Chapter V: A Scene of Horror

It was night, a calm summer night, when Elissa, after reading Scipio’s letter, remained alone within a gorgeous pavilion in a camp established upon the shores of the Hellespont, the letter lying listlessly upon her lap. With head thrown back upon the cushions of her divan, the light of a single cresset lamp, formed of gold in a chaste design, but barely illumined her features, for she was withdrawn, while thus leaning back, from the radius of its not too powerful glow. The doors of the tent being open, Elissa could see the radiant moonbeams without dancing upon the waters of the Hellespont, and lighting up at the same time the tideless sea and the mountains upon the further shore.

The Carthaginian maiden rose, and stepping without the tent gazed wistfully across the straits. How peaceful would have been the scene had Mother Nature alone been the all-pervading genius of the surroundings.

But, alas! there were other and more horrid sights and sounds, making the night, otherwise so beautiful, most terrible in all its aspects.

On every side could be seen flaming houses; in all directions could be seen the flying forms of screaming women and children, as their fathers, husbands, or lovers, carrying out the fearful compact made among themselves, ruthlessly pursued those nearest and dearest to them to put them to a cruel death.

At hand here and there could be seen, even close to the tents of the royal encampment, shapeless, huddled-up forms lying on the ground. Some of these, lighted up by the rays of the brilliant moon, or glittering in the flickering light of the fires, betokened that they were the bodies of dead warriors; others, from their white, disordered, and oft-times blood-stained raiment, were clearly the corpses of some of the unhappy female victims. Some, indeed, of the prostrate women, as appeared by their writhings and spasmodic struggles, were not even yet dead, but no one took the trouble to put them out of their misery, for the groups of Macedonian guards who were here and there lying about the open space, were evidently all under the influence of numerous libations, and were in a drunken sleep, utterly careless of their surroundings. Meanwhile, while the fires around ever crackled and roared, and the heavy smoke drifted away landward before a faint sea breeze, louder and more discordant sounds disturbed the midnight air.

From an adjacent and brilliantly lighted pavilion there arose, all combined, noisy shouts, uproarious laughter, and the screams of women.

Walking unmolested across the open space which separated her pavilion from that of the king, and carefully avoiding stepping upon any of the corpses as she went, Elissa looked within. The sight that she saw filled her with loathing and disgust. For Philip and his courtiers, lolling round a huge table, covered with gold and silver wine-cups, were making merry of the misery of many beautiful young women, their recent captives, whose tear-stained faces and disordered dress told only too plainly the brutality to which they were exposed.

The king himself was a ring-leader at the horrid game which they were playing with the struggling young women. Holding forcibly a damsel upon each knee, he was, with hilarious laughter, delighting at their unavailing struggles, while some of his sycophants poured by force between their unwilling lips, cup after cup of the rich red wine. Thus were they making drunk, in spite of themselves, the miserable maidens, many of whom had probably never even tasted wine before. Some of the young girls had already thus been reduced to a state of intoxication, and were reeling about the spacious apartment, or lying helplessly, grotesquely weeping, on the floor. The onlooking Macedonian nobles meanwhile shouted with laughter. It was a terrible sight! Not only did it fill her with terror at what might perchance befall herself, but the horror and anger that filled Elissa’s mind drove her to an awful resolve. Seizing a firebrand from a deserted watch-fire, she advanced once more stealthily towards the windward side of the huge tent, intending to burn alive this satyr of a king and all his horrid crew. But, just in time, she remembered that she would have to burn as well all the wretched young women.

Therefore, although she rightly considered that a speedy death would be far better for them than a life under such conditions, she could not find it in her heart to let the poor helpless victims die so painfully. With a groan she threw the firebrand back into the fire, and, invoking all the curses of the gods upon the head of Philip, she retired once more to her tent. Here, trying to shut her ears to the roaring of the fires, the screaming of the dying women and children, the brutal shoutings of the drunken nobles, and the miserable lamentations of the insulted maidens, she once more read through Scipio’s letter.

She made up her mind at once that Scipio was right, that her duty to her country was, whatever it might have been in the past, now undoubtedly to proceed to Rome, and, by espousing Scipio, whose devotion touched her heart deeply, to conclude a peace, if possible, between Rome and Carthage. Two reasons strongly impelled her. One was that the death of her once so deeply-beloved Maharbal had now removed a great barrier; the other, that she believed firmly, with many others, that Scipio was indeed, as he pretended, a man specially favoured by the gods, and that they held personal communings with him, and to her mind these divine inspirations accounted for all his successes. Of one thing, at all events, Elissa was certain, that she wished for no more war. For, if her efforts to embroil Philip in the struggle between Carthage and Rome had only resulted in such terrible scenes as she had been witnessing during the last few days, she felt convinced that such war must be distasteful to the gods themselves. Therefore she determined to use all her endeavours now to bring about a lasting peace, for that was, since the gods themselves had declared it, clearly at this juncture her duty to her country, and to the world at large.

Elissa summoned Cleandra, who was even more terrified than herself at the awful scenes around, and with reason, for upon returning from the tent of Marcus Æmilius only an hour previously, she had had a very narrow escape of her life from some of the citizens of Abydos. They had been upon the point of slaying her by mistake for one of their own women, when fortunately some Macedonians of the royal guard, to whom she was known, had come to her assistance, and had slain her aggressors. But now the guards were all drunk, and the two women knew that if they were to escape they must reach alone the camp of the Roman embassy, which, being on the shore close to the Roman ships, was carefully entrenched and properly guarded by the ambassador’s own escort.

Cleandra, who had, when in the tent of Æmilius, had her wits about her as usual, had not been wasting her time. She knew all about the drift of the contents of Scipio’s letter, and had even heard of the death of Maharbal before Elissa gave her the tidings, but she had preferred to keep her own counsel until her mistress and friend should learn them for herself from the letter.

Not waiting for Elissa to make up her mind to fly, Cleandra had laid her schemes, anticipating Elissa’s consent. She had accordingly arranged with Marcus Æmilius to have all his men ready on board ship, and everything prepared for instant sailing, promising him to return with Hannibal’s daughter, if possible, before dawn.

In the event of her not being able to prevail upon Elissa to fly, Cleandra had begged the gallant young Roman to leave Abydos without her, for she was resolved herself to share Elissa’s fortunes for weal or woe in the future as in the past. Nor could the prayers of Marcus, who was most loath to leave her, that she should herself fly with him, move Cleandra in the least; for, although ever fickle with men, she was faithful beyond the fidelity of women where Hannibal’s daughter was concerned.

Scarcely staying to console Elissa upon the death of Maharbal, which she evidently felt deeply, Cleandra set about collecting all their jewellery and money, and concealing it about her person. As for Elissa, she donned instantly her war-gear, and armed herself with a sheath, darts, and a sword, for in this garb she had no fear of not being able to pass in safety through any such parties of the Macedonian guards as might not be too intoxicated to recognise her.

Bidding Cleandra cover herself with a dark cloak and to follow her, she, after extinguishing the light, stepped forth from her tent, the entrance to which she closed. Then passing in rear of the king’s pavilion, where the noise was not now quite so excessive, they took their way to the Roman entrenchments.

They had passed the royal tent in safety, and, while threading their way with caution, were nearly out of ear-shot of the royal encampment, when suddenly they came, standing outside their own tents, upon two of the most debauched nobles of a debauched court, Alexander, son of Phidias, and Xenacreon, son of Themistocles. Xenacreon had for long ardently pursued Cleandra, and, despite her cloak, he recognised her in a moment. Bounding forward he seized her, exclaiming:

“Aha, my lady Cleandra! whither away thus in disguise like a thief in the night? For sure thou seekest a lover; well, here am I all ready to thy hand, take me!” and he embraced her rudely.

Cleandra did not seek to struggle at first, but only to temporise. She answered civilly, for she did not wish the sound of the discussion to reach the king in his tent.

“I pray thee release me, my good Xenacreon, and I will meet thee some other time. Just now I may not stay; I am engaged on important business with the lady Elissa.”

“With Elissa, the king’s courtesan, now out of favour!” exclaimed Xenacreon loudly. “Well, what is good for one is good for another. I will not, so that I get thee, grudge her to Alexander here, who long hath admired her; so take her, Alexander, I give her unto thee! But come thou with me now, sweet Cleandra, no time is like the present.” And while he sought to drag her within his tent, Alexander sprang forward swiftly and attempted likewise to seize upon Elissa herself.

But she was far too quick for him, and leapt nimbly on one side, discharging, as she did so, a dart which transfixed him through and through. He fell groaning to the ground, writhing in agony.

“Now for thy turn, Xenacreon!” cried Elissa. “Take thou this for thy dastardly insult to ‘the king’s courtesan, now out of favour.’”

And she plunged her sword deep into his body below the upraised arms with which he held Cleandra. Snatching Cleandra from his grasp before there was time even for her to be stained with his blood, Elissa started running, dragging Cleandra after her, for she perceived that the king himself had rushed out of his tent, followed by such of his officers as could stand.

But, although raising hoarse, drunken cries, they ran in the direction of the women, they could not see them, or, indeed, their own way, for on coming out into the darkness from the brilliant light they were blinded, and caught their feet in the numerous tent ropes, and fell sprawling in all directions. Some of them even got so far as the prostrate bodies of Alexander and Xenacreon, over whose still breathing forms they fell heavily, while cursing loudly. But Cleandra and Elissa easily escaped, and soon reached the Roman entrenchments in safety, where Marcus Æmilius was waiting in person to receive them.

Welcoming them heartily, he quickly took them off to his ship. Then withdrawing his guard, but leaving his camp standing so as to deceive the Macedonians in the early morning, he set sail at once with his three vessels, and soon they felt the cool breezes of the Ægean Sea blowing in their faces. Long before dawn they were well out of sight of land, and steering a course for Tarentum on the Iapygian promontory.

END OF PART V.