ASBYTE AND HANNIBAL
Hannibal lay tossing between the bright-hued coverings of his couch,
unable to conciliate sleep.
The cocks had announced midnight, breaking the silence of the camp with
their shrill voices, and the chieftain was yet awake, closing his eyes
though unable to sleep. His rest was disturbed by the singing of a
nightingale perched in a great tree from the branches of which hung his
tent.
An earthenware lamp illuminated the mass of objects strewn carelessly
around his bed. On the floor glistened cuirasses, greaves, and helmets,
over which were thrown rich fabrics stolen from the Saguntine villas.
Grecian furniture, delicately wrought toilette amphoræ, tapestries with
mythological scenes, lay in a heap mingled with rawhide whips, shields
of hippopotamus hide, and the rags of Hannibal's personal costume, for,
though a lover of glittering arms, he was careless and dirty in his
dress. Elegant Grecian vases he put to the vilest uses. An alabaster
crater covered by a shield served as a seat; a huge terra cotta vase,
decorated by a Grecian artist with the adventures of Achilles, the
African scornfully used in a manner calculated to express the height of
his contempt for refinement. Pieces of statues and columns destroyed
during the tempest of invasion were sunk in the ground, making seats
for Hannibal's captains when a council was held in the chieftain's tent.
It was the spoil of war, looted and thrown about in a fever of robbery.
Only a small portion of it had reached the chief, who felt absolute
scorn for artistic beauty except when stamped on precious metals. He
sneered at the gods of this land as he did at those of his own country
and of the world; he spat upon the marble forms of divinities which
filled the camp, as if they were scraps of worthless stone, good for
nothing but to be hurled by a catapult against the enemy.
Impelled by nervous excitement, which prevented his sleeping, he raised
up in his couch, and the lamplight shone full upon his face. He was no
longer the Celtiberian shepherd, dishevelled and ferocious, whom Actæon
had met in the port of Saguntum. Divested of his disguise he showed what
he was--a young man of medium height, with strong and well proportioned
limbs, without display of exaggerated muscles, but revealing in his body
the temper of steel, a vitality capable in supreme moments of the most
stupendous achievements. His face was slightly bronzed, and his hair lay
around his head in thick short curls like a black and lustrous turban,
completely covering his forehead, and leaving exposed the lobes of his
ears, from which hung great discs of bronze. His beard was thick and
curly; his nose straight and somewhat prominent, and his eyes, large and
imperious, always looked sidewise, with an expression of profound
astuteness and unapproachable reserve. His muscular neck was habitually
bent, inclining his head toward the right, as if to more clearly catch
the sounds around him.
He wore a simple, dirty, and threadbare sagum, like any one of those
Celtiberians who lay snoring in the tents roundabout, and, as a sign of
command, there shone on his wrists two broad golden bracelets, which
added strength by their confinement of the tendons and muscles of the
arm.
For more than a month he had been before the walls of Saguntum without
achieving any advantage. He had spent the whole of that afternoon
directing his engines of war without result, and now in his solitude
this want of success irritated his nerves, and dispelled his sleep. The
petted child of victory, he had conquered in open fight the most savage
tribes of Iberia; he had dragged his elephants over the crests of lofty
mountains, crossing rivers, breaking trails through forests, seeing
warlike hordes fall prostrate before him as if he were a god, but now,
for the first time in his life he encountered a stubborn enemy, which
behind sheltering walls mocked at him and would not suffer him to
advance a step.
The city of merchants and farmers which he had studied from within,
looking scornfully upon its opulence and effeminacy, threatened to break
the current of his good luck, and, finding it indomitable, and
reflecting upon his enemies in Carthage, upon the wrath of Rome, and
realizing that time was passing while he was making no headway, the
chieftain experienced a gust of anxiety.
He had chosen well the vulnerable point of Saguntum. His engines of war
were placed before the lower part of the city where the walls projected
into the valley, upon an open, level plain, which permitted the advance
of the battering-rams; but scarcely had the hundreds of naked men who
dragged the heavy machines come within range than such a shower of
arrows fell about them that those who were not pinned to the ground had
to flee for their lives.
Sometimes, under cover of the mantelets, which advanced on wheels, and
through the loopholes of which the Carthaginian bowmen shot, they
managed to get the battering-rams to the foot of the wall, but while
that part of the city was the most exposed to attack, the ramparts which
in the upper portion of Saguntum were of adobe had here a stony rock
base, and in vain the bronze rams'-heads which formed the ends of the
beams, pounded and pounded, operated by hundreds of arms. Showers of
arrows and stones fell upon the besiegers, breaking the shields which
covered them. A great tower dominated the whole area around the
assailants, sowing death among them without exposure to the besieged,
and not content with this, under the impulse of their passion, they
frequently sprang forth from behind the ramparts, knifing the
Carthaginians.
Each of these sallies cost Hannibal's army severe losses. The Africans
had begun to tell with superstitious dread of a naked giant, wearing a
lion's skin, and brandishing a tree-trunk, who charged at the head of
the Saguntines, and at each blow ploughed a broad furrow through the
assailants. The Ethiopians saw in him a terrible and sanguinary
divinity, like those which they worshipped in their oases; the
Celtiberians declared that it was Hercules, descended from Olympus to
protect the city.
Hannibal recognized him in the battles from afar. It was Theron, the
priest whom he had seen one morning on the Acropolis, and whose
extraordinary vigor he had admired. But in spite of knowing his human
origin, he could not overcome the terror of the troops at the instant
when they saw towering above all the helmets that invulnerable lion's
head which seemed to change the course of the arrows and stones.
Moreover the besieged counted on the assistance of the phalaric. It was
well known that among the merchants and agriculturists there figured men
expert in war, who had traveled through many lands. The memory of his
boyhood companion, Actæon, the Greek adventurer, surged through
Hannibal's mind. He, surely, must be the introducer of the phalaric, a
dart wrapped in tow and dipped in pitch. The shaft sped blazing through
the air like a stream of fire, with its long iron head capable of
piercing the shield and the cuirass, and even if the terrible missile
should not penetrate the armor, its flames set fire to the clothing; the
combatants threw down their arms to put out the fire, and thus stood
exposed to the blows of the enemy. The same warriors who had fought
against the most determined and barbaric tribes of Iberia, flung away
their shields and fled before those meteors of fire which came from the
walls of Saguntum whistling and scattering sparks.
Thus time passed; the besiegers gained nothing, and Hannibal was
dominated by a galling impatience. Fire of Baal! He, chained to these
walls which he could not make his own, while Hanno's faction was
conspiring in Carthage, preparing the downfall of the Barcas if he
should fail in taking Saguntum; planning, perhaps, his delivery to Rome
when she should demand him on finding her treaties violated. In despair
he threw himself back once more upon his couch, seeking the oblivion of
sleep with the eagerness of one who must needs forget. He blew out the
light, but lay open-eyed in the darkness. The bluish glint of the moon
filtered through an opening in the cupola of his tent, shimmering upon
the cuirasses which in the darkness shone like phosphorescent fishes.
Outside, the nightingale continued singing.
Hannibal grew frantic. Accursed bird that was keeping him awake! He
could sleep in the din of battle! Accustomed from boyhood to the camp,
the hoarse songs of the mercenaries and the whinnying of horses would
fail to arouse him, and the harsh trumpet-blast of war had been his
lullaby. But the sweet song of that bird, its incessant melodious trill,
annoyed him like the buzzing of a hornet.
He sprang from his couch; he groped in the dark amid the litter of arms,
fabrics, and furniture; he burst out through the doorway of his tent,
and the fresh night soothed his tempestuous spirit.
The moon was shining in a cloudless sky; the breeze was warm, although
it was the end of autumn; stars scintillated; the nightingale's trills
were answered by another and yet another bird, throughout the expanse of
the valley. The camp lay at rest. The flames were flickering out from
dying bonfires near which soldiers were sleeping along with women and
children of the army, wrapped in rags and in rich stolen fabrics; the
horses picketed to the ground, pointed their nodding heads in a straight
line; in the distance, the beleaguered city crouched dark and silent as
if asleep, but a faint glow escaping through loopholes in its walls
produced the effect of half-open eyes watching while feigning sleep.
Hannibal leaped over the trusted soldiers who slept near the door of his
tent. They raised up as they heard his footsteps, but recognizing the
chief, lay down on the ground again and continued snoring. They were
veterans from Hamilcar's wars, who looked with almost religious
veneration on the lion cub of their old captain.
As he turned the corner of the tent he drew his bow to shoot at the bird
hidden in the foliage; but he started in surprise on seeing a white
figure standing near the trunk of the tree, shining in the moonlight.
It was a woman, an Amazon. On her head and on her breast glistened the
helmet of gold and the cuirass of scales; her white linen tunic fell
over her limbs, outlining her form, and her strong bare arms were
resting on her lance with its shoe driven into the ground. Her dark eyes
were fastened on Hannibal's tent with strange, unblinking persistence,
as if she were dreaming awake, and the night-wind lightly swayed her
floating hair. Behind her stood a black horse with glossy coat, nervous
legs, and eyes injected with blood, destitute of saddle or bridle, his
mane unbound; he was bending down to lick the border of the Amazon's
tunic and her nude feet, like a dog which followed her everywhere.
"Asbyte!" exclaimed Hannibal, surprised at the apparition. "What are you
doing here?"
The queen of the Amazons seemed to awake, and seeing the chief, she
fixed on him the moist and impassioned gaze of her large eyes.
"I could not sleep," she said with a voice languid and measured. "I
spent the first part of the night dreaming horrible dreams. The Goddess
Tanith will not guard my repose, and I have seen the shade of my father
Iarbas announcing my approaching death."
"Death!" exclaimed Hannibal, laughing. "Who thinks of death?"
"Am I then immortal? Do I not fight like any one of your soldiers? I
hurl myself impetuously through forests of lances; feathered shafts hiss
around me like a trailing mantle of invisible birds; I scorn the
phalarics with their streams of fire--but some day I shall die; my
dreams foretell it."
Asbyte, as if fearing to show too great melancholy in the presence of
Hannibal, added bitterly:
"Let death come when it will! It does not frighten me as it does the
merchants of Carthage who hate you. If it disturbed my sleep it was
because when I awoke I thought of you. I cannot explain to myself why I
thought that you also might die, and to your death, Hannibal, I cannot
be resigned. You should live long like a god. I knew that you sleep
alone in your tent; that, to better conceal your movements you keep no
guards to watch while you slumber, and I felt the need of doing
something for you, of spending the night leaning on my lance near your
couch to prevent the treachery of an enemy."
"What madness!" exclaimed the African, laughing.
"Hannibal," said the beautiful Amazon gravely, "remember Hasdrubal, the
husband of your sister. The dagger of a slave was enough to put an end
to him."
"Hasdrubal was doomed to die," said the chieftain, with the conviction
of fatalism. "The fate of Carthage demanded his death. It was necessary
that Hasdrubal should succumb to make way for Hannibal. But Hannibal has
no one to replace him, and he shall live even though he were to sleep
surrounded by enemies. My sleep is light and my arm is sure; he who
slips into the tent of Hannibal enters his tomb."
Asbyte contemplated with loving admiration the young hero, who had flung
down his bow, and while he spoke of his strength he raised his powerful
arms, and the moon enlarged their shadow in such wise that as they moved
he seemed to embrace the camp, the city, the whole valley, like a
supernatural being.
The Amazon drew near leaning her lance against the trunk of a tree. On
laying down her weapon she seemed to throw off her warlike mien, and she
approached Hannibal with feminine sweetness, gazing upon him with the
moist, timid eyes of the antelopes that frisk about the oases of her
native land.
"Besides," she murmured, "I came because I needed to be near you. To
guard your sleep gives me indescribable joy. I feel the delight of an
exalting sacrifice in keeping vigil over you when you know it not. I
never have an opportunity to speak with you. By day I see you on
horseback among the Carthaginians with their golden armor, who flock
around you; on foot directing those who push the engines of war, helping
them, often, to excite their enthusiasm; but I see you always from afar,
as a chieftain, as a hero, never as a man. Do you remember those days in
the citadel of New Carthage when I had just arrived from Africa with the
reinforcements which caused you to utter shouts of enthusiasm?"
"Asbyte! Asbyte!" murmured Hannibal, repelling her with a movement of
his arms, as if the recollection annoyed him.
"Do not be angry, Hannibal; listen to me. I must speak to you. Give me
at least the consolation of seeing you near, of telling you what I feel.
If not, why have I come to Iberia, joining my fate to yours?"
The chieftain glanced around, as if fearing that someone might be
listening to his conversation with the Amazon.
"Fear not," said Asbyte, divining his thought. "Mago, your brother,
sleeps far from here with Maherbal, the favorite captain. My Numidians
are at the opposite end of the camp. You surround yourself only with
Iberians in order to encourage their fidelity with such a proof of
confidence, and they do not understand Phoenician."
Reassured by Asbyte's answer, Hannibal lowered his head and crossed his
arms, resigned to listen.
"You are as hard and disdainful as a god," sighed the Amazon. "The woman
who loves you feels within her the fire of Moloch, and you will not
deign to quench it even with a glance of kindness, nor with a smile. You
have a heart of bronze; your eyes ever gaze aloft, and you cannot see
those who crawl to approach you. You imagine that you have made me happy
because you lead me from battle to battle, from conquest to conquest,
and you consider that my happiness consists in having my hands, which
used to be adorned with rings, calloused by the lance; my face, which in
other times was covered with costly unguents brought from Egypt by my
caravans, hardened by the cheek-pieces of the helmet. I have become rude
and fierce like a man. Though I possess gardens far away where an
eternal springtime dwells, I have suffered hunger and thirst at your
side. I know not who I am; I doubt my sex, seeing my body made ugly by
fatigue. My skin, over which the hands of my slaves used to slip as if
it were a mirror, is now as hard as that of a crocodile. If I do not
seem as hideous as the troop of wasted females which follows your
soldiers it is because my youth has not forsaken me. And all this for
whom? For you who will not deign to look at me; for you who have
forgotten our first meeting; for you who see in Asbyte only a good
friend, an esteemed ally, who came to you bringing a strong array of
fighters. Hannibal! Lightning-flash of Baal! You are as great as a
demigod, but you do not know human beings. You see in me only an Amazon,
a warrior virgin like those of whom the Grecian poets sing--but I am a
woman!"
Asbyte sadly and silently searched the face of the pensive Hannibal.
"You have forgotten, perhaps, how we met," she added, presently, with
melancholy tone. "I dwelt happy in my oasis until I rushed to your side,
drawn by some irresistible charm that emanates from your person. I, the
daughter of Iarbas the Garamantan, wearied of the comforts of my house,
of the songs of my slaves, and of the splendors which the merchants
flung from the caravans at my feet, went into the desert hunting lions
with Iarbas, and the warriors marveled when the most savage colts
trembled, obedient and timid, as soon as they felt me on their backs. I
was strong, and I was beautiful. Scarcely had I grown out of my girlhood
than the bravest of the Numidian sheikhs came seeking hospitality of my
father that they might see me, and they told of their flocks and of
their warriors, proposing an alliance to Iarbas. And I, indifferent,
cold, kept my thoughts ever on Carthage where I once had been in
company with my father to adjust the tribute with the rich men of the
Senate. Ah, the magnificent city, the immense city, with her temples as
huge as towns and her gigantic gods!"
Wandering from the trend of her ideas, she fell into enthusiastic
reminiscence of Carthage, the great city which after all her travels and
warlike adventures was still a vivid memory. She called to mind the
dwellings of the rich Carthaginians, with their polychrome walls
finished by brilliant spheres of metal and of glass; the great marble
temples, with their mysterious groves through which resounded the lyres
and cymbals of the priests; the temple of Tanith surrounded by rose
gardens, perfumed hiding places which served as shelters for the sacred
phallic rites in honor of the goddess; and then the port, the immense
port, with a whole city of ships which poured into the metropolis a
continual stream of riches from all over the world, tin from Brittania,
copper from Italy, silver from Iberia, gold from Ophir, frankincense
from Saba, amber from northern seas, purple from Tyre, ebony and ivory
from Ethiopia, spices and pearls from India, and brilliant fabrics from
nameless and mysterious peoples of Asia who dwelt at the uttermost
borders of the world, wrapped in the mists of legend.
She adored the city, not only for its splendors, but far more because it
harbored partisans of the Barcas, the supporters of the heroic family
whose deeds the Numidian warriors recounted in the moonlight, and of
whom Hannibal, who added renown to his name in the wars of Iberia when
still a boy, was the glorious descendant.
"My people ever loved your people," continued the Amazon. "If my father
Iarbas submitted to the domination of Carthage, it was because at the
head of it was Hamilcar, an African, a Numidian like ourselves. I hate
the Carthaginian merchants as bitterly as you do--those ancient
Phoenicians from the rock-bound Aradus who prospered and reproduced
like worms, afterwards to cross the sea and take possession of our
beautiful soil of Africa. I hate the ship figured upon so many of your
coins and temples, because it is the sign of the avaricious people who
came to exploit us, but I adore the Carthaginian charger, the Numidian
horse, the symbol of our past."
Then she spoke of the charm which the glory of the Barcas had exercised
over her mind from afar. She had loved Hannibal without realizing it,
influenced by tales of his achievements which had reached her ears. She
imagined him fighting like a young lion at his father's side, among
herds of bulls with flaming horns, and among burning chariots which the
Iberians drove against the Carthaginian invader; she thought of him, mad
with fury, before the body of Hamilcar, and then languishing from
inaction beside the beautiful Hasdrubal, conciliatory and pacific, until
the moment when, his brother being assassinated by the dagger of a Gaul,
the whole army acclaimed the youth as chieftain.
Her father Iarbas had just died, and she, now become queen of her
tribes, heard that Hannibal, thirsting for glory and for combat, was
isolated in the fortress of New Carthage, with no other troops than the
remnant of the army which Hamilcar had taken to Iberia. The rich of
Carthage, enemies of the Barcas, fearing the populace, dared not
deprive Hamilcar's son of the chieftancy which his soldiers tendered
him; they confirmed it by their silence, but they kept him isolated,
without resources, left to his own devices, so that the natives should
put an end to him, or at the most, that he might conquer a small
territory on the Iberian coast in which the ambition of the Barcas would
gradually become extinguished.
"Then I flew to your side," continued Asbyte. "I wished to know the man
and to save the hero. I turned over a great part of my riches to the
merchants of Carthage for the loan of their ships; I kindled the
enthusiasm of the most warlike of my tribes to follow me; even their
daughters imitated me, and went lion hunting, galloping all day long,
lance in hand, drawn on by my mad adventure, and one afternoon, when
perhaps you were weeping, believing your hopes of glory dead, you beheld
from the height of the citadel of New Carthage a whole fleet coming from
Africa. Do you remember? Tell me! Do you remember how you received me?"
"Yes, and I shall never forget it," said Hannibal gently. "Those days
are my happiest memory."
"You received me as if I were a divinity, as if Ashtoreth, who illumines
our nights had descended from the sky to give you her protection. You
were oblivious to my warriors and saw only me, and scorning your
ambitions for the moment we spent the nights lying on the terrace of the
citadel, and the stars were witnesses to our interminable embraces. But,
alas! that joy was like the roses from Egypt which last but a day in the
vases of the rich women of Carthage. Soon the pride of conquest
returned to you, the ambition of the chieftain. You admired the training
of my Numidians more than my beauty when, of an afternoon, outside the
walls they astounded your old warriors by hurling darts while kneeling
on their horses, which ran so fast that they raised the dust with their
bellies. We went out to fight with the Olcades, the Vaccæi, all those
Iberian tribes which yesterday you fought and which to-day follow you.
Led by you I fought like a soldier, and I considered myself happy when
on the long marches, imitating our horses which lovingly put their heads
together, you bent toward me, striking your helmet against mine to kiss
me. Finally--not even that! What am I? One warrior more in your camp; a
friend worthy of gratitude, who brought you assistance on seeing you
abandoned by Carthage, with no other force than a handful of veterans
and some elephants. In the battles if you see me in danger you fly to
defend me; but afterwards, in the camp, on the long marches, a few words
of friendship, a cold smile as to any one of your captains. Your heart
has closed against me. Am I not Asbyte, she whom you knew in New
Carthage? Do you not love me when you see me made ugly and hardened by
war? Tell me that, and I will become a woman again, I will bedeck myself
with jewels, I will abandon my Amazons and surround myself with Greek
slaves, I will cover myself with ointments which will change my skin
back to its pristine freshness, and I will follow you on your marches
lying on a litter with curtains of purple."
"No!" Hannibal made haste to reply, with enthusiasm. "I love you as you
are. The beloved of Hannibal can only be an Amazon like yourself, who
have made many warriors fall beneath your charger."
"Then why do you flee from me? Why do you abandon me, why forget the
sweetness of our early love? See that nightingale, at which a moment ago
you aimed your arrow! In the midst of an army camp, before a besieged
city, it sings and sings, calling to its mate, heedless of the horrors
of war, unconscious of the stench of blood which rises from these
fields. Let us be like him! Let us make war; but let us also love each
other, and let us ride through the battles with our bodies thrilled with
love!"
"No, Asbyte," said the African gloomily. "That felicity is impossible; I
love you, but we cannot understand each other. You complain because I
see in you only an Amazon, when you are a woman; you, in return, see in
me only a man, and I am more than man. I am not the demigod you imagine;
I am something more; I am a formidable machine of war, without heart or
sense of pity, created only to crush men and nations who obstruct my
passage."
Hannibal said this with conviction, beating his firm chest,
straightening his figure with sombre majesty as he declared his
destructive power.
"I would love you if I were a man capable of wasting my time in such
sweet folly, but when have you seen the eagle spend all his time in the
nest caressing his mate, without desire to soar aloft and fall upon the
quarry? Those who have talons cannot caress, and I was born to make prey
of the world, or else for the world to crush me. Love? A sweet
occupation, I grant you! In the past, full of blood and of battles, the
only oases of my joy were those days in New Carthage when I believed
that Tanith herself, with all her divine beauty, had deigned to come
down to my arms. But that is over; Hannibal has other loves that attract
him and dominate him; he loves his sword, he loves all that the enemy
possesses, and he cannot sleep with tranquility for thinking of Rome,
whom he desires to crush within these arms! How far away she is!"
The Amazon made a gesture of despair at the passion with which the
chieftain declared his ambitions.
"You might complain," continued Hannibal, "if you saw that my thoughts
were filled with the image of another woman. Whom have I loved but you?
To draw to me those barbarians who follow me, to league them by ties of
blood to my enterprises, I took to wife the daughter of an Iberian
kinglet. Yes, and where is she? Does she follow me as do you? She
remains in New Carthage, spinning her gay-colored wools, and she
scarcely thinks of me, because never for a moment did the charms of the
barbarian virgin move me. I love only you. Hannibal can fall tremulous
with passion only into arms like yours, hardened by use of the lance.
But be worthy of him! Think not as do other women; seek not new lovers;
unite yourself to me, so that both together we can think of possessing
and of hating, of making the world ours!"
As if exalted by his own words, the African, with glowing eyes,
approached Asbyte, caressing her arms, while he breathed in her face his
ambitious plans.
"I must be lord of the world! I want Carthage, only Carthage, to exist
upon the earth, because Carthage is my native land! Had I been born a
Roman, Rome should be mistress! With my name I mean to obliterate the
memory of Alexander the Macedonian, to be greater than he, to conquer
wider territories, and I dream of undertakings less easy than dominating
the Asiatics, weakened by the softening tendency of the sun and of
riches. Rome is sturdy, she is stronger than our republic of merchants
corroded by avarice and pleasure; her hands are calloused by the plow
handle and the lance--then against Rome am I headed! Alexander! How weak
is his glory! It is easy to march to the conquest of the world when one
is the son of Philip, who leaves as inheritance an army seasoned by a
hundred victories, when one has an obedient kingdom at one's back, and
even in childhood has the good fortune to receive instruction from
Aristotle. The difficult thing is to be Hannibal, abandoned by my
country, with no other resources than those I can find for myself;
having to face at the same time the fury of the enemy and the treachery
and intrigue of my fellow countrymen, reared far from my father, among
astute merchants who, keeping me as hostage, sought to avoid future
danger by diverting my warlike instincts; with no other culture than a
little Greek which Sosilon the Spartan taught me; but despite all this,
Hannibal wars with fate, and he is conquering. If Alexander is admired
for his conquests in the land of the rising sun, some day the world will
be startled at seeing me, after having crushed men, dominating Nature
herself by crossing the loftiest glaciers and changing the positions of
mountains to continue on my way. Look at me well, Asbyte, and you will
be convinced that it is as useless to try to arouse human sentiments in
my heart as to soften the breast of the enormous bronze Moloch which we
have in Carthage! A moment ago, in the solitude of my tent, I felt weak
and disheartened, but talking with you revives my strength. Look at me
well; you are in the presence of one who fears neither men nor gods!"
"The gods!" exclaimed Asbyte with a throb of terror. "Do you not fear
that they will punish you?"
A peal of laughter, sarcastic, tinged with deep scorn, answered the
Amazon.
"The gods!" exclaimed Hannibal. "I live among warriors of all nations.
Each one adores his own gods, and I know so many, so many, that I do not
believe in any of them, and I jest at them all. In Carthage I adored
Moloch; here you have often seen me dedicate sacrifices to the Iberian
divinities, to attract the people to me. If some day I enter as a
conqueror that city where my thought continually dwells, the populace
shall acclaim me, seeing me climb to the Capitol to offer thanks to
their gods. I believe only in force and strategy. I have but one
tutelary god--war, who makes giants of men, giving them the omnipotence
of divinity. If on becoming lord of the earth, I find no one with whom
to fight, I shall die, thinking the world empty!"
The Amazon bowed her head, overcome with sadness.
"I realize now that you will never be mine, Hannibal! You love war above
all things else, and will be faithful to it as long as you live. You are
indeed a bird of prey; the momentary love of a slave woman satisfies
you; the wounded and weeping woman who falls into the power of your
soldiers as they enter a city through a breach in its walls satiates
you. You will never understand love and its sweetness."
Hannibal shrugged his shoulders scornfully.
"I love victory, success! The laurel which Greek heroes bound upon their
brows in the triumph has for me a more penetrating perfume than the
roses of the poets. Cease your laments, Asbyte; be a warrior, and forget
that you are a woman; I will love you more. You shall be my brother in
arms. Why think of those nights of love when I was still in misfortune
and lacking in soldiers, now that all Iberia follows me and I see my
dreams of world-power beginning to be realized? Look over this camp,
where infinite tongues are spoken, and where each tribe dresses in a
different costume. They flow in like streams which swell the torrent.
Each day new warriors appear. How many are they? No one knows. Maherbal
said yesterday that there were a hundred and twenty thousand; I believe
that soon there will be a hundred and eighty thousand. Blind faith in
Hannibal draws them on; they feel that with me they march to victory;
perhaps their gods have told them that this is but the beginning of a
series of achievements which will astound the world. Ponder over it,
Asbyte! These peoples have spent their lives fighting among themselves;
they hated each other, and yet the sword of Hannibal is a shepherd's
crook which guides them like a common flock; and after this miracle
would you have me waste my time loving you, staying in my tent lying at
your feet, my head upon your knees, listening to you while you sing the
dreamy songs of the oasis? No! Lightning of Baal! The city stands before
us, mocking at the greatest army ever gathered together on the fields of
Iberia, and this must stop. The hempen tent must crush the tower of
stone. Sharpen well your lance, daughter of Iarbas; prepare your
faithful steed, my beloved! That mysterious breeze which I always
perceive on the eve of a victory blows around me. This very day we shall
enter Saguntum."
He glanced to the east as if impatient for the coming of dawn.
The moon shone less clearly; the sky darkened, its blue becoming more
dense, and on the side toward the sea a broad belt of violet light
appeared.
"It will soon be morning," continued the African. "This night, Asbyte,
you shall sleep in the ivory couch of some rich Greek woman, and you
shall have at your feet the Elders of the city to serve you as slaves."
"No, Hannibal. This day which is now beginning will never end for me. I
still see the shade of Iarbas, as it appeared to me before the first
cock-crow. I shall die, Hannibal!"
"Die! Can you believe that? Before the enemy reaches you he must pass
over Hannibal's body. You are my brother in arms! _I_ will be at your
side!"
"Even so, I must die. My father cannot deceive me."
"Are you afraid? Are you trembling, daughter of the Garamantan? Ah, at
last the woman! Stay in your tent! Do not approach the walls! I will go
and seek you when the moment arrives for you to enter the city like a
lady!"
Asbyte straightened her graceful figure as if she had just received a
lashing. Her large eyes glowed with anger.
"I will leave you, Hannibal. Day is beginning to dawn. Make preparation
for the assault, and you will find me ready when your troops give the
signal. Knowing that I am going to die, I wish to ask you for one kiss,
the last--No, do not approach me. I do not want it now; it would do me
harm. If I fall and you can find me among the slain, you will know what
my last thought has been."
Leaning on her lance she moved away between the rows of tents, followed
by the black horse, which sniffed at her footprints in faithful
devotion.
Day was breaking. The camp fires were nearly extinguished, and around
the dying embers the men could be seen arising from the ground,
stretching their benumbed limbs, and shaking out the pieces of cloth in
which they had been wrapped. Horses whinnied, tugging at their stake
ropes, and the soldiers set them free, driving them to the river to
water and clean them.
Along every road huge carts were approaching the camp laden with
provisions and forage, and the creaking of their axles mingled with the
songs of the soldiers, who had arisen in good spirits and recalled their
distant homes, singing in their native tongues.
It was a confusion of voices and cries. Each tribe camped by itself; one
people greeted the other with joyous shouts. From every side floated
odors of naked, sweaty flesh, and of strange stews boiling in the pots;
the hammers of the carpenters echoed loudly as they worked upon the
siege-engines which would soon be hurling stones and darts against the
walls. Warriors in flowing mantles, mounted on prancing steeds, galloped
between the city and the camp, examining the battlements of Saguntum,
reddened by the sun's first rays, where the defenders were beginning to
stir among the merlons. Hannibal with uncovered head was sitting on a
remnant of a wall, the ruin of a villa demolished by the besiegers, also
studying the city.
He was resolved to begin the attack as soon as his army had finished
making the morning preparations. Fifteen hundred Africans, armed with
pickaxes, were gathering on the outskirts of the camp. They were going
to attack that portion of the city which threw its ramparts into the
level, open plain, thereby permitting unobstructed approach to its base.
In other divisions of the camp the Celtiberian infantry was forming with
long ladders to attempt the walls on many sides at once. The engines of
war advanced, the catapults, with the thick bow tightly drawn by elastic
cords, ready to fling the stone deposited in the groove of the long arm;
the battering-rams vibrating on their chains as they moved. The
walking-towers, light, with walls of interlaced osiers, trundled upon
massive disks crowned by the shields of the besiegers who concealed
themselves behind them to hurl their missiles.
Hannibal hurried to his tent, passing between the cavalrymen who were
deliberately grooming their horses and polishing their weapons, knowing
that they were not to take part in the assault until the last moment.
The chieftain armed himself lightly. He put on a short lorica of bronze
scales, adjusted his helmet, selected a shield, and on leaving his tent
he met Maherbal and his brother Mago, in charge of the reserves who
remained in the camp.
"Your legs are unprotected," said his brother. "Are you not going to
cover them with greaves?"
"No," replied the chieftain spiritedly. "We are going to make an
assault, and to climb over the fallen walls one must have his legs free.
The missiles will respect me as ever."
As he walked out of the camp he thought he saw the queen of the Amazons
standing between two tents, following him with saddened eyes; but
Asbyte, when her gaze met Hannibal's, moved away and turned her back
upon him haughtily.
Trumpets blew, and the army stirred, marching against the city.
The mantelets rolled forward, veritable parapets of wood, through the
interstices of which the bowmen shot. Under cover of these portable
bulwarks the Africans armed with pickaxes advanced, while in other
directions throughout the valley hurried the Celtiberians, carrying
their ladders in front of them.
In an instant the walls were manned with defenders. Over the merlons
appeared sinewy arms hurling missiles, slings swirled discharging
stones, and bows bent followed by sharp hisses.
Hannibal, to animate the assailants, marched behind the fifteen hundred
Africans, laughing at the projectiles which struck the wooden sides of
the mantelets. Several nights, dragging himself on his belly, and at the
risk of being taken prisoner, he had reached the foot of that rampart
which projected on the valley side, and which formed the strongest wall
of the city. The base was composed of great stones laid in clay. The
chieftain being convinced that it was difficult to scale the walls,
decided to open a breach through the foundation by undermining the
reddish rampart before which his army had been confounded.
As they drew near it the Africans abandoned the shelter of the mantelets
and hurled themselves furiously against the barrier of enormous stones.
Naked, black, shouting, raising and lowering their muscular arms which
ended in glittering iron-pointed pickaxes, they looked like infernal
spirits sent by the Cabiric gods of Carthage for the destruction of the
city. Stubborn and tenacious in their work of destruction, they growled
and picked, insensible to the blows which fell from above.
The beleaguered people, infuriated by this audacity, scorned the
Balearic slingers and archers who from a distance aimed over the
merlons, and stepping into the crenels they cast down missiles and
stones which, falling vertically, never failed to claim their victims.
The Africans tumbled over with broken heads or crushed backs; arms and
legs snapped like reeds beneath the weight of the stones, and more than
one assailant was pinned to the ground by a dart which passed through
his back. Over the palpitating bodies, the mangled flesh, the blood
mixed with the clay from the walls, rushed fresh assailants, grasping
the pickaxes from the hands of the dying, and taking up the work of
destruction, pounding on the wall, beating it furiously as if it were an
enemy standing before them. Africans, Celtiberians, Gauls, men of all
colors and races crowded together, each cursing in his own language,
frothing at the mouth with fury, with death hovering above them every
instant, and surrounded by a din of howls and lamentations. Tormented by
falling stones and blazing phalarics which set fire to their clothing
and clung to their naked flesh, roasting them until they writhed in
agony, they rushed to the river like animated torches.
Now a block in the wall was giving way! Now it rolled out of place! The
most important thing was to remove the first; after it the others would
follow. The besiegers burst into exclamations of savage joy; they heard
Hannibal's voice encouraging them; but before raising their heads to
rest a moment, a deafening howl arose among them. It was raining, but
raining fiery, infernal drops which penetrated the bodies of the men
like interminable knives. Up there on the walls a fire was smoking. The
merchants were melting the great ingots of silver from their vaults,
pouring the molten metal like a rain of death upon those who dared
destroy the city walls.
The assailants fell back, roaring with fury, and sought refuge behind
the mantelets. Hannibal raised his sword, striving with his blows to
force them back to work, but in vain he exhorted them, haranguing of
victory and of the necessity of destroying the wall; his soldiers
retreated without turning their backs, looking with respect at the
chieftain who seemed invulnerable, but complaining of the atrocious
torment of the burns. Some wallowed on the ground kicking with pain,
their lips covered with foam.
Suddenly it seemed as if the city had burst, hurling its inhabitants
forth in all directions. In the distance the Celtiberians were seen to
flee, flinging away their ladders. The populace rushed out en masse
against the besiegers. The gates were too narrow to allow passage to the
armed multitude which swirled through them and then spread out in all
directions like a torrent which, having run boxed in between mountains,
suddenly inundates the plain. Many impatient ones swung from the merlons
to fall more quickly upon the enemy.
In a moment the whole space intervening between the walls and the camp
was covered by attacking Saguntines and by fleeing besiegers. Hannibal
felt himself dragged by the flight of his soldiers. The mantelets began
to burn, and a crowd of women and boys, grasping torches, encircled the
walking-towers, setting fire to their osier walls.
The Saguntines, forming in phalanxes, advanced, sweeping before them the
besiegers who fled in disorder. Before its movable front of pikes and of
arms flourishing broadswords, nothing could be seen but fugitive men who
flung away their arms and leaped into the air pierced by arrows and
lances.
The giant Theron came out in solitary majesty, as if he alone were a
phalanx. The lion skin, and his enormous stature, attracted the gaze of
all. His club rose and fell, crashing into the groups of fugitives and
opening great swaths through their ranks.
"It is Hercules!" the besiegers shouted, with superstitious terror. "The
god of Saguntum has come out against us!"
The presence of the giant accelerated the dispersion even more than the
blows of the Saguntines.
Hannibal tried to advance, to face about; in vain he lifted up his
voice, brandishing his sword. He was swept by the torrent of flight; his
own soldiers crowded him along, blinded by the contagion of terror; they
tramped on his heels, they pressed against his back with their heads
bent low in swift retreat, and he had to make strenuous efforts to keep
from being overwhelmed and trampled down. A moment more and the
Saguntines, having destroyed every engine of war, reached the camp.
The chieftain was snarling curses and threats against his brother and
Maherbal who did not come up with the reserves to stay the torrent of
the rout. He saw the troops issuing from the camp hurriedly, but on foot
and in disorder, with the precipitation produced by an unexpected event.
Many of them were adjusting the straps of their cuirasses, and the
different tribes were jostled together and minus their leaders, who in
vain had trumpeters blow their horns to bring the hosts to order.
The Saguntines in the blind impulse of victory clashed with this
reinforcement and almost routed it in the first encounter. Hannibal, who
had managed to reunite a group of the bravest soldiers, presented a firm
front to the Saguntines.
"This way! This way!" he shouted to those coming from the camp, who in
their excitement did not know where to rally.
But at the same time his cries attracted the enemy. Theron, as if guided
by his god, turned toward Hannibal, and soon his mace began to hammer at
the shields of the Carthaginians. He hurled himself against them with
cool courage, breaking their lances with a blow of his club, wounding
himself on the swords which seemed to rebound from his powerful muscles,
dripping blood beneath his lion skin, ferocious and magnificent, like
unto a divinity. He never raised his knotty trunk without dropping an
enemy at his feet.
The besiegers began to recede again before the pressure of the
Saguntines; Hannibal was once more dragged by his men who were terrified
by the savagery of the giant who seemed invulnerable, when an unexpected
turn gave a new phase to the combat. The earth shook beneath a wild
gallop, like the reverberation of rolling thunder, and leaning over
their horses' necks, their hair floating from beneath their helmets, and
their white tunics streaming around their naked limbs, Asbyte's Amazons
fell upon the enemy with the violence of a hurricane. They came
whooping, waving their lances, calling one to another to charge upon the
denser groups, and the assailants fell back astonished at these women
whom they saw near at hand for the first time, and who were now favored
by the effect of surprise.
Looking between the heads which surrounded him, Hannibal saw Asbyte pass
like a luminous flash, absolutely alone. The light of the sun, striking
upon her helmet, encircled her with a nimbus of gold. Her lover's
instinct had revealed to her where Hannibal stood surrounded by enemies,
and she dashed to his support.
Succeeding events were rapid, instantaneous. Through the dust of the
charge Hannibal barely made out what occurred, as if it were the
fleeting agony of a dream.
The Amazon, with couched lance, rode at a gallop against the priest of
Hercules, who in the recoil of that disordered hand to hand struggle had
been left alone in a broad open space.
"Ohooo!----" shouted the Amazon, exciting her horse by her war cry.
Pressing her legs against the animal's ribs she lifted herself upon his
back in order to give the giant a deeper wound.
The horse, terrified at the frightful lion's head on the forehead of the
colossus, reared and whinnied, while at the same moment the enormous
mace struck above his eyes with a crash like the breaking of a heavy
amphora.
The horse reeled backwards with a shattered skull, blood spurting from
his eyes. The Amazon, thrown from his back, fell on her knees a few
steps away, covering herself with her shield. If she could hold out a
moment she would be saved. Hannibal, forgotten by his disorganized men
who were milling like a frightened herd in the confusion of battle, ran
to her aid. Bodies of cavalry rushed from the camp to assist the
audacious Amazons, and the mass of the besieged retreated in disorder
toward the city.
Asbyte arose and advanced a step, raising her lance to thrust the giant;
but at the same moment the enormous cudgel, brandished with both hands,
crushed upon her like a toppling wall. Her crumpling bronze shield rung
plaintively, her golden helmet parted on the seams, and Asbyte doubled
up on the ground, her tunic stained with blood, like a wounded white
bird folded in its fluttering wings.
Theron, despite his ferocity, stood appalled, resting on his club,
oblivious to what was taking place about him, as if repentant for the
frightful destruction which his power had wrought upon that beautiful
woman.
"Answer _me_ for that, Theron! Defend yourself, butcher of Hercules!
Kill me if you can; I am Hannibal!"
The priest turned and beheld a warrior, his face covered by his shield,
his sword held in tierce, advancing with amazing agility, circling
around him like a tiger attacking an elephant and seeking by his greater
mobility to spring upon him at a defenceless point. The battle had
ceased; the Saguntines fell back toward the city. The besieging cavalry
charged close up to the walls, leaving the two combatants alone on the
field. A few soldiers sluggishly approached, and stood still some
distance away, intimidated by the superstitious terror which the giant
inspired.
Theron did not falter on finding himself alone. Hannibal! It was
Hannibal the great warrior, who was now to fight with him absolutely
alone! This singular duel, in view of the whole city looking on from the
walls, seemed arranged by his god! He was to rid Saguntum of her direst
enemy! Hercules had reserved this glory for him; and smiling with
satisfaction he raised the mace, striding straight toward the African.
Hannibal eluded him, stepping backward, springing aside with feline
agility, evading the encounter, until at last the priest was weary and
wished to end the struggle before new combatants should arrive. He
steadied himself on his colossal legs and hurled the club at Hannibal.
The enormous tree trunk tore through the air, while Hannibal, seeing it
coming, sprang aside. It grazed his shield with a thundering clang, and
fell far away amid a cloud of dust.
The African bent his knees at the shock, but recovered himself, and
flinging away his broken shield rushed at Theron with lifted sword.
The priest of Hercules, finding himself disarmed, experienced a
momentary qualm; he knew fear, believing himself in the presence of a
superior being against whom his strength could not avail, and turning
his back on Hannibal he fled toward Saguntum. The people on the walls
seeing his peril called to him. Some drew their bows to stop Hannibal
with their arrows, but they dared not shoot for fear of wounding
Theron. The Saguntines breathed hard at seeing their Hercules flee,
pursued by the warrior who was heading him off so that he should not
reach the city.
The giant being heavy and muscular, ran with difficulty over the ground
strewn as it was with dead and with the litter of the fight. He stumbled
over a shield; his knees bent; he arose again; but this time completely
nude. The lion skin had fallen from his shoulders, and lay among the
wrack of battle.
His pursuer caught up to him. The giant felt the cold steel sink into
the muscles of his back, and not caring to die like a fleeing slave in
sight of his entire city he turned quickly, extending his columnar arms
to crush his enemy between them; but before the two muscular masses
could encircle and mangle him, Hannibal had buried his sword again and
again in the side of the colossus, and Theron fell, pressing his hands
against his wounds and gazing at his dark red blood.
He looked at Hannibal without anger, with a childlike expression of
pain, and then he fixed his death-clouded eyes on the lofty Acropolis,
where the roofs glistened in the sun.
"Father Hercules!" he murmured bitterly. "Why do you abandon your
people?"
His enormous head raised a cloud of dust as it struck the ground.
Hannibal bent over it and with his sword began to hew the robust neck,
obliged to strike many blows to sever the network of corded tendons and
stubborn muscles, which seemed to blunt the edge of the blade.
A cloud of arrows began to plow the ground roundabout Hannibal.
The chieftain removed his helmet, loosing his mass of curling hair; he
grasped the head of Theron by its gory mane, and placing one foot in the
attitude of conqueror upon the body of the priest, he showed it to the
people on the walls.
He was magnificent with his sword in his right hand and holding out his
other arm which sustained the head of the giant. The dark integument of
his eyes, brilliant as the metal disks which hung from his ears, gleamed
with pride and icy hate.
The Saguntines recognized the victor, and wails of surprise and peals of
fury thundered along the wall.
"Hannibal! It is Hannibal!"
He still stood motionless, like a statue of victory, proudly defying the
enemy, heedless of the storm of projectiles whizzing around him, until
suddenly he dropped the head of Theron and sank to his knees, letting
fall his sword.
Mopsus the bowman had shot an arrow through his leg.
From the walls all beheld how, in an outburst of angry pain he tore out
the arrow-shaft, broke it into splinters, and flung them away. Then they
saw no more. A host of the besieging army rushed forward and covered
him, and his archers and slingers began to shoot against the
battlements.
Actæon, fatigued by the recent sally, and hidden behind a merlon,
watched what was taking place around Hannibal, paying no attention to
the missiles from the slingers, who, infuriated by the wounding of their
chief, hurled a hail of stones against the walls.
He saw Hannibal move away supported by two Carthaginian captains in
golden cuirasses, accompanied by a multitude.
Suddenly the chieftain repelled his helpers, and limped painfully toward
a white, bloodstained object lying on the red earth like a shapeless
rag. He bent over the form, and the Numidians who surrounded it beheld
the terrible Hannibal weep--for the first and last time--pressing his
lips upon the mangled head of the Amazon Asbyte.