pity
me, Sónnica. Do not look upon me with eyes of compassion. I have given
banquets which lasted from sunset until dawn. In Rhodes, at the hour of
the songs, we used to throw the metal plates out of the windows to the
slaves. The life of a man should be thus, like Homer's heroes, a king in
one place and a beggar in another."
Polyanthus looked upon the adventurer with interest, and the elegant
Lachares, who had at first opposed Sónnica when she wished to awaken so
ill-dressed a Greek, approached him, recognizing Athenian refinement
beneath his humble exterior, thinking to make a friend of him in the
hope of receiving lessons to his advantage.
"Come to my villa at sunset to-day," said Sónnica. "You shall dine with
us. Anyone can guide you to my house. One of my ships has brought you to
this land, and I wish you to find hospitality beneath my roof.
Farewell, Athenian. I also am from Athens, and seeing you I imagine that
the golden lance of Pallas on the height by the Parthenon still shines
before my eyes."
Bidding the Athenian farewell with a smile, Sónnica turned toward the
temple, followed by the slaves.
Actæon overhead the conversation of Lachares and Polyanthus outside the
temple. They had spent the night before at Sónnica's house. They had
left the table at dawn. Lachares still wore his banquet crown, but the
roses were withered and falling to pieces. When Sónnica heard of the
arrival of the dancing girls from Gades, whom she had so impatiently
awaited to present at her suppers, she took a fancy to see Polyanthus
and his ship, and she wished to make a sacrifice to Aphrodite in
passing, as she did whenever she went to the port. She had come in her
great litter, accompanied by Lachares and the two slaves, proposing to
sleep on the way back, for she generally stayed in bed until well past
the hour of noon.
The pilot withdrew and went toward his ship to disembark the troop of
dancers, and Actæon walked with Lachares to the entrance of the open
temple.
The interior was simple and beautiful. A great square space remained
roofless to allow the light to enter, and the sun's rays descending
through this opening gave the changing bluish green of sea-water to the
azure columns with their capitals representing shells, dolphins, and
cupids grasping the oar. At the lower end in a soft penumbra, laden with
the perfumes of the sacrifices, stood the goddess, white, arrogant, and
proud in her nudity as when she first emerged from the waves before the
astonished eyes of men.
The altar was near the door. Before it stood the priest in a full linen
mantle, held to his head by a crown of flowers, receiving the offerings
to the goddess from the hands of Sónnica herself.
Coming out upon the peristyle she swept with a loving glance the expanse
of whitecapped sea, the port glistening like a triple mirror, the
immense green valley, and the distant city, gilded by the first rays of
the morning sun.
"How beautiful! Look at our city, Actæon! Greece is not more exquisite."
At the foot of the great stone steps was her palanquin, which was a
veritable house closed by purple curtains, decorated at their four
corners with plumes of ostrich feathers. It was borne by eight athletic
slaves with swelling muscles.
Sónnica ordered her women to enter this ambulatory dwelling; she pushed
in Lachares, whom she treated as an inferior, and whose familiarity was
tolerated as one of her caprices; and, turning toward the Greek, who
stood on an upper step of the temple, she smiled once more, bidding him
farewell with a wave of a hand covered to the fingernails with rings,
which at every movement traced streams of light through the air.
The litter swiftly disappeared along the city road, when suddenly Actæon
became aware of hands caressing his neck.
It was Bacchis, looking still more wasted and ragged in the light of
day. She had one eye blackened, and bruised spots on her arms.
"I could not come before," said the slave humbly. "They only let me
loose a little while ago. What people! They barely gave me enough to
pay Lais. I have been thinking of you all night, god of mine, while they
were tormenting me, blowing in my face like tired satyrs."
Actæon turned away, shrinking from her caresses. He perceived the odor
of wine on the wretched woman, drunk and exhausted after the adventures
of the night.
"You run away from me? Yes, I understand! I saw you talking with Sónnica
the rich, she whom her friends call the most beautiful woman in
Zacynthus. Are you going to be her lover? Oh, I know that she will adore
you. But she is only another like myself. Tell me, Actæon, why do you
not take me with you? Why do you not make me your slave? My price will
be only one night with you."
The Greek pushed aside the thin arms which tried to embrace him, in
order to see the road where trumpets were blaring, and helmets and
lances were gleaming, in the midst of a great cloud of dust.
"Those are the legates from Rome who are leaving to-day," said the
woman.
Attracted by the charm which men of war exercised upon her childish
mind, she ran down the steps to obtain a closer view of the ambassadors
and their retinue.
In advance marched the trumpeters of the Roman ship, blowing their long
metal tubas, their cheeks bound by broad woolen bands. An escort of
citizens of Saguntum surrounded the ambassadors, making their shaggy
Celtiberian horses caracole, waving their lances, their heads covered
with triple-crested helmets which still bore the dents from blows
received in their latest skirmishes with the Turdetani. Some old men of
the Saguntine senate rode sedately on heavy horses, their long beards
covering their breasts. Their dark mantles, held upon their heads by
embroidered tiaras, swept to their stirrups in heavy folds. The Roman
ensign, over-topped by the wolf, was carried by a strong _classiarius_,
and behind it rode the legates, their round, shaven heads uncovered. One
was obese, and had a fat, triple chin; the other was spare, nervous,
with a sharp aquiline nose; both wore embossed bronze cuirasses; their
legs were covered with metal greaves, and over their protuberant thighs
hung skirts the color of wine-lees, trimmed with loose strips of gold
which quivered at the slightest movement of their steeds.
As the procession reached the wharf, where swarmed groups of sailors,
fishermen, and slaves, they met a band of women wrapped in their
mantles, who were walking along guided by an old man with insolent eyes
and sunken mouth, wearing that repulsive aspect acquired by eunuchs who
live perpetually in the company of enslaved women. They were the dancing
girls from Gades, who, as they left Polyanthus' ship, passed unnoticed
in the hubbub of the leave-taking.
Some women, issuing from the fish-wharves, offered the legates crowns of
flowers gathered from the neighboring hills, and lilies from the
lagoons. Acclamations arose throughout the entire length of the quay,
witnessed by groups of indifferent sailors from all countries.
"Hail to Rome! May Neptune protect you! The gods accompany you!"
Actæon heard a mocking laugh behind him, and as he turned he saw the
Celtiberian shepherd who had killed the legionary in the tavern the
night before.
"You here?" the Greek exclaimed with surprise. "Are you alone, and do
you not hide from the Romans who seek you?"
The imperious eyes of the shepherd, those strange eyes which aroused in
the Greek confused and inexplicable memories, looked at him with
arrogance.
"The Romans! I hate and despise them! I would go without fear even to
the deck of their ship! Mind your own affairs, Actæon, and don't meddle
in mine."
"How do you know my name?" exclaimed the Athenian with growing
amazement, wondering also at the perfection with which the rude shepherd
used the Greek tongue.
"I know your name and your life. You are the son of Lysias, a captain in
the service of Carthage, and, like all of your race, you wheel around
the world, without finding contentment in any part."
The Greek, so strong and sure of himself on most occasions, felt
intimidated in the presence of this enigmatic man.
Absorbed in the contemplation of the cortége which had come to bid
farewell to the legates, he had turned his back on Actæon. His eyes
expressed hatred and scorn as he saw the bronze wolf of the Roman
standard flash in the sunlight, hailed with enthusiasm by the
Saguntines.
"They think themselves strong; they think themselves safe, because Rome
protects them. They imagine Carthage dead, because her Senate of
shopkeepers is afraid to provoke an issue with an ally of Rome. They
have beheaded the Saguntine friends of the Carthaginian, those who of
old were friends of the Barcas, and used to go out to greet Hamilcar
when he passed near the city on his expeditions. They do not know that
there is one who will not sleep as long as peace exists. The world is
not wide enough for these two peoples; either the one or the other!"
As if the acclamations of the multitude shouting farewells toward the
small boat in which the legates were being borne to the liburna and the
trumpet blasts which burst forth from the poop of the vessel, were
whiplashes to the shepherd, with clenched teeth and eyes red with fury,
he shook his sinewy arms at the ship and muttered in menacing tones:
"Rome!----Rome!"