GREEK AND CELTIBERIAN.
Actæon told no one of his meeting. Moreover, after a few days he had
almost forgotten it. Seeing the city tranquil, busy in preparation for
the great Panathenaic festival, trusting in its protecting alliance with
Rome, the recollection of the interview with the African assumed the
vagueness of a dream.
Perhaps Hannibal's words were only the arrogant boasts of youth. Hated
by the rich of his country, and with no better followers than those he
himself could procure, he was surely not going to attempt the audacious
enterprise of attacking a city allied to Rome, thus violating the
treaties with Carthage.
Besides, the Greek was living in a period of sweet intoxications; ever
in Sónnica's arms in the shade of the peristyle; listening to the lyres
of the slaves and the flutes of the flute players, and watching the
dancers from Gades, while his beloved crowned him with flowers, or
sprinkled costly perfumes upon him.
Sometimes the restless spirit of the wanderer and man of war, trained to
action and strife, manifested itself in the midst of this effeminacy.
Then he would flee to the city. There he conversed with Mopsus, the
archer, and listened to the grumblers in the Forum, who, not suspecting
that Hannibal had passed through Saguntum, jested at the possibility of
the African chief attempting anything against them, and gloated in their
power, trusting in the strength of their walls, and still more in the
protection of Rome, which would repeat on the coasts of Iberia their
triumphs over the Carthaginians in Sicily.
Actæon contracted a great friendship with Alorcus the Celtiberian. He
admired the fiery pride of the barbarian, his nobility of sentiment, and
the almost religious respect he displayed for the cultured Grecian
woman. His father, now old and sick, was a petty king reigning over some
tribes which pastured great flocks of horses and cattle in the mountains
of Celtiberia. He was the sole heir, and some day would be obliged to
rule that rude people with their ferocious customs, who, in perpetual
brigandage, made war for the sake of stealing horses, and in years of
famine came down from the mountains to despoil the farmers on the
plains. His father had brought him to Saguntum when a child, and the
Grecian customs produced such an effect in him that, when he had grown
to manhood it became his most earnest desire to return to the city on
the coast, and there he lived with a few servants of his tribe and his
magnificent horses, deaf to the affectionate calls of the old chieftain
drawing near to death, and being esteemed by the Saguntines as almost a
fellow citizen.
He was eager to figure in the festival of the Panathenæa that the Greeks
of the city should admire him galloping in the races to conquer the
crown of olives. He was grateful to Actæon for using his influence with
Sónnica to secure the consent of the magistrates that the Celtiberian
might enter among the horsemen in the great procession that would climb
to the Acropolis carrying the first sheaves of wheat to the temple of
Minerva.
In those days when the Athenian languished amidst songs and perfumes,
overwhelmed by the caresses of the Greek woman, who seemed to blaze with
the fire of the last passion of her life, he sprang from his couch at
dawn, slung his bow across his back, and followed by two handsome dogs
tramped through the Saguntine domain, giving chase to the wildcats which
came down from the surrounding mountains.
On one of these excursions he had an adventure. It was noon; the sun's
warm light fell upon the land, and the panting dogs halted, barking at a
grove of ancient fig trees with branches sweeping the ground, forming
shady canopies of dense foliage. Actæon, quieting the animals,
approached cautiously with bow ready to draw, and as he parted the
curtain of leaves he saw in the centre of an open space enclosed by the
trees his two friends Rhanto and Erotion.
The boy was seated on the ground before a pile of red clay which he was
carefully modeling, wrinkling his brow, and whistling intently. The
shepherdess, completely nude, with the assurance of healthy and innocent
beauty, happy in being admired, was smiling at Erotion, her cheeks
flushing lightly every time the artist raised his eyes from the clay to
the model.
Actæon drank in with his eyes the form of her vernal body. He felt the
enthusiasm of the Greeks in the presence of beauty, intensified by the
ardor of manhood. He admired her bosom, tender and small as buds, barely
perceptible; her lightly curving hips; the line from her throat to her
feet soft and undulating, which served to give more elegance to her
chaste appearance; the grace of strong and beautiful girlhood, in
addition to the attraction of sex. With the taste of a Greek of
refinement he rejoiced in the freshness of her form, comparing it
mentally with Sónnica's opulent but somewhat over-ripe charms.
Rhanto, as she saw the Greek's head appear between the leaves, uttered a
piercing scream and scurried behind a fig tree in search of her clothes.
Bells tinkled among the foliage and the goats thrust forward their
glossy muzzles, their moist eyes, and curving horns.
"Is it you, Athenian?" said Erotion, arising with a gesture of ill
humor. "You have frightened Rhanto by your unexpected presence."
Then he added maliciously, "Rhanto is your slave. I am well aware of
that. And I also know that you are the master of the pottery where I
work. You have risen much since that morning when we met you on the
highway of the Serpent. You have dominion over Sónnica the rich. Love
has made her your slave."
"I am not master of anyone," said the Greek simply. "I am your friend,
and I do not forget that the first bread I ate in this city I received
from your hands."
Erotion seemed to gain confidence at these words.
"What are you looking at, Athenian? That clay? How you must laugh at me!
I am convinced that I am worthless as an artist. Yet there are moments
when I feel myself capable of a great work; I conceive it; I see it in
my mind as clearly as if I had it erected before me; but when I put my
hands to the clay I realize my lack of skill, and I am ready to weep.
Ah! if only I could have gone to Greece!"
His words sounded like a lament; he stared angrily at the pile of clay
which had crudely begun to assume the outlines of Rhanto's form.
"If you only knew how I had to urge her before she would consent to show
the divine nudity of her body. Do not think it strange. She comes of a
race of barbarians. She fears the club of her grandfather, the chief
shepherd, that would fall upon her body if he should discover her as you
did a few minutes ago. I explained to her about our sculptors, before
whom the most famous hetæræ contended for the honor of disrobing; and
the certainty that her mistress, Sónnica, had done the same in Athens
was the only thing that decided her. But how can one copy her divine
body? How imbue molded clay with the life which throbs beneath her
skin?"
In his despair he threatened the clay figurine as if he would crush it
under his feet. Then he took courage, and said resolutely:
"But I will be stronger than my untrained hands. I will work years and
years if necessary, until I see the divine form of my Rhanto reproduced
in all its beauty. I will not return to the pottery, although the old
archer may kill me with blows. I began my statuette hoping that it might
figure in the Panathenaic procession. Rhanto would carry it on her head,
and the multitude would crowd around to see it. I only hope for a moment
of inspiration, a fortunate moment. Who knows if to-morrow the muses may
not breathe upon me, and that I shall arise with the skill in my hands
to execute my dream?"
Frankly hurling himself down from the pinnacle of his imagination he
told the Athenian his ambition.
"If I manage to finish this statue the future will be all my own, and
some day my name will be engraved in the Forum, and the people of the
city will read it with admiration. I will free myself from the pottery
forever. I will present my statue to Sónnica, after it has been admired
by all Saguntum in the Panathenæa, and your lover, who is so generous,
will give me passage in one of her ships. I shall see Athens. I will
admire what you have seen, and then--then! Look, Actæon, through these
leaves. What do you see on the hill of the Acropolis? Nothing. Walls of
great stones, columns, roofs of temples, but not a single statue to
proclaim from afar the glory of the city. They say that upon the
Acropolis of Athens rises the gigantic figure of Pallas, all of bronze
and gold, with a lance that seems to burn in the sunlight, and that it
guides the mariners like a flame from many stadia out at sea. Is that
true? Many, many nights have I dreamt of something like that, and I see
Erotion returned from Athens a great artist, and raising a colossal work
upon our Acropolis. The bulls of Geryon, enormous, gigantic, with gilded
horns shining like flames, and behind them Hercules, covered with the
skin of the Nemean lion, like Theron, his priest, in the great festivals
of Saguntum, and his club, menacing on the height, shall be a signal to
all the navigators of the Sucronian gulf. Ah! If only some day I realize
this achievement!"
Rhanto had come out of her hiding-place covered by a tunic, and she
timidly approached Actæon, looking at him respectfully, and blushing at
the same time at the recollection of the condition in which he had
surprised her. Erotion, excited by the telling of his hopes, showed
eagerness to resume his task. He glanced at his work, and seemed to
disrobe the shepherdess with his eyes.
The Athenian understood that his presence disturbed the young people.
"Work, Erotion!" he said. "Be a great artist if you can. The sculptors
of Athens would envy you your model. Now that I know that you hide here
I will not again annoy you with my presence."
And so it was. He left the grove of fig trees permitting the two to work
undisturbed in their mysterious retreat, Erotion spurred on by ambition,
Rhanto submissive from love.
The day of the Panathenæa came at last.
The fame of the solemn festival had spread beyond the confines of
Saguntum, and the rude Celtiberians assembled by caravans to witness the
diversions of the rustic people.
The workers from the domain abandoned the labor of the harvest, and,
dressed in their best, began streaming into the city at sunrise to
attend the festival of the goddess of the fields. They carried great
sheaves of wheat, interspersed with flowers, to offer to the goddess,
and white fleeced lambs adorned with ribbons to sacrifice on her altar.
By sunrise the city was filled with a multicolored crowd which gathered
in the Forum, or hurried along the river banks to see the horse races.
A great stadium had been formed near the Bætis-Perkes in which the
principal citizens of Saguntum were to contest for the triumph. The
senators, on long benches, and guarded by a group of mercenaries,
presided over the festival. At one end of the race-track the sons of the
merchants and rich agriculturists, the entire youth of Saguntum, almost
nude, awaited the signal, leaning on their light lances, and holding the
bridles of their barebacked horses which snorted and champed the bit,
scenting the coming contest.
The signal to start was given, and placing their left feet on the
handles of their lances all sprang simultaneously upon their chargers,
dashing forward in a compact squadron along the track. The immense crowd
broke into acclamations at sight of the bizarre riders who leaning
forward almost lay on their horses' necks, as if forming a single body
with them, waving their lances, quickening their gallop with shouts, and
wrapped in a cloud of dust through which the multitude could barely make
out the straining legs and the bellies of the animals which were nearly
touching the ground. The wild race lasted long. The less skillful
riders, and those with poorer mounts, were being out-stripped; the
squadron was diminishing visibly. He who should remain longest on the
track, ever in advance of the others, would win the crown, and the
people made bets on the Celtiberian Alorcus, and on the Athenian Actæon
who figured from the first instant at the head of the riders.
The citizens who did not wish to wait in the sun for the end of the race
followed the river bank until they reached the walls, in the shade of
which the youths were wrestling or engaging in boxing matches in
competition for the prize for dexterity. Others of more pacific turn
went to the Forum, where beneath the porticos the young aristocrats were
competing for the laurel crown offered for the most skilled in music and
song. Seated on ivory chairs, attended by their handsome slave boys who
fanned them with branches of myrtle, Lachares and his friends played the
flute or thrummed the lyre, singing Greek verses with sweet and
effeminate intonations. In the gathering, some laughed, mimicking the
softness of their voices, but others, indignant, compelled silence,
overcome by the charm which art, even in this womanish guise, exercised
over their uncultured minds.
Late in the morning the clamor from the enthusiastic multitude filled
the broad space of the Forum like reverberating thunder. It was the
people returning from the races, acclaiming the victor. The arrogant
Alorcus, dragged off the back of his horse, was borne on the shoulders
of the most enthusiastic. The olive crown encircled his tossed and dusty
hair. Actæon was beside him, celebrating his triumph fraternally,
without a touch of envy.
The singers, swept away before this wave of enthusiasm, made off with
their chairs and instruments. The crown of laurel was bound upon
Lachares in the midst of general indifference, and he received no other
congratulations than those of his slaves. All the enthusiasm of the city
was lavished upon the winner in the races; the people were inflamed with
admiration for strength and skill.
The solemn moment had come; the _pompa_ was about to begin. In the
merchant's ward slaves hung red and green bunting from roof to roof
which shaded the streets. The windows and terraces were draped with
multicolored tapestries of complicated design, and slave women placed
censers in the doorways for burning perfumes.
The rich Grecian women, followed by their servants who carried sedan
chairs, went in search of places where they could sit on the steps of
the temples or in the shops at the Forum, and the people ranged
themselves along the houses, impatiently awaiting the arrival of the
procession which was forming outside the walls. Flocks of children
completely nude ran through the streets waving branches of myrtle,
shouting acclamations in honor of the goddess.
Suddenly the people stirred, bursting into cries of enthusiasm. The
pageant in honor of Minerva had entered through the gate of the Road of
the Serpent and was advancing slowly toward the Forum, through the ward
of the merchants, who were the organizers of the festival.
In advance marched venerable old men with long beards, dressed in white,
with voluminous mantles, their snowy hair crowned with green leaves, and
carrying olive branches in their hands. Then came the more arrogant
citizens, armed with lance and shield, the visor of the Grecian helmet
drawn down over their eyes, proudly displaying the strong muscles of
their arms and limbs. Next followed the most beautiful youths of the
city, crowned with flowers, singing hymns in praise of the goddess;
choruses of nude children, dancing with unaffected grace, clasping
hands, forming a chain of complicated combinations. Now appeared the
maidens, daughters of the rich, clad only in a tunic of finest linen,
which displayed their youthful charms. They carried in their hands as
offerings dainty willow baskets covered by veils which hid the
instruments for the sacrifice to the goddess, and with these the loaves
made of new wheat and the handfuls of golden ears which were to be
deposited on her altar. To clearly mark the dignity of the rich virgins,
slave women marched behind them bearing their sedan chairs inlaid with
ivory, and the striped silk sunshades with gay colored tassels at the
ends of the staves.
A group of slave women chosen for their beauty, with Rhanto in the
premier rank, carried on their heads great amphoræ filled with honey and
water for the libations in honor of the goddess. Behind them marched the
musicians and singers of the city, crowned with roses, clad in flowing
white vestments. They swept the lyre, and played the flutes, and some
Greeks from Sónnica's pottery, who had been wandering rhapsodists, sang
fragments from the epic of the Trojan war before the barbarian throngs,
who scarcely understood them, but admired the harmonious cadence of
Homer's verses.
The people pressed forward, craning their necks to get a better view of
the salii, the dancing devotees of Mars, who advanced nude, armed with
sword and shield. Slung from the stick laid across their shoulders, two
slaves were carrying a row of bronze shields, on which another slave was
beating with a mallet, and keeping time to these harsh sounds the salii
danced, making feigned attacks, and raining blows with their swords on
the shield of the pretended adversary, uttering ferocious shouts, and
also performing pantomimes to recall the main episodes in the life of
the goddess Minerva.
Behind the clamor, which set the streets in a commotion, causing the
populace to roar with enthusiasm excited by the warlike display, came a
group of girls holding a peplus of finest texture on which the principal
Grecian women of the city had embroidered the combat of Minerva with the
Titans. It was the offering which was to remain in the new temple of the
goddess as a perpetual token of the festival.
Closing the procession, the sacred squadron advanced, the richest
citizens, mounted on fiery horses, which, with their evolutions
compelled the crowd to fall back against the walls. They presented a
brave display, making their steeds rear on their hind feet, guided only
by the bridle, riding bareback, pressing their knees into the horses'
ribs. The eldest of the horsemen wore huge hats in the Athenian fashion.
The young men wore the winged helmet of Mercury or went bareheaded,
their short curls bound by a fire-colored ribbon. Alorcus wore the crown
he had won, and Actæon, riding beside him on one of the Celtiberian's
horses, smiled at the crowd, which regarded him with a certain respect
as if he were Sónnica's husband and in possession of her enormous
riches. The horsemen gazed with pride at the swords which hung at their
sides and clanked against the flanks of their horses, and they took in
with a glance the high Acropolis and the city lying at its feet, as if
expressing confidence in their strength, and faith in the tranquility in
which Saguntum might dwell, sure of protection.
The crowd fired with enthusiasm by the brilliant procession, acclaimed
Sónnica. Surrounded by her slave women, she gazed down from the terrace
of her great building in the ward of the merchants where she stored her
merchandise. She was the organizer, the one who bore the cost of the
peplus of Minerva, she it was who had transplanted to Saguntum the
beautiful festival of Athens. Fragrant odors from the censers were flung
upon the air; a shower of roses fell from the windows upon the maidens;
arms glistened in the sunlight, and in moments when the people were
silent the sounds of lyres and flutes floated on the breeze,
accompanying with soft melodies the voices of the Homeric rhapsodists.
The crude Celtiberians, gathered to witness the festival, remained
silent in astonishment at the procession which dazzled them with its
glitter of arms and jewels and the multicolored confusion of costumes.
The natives of Saguntum congratulated their fellow-citizens, the Greeks,
admiring the splendor of the festival.
The festivity did not cease with the passing of the brilliant
procession. In the afternoon the diversion of the populace, the festival
of the poor, would take place. The race of the flaming torch would be
held along the walls. Mariners, potters, laborers, all the free and poor
people of the port and the country in wild career, would carry lighted
torches in memory of Prometheus. He who accomplished the feat of making
the round of the city, keeping his torch still burning, would be
declared winner; those who let theirs go out, or who traveled slowly to
protect the flames, would be greeted with hisses and blows by the crowd.
Even the rich gave vent to enthusiasm over this popular festival which
produced so much merriment.
Near the Acropolis, when the procession was wholly within its walls,
Alorcus discerned among the people a Celtiberian mounted on a horse
covered with foam and sweat, beckoning him to approach.
Alorcus, turning away from the troop of horsemen, trotted towards him.
"What do you want?" he asked, in the harsh language of his country.
"I am one of your tribe, and your father is my chief. I have just
reached Saguntum after traveling three days to say to you; 'Alorcus,
your father is dying, and he calls for you.' The ancients of your tribe
have ordered me not to return without you."
Actæon had followed his friend, breaking away from the sacred squadron,
and witnessed the dialogue without understanding a word, although he
guessed something disagreeable by the Celtiberian's pale face.
"Bad news?" he asked Alorcus.
"My father is dying, and he has sent for me."
"What shall you do?"
"I must go immediately. My people demand my presence."
The two horsemen began the descent to the city, followed by the
Celtiberian messenger.
Actæon sympathized with his comrade's emotion. At the same time the
curiosity of the traveler, so often aroused by the Celtiberian's tales,
was awakened within him.
"Do you wish me to accompany you, Alorcus?"
The young man received the proposition with a look of gratitude. Then
he declined, saying that he must depart in haste; the Greek might wish
to bid farewell to Sónnica; perhaps the separation would be a grief to
her; and he desired to start on the journey at once.
"We will omit the farewell," said the Greek in his light, happy manner.
"Sónnica will be resigned when I make known to her through a slave that
I shall be absent for some days. Do you wish to leave immediately? I
will accompany you. I am curious to see that land with its strange
customs, and its valiant and sturdy inhabitants, of whose brave deeds
you have so often told me."
They crossed the city. The streets were deserted. The entire population
had gone up to the Acropolis. Actæon stopped a moment before Sónnica's
warehouses to give the news of his journey to her slaves, and then he
followed his friend, riding forth from the city.
Alorcus lodged in one of the inns in the suburb, an enormous edifice
with extensive stables and broad courtyards, where continuously rang the
diverse tongues of the interior of the Peninsula, hoarsened and made
strident by dickering for merchandise and the bartering of beasts. Five
men of the tribe accompanied the young Celtiberian during his stay in
Saguntum, taking care of his horses and serving him as free domestics.
On learning that they were to depart these sons of the mountains shouted
with joy. They had languished with inactivity in that rich and fruitful
country amid customs which they detested, and they made preparations for
the journey in haste.
The sun was setting when they started. Alorcus and Actæon rode in
advance, their mantles thrown over their heads, padded linen
breastplates to protect their chests after the Celtiberian fashion, and
short broadswords, and leather shields hanging at their sides. The five
servants and the messenger brought up the rear, armed with long lances,
driving the mules laden with Alorcus' clothing and provisions.
Throughout the afternoon they traveled upon the roads, being still in
the Saguntine domain, and they passed cultivated and fruitful fields,
beautiful villas and compact little towns clinging close around the
tower which served them as defense. When night closed in they camped
close to a miserable village in the mountains. There the territory of
Saguntum ended. Beyond lay the tribes which were almost constantly
warring with the people of the coast.
Next morning the Greek beheld a wholly different landscape. The sea and
the green plains lay behind him, and he saw only mountains and more
mountains, some covered with great pine forests, others red, with bluffs
of bluish stone, overgrown with dense thickets which, brushed by the
passing caravan, sent forth clouds of frightened birds, while terrified
rabbits scampered under the very horses' hoofs.
The trails were not the work of man. The beasts laboriously picked their
way in the tracks left by former travelers; they often twisted around
masses of rock fallen from the summits, and again they forded streams
which ran across their path. They skirted mountains; they climbed
heights into a silent region seldom penetrated by man, where eagles
screamed, flapping their wings in anger at this invasion. They rode down
into gorges, deep crevices, in which reigned a sepulchral penumbra and
where buzzards hopped close by the dead body of some abandoned animal.
In the distance they saw beside a stream in a little valley, a group of
mud-walled cabins with straw-thatched roofs, with an open hole to let
light into the dwelling and to give exit to the smoke. The women, bony
and dressed in skins, surrounded by naked children, came out of their
hovels to stare at the passing caravan, with wild expressions of alarm
as if the approach of strangers could only bring misfortune. Others
younger, barelegged, with ragged aprons hanging from their waists, were
reaping the stunted wheat, which barely rose like a golden film above
the sterile, whitish earth. Girls, strong and ugly, with masculine
limbs, came down from the mountains, bearing great bundles of fagots on
their backs, while the men sat in the shade of nut and oak trees
braiding bull-tendons for making their shields, or they practiced
hurling, darts and handling the lance, their tangled hair falling over
bronzed and bearded faces.
On the highest points along the way appeared warriors of doubtful
aspect, a mixture of bandit and shepherd, armed with long lances and
carrying leather shields, mounted on small horses with long and filthy
hair. They looked the company over, and after measuring its strength,
and seeing it would be difficult to conquer, they turned back to their
sheep pasturing in the deep mountain gorges filled with a tangle of
shrubbery. The innumerable flocks of lambs and herds of cattle,
accustomed to the wild solitude, fled terrified as they heard the
passing of the caravan. Bevies of quail ran in search of food like gray
ants among the rosemary and thyme growing on the slopes, and flew away
at the sound of the horses' hoofs, whirring like a hiss over the
travelers' heads.
Actæon was interested in the rude customs of these people. The cabins
were made of red adobe, or of stones laid in clay, and roofed with
branches. The women, uglier and more energetic than the men, performed
the fatiguing labor. Only boys worked, imitating their mothers. Young
men early grasped the lance, and under the direction of their elders
learned to fight on foot or on horseback; they broke the colts,
springing to the ground, and mounting again while the horse was running,
and they trained themselves to remain kneeling motionless on the horses'
backs with their arms free to wield the sword and shield.
In some villages the party was received with traditional hospitality,
and was welcomed even more affectionately on recognizing Alorcus, the
heir of Endovellicus, the respected chieftain of the tribes of Baraeco
which had pastured their flocks for centuries on the banks of the Jalón.
When night came they gave up to them their best beds of woven thongs
covered with fluffy dried grasses; they impaled a calf on a spit,
turning it before an enormous bonfire, for regaling the caravan, and
during the journey the women detained them at the entrance to their
huts, offering them in coarse earthen vessels the bitter beer brewed in
the valleys, and the bread made of acorn flour.
Alorcus explained the customs of his people to the Athenian. They
gathered acorns, their chief food, exposing them to the sun until well
dried. They husked and ground them, and stored the supply of flour for
six months. This bread, with game, and the milk of their animals,
constituted their principal food. At intervals pestilence robbed them of
their flocks, the crops failed, and hunger decimated the tribes; then
the strong devoured the weak. Alorcus remembered hearing this from the
elders of his tribe as having occurred in remote times when Neton,
Autubel, Nabi, and other divinities of the land, irritated against their
people, had sent upon them these fearful punishments.
The young Celtiberian continued telling of the customs. Some of the
women who worked in the fields with so much vigor had perhaps given
birth to a child the day before. As soon as born they immersed it in the
nearest river, so that by this act, which in many cases caused death, it
would grow vigorous and insensible to cold; and while the mother
resolutely arose and continued her work, the husband took her place in
the bed, lying down with the newly born child. The woman, still barely
convalescent, took care of the two, surrounding the hale and hearty
husband with comforts, as if in gratitude for the fruit he had given
her.
Several times the caravan on its march passed men lying rigid and
groaning on couches of herbs gathered by the wayside. Flies buzzed about
their heads in clouds; an amphora of water stood within their reach. A
child squatted near the couch brushing away the insects with a branch.
They were sick people whom their relatives exposed by the roadside
according to ancient custom, partly to implore the clemency of the
divinities by exhibiting their misery, and also in order that passing
travelers might advise a remedy, thus transmitting prescriptions from
distant countries.
The strong men bathed in horse urine to harden their muscles. Their only
luxury consisted in weapons. They admired as priceless jewels the bronze
swords brought from the north of the Peninsula, and those of steel made
by the people of Bilbilis and tempered in the sands of their famous
river. The flexible cuirasses, formed by several thicknesses of
superposed linen, or those of leather, decorated with nails, were
defensive arms which the Celtiberian never laid aside, not even when in
bed. They slept dressed in the sagum, the metal greaves on their legs,
and their weapons within reach of the hand, ready to fight the instant
the slightest alarm might disturb their sleep.
After three days of travel the caravan entered the territory belonging
to the tribes of Alorcus. The mountains separated on both sides of the
Jalón, forming smiling valleys covered by tall grasses, through which
ran herds of wild horses with curling manes and waving tails. The women
came out of the villages to greet Alorcus, and the men, grasping lances,
mounted their horses and joined the caravan. In the first village where
they stopped an old man told Alorcus that his father, the powerful
Endovellicus, was dying, and in the next through which they passed in a
few hours, he heard that the great chieftain had died at daybreak.
All the warriors of the tribe, herders and farmers, followed them on
horseback. When they reached the village where the kinglet had lived,
the escort had grown to a small army.
In the doorway of the paternal house, a low structure of red stones
roofed with logs, Alorcus saw his sisters in dresses made of flowers and
wearing around their necks and over their heads cage-like collars from
the bars of which hung mourning veils.
The sisters of Alorcus, as well as the women who accompanied them, the
wives of the chief warriors of the tribe, hid their grief at the death
of the chieftain, and smiled as if it were the eve of a festival. Old
age was a disgrace among the Celtiberians, who held life in contempt,
and fought for diversion when not engaged in war. To die in bed was
deemed dishonorable, and the only thing which somewhat disturbed the
serenity of the family of Endovellicus was that so famous a warrior, the
terror of neighboring clans, should have died with white hair, his life
flickering out like a wasted torch, after having galloped his steed
through so many combats, hurling his sword like a thunderbolt upon the
enemy.
Actæon's dress and his countenance attracted the curious gaze of all the
tribe. Many of the Celtiberians had never seen a Greek, and they looked
upon this one with hostile eyes, recalling the clever tricks and sharp
dealings of the Hellenic merchants experienced by their brethren when
they went down to Saguntum to sell silver from the mines.
Alorcus reassured his people.
"He is my brother," he said, in the language of the country. "We have
dwelt together in Saguntum. Besides, he is not a native of that city. He
is from very far away, from a land where the men are almost gods, and he
has journeyed hither with me to become acquainted with you."
The women gazed at Actæon in astonishment on hearing the almost divine
origin which Alorcus attributed to him.
The members of the caravan had dismounted, and entered the immense log
structure which had served the chief for a palace. A vast room blackened
by smoke, lighted only by narrow apertures like loopholes, served as a
place of reunion and council for the warriors of the tribe. At one end
was an enormous stone, upon which was burning a wood fire, while a great
opening in the roof did service as a chimney. Set in one wall was a
stone slab, with the figure of the divinity of the tribe strangling two
lions rudely sculptured upon it. Hung along the walls were lances and
shields, skins of wild beasts, bleached craniums and twisted horns of
large game. A stone bench ran along the sides of the room making way
near the fireplace for a high masonry seat covered by a bear skin. Here
the chieftain was accustomed to sit.
The warriors took their places on the bench as they entered.
One old man taking Alorcus by the hand, guided him to a place of honor.
"Sit here, son of Endovellicus. You are his only heir and you shall be
our chief. May his valor and his prudence dwell in you."
The other warriors assented to the elder's words with grave nods of
approval.
"Where is my father's body?" asked Alorcus, filled with emotion by the
simple ceremony.
"Since the sun set it has slept in the meadow where you learned to break
horses and to use arms. The young men of the tribe are keeping guard
over it. The obsequies worthy of so great a chief will take place at
sunrise. Then, as our new king, you will give us counsel upon the great
affairs of the tribe."
Alorcus compelled the Greek to sit beside him. The women filed in with
torches, since no more than a dim twilight was produced by the pale,
diffused glow filtering through the narrow slits in the wall. The
sisters of Alorcus, with lowered eyes, their flowery tunics floating
about their strong, virginal forms, passed before the warriors, offering
drinking horns filled with metheglin and beer. The men imbibed
enormously without losing self-control. They recounted the deeds of
Endovellicus as if he had died many years before, and they told of the
great enterprises in which his successor would surely lead them hinting
again and again, in mysterious words, at a subject with which they must
deal in the council on the morrow.
Supper was brought. The Celtiberians were not accustomed to eating at
table like the people of the coast. They remained seated on the stone
bench. The women placed beside them a wheaten loaf, instead of the acorn
bread which was commonly eaten, this being an extraordinary feast.
Others passed a great vessel filled with chunks of roasted meat still
dripping blood, and each warrior speared a piece with the point of his
knife. Horns overflowing with liquor circulated from hand to hand, and
Actæon accepted with graceful mien whatever his neighbors, in hospitable
phrase which he could not understand, offered him.
Supper being ended, the young men of the tribe came in with trumpets and
flutes, and began to play a bizarre air which combined the joy of the
chase with the fury of their charge upon the enemy in battle. The
guests were aroused, and the youngest among them, springing into the
centre of the room, began to dance with gymnastic freedom. It was the
dance with which the Celtiberians terminated their banquets, a violent
exercise which put their muscles to the test, and caused them to regain
their spirit even in moments of greatest depression.
Long before midnight the warriors retired, leaving Alorcus and Actæon
alone in the great smoke-filled room, where sputtered the torches,
tingeing the barbaric decorations on the walls with a blood-like hue.
They slept on couches of aromatic herbs, without removing their
clothing, their weapons near them, as slept all the tribe, ever fearful
of attack from neighbors tempted by the multitude of their flocks.
At daybreak they went down to the meadow where the body of Endovellicus
was exposed. The whole tribe was gathered on the plain near the river;
the young men on horseback with their lances, and in full armor; the old
men seated in the shade of the oak trees; the women and children near
the pyre of logs upon which lay the corpse of their chief.
Endovellicus was arrayed in his war costume. His faded hair escaped
beneath the borders of his triple-crested helmet; his silvery beard
rested upon a cuirass of bronze scales; his muscular arms were naked,
and his hands were clasped over the Celtiberian sword, short and
slender, with broadened point, and his legs were bound by the broad
straps of his sandals. His shield, engraved with a representation of the
gods of the tribe struggling with two lions, served as a cushion for his
head.
When the two young men arrived the same elder who had spoken to Alorcus
the day before advanced. He was the wisest of the tribe, and had
counselled Endovellicus many times before undertaking audacious
expeditions. Under extraordinary circumstances he had laid open with his
sacred knife the viscera of his prisoners to read the future in the
quiverings of their entrails. Again he had cut off the hands of the
conquered to dedicate them to the god of the tribe, nailing them to the
chieftain's door to placate the divinity. Mystery used him as a
mouthpiece and all the tribe regarded him with awe and fear, as if he
were capable of changing the course of the sun and of destroying in a
night the crops of an enemy.
"Advance, son of Endovellicus!" he said solemnly. "Look upon your people
who choose you as most valiant and most worthy to succeed your father!"
He questioned the assemblage with a look, and the warriors answered by
beating on their shields, uttering the same shouts with which they
infuriated themselves on plunging into battle.
"You have become our king!" continued the elder. "You shall be father
and guardian of your people! That you may fulfill your mission receive
the great inheritance of your father! Bring hither the shield."
Two young men climbed to the top of the pyre, and raising Endovellicus'
head, they brought down the shield engraved with the image of the god,
and delivered it to Alorcus.
"With this shield," continued the venerable warrior, "you shall protect
your people from the blows of the enemy. Bring hither the sword!"
The young men brought down the sword, drawing it forth from the stiff
fingers of Endovellicus.
"Bind it upon you, Alorcus," continued the wizard. "With this you shall
defend us, and may it fall like a thunderbolt wherever the destiny of
your people points! Advance, youthful king!"
Guided by the elder, Alorcus stepped forward to the pyre upon which his
father lay. He turned away his face that he might not behold the body,
fearing an outburst of grief which would force him to shed tears before
his tribe.
"Swear by Neton, by Autubel, by Nabi, by Caulece, by all the gods of our
tribe, and of all the tribes that people this earth and hate the
foreigners who one day came from across the sea to rob us of our riches.
Swear to be faithful to your people and ever to obey the counsels of the
warriors of your tribe! Swear it by the body of your father, which soon
will be only ashes!"
Alorcus took the oath, and the warriors pounded upon their shields
again, uttering acclamations of joy.
The old warrior, with extraordinary vigor, climbed upon the logs and
searched beneath the cuirass of the corpse.
"Take this, Alorcus!" he said, on descending. He handed the new
chieftain a slender copper chain from which hung a disk-like case of the
same metal. "This is the greatest inheritance from your father--the
manumission which accompanied him at all times. There is not a warrior
in Celtiberia who does not carry upon his person his poison so that he
may die rather than become the slave of the conqueror. I prepared this
for your father. I spent a whole moon extracting it from the wild
apium, and one drop of it will kill like a lightning flash. If some day
you fall vanquished, drink and die before your people behold their
chieftain with a hand stricken off and serving the enemy as a slave."
Alorcus slipped the chain over his head, concealing the heirloom in his
breast. Then he returned to Actæon, beneath the oaks where the ancients
of the tribe were grouped.
The young men in the meadow, apprentices in the art of warfare, ran
around the pyre with lighted torches. The flaming candlewood licked the
resinous logs, and soon the smoke and flames began to enwrap the corpse.
The warriors most famous for valor and strength advanced, making their
horses caracole round about the fire.
Waving their lances, they proclaimed with hoarse cries the deeds of the
departed chief, the body of the tribe joining in the acclamation. They
related the innumerable combats from which he had come forth victor; the
audacious expeditions on which he had caught the enemy off their guard
at night, burning their dwellings, and leading off interminable strings
of captives; the flocks captured, for which there was barely
pasture-ground in the territories belonging to the tribe; his colossal
strength; the quickness with which he mastered the wildest colt; and the
prudence which he demonstrated in all his counsels.
"He covered the doors of our houses with the hands of our enemies,"
shouted a warrior, galloping like a phantom through the smoke of the
funeral pyre.
The multitude shouted with an intonation of lament.
"Endovellicus! Endovellicus!"
"All the tribes feared him, and his name was respected like that of a
god!"
The multitude repeated the name of the chief over and over, as if
weeping.
"With his hands of stone he would fell the bull in full career, and
smite off the head of the enemy with a stroke of his sword!"
"Endovellicus! Endovellicus!"
Thus proceeded the last rites to the chieftain. The flames from the bier
rose straight into the heavens clouding the blue sky with its pall of
smoke, and the mourners tireless in heralding the deeds of their leader,
passed and repassed like black demons crowned with sparks, making their
horses leap over the flaming wood. The funeral pyre fell overwhelming
the remains of Endovellicus with ashes and charring logs, while around
the embers of the fire commenced the combat in honor of the dead.
The warriors advanced on horseback with slack rein, the shield held
before the breast, the sword raised high, and they fought like
irreconcilable enemies. The closest comrades, brothers at arms, dealt
each other tremendous blows, with the enthusiasm of a people which turns
fighting into a diversion. They must shed blood to glorify the memory of
the deceased with greater pomp. Horses fell at the shock of the
encounter and the riders continued the struggle on foot, wrestling body
to body, making the shields resound with the force of the blows. When
some of the warriors had retired covered with blood, and the combat had
assumed the character of a general battle, in which, aroused by the
spectacle, the women and children participated, Alorcus ordered the
trumpets to sound the retreat, and he hurled himself among the
combatants to separate the more tenacious.
Thus ended the funeral rites. The slaves of the tribe flung the remnants
of the bonfire into a ditch, and the crowd, seeing the festival over,
before retiring to their villages, held aloft once more their horns
brimming with beer, to drink to the honor of the new-made king.
The principal warriors turned toward the dwelling of the chief to hold
council.
The Athenian traveled beside Alorcus, manifesting astonishment at the
barbaric and warlike customs of the Celtiberians. As he could not
understand their language, the warriors were not alarmed at seeing him
take a seat in the council hall near their new chieftain.
The wizard discoursed at length to Alorcus, amid the respectful silence
of the warriors. Actæon understood that he was giving an account of
extraordinary events which had occurred in the tribe a few days before
the arrival of the new king. Perhaps some call from friendly tribes,
some fruitful expedition planned by the more venturesome.
He saw the face of Alorcus darken, as if they were telling him something
painful, repugnant to his feelings. The assemblage looked at him
fixedly, betraying in their eyes enthusiasm and agreement with the old
man's words. Alorcus recovered his composure, listening calmly to the
wizard, and when the latter ceased talking, after a long pause, he spoke
a few words and with his head made a gesture of assent.
His rude countrymen received the chieftain's acceptance with ardor, and
rushed from the house in vehement haste to carry the news to those
outside.
When the Greek and the Celtiberian were left alone, the latter said
sadly:
"Actæon, to-morrow I set out with my people. I begin to serve as
chieftain of the tribe. I must lead it to combat."
"May I accompany you?"
"No. I know not where we are going. My father had a powerful ally whom I
dare not name to you, and this ally calls me without saying why. The
whole tribe displays tremendous enthusiasm for this expedition."
After a pause Alorcus added:
"You are welcome to stay here as long as you wish. My sisters will obey
you as if you were Alorcus himself."
"No; since you will not be here, nothing remains for me to do. I have
seen enough in one day to know the Celtiberians. I will return to
Saguntum."
"Happy man, who can return to the Grecian life, to Sónnica's banquets,
to the sweet peace of those merchants! May it never be disturbed, and
may I be able to return there as a friend!"
The two preserved a long silence, as if black thoughts were whirling
through their minds.
"You will return from this expedition loaded down with riches," said the
Greek, "and you will come back to Saguntum to spend them joyously."
"May it be thus!" murmured Alorcus. "But I feel a presentiment that we
shall never meet again, Actæon; or, if we meet, it will be to curse the
gods that we should ever have known each other. I go ignorant of my
destination, and perhaps I must march against what I most love."
They said no more; they feared to give expression to their thoughts.
Greek and Celtiberian embraced tenderly. Then, after a sorrowful
farewell, they kissed each other on the eyes in sign of fraternal
friendship.