THE HUNGRY CITY
The trireme conveying the Roman legates had been on her voyage more than
fifteen days.
She had sailed up the coasts of the Tyrrhenian Sea; she had then crossed
the Sea of Liguria, bound by abrupt coasts, and had passed before
Massilia, the prosperous Grecian colony, also allied to Rome. Then,
audaciously crossing the broad gulf, she had turned her prow toward
Emporion, and had skirted the coasts of Iberia.
The ambassadors from Rome were the patricians Valerius Flaccus, one of
those who desired to maintain the peace with prudent words, and Bæbius
Tamphilus who enjoyed the love of the Roman plebs because of his
sympathy for their sufferings.
Actæon displayed impatience to reach Saguntum. He wished to confer with
his friends and avoid the useless sacrifice of the city, explaining to
them the mood of Rome so that they should not persist in a useless
defense. For seven months Saguntum had held out in strenuous resistance.
Autumn had not yet commenced when Hannibal's army had appeared before
the city, and it was now near the end of winter.
The Greek reflected sadly upon the fond illusions he had cherished while
making his adventurous and perilous way to Rome. He had hoped that his
presence in the great city, and his story of the sufferings of the
faithful ally, would arouse the Romans, and that the legions would shout
for vengeance----but he was returning without soldiers, in a ship with
ambassadors feigning interest in Saguntum but not deeply moved by her
misfortunes----returning without other support than high-sounding,
impotent words, and a bronze wolf on the end of a staff proclaiming the
dignity of the embassy.
What of the enthusiastic and credulous multitude fighting on the walls,
filling the yawning breach with their unflinching breasts, and who to
gather fresh courage only needed to imagine the coming of the
Romans!----What would they say? Then, with a sudden turn of thought,
what of Sónnica, she so brave, sending him that he might save the city!
How could she, accustomed to a life of luxury and ease, live in the
misery and horror of that siege, which had endured until the stores of
the city must be consumed, and the energy of its defenders exhausted!
The ship left the mouth of the Ebro, and struggling against contrary
winds, at length, one morning, sighted the Acropolis of Saguntum. From
the tall tower of Hercules shot up a cloud of smoke in greeting! They
had recognized the vessel by the square rigging of the Roman men-of-war.
The sun was in the zenith when the ship, with reefed sails, and driven
by the triple bank of oars, stood into the channel which gave entrance
to the port of Saguntum. Within the harbor, above the reeds waving in
the marshes, rose the masts of Carthaginian vessels anchored in the
triple port.
The crew of the Roman ship beheld great troops of horsemen galloping
along the beach. They were squadrons of Numidians and Mauritanians,
waving their lances and uttering war cries as when charging in battle.
One horseman, with bronze armor and uncovered head, had called to them
to heave to. Advancing alone, he urged his horse into the channel,
approaching the ship until the waters rose to the animal's belly.
Actæon recognized him.
"That is Hannibal," he said to the two legates standing beside him on
the poop, who were watching with astonishment the bellicose character of
their reception before they had even cast anchor in the port of
Saguntum.
Fresh squadrons continued to arrive, as if the news of the coming ship
had spread alarm through the camp, attracting all the troops to the
port. Behind the cavalry came the fierce Celtiberians at full speed, the
Balearic slingers, all the foot-soldiers, of diverse races who figured
in the besieging army.
Hannibal, even at the risk of drowning, pressed his horse forward into
the waters of the channel to make himself heard on the ship, and
ordering them to stop he held up his hand so imperiously that in an
instant the oars dropped motionless along the hull.
"Who are you? What do you want?" he asked in Greek.
Actæon interpreted between the Romans and the Carthaginian chief.
"They are legates from Rome, coming to see you in the name of the
Republic."
"Who are you, speaking to me in a voice that I seem to know?"
He shaded his eyes with his hand, and looked keenly until he recognized
the Greek.
"Is it you, Actæon? Always you, restless Athenian! I thought you were
within the city, yet you have managed to slip away to bring these men to
me. Well and good! Tell them it is too late. Why waste words? A
chieftain who lays siege to a city only receives ambassadors after he is
inside the walls."
The Greek repeated Hannibal's words to the Romans, translating their
replies.
"Listen, African!" said Actæon to Hannibal. "The envoys from Rome remind
you of the friendship which they have contracted with Saguntum. In the
name of the Senate and the Roman people they call upon you to raise the
siege and to respect the city."
"Tell them that Saguntum has offended me, and that she was first in
declaring war by sacrificing my friends and by refusing to respect my
allies, the Turdetani."
"That is not true, Hannibal."
"Greek, repeat what I say to the Romans."
"The legates wish to land. They must speak to you in the name of Rome."
"It is useless. They cannot make me desist from my enterprise. Moreover,
the siege has lasted long, the troops are excited and a camp like mine,
composed of ferocious peoples from many countries, who are only
restrained when in my presence, is no safe place for ambassadors from
Rome. We had a battle only a few hours ago, and they are still fuming
with wrath."
As he said this he turned toward his troops, and, as if taking the
movement for an order, or perhaps divining in the eyes of their
chieftain his hidden purpose, they advanced into the water as if to
attack by swimming against the ship. Horsemen threatened with lances
still dyed in the blood of recent battle; they raised their shields, on
which the more savage Africans had hung as trophies the scalps of
Saguntines killed in the last sally. The Balearians showed their white
teeth in stupid grins, and taking clay balls from their pouches, they
directed sling-shots against the Roman vessel.
"Do you see?" shouted Hannibal with satisfaction. "It is impossible to
receive the legates in my camp. It is too late to talk. There is nothing
left but for Saguntum to give herself up to me in punishment for her
crimes."
The legates, scorning the projectiles from the slings, leaned over the
side of the ship, thrusting forward their bodies covered by their togas,
with an arrogance which seemed to defy the savage warriors.
Indignation at being received with such scorn blanched their cheeks.
"African!" shouted one of the legates in Latin, heedless that Hannibal
could not understand, "since you will not receive the envoys from Rome
we shall go on to Carthage to demand that they turn your person over to
us for breaking the treaties of Hasdrubal. Rome will punish you when you
become our prisoner!"
"What does he say? What does he say?" growled Hannibal enraged at the
incomprehensible words in which he surmised a threat.
When Actæon explained, the chieftain burst into a loud laugh of
derision.
"Go, Romans!" he shouted. "Go thither! The rich hate me and they would
be glad to grant your demands and turn me over to the enemy; but the
people love me, and there is no man in Carthage who dares to come into
the bosom of my army to make me prisoner."
Arrows rained around the ship; clay balls rebounded from her sides, and
the Roman pilot gave the order to recede. The oars moved and the vessel
slowly began to put about, and dropped down the channel.
"But are we going to Carthage?" asked the Greek.
"Yes, in Carthage they will hear us better," replied one of the legates.
"After what has taken place, either the Senate there will turn Hannibal
over to us, or Rome will declare war on Carthage."
"You may go, Romans, but my duty lies here."
Before the two senators and the legates from Saguntum, who had witnessed
the former scene with astonishment, could interfere, the Athenian flung
one leg over the rail and sprang head first into the channel. He swam
under water for some time, then came up, floating near the bank, to
which the cavalry and foot-soldiers had rushed to take him prisoner.
Before his feet touched ground Actæon was surrounded by a horde of
slingers who rushed into the water up to their middles to take
possession of his clothing without having to divide it among their
comrades. In an instant they tore off his Celtiberian sword, the pouch
hanging from his belt, and a gold chain which he wore on his breast in
memory of Sónnica. They were about to strip him of his traveling tunic,
leaving him naked, and he had begun to receive blows from the barbarous
and cruel crowd, when Hannibal rode up and recognized him.
"You have preferred to stay! I am glad of that. After having wrought me
so much damage from the walls of Saguntum you have repented and you have
come to join with me. I ought to leave you in the hands of these
barbarians who would rend you to pieces; I ought to crucify you outside
my camp so that that Greek woman whom you love could shudder at you; but
I remember the promise I made you, and I shall keep it, and welcome you
as a friend."
He ordered one of his officials to cover the Greek's wet garments with
an _endromis_, a military cloak of long hair with a hood, worn by
soldiers over their armor in winter. Then he bade him mount a Numidian's
horse.
They took up their march toward the camp. The troops who had rushed to
the entrance of the port slowly returned, while the ship fast dropped
the land, spreading her glowing sails. On the Acropolis the smoke had
dissipated, leaving only a few light clouds floating in the breeze. From
afar one could guess the disappointment felt in the city by the
unexpected flight of the Roman ship. With her seemed to vanish the last
hope of the besieged. Hannibal's troops, as they retired, commented on
the scene at the entrance to the port between their chief and the envoys
from Rome. They did not understand the words which had been exchanged;
but the energetic accent of the Roman as he spoke to Hannibal seemed to
them a threat. Some, pretending that they had understood the ambassador,
repeated an imaginary discourse in which the threat was made in the name
of Rome to cut the throats of the whole army and to stretch Hannibal on
a cross. They repeated these threats, each swelling them with inventions
of his own, and when the troops met other detachments on the Road of
the Serpent or in different parts of the valley, all declared they had
seen the chains which the Roman legates displayed from the ship, and in
which they expected to take their chieftain prisoner, and a howl of rage
arose from the hosts of Hannibal.
The African was flattered at the flood-tide of indignation surging
around him. The soldiers, barring his way, acclaimed him with greater
enthusiasm; he heard voices in every tongue crying death to Rome,
calling upon the chieftain to make the final assault upon the city, to
take possession of it before the ambassadors should reach Carthage and
plot the downfall of the youthful hero.
"Take care of yourself, Hannibal!" said an old Celtiberian planting
himself before his horse. "Your enemies in Carthage, Hanno's faction,
will unite with Rome to work your ruin."
"The people love me," said the chieftain, arrogantly. "Before the
Carthaginian Senate hears the Romans, Saguntum will be ours, and the
Carthaginians will acclaim our triumph."
With saddened heart Actæon beheld the desolation of the fields which
used to be so joyous and so fertile. There were no other ships in the
port but men-of-war from New Carthage. The seamen slept in the fane of
Aphrodite after having rifled the temple of its valuables. The
warehouses had been pillaged and destroyed; the wharves covered with
filth; in the fields not a vestige of the ancient villas remained. The
ferocity of the barbarian tribes from the interior, their hatred for the
Greeks of the coast, had incited them to even tear up the multicolor
pavements and to scatter the fragments. The whole valley was an immense,
desolated plain. Not a tree was standing. To combat the cold of winter
they had felled the groves of fig trees, the broad plantations of
olives, the stocks of the grapevines of the vineyards, destroying even
the houses to warm themselves with the rafters from the roofs. Nothing
remained standing but ruined walls and low shrubbery. A fungoid
vegetation which grew rapidly, fertilized by bodies of men and animals,
extended over the valley, obliterating the ancient roads, creeping up
the ruins, and choking the beds of the streams which, their irrigating
ditches broken, scattered their waters until the low fields were
converted into ponds.
It was the devastating work of a continually swelling army composed of a
hundred and eighty thousand men and of many thousands of horses. In a
short time they had devoured the Saguntine domain. The soldiers after
destroying all that was not of immediate use, extended their rapacity to
surrounding zones, constantly broadening their radius of destruction as
the siege was prolonged.
Supplies now came from a distance of many days' journey; sent by remote
tribes in the hope of a reward of booty which Hannibal knew how to
instill into their minds, telling them of the riches of Saguntum. The
elephants had been sent to New Carthage some months before, as they were
useless in the siege and difficult to maintain in this devastated
region.
Over the domain flew crows in undulating black clouds. From the thicket
rose the stench of rotting horses and mules. By the roadsides, their
members pinned to the ground by rocks, lay the bodies of barbarians put
to death because of hopeless wounds, and whose bodies their compatriots,
according to the customs of their race, left abandoned to the birds of
prey. The immense agglomeration had vitiated the atmosphere of the
valley. They lived in the open, and yet, the filth of the multitude, and
the vapors of death, seemed disseminated between the mountains and the
sea as a heavy atmosphere replete with sickness and death.
Actæon, coming from a distance, was the more sensitive to this stench of
the camp, and he thought of the beleaguered people with sadness. Looking
toward the city he guessed the horrors hidden behind those reddish walls
after a resistance of seven months.
They approached the camp. The Greek saw that this concentration of
military forces had assumed the aspect of a permanent city. Few tents of
canvas or of skins were left. The winter, which now was drawing to a
close, had compelled the besiegers to construct stone huts with thatched
roofs, and wooden houses which looked like towers and served as supports
to the earthworks thrown up roundabout the camp.
Hannibal, as if reading Actæon's thought, smiled savagely while his eyes
swept the work of destruction wrought by his army outside the city.
"You find all this greatly changed, eh, Actæon?"
"I see that your troops have not been idle while you were off punishing
the rebels in Celtiberia."
"Maherbal, my chief of cavalry, is an excellent aide. When I returned he
showed me two of the walls of Saguntum destroyed, and a part of the
city in our power. Do you see that citadel near the Acropolis, inside
the walled district? Well, that is ours. The catapults, which you can
see from here, shoot into Saguntum, which has become reduced to half its
former size--and they still dream of defending themselves! They still
hope for auxiliaries from Rome! Stubborn brutes! They have constructed a
line of walls for the third time, and thus they have gone on losing
ground and persisting in the defense until nothing is left to them but
the Forum, where I shall knife every man, woman, and child whom I find
alive--O, proud and indomitable city! I will make you my slave!"
The African turned to his old-time companion and changed the
conversation.
"Your eyes are opened at last, and you have come to me. Are you going to
follow me with enthusiasm? Will you join me in that series of
enterprises of which I spoke to you one day at sunrise here on this very
road? Perhaps you will become a king because of having followed
Hannibal, as did Ptolemy following Alexander. Are you resolved?"
Actæon hesitated a moment before replying, and Hannibal read indecision
in his eyes--the desire to deceive.
"Do not lie, Greek; lies are for enemies, or for preserving life. I am
your friend, and I have promised to respect your safety. Can it be that
you do not mean to follow me?"
"Well, of a truth, I do not," said the Greek with resolution. "I wish to
return to the city, and if you truly have affection for the companion of
your youth, let me go."
"But you will perish inside that city! Do not expect mercy if we force
our entrance through the breach!"
"I shall die," said the Athenian simply, "but there, inside those walls,
are men who received me as a compatriot when I was wandering hungry over
the world; there is a woman who took me in when I was poor, and gave me
love and riches. They sent me to Rome that I might bring them a word of
hope, and I must return, even though it be only to give them sorrow and
pain. What does it matter if you set me free? To-morrow perhaps you can
kill me. I shall be one more mouth to feed, and surely hunger must reign
in Saguntum. Perhaps when I tell them the truth, when they see me return
without assistance, their courage may weaken and they may give up the
town to you. Let me pass through the lines, Hannibal; with this, it may
be that without desiring to do so, I shall forward your plans."
Hannibal looked at him in surprise.
"Madman! I never believed an Athenian capable of such a sacrifice. You
are such a light-hearted people, so given to perfidy, so false when you
wish to satisfy your egoism! You are the first Greek I ever found
faithful to the city which adopted him. Carthage had worse luck with the
mercenaries from your country! It is impossible to make anything of you;
you are only half a man! Love overmasters you; you are not satisfied as
I am with the woman who wanders around the camp, or whom one takes when
a city is assaulted and afterwards turns over to the soldiers. You bind
yourself to a woman, you become her slave, and you seek an inglorious
death in a dark corner of the world, like a mercenary in the service of
a handful of merchants, merely for the sake of seeing her again. Go,
madman, go! I give you your liberty--I wish to hear no more about you. I
was ready to make you a hero and you answer me like a slave. Go in to
Saguntum, but know that the protection of Hannibal abandons you from
this moment. If you fall into my hands inside the city you will be my
prisoner, never my friend!"
Digging his heels into his horse's ribs, Hannibal dashed into his camp,
contemptuously turning his back upon the Greek. In a moment a young
Carthaginian approached, who, without a word, nor even a glance at him,
grasped his bridle-reins and proceeded toward Saguntum.
As they gained the outposts of the besieging army the Carthaginian
pronounced a word and Actæon passed on amid the hostile gaze of the
soldiers who had heard of the scene at the port, and were clamoring with
rage, thinking of the chains which the legates from Rome had the
insolence to show to their chief. That Greek who was about to enter the
besieged city must have been a companion of the legates, and many placed
an arrow in the bow to shoot at him, but were restrained by a cold and
haughty glance from the young Carthaginian who spoke in the name of
Hannibal.
They arrived at the ruins of the first walled quarter. The van of the
besieging army was within the shelter of the walls. The Greek
dismounted, and breaking a thorny branch from a bush he walked on,
holding it aloft as a signal of peace.
He stood before the wall which had been built under his direction one
night to hold back the invader. Upon it he saw the helmets of only a few
defenders. The besieger was directing his attacks against the upper
part. That side of the city where the early battles had taken place was
almost abandoned. The guardians on the wall greeted Actæon with loud
shouts of surprise and joy, and they lowered a rope of esparto to help
him climb up by means of the rough places on the wall, until he could
enter through a crenel near the top. All surrounded the Greek eagerly.
It seemed as if he were in the presence of spectres. Their bodies
appeared ready to slip out of their ample armor; their faces, sad,
yellow, parchment-like, were hidden beneath the visors of their helmets;
their fleshless, wrinkled hands could barely sustain their weapons, and
a strange, golden effulgence glowed in their eyes.
Actæon parried their flood of questions with kind words of
encouragement. He would speak opportunely; he must first render an
account of his mission to the Elders of the Senate. They must be calm;
before night they should know all. Filled with commiseration in the
presence of these heroes, he lied mercifully, declaring that Rome would
not forget Saguntum, and that he had come in advance of the legions sent
by the allies.
From the houses nearby, from the streets close to the wall, issued men
and women drawn by news of the arrival of the Greek. They surrounded
him, they questioned him; all wished to be first to receive the news to
scatter it through the city. Defending himself from them, Actæon gazed
with horror at their lean, yellow faces, their earthy skin outlining the
prominent sutures of their skulls; their sunken eyes in their black
orbits shining with an unearthly light, like fading stars reflected in
the depths of a well, and their emaciated arms, which creaked like
canes as they moved them with nervous emotion.
He started onward, escorted by the multitude, preceded by boys
absolutely nude, horrible to look at, with skins ready to break from the
pressure of their ribs outlined one above the other, with enormously
large heads above their fleshless necks. They staggered painfully, as if
their tottering, thread-like limbs could not bear the weight of their
bodies; some, to lessen their suffering, dragged themselves along the
ground, lacking the strength to stand.
Actæon beheld a deserted corpse lying in a corner, the face covered with
strange flies which glinted in the sunshine with metallic reflections.
Farther on at a cross street, some women were trying to raise to his
feet a naked youth beside whom lay his abandoned bow. The Greek noted
with horror his sunken, inward-curving abdomen, a palpitating whirlpool
of skin between the protruding hip bones which threatened to burst from
the body. It was a mummy still showing a flickering spark of life in the
eyes, opening and shutting its parched and blackened lips as if feeding
on the unnourishing air.
He continued on his way down the lengthy streets, but no more people
joined the group. The doors of many houses remained closed, despite the
clamor of the crowd, and Actæon contrasted this solitude with the great
multitude of people during the early days of the siege. Dead dogs lying
in the gullies, as emaciated as the people themselves, polluted the
atmosphere. At street crossings lay skeletons of horses and mules, clean
and white, holding not even a scrap of flesh to satisfy the repugnant
insects buzzing in the atmosphere of the doomed city.
With his gift of keen observation, the Greek's attention was fixed by
the warriors' weapons. He saw only cuirasses of metal; those made of
leather had disappeared. The shields displayed their texture of osier or
bull-tendon, destitute of their coverings of hide. In one corner he saw
two old men fighting over a black and stringy morsel; it was a bit of
crow boiled in water. Many two-storied houses had been demolished to
obtain stones for use in the new wall which barred the advance of the
enemy.
Desolating hunger had swept everything with cruel touch. Even the most
fetid and repugnant matter had been turned to account. It was as if the
besiegers had already broken into the city and had carried off
everything of worth, leaving nothing but the buildings behind as silent
witnesses to their rapine. Hunger and death stalked hand in hand beside
the desperate Saguntines.
On approaching the Forum a woman pushed her way through the people
toward the Greek and flung her arms around his neck.
"Actæon, my love!" cried Sónnica.
The privations of the siege had left deep marks upon her. She did not
present the appearance of extreme emaciation as did most, but she was
thin and pale, her nose sharpened, her cheeks transmitting an interior
light, the arms which clung to him thin and hot with fever. A blue
circle surrounded her eyes, and her rich tunic hung loose in empty
folds; her body, in growing thinner, seemed to have gained in height.
"Actæon----my love!" she cried again, "I had lost hope of ever seeing
you! Bless you, bless you for coming back!"
She walked beside him, one of her arms around his neck. The multitude
looked upon Sónnica with veneration; she had sacrificed herself for the
poor, sharing with them each day the shrinking supplies of her
store-houses.
Actæon recognized Euphobias the philosopher in the crowd, his garments
more ragged than ever, almost naked, but with an appearance of relative
vigor which contrasted strangely with the starving appearance of the
majority. Lachares and the elegant young friends of Sónnica bowed to him
from a distance with a distraught expression. They had the look of
starving men, but they concealed their pallor beneath rouge and other
cosmetics, and they wore their richest vestments as if to console
themselves for their privations with the pomp of useless luxury. The
young slave boys who accompanied them moved their emaciated limbs,
covered by gold-embroidered garments, and gazing at their pendants of
pearls, they yawned painfully. The crowd halted in the Forum. The Elders
had gathered in the temple near the quadrangle. Above, on the Acropolis,
the Carthaginians who occupied a part of the hill, kept up a continual
bombardment, and great stones from the catapults fell constantly. Some
of these reached the Forum, and the roofs of many houses and walls were
pierced and shattered by the enormous projectiles.
Actæon entered the temple alone. The number of Ancients had diminished.
Some had died, victims of hunger and pestilence; others, with juvenile
ardor, had rushed forth to defend the walls, and there encountered
death. The prudent Alcon seemed to enjoy great ascendancy, and he
figured at the head of the assembly. Events had justified the prudence
which had caused him in other days to declare against the warlike
enterprises of the city and their fondness for alliances.
"Speak, Actæon," said Alcon. "Tell us the truth, the whole truth! After
the misfortunes the gods have already sent us, we can bear even
greater."
The Greek looked at the men, wrapped in their flowing mantles, holding
their tall staves of authority, awaiting his words with an anxiety which
they made an effort to conceal behind majestic calmness.
He related his audience by the Roman Senate; he told of the caution
which had impelled it to favor conciliatory measures; of the arrival of
the legates off Saguntum; of their extraordinary reception by Hannibal,
and of the departure of the ambassadors for Carthage to demand the
punishment of the chieftain and desistance from the siege of Saguntum.
As the sad tale proceeded the calmness of the Elders gradually
dissipated. Some, more violent, arose to their feet and rent their
garments, crying aloud with grief; others, in their excitement, beat
their foreheads with clenched fists, raging with fury on hearing that
Rome had not sent her legions; and the eldest among them, without
sacrificing their dignity, wept unashamed, allowing their tears to
stream down their fleshless cheeks into their snowy beards.
"They have forsaken us!"
"It will be too late when help arrives!"
"Saguntum will perish before the Romans can reach Carthage!"
The assemblage remained long in a state of desperation. Some, motionless
in their seats from weakness, implored the gods to let them die ere they
should behold the downfall of their people.
It seemed as if the hordes of Hannibal were already clamoring at the
temple doors.
"Restrain yourselves, Elders!" admonished Alcon. "Remember that the
citizens of Saguntum stand waiting outside these walls. If they suspect
your despair, discouragement will spread abroad, and this very night we
will become the slaves of Hannibal!"
Slowly the Elders recovered their composure, and silence reigned. All
awaited the counsel of Alcon the Prudent. He spoke.
"You do not entertain the thought of immediate surrender of the city, do
you?"
A roar of indignation from the Senate answered him.
"Never, never!"
"Then, in order to keep hearts beating with hope, to prolong the defense
a few more days, you must lie; you must inspire in the Saguntines a
deceptive confidence. Provisions are exhausted; those who man the walls,
weapons in hand, have eaten the flesh of the last horses that remained
in the city. The plebs are perishing of hunger. Every night hundreds of
corpses are gathered and burned on the Acropolis for fear of their being
devoured by wandering dogs pressed by hunger, which have turned into
veritable wild beasts that attack even the living. There is a complaint
that some of the foreigners sheltered in the city, in company with
slaves and mercenaries, lie in wait by night near the walls to eat
whatever bodies they find. The cisterns of the city are almost dry;
there is but little water left, and that is thick with mud; and yet no
one in Saguntum talks of surrender, and the defense must be continued.
We all know what awaits us if we fall into the hands of Hannibal."
"I have talked with him," said Actæon, "and he is inexorable. If he
enters Saguntum every man of us will become his slave!"
The assembly stirred again with indignation.
"We will die first!" shouted the Elders.
Hastily they agreed upon what must be said to the people. They swore by
the gods to conceal the truth. They would prolong the sacrifice in the
hope that aid from Rome might come in time. Composing their countenances
so that none should divine their despair, the Elders walked out of the
temple. Swiftly the news flashed through the city. The legates had
proceeded to Carthage to waste no time in the camp; there they would
demand the punishment of Hannibal. The legions which Rome was sending to
the support of the Saguntines would arrive at any moment.
The crowd received this specious fabrication with cold insensibility.
The sufferings of the siege had deadened their feelings. Besides, they
had been fired so many times with hope of the coming of the Romans that
they doubted and would not believe until they saw the fleet itself.
Actæon mingled with the starving crowd searching for Sónnica. He found
her surrounded by Lachares and the young gallants. Near them stood
Euphobias, smiling at Sónnica, but not venturing to approach.
"The gods have protected you on your journey, Actæon," said the
parasite. "You look better than we who have remained in the city. One
can plainly see that you have fed."
"But you, philosopher," said the Greek, "are not so lean and emaciated
as the others. Who maintains you?"
"My poverty. I was so accustomed to hunger in times of plenty that now I
scarcely notice the famine. Observe the advantages of being a
philosopher and a beggar!"
"Trust not the words of that monster," said Lachares with repugnance.
"He is as beastly as a Celtiberian. He eats daily; but he should be
crucified in the middle of the Forum as a warning. He has been seen at
night wandering near the walls with a band of slaves in search of dying
men."
The Greek turned from the parasite with disgust.
"Do not believe it, Actæon," said Euphobias. "Now they envy me my
beggar's parsimony, as in other times they jeered at it. Hunger is my
ancient companion, and she respects me."
All drew away from the parasite, and Actæon followed Sónnica to her
house. The beautiful Greek woman was living almost alone. Many of her
servants had been killed on the walls; others had perished in the
streets, victims of pestilence. Some slaves, unable to resist the
torments of hunger, had run away to the besieging camp. Two aged
slave-women lay groaning in a corner, amidst stacks of luxurious
furniture and chests filled with riches. The great warehouses in the
lower story were empty. A gang of boys had taken possession, and passed
the time watching cat-like in hopes of some stray rat issuing from a
corner, that they might fall upon it as an animal of inestimable value.
"Tell me of Rhanto!" the Greek said to his beloved.
"Poor child! I see her only occasionally. She will not stay here; I have
her brought to me so that I can watch over her, but at the first
opportunity she slips away. Grief over Erotion's death has caused her to
lose her reason. Day and night she wanders along the walls. She goes
where the battle rages fiercest, and she passes among flying missiles as
if she does not see them. By night I hear from afar the strange dirges
which she chants to her Erotion; sometimes she appears crowned with a
wreath of those flowers which grow on the walls, and she asks for the
son of Mopsus, as if he were hidden among the defenders. The people
believe that she is in communication with the gods, and they look upon
her with awe and ask her what will be the fate of Saguntum."
The two spent the night amidst the piled up riches in the warehouse
wrapped in costly tapestries, insensible to their surroundings, as if
they were still in the rich villa on the domain, at the end of one of
those banquets which had so scandalized many of the Saguntines.
Days passed. The city was growing weaker, but the people, still firm in
their resolution, continued the defense, with stomachs faint from
starvation. The besiegers made no violent assaults. Hannibal guessed the
condition of the city, and, desirous of avoiding further shedding of
the blood of his troops, he allowed time to pass, maintaining only a
rigid blockade, waiting for hunger and pestilence to complete his
triumph.
The mortality in the streets increased. There was no longer any one left
to gather up the dead; the crematory fire on the Acropolis had gone out.
Corpses, abandoned in the doorways of their homes, were covered with
loathsome insects, and birds of rapine audaciously came down by night
into the heart of the city disputing the prey of vagabond dogs which
prowled the streets with lolling tongues and flaming eyes.
Vile smelling people of savage aspect, possessed by the delirium of
starvation, dragged themselves cautiously through the streets armed with
clubs, stones, and missiles. They went foraging as soon as night fell.
Euphobias guided them, giving counsel with majestic emphasis, as if he
were a great captain commanding his army. When they managed to kill a
crow or a savage dog they carried it to the Forum and roasted it over a
bonfire, quarreling violently over the noisome morsels, while the rich
citizens stood aloof, faint with hunger but nauseated by such horrors.
Spring had set in. It was a gloomy springtime, revealed to the besiegers
by little flowers growing up among the weeds in the crevices of the
towers and on the roofs of the houses. Winter was over, and yet it was
cold in Saguntum, with a tomb-like chill which the besieged felt in the
very marrow of their bones. The sun shone, but the city seemed obscured
by a fetid mist which imparted to people and to houses a leaden color.
One morning, on his way to the upper part of the mount where the defense
continued, Actæon met the prudent Alcon in the Forum. This loyal
citizen revealed discouragement in his dejected appearance.
"Athenian," he said, with a mysterious expression, "I am resolved that
this must end. The city can resist no further. She has waited long
enough for aid from Rome. Let Saguntum fall, and let Rome be filled with
shame because of her infidelity to her allies. This day I shall go to
Hannibal's camp and sue for peace."
"Have you considered it carefully?" exclaimed the Greek. "Do you not
fear the indignation of your people when they see you treating with the
enemy?"
"I love my city well, and I cannot remain impassive and witness its
sacrifice, its interminable agony. Few are aware of the actual
conditions, but I can tell you, Actæon, because you are discreet. We are
much worse off than the people realize. There is not a scrap of meat
left for those who are defending our walls. This morning there was
nothing but mud in the bottom of the cisterns. We have no water. A few
days more of resistance and we shall be forced to eat dead bodies like
those soulless creatures who feed by night. We shall have to kill the
children to placate our thirst with their blood."
Alcon was silent for a moment; he passed his hand over his forehead with
a gesture of pain as if to obliterate terrible recollections.
"No one knows better than we Elders what occurs in the city," he
continued. "The gods must shudder with horror when they see the deeds
done in Saguntum since they abandoned her. Listen and forget, Actæon,"
he said in a low voice and with an accent of fear. "Yesterday two women,
maddened by hunger, drew lots to choose which one of their children
they should devour. We Elders have closed our eyes and our ears; we have
not desired to see nor to hear, understanding that punishment would only
serve to increase the horrors. The men who are fighting on the walls are
chewing the leather from their weapons to deceive hunger. Their flesh is
loosened from their bones, they weaken and fall as if wounded by an
invisible stroke from the gods. We have resisted for nearly eight
months; two-thirds of the city no longer exists. We have done enough to
demonstrate before heaven and before man how Saguntum fulfills her
oaths."
The Greek bowed his head, convinced by Alcon's arguments.
"Moreover the valor of the city is breaking down," continued the Elder.
"Faith is dying. The omens are all against us. There are people who,
during the night, have seen globes of fire rise from the Acropolis and
fly toward the sea, plunging into the waters like shooting stars which
cut through the blue of heaven with a stream of light. The people
believe that they are the penates of the city, who, divining the coming
destruction of Saguntum, are abandoning it to go and establish
themselves on the other side of the sea whence they came. Last night,
those who were watching up there in the temple of Hercules saw a serpent
glide from beneath the tomb of Zacynthus, hissing as if it were wounded.
It was blue, with golden stars--the serpent which bit Zacynthus and was
the cause of the foundation of the city around the tomb of the hero. He
crawled between the feet of the astonished watchers; he fled down the
mount, and crept off across the plain in the direction of the sea. He
also has abandoned us; the sacred reptile which was like the tutelary
god of Saguntum."
"It may not be true," said the Greek. "It may be the hallucinations of a
people tormented by hunger."
"That may be; but observe the women and you will find them weeping; in
addition to their misery they are lamenting the flight of the serpent of
Zacynthus. They believe the city defenseless, and many men on the walls
will feel weaker to-day when they hear of the strange disappearance.
Faith is the staff on which the people lean."
The two men remained silent for a while.
"Go," said the Greek, at last: "Speak to Hannibal, and may the gods
incline his heart toward clemency!"
"Why do you not come with me--you who have traveled so much, and who
possess the eloquence of conviction? You can help me."
"Hannibal knows me. I have refused his friendship, and he hates me. Go
and save the city. My fate is sealed. The African will never abate his
anger. He will pardon anyone but me. I will die rather than become his
slave, or suffer myself to be put to death on a cross."