Chapter I: Sosilus and Chœras

Hannibal was resting in his house in Saguntum a few days after having sent Elissa back to New Carthage. He had, prior to the scene depicted in the last chapter, overrun a portion of the country north of the Ebro, and Hasdrubal, his brother, was still engaged in prosecuting the campaign against all the Spanish tribes of Northern Iberia, to whom the Romans, wishing to have a hold of Spain, had promised protection. As Hannibal was presiding over his wine at an informal gathering of some of his friends and officers, he was a noble figure of a man. Not very tall, he was, having very broad shoulders, nevertheless, of extremely athletic bearing, being built in a sinewy mould. His chest was large, his biceps wiry and largely developed, his wrists small, but like iron. His legs were one knotted mass of muscle without any superfluous flesh. His colouring was fair, indeed ruddy; his eyes were blue and piercing; his hair was a dark shade of brown. His mouth, though firm, was rather large and humorous, his forehead high and commanding. Being clean shaved, his determined chin was remarkable. He looked, as he sat there, what he actually was--one of the very strongest men in the whole army. There was not, then, when he was still a comparatively young man, his equal for boxing, wrestling, or running long distances, in the whole of the Carthaginian forces, with the sole exception of Maharbal. He was the fairest man in the whole of the assembly, having inherited the colouring off his mother, who had come from a Gallic stock.

There were present with him at his table several people whose names are well known in history. Silenus, his constant companion, was of course there, also Chœras, who was a comic individual, good-tempered--a sort of buffoon, in fact, when it suited him to be amusing. Chœras was, however, an excellent versifier, and by no means a fool. Next to him sat Sosilus of Ilium, a pedant who bored everybody by his reference to learned books which nobody else cared anything about. There was also present a very different character, Hannibal Monomachus, who cared for nothing but warfare, and who delighted in slaying. He was, at present, head of the pioneers of the army. His skill was undeniable; but the methods that he employed at times were as rough and ready as the pickaxes of his own pioneers. In fact, he never minded how cruel he was when he considered cruelty necessary. He had had a considerable amount of training as a cavalry officer, and much preferred being on a war-horse at the head of his men, leading a furious charge into the midst of a body of the enemy, to building bridges and making roads. But Hannibal had somehow found out, with his singular capacity for judging men, that Monomachus had great engineering skill, and had, therefore, transferred him, for the time being, much to his disgust, from the more strictly combatant to the scientific branch of the service. He was now, therefore, what might be considered the general of engineers or sappers and miners.

The other soldiers present were Mago, the younger brother of the chief, and a high-spirited, brave young fellow; Hanno, a general of much experience; and last, but not least, at any rate in size, the Numidian commander Maharbal, who was the youngest man present.

Hannibal was in high good humour; news had come in that day of continued successes on the part of Hasdrubal in the provinces north of the Ebro, which he was over-running right up to the Pyrenees.

“Hast thou heard the news, Hanno?” quoth he. “Hasdrubal hath taken town after town. His last success seems to have been, after a brilliant cavalry action, in front of a city which he calls Appollonia. I only know of two Appollonias, the one in Illyria and the other in Assyria; I know not of this one.”

“I know it and to my cost, Hannibal,” replied General Hanno, “and so doth our friend Monomachus. When thou wast still quite young, and we pretty young too ourselves, thy father Hamilcar, upon whose spirit rest the blessing of the gods, took us both with him with a small flying column, thinking to take the place by a sudden surprise. Surprise there indeed was, but it was all the other way. The barbarians were waiting for us in a pass in the mountains, and it was but those of us who had the fleetest horses that escaped. The worst of it was, that Monomachus here had promised us an easy entrance to the place, owing to the treachery of a young Iberian woman of whom he had, so he thought, made a conquest. He mounted her on a horse with his cavalry of the advance guard, and a nice trap she led him into, for she took him right through the pass before the enemy, who closed behind him, and attacked us. How didst thou escape, Monomachus, by the bye? Thou wert the sole member of the advance guard who ever returned, that I well remember. But we did not see thee for days.”

“Escape!” growled out Hannibal Monomachus, “easily enough, though I nearly died of starvation first. The instant I saw the treachery I seized the accursed girl, and, under a pretence of saving her life, placed her on my steed, and rode off with her into a wood. There, after first stripping her of all her clothing, for fear that the raiment should be besoiled with blood, I cut her throat, but slowly only, letting her life’s blood fall drop by drop. I tied her to a tree, and watched her die in fact, while expounding unto her all the maxims of virtue, the point of which was that she would have done better to run straight in every sense of the word. When at length she was quite dead, I attired myself in her raiment, and being then a beardless boy, escaped under the guise of a woman, after many wanderings. A curse I say upon that place Appollonia! I hope to all the gods that Hasdrubal hath not left either man nor woman living there, especially the women.”

“Most excellent Monomachus,” here cut in Sosilus of Ilium, “I have listened with great interest to this thy not altogether unprecedented description of the pitfalls into which man may sometimes fall through the snare of woman. But I can cite thee a somewhat similar instance. I have no doubt but that all our distinguished company here present under Hannibal’s roof will have read a certain treatise entitled ‘Woman and her Wiles,’ written by one Onesimus of Syracuse. It was the only thing that he ever wrote, for he was strangled by Hiero for writing it, since it concerned that monarch’s mistress, Melissa by name. But the treatise was so carefully designed, so prettily elaborated, and so excellently carried through, that it seemeth to me, although ’twas slightly scandalous indeed, that had Hiero been but a man of humour, he would, instead of strangling Onesimus, rather have promoted him to the post of chief librarian. The treatise was divided into three parts. ‘Woman as an attraction for man,’ was the first part; ‘Woman as a pitfall for man,’ was the second part; ‘Woman as the accursed and faithless traitress of man,’ was the third part. Now, the first part commenced by a very erudite discussion upon the animal passions, and very lengthy but still not uninstructive arguments as to whether woman most attracteth man or man most attracteth woman. I remember well a remark on this subject that was most pertinently quoted. It was of the Greek writer Eulikmartes, and to the effect that--”

“Monomachus was a fool,” here cut in Chœras, with a loud guffaw, and all the rest of the company, who were tittering at the meanderings of the erudite Sosilus, were pleased at the interruption.

“Yes, just so, Chœras,” remarked Hannibal. “I know, at all events, that had I been in his shoes, and while being led through the nose by a woman--which, alas! hath sometimes been my case--myself led in turn my followers into a trap, I should have considered that I, too, had been a fool. But he was young--like Maharbal here is now.”

“Ay, my lord Hannibal,” answered Chœras, “Maharbal is no exception; he is ever over-confiding in loving also. But here is a verse which I think applies to the case quite as well as the long-winded reflections of Sosilus:

“Nought of girls knew Monomachus. Nought from female wiles can shake us. One who thousand lives hath ta’en Ofttimes is through woman slain.”

A round of applause greeted this spontaneous outburst of Chœras, and the pedant was snuffed out.

“Maharbal,” quoth Hannibal, when the merriment had died down and the wine cups had been replenished, “doth this not indeed a little remind thee of thine own case? Mightest not thou thyself have been slain, and only last week, solely for the bright eyes of a woman--ay, even mine own daughter, Elissa? But, instead of falling, thou hast deprived me for ever of the services of one of my most excellent officers, poor Idherbal; I pray thee earnestly not to do so again.”

Maharbal sat silent under the well-merited reproach.

“My lord Hannibal,” quoth Sosilus, “this remark of thine remindeth me exactly of a verse I once read when I was but a boy; it was written by an author who lived at Tyre, and was named Pygmalion, after the king, who was the brother of Dido. He was a writer who possessed a great amount of erudition, and had considered several cases much resembling that of Maharbal here, who, somewhat too rashly, albeit to preserve his own honour, in the most chivalrous way slew Idherbal the other day in the street. Now to get back to Pygmalion. He said--yet I must remember in which of his books it was; I think in the thirteenth stanza of his nineteenth volume.”

“Oh, confound his books!” said Chœras, again rudely interrupting the learned man. “I will tell thee what he said, oh, Sosilus. Was it not something like this?--

“Maharbal was in a sense Bound to seek some recompense. He was mocked at, and the crowd Echoed out the laugh aloud. Thus the warrior lit and drew Forth his blade--the scoffer slew. Once more woman by her wiles Sent a soul to Heaven’s smiles.”

“Bravo, Chœras!” shouted out Mago, thumping on the table. “Thou art the boy for me, and if my lord and brother Hannibal will allow me, I will take thee with me, when first he deigns to give me a separate command somewhere or other. For by the gods, I like thy pithy verses--

“‘Once more woman by her wiles Sent a man to Heaven’s smiles.’

But come, Maharbal, my lad, why sittest thou so glum thyself, while thou and Monomachus are giving us such a pleasant and instructive subject of conversation? Cheer up, lad, and join me in a cup of wine. What hast been thinking about while looking as melancholy as a dog about to be led out to execution? There are plenty more bright eyes besides those of my pretty niece Elissa in the world, and thou and I shall in our leisure moments oft pursue them together, that I’ll warrant thee. Or is it the excellent but unfortunate deceased young woman Melania of whom thou art thinking? Ah! there was a girl for thee if thou wilt, who would never have betrayed a man--nay, nor even a woman either. Thou shouldst give me thanks for having first put it into Hannibal’s head to give her unto thee; for by Melcareth, I saw her value from the first, and would gladly have had her as a companion myself. Her’s was a noble disposition.”

“What I am thinking about is this, oh Mago!” responded Maharbal, “that while echoing the praise that thou hast paid to poor Melania’s memory, which is well deserved, it seemeth to me that the conversation hath, with all due deference to Hannibal, been concerned quite long enough either with women or myself, and that now it would be far better if we could get back to some subject that is important at the moment, such as the news of the Iberian war, or the attitude of the Romans now that they know not only that we have taken Saguntum, but further, in direct defiance of the treaty the late Hasdrubal made with them, that we have crossed the Iber, and are hunting their allies about like foxes to their dens in the mountains.”

“Well spoken, Maharbal, my lad!” quoth Hannibal; “I will join thee and Mago in that cup of wine--’tis some that the rascal Adherbal brought to New Carthage, and most excellent. And, here is my hand upon it, this is the last that thou shalt ever hear from me of that little matter of the slaying of Idherbal the other day. For thou art, indeed, a warrior after my own heart, and I honestly agree with Chœras that as a soldier under the circumstances

“‘Maharbal _was_ in a sense Bound to seek some recompense.’

And thou didst seek it, and gained it also very effectively all round that day, if what I heard is true. But now, there is the hand of Hannibal, the matter is closed. And as to Elissa herself, we will see later, after the war, for I am just about to disclose to thee my plans, after hearing which thou wilt wish no marriage now.”

The two warriors stood up, and, both equally fearless and determined men, looked each other straight in the eyes, while Maharbal held, in a grip of iron in his gigantic hand, the far smaller but equally strong hand of his commander, which returned the grasp with equal strength.

With his disengaged hand Maharbal lifted the golden wine cup.

“I pledge thee, Hannibal, my commander, and, by the gods, wish thee success in all thy plans and undertakings. May I, Maharbal, ever be with thee! Ay, to the death, if need be. As for thy daughter, if there be manly work before me, then, let that matter stand over, for I seek not marriage before a war--I wish not to leave a widow.”

Raising his cup also to his lips, Hannibal replied:

“I pledge thee, my noble friend and servant, Maharbal, the son of Manissa; good work hast thou done already, despite thy youth, and doughty deeds shalt thou do again, for soon will come the opportunity, and, if thou wilt, thou shalt indeed be with me, ay, and I with thee, to the death in our country’s cause.”

Silence fell upon all present as these two noble soldiers of Carthage drained their wine-cups over this sacred compact, for such it was, of eternal fidelity on Maharbal’s part, and of eternal protection and fatherly love on the part of the great commander.

And it was a compact that was never broken.

“Now,” said Hannibal, when they had resumed their seats, “I have much tidings to impart unto ye all, and as it is of serious moment, I shall have to ask the learned Sosilus to spare us all learned dissertations upon similar cases which may occur to his mind.”

Here there was a laugh at the learned man’s expense, in which the worthy pedant, who knew full well his own failing, joined. But he could not resist an answer.

“It seemeth to me, most noble Hannibal, that thou art fully justified in asking for no further reference to learned books, when thou art in the very act thyself of making history for future generations. There is a similar instance in history when Alexander the Great was sitting at his council table previous to crossing over into Egypt. I got the anecdote from a very valuable little book written by one, Euxon, an Athenian. One of his councillors, thus saith the worthy Euxon, was, with many references to books, drawing parallel cases, and suggesting certain methods laid down as having been followed by other conquerors before him, when the great king, Alexander, rising in a stately manner, remarked--”

“Hold thy peace!” said Chœras, “even as Hannibal is about to remark now, which is a parallel case, an thou wilt.”

The pedant subsided, crushed once more. Hannibal joined the others in the laugh, but said:

“And thou also, Chœras, wilt have to keep thy witty tongue in thy head as well. And now to business.”