INVASION
Sónnica feared that she had lost Actæon forever. His sudden departure
seemed the caprice of a fickle Athenian--of an eternal wanderer, driven
by the fever of seeing new lands. Only the gods could tell where that
bird of passage might fly after his visit to Celtiberia! Perhaps he
would remain with Alorcus; perhaps he would go to war along with those
barbarians; perhaps, captivated by his knowledge and cleverness, they
would go so far as to give him a kingdom.
Sónnica doubted that the Athenian would ever return. Her short
springtime of love had been like the fugitive joy of the women adored by
the gods when they had come down to earth. She who used to be so
unfeeling as to mock at affection, now spent the days weeping on her
couch, or wandering by night like a shade through the gardens, stopping
in the grotto where the Greek had given her his first caress. The slaves
wondered at the harsh and capricious temper of their mistress, who one
moment groaned like a child, and the next, as if fired with sudden
cruelty, ordered punishments for them all; but, without warning, Actæon
presented himself before her villa one morning, riding a dusty, sweaty
horse. He dismissed the ferocious featured barbarians who had served him
as bodyguard, and ran with outstretched arms toward the tremulous
Sónnica. The whole of her immense dominions seemed resuscitated; the
mistress smiled; the garden bloomed more beautifully; on the terrace
shone the plumage of the rare birds with greater splendor; the
instruments of the flute players sounded more joyful, and to the slaves,
freed now from punishment, the air seemed sweeter and the sky more blue.
Sónnica's villa reawoke to its merry life, as if its owner had risen
from the dead. The nights were devoted to feasting in the great
triclinium; Sónnica's friends, the young gallants, accepted her
invitations, and even Euphobias, the philosopher, reached his place at
the table without having to fight his way through the blows of her
slaves.
Sónnica was radiant, clinging to Actæon and listening to his words as to
sweet music. The guests urged him to relate the story of his adventures
among the Celtiberians, wondering at the customs of the tribes over
which Alorcus reigned. Euphobias, the parasite, did not conceal his
satisfaction at possessing so powerful a friend, and he declared that he
would go to his kingdom to live awhile in comfort, without having to beg
his bread from the merchants of Saguntum. Love's springtime returned for
the Athenian. He spent his days at the villa, lying at Sónnica's feet,
watching her spin the bright colored wool from the distaff or give the
finishing touches to her toilette, assisted by her slaves. At the close
of day they strolled through the garden, and night surprised them in the
grotto, in fond embrace, listening to the song of the water falling into
the alabaster basin with sweet, monotonous melody.
Now and again Actæon went to the city in the morning to stroll through
the porticos of the Forum listening to the newsmongers with the
curiosity of a Greek accustomed to the grumblings in the Agora. He
noticed extraordinary stir in the great Saguntine market-square. The
idle talked of war; the more bellicose recounted with exaggeration their
achievements on the last expedition against the Turdetani, and the
tranquil merchants left their counters to ask for news, accepting with
gestures of despair the possibility of a coming struggle. As Actæon came
into Saguntum he saw on the wall hundreds of slaves repairing the
merlons worn by time, and filled with cracks which many years of peace
had opened in them.
Mopsus, the archer, put him in touch with the deliberations of the
elders. Hannibal had sent an emissary with an ultimatum to return to the
Turdetani the conquered territories and the booty taken during their
last expedition. The African threatened with insufferable arrogance, and
the Saguntine Republic had answered with scorn, refusing to listen to
his commands. Saguntum would only obey its strong ally Rome, and, secure
in her protection, she looked with indifference upon the threats of the
Carthaginian. However, as war seemed inevitable, and as all stood in
fear of the youth and audacious character of Hannibal, two senators had
embarked some days before at the port of Saguntum, setting sail for the
coasts of Italy to relate what had taken place, soliciting the
protection of the Roman Senate.
This news circulated confusedly through the Forum, and the crowd jested
at Hannibal as an impetuous youth who needed a lesson. He might come
against Saguntum whenever he wished. These Carthaginians were the very
same who had been driven out of Sicily, the same who had been compelled
to abandon the coasts of Magna Grecia, being expelled by the Romans, who
had then raised their own city beside the ruin! If they had achieved
victories afterward in Iberia it was only against barbarian tribes
ignorant of the art of warfare, who fell victims to their cunning! When
they attacked Saguntum they would encounter a worthier enemy, and Rome,
the powerful ally, would fall upon their rear and exterminate them!
These ideas infuriated the city.
News came that Hannibal had set forth upon his campaign and was slowly
approaching, and with such tidings a gust of war seemed to sweep over
Saguntum inflaming the minds of the most prudent. The peace-loving
merchants with the mute choler of pacific-minded men who see their
possessions endangered, stood in the doorways of their shops cleaning
the rust from old arms, or they went down to the river bank to practise
using them, mingling with the young men, who, since sunrise, had been
making their horses caracole, gaining skill in the management of the
lance, or improving themselves in archery under the direction of Mopsus.
Actæon now began to spend his days away from the villa, deaf to the
prayers of Sónnica, who longed to have him ever near her. The Senate had
given him command of the peltasts, the light infantry, and at the head
of some hundreds of young men, barefooted and with no other defensive
arm than a cuirass of wool and a shield of osiers, he ran along the
river bank, teaching them to hurl darts without stopping in their race,
to wound an enemy as they passed swiftly by his side, without giving
him time to respond with another blow.
This exercise over, the perspiring youths dived into the river to
refresh themselves with a swim, while the Greek slowly returned to the
villa, lingering in the most smiling spots of the domain.
One afternoon the Athenian met Erotion, the potter, at the foot of an
enormous cherry tree, gazing into the tallest branches, from which fell
a shower of red fruit shaken down by an invisible hand. They had not met
since the day when Actæon surprised him modeling before the nude
shepherdess.
The youth greeted the Greek with a smile.
"Are you no longer busy?" asked Actæon with paternal kindness. "Have you
finished your work?"
The boy answered with a gesture of indifference: "My work! Do not laugh
at me, Greek. I have nothing to do."
"And where is Rhanto?"
"She is in the top of that tree, gathering the finest cherries for me.
She climbs like a wood-nymph and she will not let me go with her. She is
afraid I shall hurt myself."
The branches of the cherry tree shook, and the shepherdess descended,
agile as a squirrel, her limbs bare, her skirt gathered up and filled
with cherries. She and her lover devoured them amid laughter, their lips
ruddy with the crimson fruit-juice, and they decorated each other's hair
or hung yokes of cherries over their ears, forming picturesque
ruby-colored earrings.
Actæon smiled at the strong, handsome young folks who ever sought each
other's company and frolicked as if they were in the heart of the
desert, giving no heed to the danger threatening the city.
"But what about your art?" he asked.
Erotion and Rhanto laughed at the recollection.
"I smashed the figure to pieces," said the boy. "I broke the clay into
fragments, and I have decided to touch no other than that in the
pottery--when I make up my mind to return there."
He flung his arms around the shepherdess and rested his head upon her
shoulder, rubbing his cheek against her neck with an almost feline
caress.
"Why should I work?" he added. "I spent many days kneeling before that
accursed clay, struggling to make it take on the form of her body; but
it is useless. Clay is clay, and it cannot become living substance. When
the soft flesh of my Rhanto is within reach of my hand, it is folly to
grow desperate trying to mold earth into a semblance of her life. I wish
to dream no more, Athenian. I will be content with what I have."
With sublime indifference he caressed his playmate in Actæon's presence.
"One day," continued the boy, "I saw clearly, and I understood the
truth. Rhanto stood before me. Blinded by ambition I had seen in her
only the model, but that day I beheld the woman. Why seek glory when I
had love before me! Even though I should mould a great statue, what
should I gain? That people should say, after I am dead, 'Erotion the
Saguntine made this.' I should not hear it--after having spent my life
working and suffering. No; let us live and love. That day I kicked the
statue to pieces, and I embraced Rhanto with an enthusiasm of joy.
Loving each other is better than wasting time over clay puppets. Is not
that so, Rhanto?"
They kissed each other again, heedless of the presence of the Greek.
Actæon observed a transformation in the pair, both in the frank devotion
of the boy, and in the glow in the eyes of the shepherdess. The ardor of
love seemed to have made him more manly, and to have given her a suave
and tender grace, a sweet abandon which she had lacked before.
"I have forgotten art, and now we are happy," continued the boy. "It
would have been madness to have run off to Greece, leaving here a
treasure which I had not fully appreciated. We spend our time wandering
through the fields; we know mysterious corners in the groves sheltered
by curtains of leaves, dark and perfumed hiding places which even
Sónnica the rich might envy us. When we are hungry we milk Rhanto's
goats and we rob a beehive; we climb trees in search of fruit; this is
the glorious season of the year; the whole champaign is full of
cherries."
He suddenly ceased speaking, fearing lest he had said too much. Perhaps
Rhanto reproved him with a nudge. Then he added, in a supplicating tone:
"You are good, Athenian. Rhanto and I have looked upon you as an elder
brother since that day we met you on the Road of the Serpent. Do not say
anything to my father, nor to Sónnica. Let us be happy in this life of
ours, which is worthy of the gods."
Actæon envied the felicity of these care-free youths, who loved each
other frankly, living beneath the trees, strong and beautiful as wild
creatures who had no thoughts beyond their companionship.
"Saguntum is about to be attacked. War is at our gates. Did you not know
it?"
"We have not heard of it," said Erotion, with a scornful gesture. "I am
interested in nothing but Rhanto."
"Are you not interested in the fate of your city?"
"I am more interested in the kisses of my shepherdess. As long as there
be love, sunshine, and fruits, what does the rest of the world matter to
me?"
"Have you no thought for your country, you truant?"
"Just now I have no thought for anything but these cherries, and for
these red lips which are as fresh as they."
They parted, and Actæon long held the memory of the meeting. The
light-heartedness of the loving couple filled him with envy.
The summer months passed. The vines of the domain ripened their
clusters, the farmers rejoiced in the prospect of the coming crop hidden
beneath the leaves, but from time to time, like a gloomy trumpet blast,
came news of Hannibal, of his victories over the tribes of the interior
who refused to recognize him, and of his imperious demands upon
Saguntum.
Actæon scented the nearness of war, and this, which had ever been his
principal occupation, now caused him only sorrow. He had grown to love
this beautiful land as dearly as Greece. His soul, saturated with the
sweet peace of the fertile fields, and of the rich industrious city, was
saddened at the thought that this life was to be paralyzed. His
existence had been spent amid struggles and adventures; and now, rich
and happy, when he longed for peace in a corner where he hoped to end
his days, war, like a forgotten mistress who presents herself
inopportunely, returned unbidden, forcing him anew to cruelty and
destruction.
One afternoon, at the end of summer, he was pondering these things as he
was riding toward the city. In the oblique rays of the sun the
industrious bees, searching out the wild flowers, glistened like golden
buttons. The vintagers were singing in the vineyards, stooping over
their baskets. Actæon saw one of the slaves whom Sónnica kept in her
warehouses in Saguntum come running from the direction of the city.
He stopped panting before Actæon. He was almost speechless from fatigue,
and his broken words revealed his alarm. Hannibal was coming from the
direction of Sætabis! The people from the country were crowding into the
city in terror, driving their flocks before them. They had not seen the
invader but they ran, horrified by the tales of the fugitives who were
fleeing from the frontiers of the Saguntine territory. The Carthaginians
had crossed the border; they were people of ferocious aspect, who bore
strange arms, who looted the villages, and set them on fire. He was
running to tell his mistress that she might take refuge in the city.
He rushed on toward Sónnica's villa. The Greek hesitated a moment; he
deliberated whether he should go back in search of his beloved, but he
ended by setting out on a gallop toward the city, and as he neared it,
he rode at full speed around the walls. He went for a look at the
highway from the mountains which gave Saguntum communication with the
towns by a branch which led to Sætatis and Denia. As he approached he
began to meet the refugees of whom the slave had told him.
They flooded the road like an inundation. The flocks and herds were
bleating and lowing under the lash, crowding in between the wagons;
women were running, carrying great bundles on their heads, and dragging
along the children clutching at the folds of their tunics; boys were
driving horses laden with furniture and clothing thrown together
haphazard in the precipitation of flight, and ewes leaped to the sides
of the road to escape the wheels which, catching their dragging fleece,
almost crushed them.
The Greek, riding into the stream of fugitives, opened passage with his
horse through the seething wave of wagons and animals, rustics and
slaves, in which people of different towns were confusedly mingled,
while members of scattered families were calling to one another
desperately through the clouds of dust.
The fleeing multitude was clearing away. Actæon was beginning to meet
the stragglers; poor old women traveling with vacillating step, bearing
on their shoulders some lamb which constituted their entire fortune; old
men crushed by the weight of pots and clothing; sick people dragging
themselves along by the aid of a staff; abandoned animals wandering
among the olive trees near the highway, that suddenly darted forward at
full speed through the fields as if scenting their masters; children
seated on a stone weeping, abandoned by their kindred.
Soon the road was empty. The last of the refugees were left behind, and
Actæon saw before him only the narrow tongue of red earth winding along
the mountain slopes, without a solitary being to break the monotony of
the road with his shadow.
The gallop of his horse resounded like distant thunder through the
profound silence. It seemed as if Nature had expired as she guessed the
approach of war. Even the ancient trees, the twisted olives which had
stood for centuries, the great fig trees which rose like green cupolas
against the mountain slopes, remained motionless, as if terrified at the
approach of that something which caused the people to abandon their
homes and to flee into the city.
Actæon rode through a village. Closed doors! Silent streets! From the
interior of a cabin he thought he heard a faint groan--some sick person
forsaken by his kindred in their haste to escape. Then he passed a great
closed villa. Behind the high mud walls a dog was howling in despair.
Then once more solitude, silence, absence of life, a paralysis that
seemed to creep over the fields. Night began to fall. From afar, as if
diffused and mellowed by the distance, he heard a muffled booming;
something like the surging of an invisible sea, the swelling roar of an
inundation.
The Greek left the road; his horse began to climb a cultivated hill, his
hoofs sinking into the red soil of the vineyards. From the height he
could dominate the landscape for a great distance.
The sun's last rays dyed the mountain slopes a brilliant orange. On the
winding red road shone like a rivulet of sparks the cuirasses of a group
of horsemen approaching cautiously on a trot, as if exploring the way.
Actæon recognized them; they were the Numidian cavalry with white and
floating mantles, while, mingled with them galloped other warriors of
less imposing stature, waving lances and making their small horses
caracole. The Greek smiled as he recognized Hannibal's Amazons, the
famous squadron he had seen in New Carthage, formed of the wives and
daughters of soldiers, commanded by the valorous Asbyte, daughter of
Iarbas, the Garamantan of Fezzan.
Behind this group, the road was deserted for some distance. Against the
background, like a dark monster moving with serpentine undulations,
loomed the army, an immense girdle upon which glittered the lances like
a line of fire broken at intervals by square bulks, which advanced like
moving towers. These were the elephants.
Suddenly a new sun seemed to rise behind the army, illuminating its
footsteps. A lurid light filled the horizon, and upon this ruddy
background the serrated outlines of an immense mass were traced. A
village was in flames. Hannibal's troops, composed of mercenaries from
all countries, and from barbarian tribes in the interior, intended to
terrify the hostile city, hence immediately upon entering Saguntine
territory they laid waste the fields and set fire to the dwellings.
Actæon feared to become surrounded by the Numidians and the Amazons, and
riding down from the height he started toward Saguntum at a desperate
gallop.
It was after dark when he reached the city, and he had to call his
friend Mopsus and make himself known before the gate would open to him.
"Have you seen them?" asked the archer.
"Before the cock crows they will be before our walls."
The city presented an extraordinary aspect. The streets were
illuminated with bonfires. Pine torches burned in doorways and windows,
and the multitude of fugitives huddled in the public squares, filling
the porticos, and lying on the thresholds. All the Saguntines had
streamed into the city.
The Forum was a camp. The flocks and herds were crowded between the four
colonnades without space to move, stamping and bellowing; sheep sprang
about on the steps of the temples; families of rustics boiled pots on
the Attic bases of the marble columns, and the glow of so many fires,
flickering on the façades of the houses, seemed to communicate a thrill
of alarm to the entire city. The magistrates ordered the fugitives lying
in the streets obstructing traffic to get up, and lodged them in the
slaves' quarters of the dwellings of the rich, or had them conducted to
the Acropolis to camp in its innumerable buildings. The herds also were
driven thither by the light of torches, between a double row of almost
naked men who beat the oxen when they tried to escape down the sides of
the sacred mountain.
Rising above the murmur of the multitude sounded blasts from trumpets
and conch shells calling the citizens to form ready for defending the
walls. Merchants, dressed in bronze loricas, their faces covered by the
Grecian helmet crested with an enormous brush of horsehair, issued from
their houses, tearing themselves from the arms of wives and children,
and strode majestically through the crowds of rustics, bow in hand,
their spears over their shoulders, and their swords clanking against
their nude thighs, their limbs covered to the knees with the copper
greaves. The young men dragged to the walls enormous stones to hurl
down upon the besiegers, and they laughed on being assisted by the
women who were eager to take part in the combat. Old men with venerable
beards, rich members of the Senate, opened passage, followed by slaves
with great bundles of spears and swords, distributing the arms among the
strongest country people, first making sure if they were freemen.
The city seemed to rejoice. Hannibal was coming! The more enthusiastic
had actually been anxious lest the African would not dare to present
himself before their walls; but there he was, and all laughed, thinking
that Carthage would perish in the fall of Hannibal here at the feet of
Saguntum, as soon as Rome should rally to the aid of the city.
The Saguntine ambassadors were already in Rome, and her legions would
soon arrive and crush the besiegers at a blow. Some, in their
enthusiastic optimism, inclined to the marvelous, believing that, by a
miracle of the gods, the great deed would happen within a few hours, and
that as soon as day should dawn, at the very instant when Hannibal's
army had begun to invest Saguntum, a countless galaxy of sails would
appear on the blue of the Sucronian gulf--the fleet convoying the
invincible veterans of Rome.
Nearly the entire city was on the walls. The multitude crowded upon them
until many had to catch hold of the merlons to keep from falling.
Outside the ramparts darkness reigned absolute. The frogs that inhabited
the pools along the river were hushed as if terrified; the dogs that
wandered vagabond through the champaign barked ceaselessly; they sensed
the presence of hidden beings moving in the shadows surrounding the
city.
Obscurity augmented the anxious uncertainty of the watchers on the
walls. Suddenly a point of light pierced the darkness of the plain;
another and then another flash, in different places at a distance from
the city. They were torches guiding the steps of the approaching army.
Before the ruddy spot of light silhouettes of men and horses were seen
to pass. Far off on the hilltops gleamed bonfires, serving as signals to
straggling troops.
These lights exasperated the more impatient. Some of the younger men
could no longer remain inactive, and drawing their bows, began to shoot
their arrows. Promptly came response from out the darkness. A whistling
passed over the heads of the crowd, and from the houses near the wall
some tiles flew off with a crash. Sling-shots from the enemy!
Thus the night passed. When the cocks crowed announcing dawn a great
part of the multitude had fallen asleep, wearied with straining their
eyes into the darkness where buzzed the invisible foe.
When the sun rose the Saguntines saw Hannibal's entire army before their
walls, on the side toward the river. Actæon, as he noted the location of
the troops, could not repress a smile.
"He well knows the lay of the land. His visit to the city has stood him
in good stead. Even in the dark he has chosen the only point from which
Saguntum can be attacked."
The whole side of the mountain was free of besiegers. His army had
encamped between the river and the lower part of the city, occupying the
orchards, the gardens of the villas, the beautiful section of which the
rich of Saguntum were so proud.
Soldiers came and went through the luxurious villas, preparing their
morning meal; they made kindling of sumptuous furniture to light their
camp fires; they wrapped themselves in garments they had found, and they
cut down trees to make room for setting up their tents. Across the
river, over the immense domain, groups of horsemen scattered out to take
possession of villages, of villas, of the innumerable buildings which
rose above the verdure of the plain, abandoned to the mercy of the
enemy.
The first things to attract the attention of the Saguntines, exciting a
childish curiosity, were the elephants. They stood in a row on the
opposite side of the river, enormous, ashen-hued, like tumescences
uprisen from the earth within the night, their green-painted ears
drooping like fans, from time to time waving their trunks which seemed
like gigantic leeches, trying to suck in the blue of the sky. Their
drivers, assisted by the soldiers, unbound the square towers resting on
their backs, and rolled up the heavy trappings which covered their
flanks when engaged in battle. They set them free, as if the fertile
plain were to them an immense stable, their drivers being convinced that
the siege would be a lengthy undertaking, and that while it lasted they
would not need the assistance of the terrible beasts, so appreciated in
battle.
Near the elephants, along the river bank, stood the engines of war, the
catapults, the battering-rams, the movable towers, complicated
structures of wood and bronze, drawn by rosaries of double yokes of
oxen having enormous backward curving horns.
As if suffering from an eruption the fields were covered with pustules
of diverse colors, tents of cloth, of straw, or of skins, some conical,
others square, the majority mound-shaped like ant hills, around which
swarmed the armed multitude.
The Saguntines, from the top of the walls, examined the besieging army
that seemed to fill the whole plain, and which was being joined by a
ceaseless stream of new crowds on foot and on horseback, flowing in from
every road, and seeming to roll down from the crests of the surrounding
mountains. It was an agglomeration of diverse races, of different
peoples; a bizarre collection of costumes, colors, and types, and those
Saguntines who had been taught by travel recognized the different
nations, and were pointing them out to their absorbed fellow citizens.
Some horsemen who seemed to fly, lying stretched along the backs of
their swift barbs, were Numidians, Africans of feminine aspect, covered
with white veils, wearing women's earrings and slippers, perfumed, with
eyes painted black, but who were impetuous in combat and fought in full
career using their lances with great skill. Around the camp fires in the
gardens stalked athletic negroes from Libya, with kinky hair and
glistening teeth, smiling in stupid satisfaction as they wrapped their
naked limbs in garments of rich weave which they had just stolen,
shivering with cold as soon as they drew away from the fire, as if
suffering martyrdom in the cool morning air. These dark, shiny-skinned
men, so seldom seen in Saguntum, excited the curiosity of the citizens
almost as much as the Amazons who audaciously passed on a gallop close
to the walls to obtain a better view of the city. They were young women,
slender, their skins bronzed by exposure. Their hair floated behind
their helmets like a barbaric decoration, and they wore no other
clothing than a broad tunic open on the left side, displaying sinewy
limbs clinging to their horses' ribs. Over the breast some wore
corselets of bronze-scales, also open on the left side to give greater
freedom in fighting, displaying the roundness of their small breasts
made firm and hard by fatiguing exercise. They rode their wild nervous
horses bareback, guiding them with a delicate bridle, and as they
galloped in groups the ferocious animals bit and kicked each other, thus
enlivening the desperate race. The Amazons approached close to the
walls, laughing and hurling insults which the Saguntines did not
understand; they waved their lances and shields; and when a cloud of
arrows and stones was flung after them, they dashed away, with
wind-swept drapery, turning their heads to repeat their mocking
gestures.
The besieged distinguished in the dark crowd of soldiers the cuirasses
of certain horsemen which shone like plates of gold. They were the
Carthaginian captains, some rich men of Carthage who followed Hannibal,
sons of opulent merchants who marched with the army more like shepherds
than like chiefs, covered with metal from head to foot for protection
against blows, and, with the genius of their race, more devoted to
administering the conquests and in sharing the booty than in seeking
glory in combat.
In addition to these people, those on the walls who were familiar with
them pointed out the other troops of the besieging army. Some with skin
the color of milk, with faded mustaches, and red horsehair tied to the
crowns of their heads, who laid aside their military cloaks and tall
boots of untanned leather to bathe in the river, were Gauls. The others,
bronzed and so thin that their skeletons were outlined as if they would
push through the skin, were Africans from the oases of the great desert,
mysterious people, who with the beating of their small drums caused the
moon to descend, and by playing the flute forced venomous serpents to
dance. Mingling with them were the bulky Lusitanians, with limbs as
strong as columns, and broad rock-like chests; those from Bætica, united
to their horses day and night by a love which lasted all their lives;
the hostile Celtiberians, bushy-haired and dirty, wearing their rags
with arrogance; tribes from the North, who worshipped solitary menhirs
as gods, and in the moonlight sought mysterious herbs for charms and
philters; men of ferocious customs, in perpetual battle with hunger;
barbarian people of whom horrifying tales were told, believed to devour
the bodies of the conquered after a victory.
The Balearic slingers provoked laughter in spite of their ferocious
aspect. From the walls the observers commented on the extravagant
customs which prevailed in their island home, and the multitude burst
into laughter contemplating the almost naked youths, carrying sticks
with charred points which served them as lances, and having three
slings, one wound around the forehead, another about the waist, and the
third held in the hand. One of these slings was of horsehair, one of
esparto, and the third of bull tendon, and one or the other was used
according to the distance they had to throw.
They lived on their islands in caves or in the hollow spaces between
huge masses of rock, and they were taught to use the sling while mere
children. Their fathers set their bread some distance from them, and
would not let them eat it until they had brought it down with a pebble.
Their passion was drunkenness, and woman their strongest appetite. In
combat they turned with scorn from prisoners who would bring high ransom
to capture the women, and they not infrequently would exchange six
strong slave men for a single slave woman. On the islands they were
unfamiliar with gold and silver; the elders divining the evils of money,
had prohibited the importation of coins, and the Balearic slingers in
the service of Carthage, unable to carry their earnings to their
country, spent their wages in drink or flung them generously into the
hands of the loose and wretched women who followed the army. Their
traditional customs amused the Saguntines. At their weddings, so said
those who had visited the islands, it was customary for all the guests
to embrace the bride in advance of the husband, and at funerals the
corpse was beaten until the bones were crushed and converted into a
shapeless mass which they forced into a narrow urn and buried under a
heap of stones. Their slings were terrible. They hurled to great
distances balls of sun-baked clay, conical at their ends, and bearing
grotesque inscriptions dedicated to the one who received the blow, and
in battle they flung stones weighing a pound with such force that the
highest tempered armor failed to resist them.
In the rear of this warlike crowd ragged women of all colors scattered
through the champaign; lean, naked children who did not know their
parents; the parasites of war, who marched at the tail of the army to
revel in the spoils of victory; females who at night lay down in one
extreme of the camp and arose on the opposite in the morning, and, aged
in the prime of their youth by fatigue and blows, died forsaken by the
roadside; youngsters who looked upon all the soldiers of their race as
their fathers, bearing on their backs on long marches the firewood or
the flesh-pot of the warriors, and, in moments of fiercest struggle,
when the fighting was hand to hand, they slipped between the
adversaries' legs and bit them like rabid cur-dogs.
Actæon found Sónnica on the wall, gazing at the hostile camp in the
first streak of dawn. The beautiful Greek had taken refuge in Saguntum
the night before, followed by slaves and flocks, moving part of her
riches from the villa to her warehouse. She had left behind rooms filled
with paintings and mosaics; rich furniture, sumptuous table-service, all
which would fall into the hands of the victor. And she and her fellow
Greek saw peeping through the distant foliage the terrace of the villa
with its statues, the tower of the doves and the roofs of the houses of
the slaves, over which men, barely discernible, were running like
insects. The invaders were there; perhaps they would amuse themselves by
shooting their arrows at the brilliantly plumaged Asiatic birds, and by
beating the old and sick slaves abandoned in the flight. Between the
banana trees in the garden rose the smoke of a bonfire. The Greek woman
and her lover guessed the destruction and rapine that were taking
place. Sónnica grew sad, not at the loss of a part of her riches, but
because they were rending her heart through destroying a place which had
been witness to her first outbursts of love for the Athenian.
Some time after sunrise the Saguntine people cried out with indignation.
Along the Road of the Serpent appeared groups of drunken and shouting
women embracing soldiers. They were the _lupas_ of the port, the
miserable harlots who thronged around the temple of Aphrodite by night,
and who were denied entrance to the city. When the first Carthaginian
horsemen passed through the port these creatures had followed them with
enthusiasm. Accustomed to the coarse blandishments of men of all
countries, the presence of these soldiers, so different in dress and
nationality, did not seem strange to them. The 'wolves' of the land were
the same as those of the sea. They adored strong men, birds of prey
which could destroy them with their talons, and they followed the
Carthaginians to their camp, rejoicing in their hearts at the chance to
approach the city without fear of punishment, and at being able to mock
the besieged inhabitants with the concentrated odium of long years of
humiliation.
They sang like mad women, flitting from one pair of greedy and trembling
hands to the next which disputed for them as if in their eagerness they
would tear them to pieces. They drank to intoxication from amphoræ of
rich wines sacked from the villas; around their shoulders they flung
cloths with threads of gold, stolen but a moment before; the Numidians
with their moist gazelle-like eyes, looked upon them admiringly,
bedecking them with crowns of grass, and they in turn bursting into
bacchanal laughter, petted the kinky hair of the Ethiopians, who giggled
like children, displaying their sharp cannibal teeth.
They gave themselves up to all manner of ribaldry near the long line of
horses staked out in front of the tents, displaying their wantonness as
a shameless insult to the besieged city, and the Saguntines who had
witnessed undaunted the approach of the long defile of the enemy
trembled with ire behind their merlons as they witnessed this offense of
their courtesans.
"The wretches! _Caninæ!_"
The women of the city hissed and reviled them, pale with fury, leaning
over the walls ready to spring into the camp to lay hold upon the
strumpets, while they, as if the anger of the city only stimulated them,
redoubled their laughter, adding insult to insult, and exciting the
whole army to join with them.
A fresh cause of indignation infuriated anew the minds of the
Saguntines. Some thought they saw something familiar in the appearance
of one of the Celtiberian warriors riding at the head of a troop of
cavalry. His gallant bearing on his horse, the arrogance with which he
galloped with firm seat in the saddle, recalled to many the sightly
procession of the Panathenaic festival. When he dismounted and removed
his helmet, wiping away the sweat, all recognized him, and raised a
shout of resentment. Alorcus! Even he! Another ingrate, faithless to the
city which had overwhelmed him with honors and distinctions! His duty as
chieftain compelled him to ignore his fraternal reception in Saguntum.
Blind with rage they drew their bows against him but the arrows fell
short of the spot where the Celtiberians were encamped. The maddened
crowd experienced one slight consolation. The groups along the wall made
way for Theron, the priest of Hercules, who advanced with the majesty of
a god, his eyes fixed on the enemy, insensible to the general adoration
which surrounded him.
The Saguntines persuaded themselves that they beheld Hercules himself,
who perhaps had abandoned his temple on the Acropolis to come down to
their walls. He was nude; an enormous lion skin covered his back. The
wild beast's claws were crossed over his breast, and his head was
covered by the cranium of the animal, with bristling whiskers, sharp
teeth, and yellow glass eyes which shone between the tossed golden mane.
His right hand clutched without visible effort the entire trunk of an
oak tree which served him as a cudgel in imitation of the mace of the
god. His shoulders towered above all other heads. His breasts were round
and strong as shields, on which the veins and sinews were traced like
tendrils winding round the muscles, and his columnar limbs, all excited
admiration. His virility was the very type of sovereign power. He was so
enormous that his head seemed small between his great shoulders,
exaggerated in size by the cushion of his muscles; his chest heaved like
a bellows, and instinctively all took a step backward, fearing contact
with that machine of flesh created for strength.
Sónnica's friends, the young gallants, who, even on this extraordinary
occasion had not forgotten to paint their faces, followed and admired
him, ordering the crowd, to give them passage.
"Hail, Theron!" shouted Lachares. "We will see what Hannibal will do
when he meets you in battle."
"Hail to the Saguntine Hercules!" replied the other youths, leaning
weakly on the backs of their little slave boys.
The giant looked over the encampment, in which trumpets began to sound,
and the soldiers ran to form in rank. The slingers cautiously advanced,
sheltering themselves behind buildings and hummocks. The attack was
about to begin. On the walls the bowmen drew their bows, and the boys
piled up stones to hurl with their slings. The old men compelled the
women to retire. At the head of the stairway leading up to the top of
the wall, Euphobias the philosopher stood haranguing in the midst of a
group, paying no heed to the indignation of his hearers.
"Blood is going to flow," he shouted; "you will all perish, and for
what? I ask you what do you gain by not obeying Hannibal? You will
always have a master, and it is just as well to be friends of Carthage
as of Rome. The siege will be prolonged, and you will die of hunger; I
shall outlive you all, because I know hunger from of old like a faithful
friend. But again I ask you, what more does it profit you to be Romans
than Carthaginians? Live and enjoy! Leave shedding of blood to the
butchers, and before you think of putting another man to death, study
your own selves. If you would give heed to my wisdom, if instead of
scorning me, you would feed me in exchange for my advice, you would not
be shut up in your city like foxes in a trap."
A chorus of imprecations and a row of threatening fists answered the
philosopher.
"Parasite! Slave of poverty!" they shouted. "You are worse than those
_lupas_ who throw themselves at the barbarians."
Euphobias, whose insolence increased as the indignation blazed higher,
opened his mouth to reply; but he hesitated, beholding a dark mass which
shut out the sunlight. The gigantic Theron was before him, looking at
him as scornfully as would one of those elephants that the besiegers had
near the river. He raised his left hand carelessly, as if he were going
to flip off an insect; he barely grazed the insolent face when the
philosopher tumbled down the steps from the wall, his head bleeding,
silent, bumping from step to step without a groan, like a man accustomed
to such caresses, and convinced that pain is but a figment of the
imagination.
At the same moment a cloud of black arrows whistled over the walls like
a flock of birds. Tiles flew off, bits of plaster sprang from the
merlons, and some fell from the wall with broken heads. From between the
merlons stones and arrows leaped as an impetuous answer.
The defense of the city had begun!