Chapter I: Elissa

All the lower parts of Spain had been conquered and settled. Hamilcar had died, as he had lived, fighting nobly, after enjoying almost regal rank in his new country. Hasdrubal, who had succeeded him, was also dead, and now Hannibal, Hamilcar’s son, a man in the young prime of life, held undisputed sway throughout the length and breadth of the many countries of Iberia that his father’s arms and his father’s talents had won for Carthage.

In the delightful garden of a stately building reared upon a hill within the walls of the city of Carthagena or New Carthage, a group of girls and young matrons were assembled under a spreading tree, just beyond whose shade was situated a marble fish pond, filled with graceful gold and silver fishes. The borders of the pond were fringed with marble slabs, and white marble steps led down into the basin for bathing purposes. In the centre a fountain threw up in glittering spray a jet of water which fell back with a tinkling sound into the basin.

Upon the marble steps, apart from the other young women, sat a maiden listlessly dabbling her fingers and one foot in the water, and watching the fishes as they darted hither and thither after some insect, or rose occasionally to the surface to nibble at a piece of bread which she threw them from time to time. The girl, who was in her seventeenth year, was in all the height of that youthful beauty which has not yet quite developed into the fuller charms of womanhood, and yet is so alluring with all the possibilities of what it may become.

Of Carthaginian origin on the father’s side, her mother was a princess of Spain--Camilla, daughter of the King of Gades. She had inherited from the East the glorious reddish black hair and dark liquid eyes, and had derived from the Atlantic breezes, which had for centuries swept her Iberian home, the brilliant peach-like colouring with its delicate bloom, seeming as though it would perish at a touch, which is still to be seen in the maidens of the modern Seville. For this city of Andalusia had been, under the name of Shefelah, a part of her grandfather’s dominions. Tall she was and graceful; her bosom, which was exposed in the Greek fashion on one side, might have formed the model to a Phidias for the young Psyche; her ivory arms were gently rounded and graceful. Her rosy delicate foot was of classical symmetry, and the limb above, displayed while dabbling in the water, was so shapely, with its small ankle and rounded curves, that, as she sat on the marble there by the fish pond in her white flowing robes, an onlooker might well have been pardoned had he imagined that he was looking upon a nymph, a naiad just sprung from the waters, rather than upon the daughter of man.

But it was in the face that lay the particular charm. Above the snow-white forehead and the pink, shell-like ear, which it partially concealed, lay the masses of ruddy black hair bound with a silver fillet. The delicious eyes, melting and tender, beamed with such hopes of love and passion that had the observer been, as indeed were possible, content for ever to linger in their dusky depths of glowing fire, he might have exclaimed, “a woman of passion, one made for love only, nothing more!” Yet closer observation disclosed that above those eyes curved two ebony bows which rivalled Cupid’s arc in shape, and which, although most captivating, nevertheless expressed resolution. The chin, although softly rounded, was also firm; the nose and delicious mouth, both almost straight, betokened a character not easily to be subdued, although the redness and slight fulness of the lips seemed almost to proclaim a soft sensuous side to the nature, as though they were made rather for the kisses of love than to issue commands to those beneath her in rank and station.

Such, then, is the portrait of Elissa, Hannibal’s daughter.

The other ladies, including her aunt, the Princess Cœcilia, widow of Hasdrubal, a buxom, merry-looking woman of thirty, kept aloof, respecting her reverie. For, notwithstanding her youth, the lady Elissa was paramount, not only in the palace, but also in the New Town or City of Carthagena during the absence of her father Hannibal and her uncles Hasdrubal and Mago at the siege of the Greek city of Saguntum, and had been invested by Hannibal, on his departure, with all the powers of a regent. For, being motherless almost from her birth, Hannibal, a young man himself, had been accustomed to treat her as a sister, almost as much as a daughter. He had been married when a mere lad, for political reasons, by his father Hamilcar, and Elissa had been the sole offspring of the marriage. Since her mother’s death he had remained single, and devoted all his fatherly and brotherly love to training his only daughter to have those same noble aims, worthy of the lion’s brood of Hamilcar, which inspired all his own actions in life. And these aims may be summed up in a few words: devotion to country before everything; self abnegation, ay, self sacrifice in every way, for the country’s welfare; ambition in its highest sense, not for the sake of personal aggrandisement, but for the glory of Carthage alone. No hardships, no personal abasement even--further, not even extreme personal shame, or humiliation if needful, was to be shrunk from if thereby the interests of Carthage could be advanced. Self was absolutely and at all times to be entirely set upon one side and placed out of the question, as though no such thing as self existed; the might, glory, and power of the Carthaginian kingdom were to be the sole rule, the sole object of existence, and with them the undying hatred of and longing for revenge upon Rome and the Romans, as the greatest enemies of that kingdom, through whom so many humiliations, including the loss in war of Sicily, and the loss by fraud of Sardinia, had been inflicted upon the great nation founded by Dido, sister of Pygmalion, King of Tyre.

These, then, were the precepts that Hannibal had ever, from her earliest youth, inculcated in his daughter; and with the object that she might learn early in life to witness and expect sudden reverses of fortune, he had hitherto, since her twelfth year, ever taken her with him upon his campaigns against the Iberian tribes. Thus she might from early experience be prepared, should the cause arise, to fulfil a noble destiny, even as he himself, having from his tenth year borne arms under his father Hamilcar and brother-in-law Hasdrubal, had been prepared for the mighty role which, with the siege of Saguntum, he was now commencing to fill in the world’s history.

For the Greek city of Saguntum, on the eastern coast of Spain, was strictly allied with Rome, and the fact of Hannibal’s attacking it was, he well knew, equivalent to a commencement of a new war with mighty Rome herself.

Upon Hannibal’s departure for the siege of Saguntum some eight months previous, he had taken all the generals and captains in whom he could put trust and the greater part of the army with him. Although not styled a king, his power was at that time more than regal in all the parts of Spain south of the Ebro, and his authority as regards the care of the City of New Carthage itself he had, on his departure, delegated under his sign manual and seal absolutely to his daughter Elissa.

It is, then, no cause for wonder, if her female companions looked with some degree of awe and respect upon this sixteen-years-old girl who sat there so pensively dabbling her hands and feet in the marble basin, while raising her head occasionally to cast a glance through the embrasures on the battlemented walls surrounding the garden, upon the gulf below and the blue sea stretching out far beyond. Elissa had far sight, and it seemed to her once or twice as though she could make out, shining in the evening sun, far away upon the horizon, the white sails of ships. But they were no larger than specks, and soon disappeared altogether; therefore the maiden, thinking that she had been misled by some sea birds, soon gave up watching the sea, and returned to the apparent contemplation of the fishes, but really to the continuation of the reverie upon which she was engaged.

Meanwhile the ladies under the trees were chatting away merrily.

“Oh! dear me, how hot it is,” exclaimed the rotund little Princess Cœcilia, fanning herself vigorously with a palm leaf fan. “I am sure when my poor husband, Hasdrubal, built this city of New Carthage, he must have selected it purposely as being the warmest site in all Spain, just to remind him of his native country which he was so fond of. Or else,” she continued, “it was to try and keep down my inclination to fat. Oh! dear me!” and she fanned away at herself more vigorously than ever.

“Don’t call it fat,” interposed Cleandra, a very handsome fair young woman of about twenty, who was herself by no means inclined to be thin--“say rather adipose deposit, it is a far more elegant way of putting it.”

“Or plumpness, Cleandra, that is nicer still,” struck in Melania, a dark young beauty with vivacious black eyes, who was a year younger. “I wish I could call myself plump like thee, I am sure I should not mind the heat,” she added, “instead of being the scarecrow that I am,” and rising she surveyed with mock ruefulness her really very graceful figure. She was the tallest of all the young women there, and was perfectly well aware of the fact that her comparative slenderness was most becoming to her willowy and lissome figure.

“A scarecrow, thou a scarecrow,” almost screamed the little Cœcilia. “Oh! just listen to the conceited thing; why, thou hast a lovely figure and thou knowest it; there is none in all New Carthage, save Elissa yonder, who can compare to thee. But then, of course, no one can compare with her in any way. But what a girl she is! how can she sit out there in the afternoon sun like that? the worst kind of sun, my dears, for the complexion, I can assure you. I am sure if I were to remain like that for only five minutes I should lose my complexion entirely, yes, become perfectly covered with freckles I am certain, in even less than five minutes. Now what are you giggling at, you naughty girls? I declare you are too wicked, both of you; I shall have to report you to our Queen Regent yonder and ask her to put you both in the dungeon if you make fun of an old lady like me. Alas! thirty years of age, don’t you call that old?”

For with a sly glance at each other the two girls had mutually looked at the lively little princess’s manifestly artificial complexion which was trickling away in little runnels down her cheeks.

“I wonder what she is thinking about?” she interposed hastily, to turn away the merry girls’ attention from herself, and glancing across towards the lady Elissa.

“Who?” said Cleandra.

“Why, Elissa, of course,” replied that lady’s aunt. “Canst thou not see that she hath been in a brown study for ever so long? She is no more thinking of the fish than I am; her thoughts are miles and miles away. But just notice how pretty the ruddy tints are in her dark hair, lighted up like that by the afternoon sun.”

“Perhaps she is thinking of affairs of State,” answered Cleandra, “and whether she is to put us in that black hole or no.”

“Or, perhaps,” said Melania with a grain of malice, “and far more likely, she is thinking of the siege of Saguntum and whether a certain young officer of cavalry called Maharbal will ever come back from the war again to do what we girls cannot hope to do, that is cheer her in her solitude. I really should like to go and disturb her, she reminds me so of her namesake Dido--Elissa is Hebrew for Dido, thou knowest, Lady Cœcilia--mourning on the heights of Carthage for her lost Æneas.”

“I wonder what she sees in that Maharbal,” continued Melania, in a tone of pique; “a great big mountain of a hobbledehoy, that’s what I call him, and merely a prefect of the Numidian cavalry, too. Such assurance on his part to be always making love to her! I wonder that Hannibal allows it--a mere nobody!”

“A mere nobody! a hobbledehoy! nonsense!” said the princess, “thou’rt jealous, Melania, because he never looks at thee. Why, he is own nephew to Syphax, King of Massaesyllia, and cousin to the powerful Massinissa, King of Massyllia, both great Libyan princes.”

“Mere vassals of Carthage! and the last named not very trustworthy,” replied the other interrupting.

“Well then,” gabbled on the princess, “look at his strength, a hobbledehoy indeed; Maharbal is a regular Hercules, and hath a beautiful face just like the celebrated Hermes of Praxiteles. I think Elissa will be a very lucky girl if she weds a magnificent fellow like that; she will be the mother of a race of giants.”

“Shsh! Shsh!” cried both the girls, smiling in spite of themselves. “Elissa is listening to all we are saying--just look at her.”

“Yes, yes, you wicked people, and she hath been listening for the last quarter of an hour,” cried Elissa, springing to her feet as red as a rose. “But really, my aunt is too bad, she maketh me ashamed; say, what shall we do with her for punishment? put her in the fish pond I think.” Bounding across the open space, she playfully seized upon the merry little woman, and aided by the two others, dragged her in spite of her cries, screams, and vigorous resistance to the very brink of the marble basin. She struggled violently, and but with difficulty escaped her fate.

“Oh, dear me! think of my complexion--cold water in the afternoon is bad for it. Oh! I did not mean a word, dear Elissa. Oh, dear me, I shall die,” and with a vigorous final effort for freedom, as she was really a very strong young woman, suddenly she pushed both Elissa and Melania together over the brink so that they fell with a splash into the shallow pond. Then being left alone with the plump Cleandra, who had no strength whatever, she speedily overcame her, and threw her in after the others, remaining with torn garments and dishevelled hair, shrieking with laughter, and panting for breath on the bank.

“Now there is naught for us but to have a bathe,” cried Elissa gaily; and first drenching the princess with a shower of spray, and then springing up the marble steps, the three girls quickly threw off their thin, wet, clinging garments.

Standing there together in a pretty group for a brief minute or two, poised on the top of the marble steps, with arms raised in graceful curves while loosening the fillets of silver from the hair that fell in masses to the hips, they seemed in all their youthful beauty like the three graces personified.

At that very moment, from behind the trees, the sound was heard of a horse’s hoofs galloping on the turf, and in a second an armed warrior, mounted on a black charger covered with foam and utterly exhausted, appeared upon the scene. At the same time, a great sound of shouting was heard in the town without the garden walls, which shouting was taken up again and again, till the clamour seemed literally to fill the air. The shouting sounded like the cheers for victory.

The princess was the first to recover her composure.

“Why, it’s Maharbal,” she cried; “jump into the water, girls, instantly. Fancy his coming like that!” Then, rushing in front of the warrior, she wildly waved her hands at the horse, shouting, “Go back! Maharbal, go away, thou wicked man, go back. Dost not see that the girls are bathing?”

At that moment they all plunged into the water once more like frightened swans.

“In the name of Hannibal!” cried the young warrior, “let me pass. I must speak to Elissa, and instantly, or my head will fall,” and he held up Hannibal’s signet ring before the dripping princess’s astonished gaze.

“Oh!” screamed the princess, falling back affrighted. “Hannibal’s ring! Yes, of course, Hannibal’s orders are law.”

Maharbal advanced to the edge of the shallow pond. In this the maidens were now crouching and partially concealing themselves under some flags, but in spite of all, their heads and shoulders remained uncovered. Elissa and Cleandra faced Maharbal and strived to look dignified. Melania, on the other hand, had turned her back upon him.

Curiosity and anger combined caused her to turn her head, and she was the first to speak, as Maharbal, his charger beside him, stood upon the steps. Both she and Cleandra, of noble Iberian families by birth, were, although treated as of the family, but slave girls in Hannibal’s household, therefore she had no right to speak in the tone she now used, except the right of outraged modesty that every woman possesses.

“Begone! Maharbal, thou insolent wretch, begone instantly, or the Lady Elissa will have thee scourged and beheaded for thine impertinence. How darst thou insult us, thou ruffian? I wish that thou wert dead.”

At this instant, Maharbal’s war-horse, with a mournful kind of half scream, half sigh, fell upon the ground at the edge of the pond, and with a quiver of all its limbs expired. The warrior turned to watch it for a second, then looking back, remarked sadly: “My best charger, and alas! the third I have killed since yesterday morning. But there is no time for talk. Lady Elissa, my business is with thee alone, and it brooks absolutely not a moment’s delay. Wilt thou kindly direct thy slaves,” and he looked hard at Melania, “to leave the water at once. I must speak with thee alone. I obey the General’s strict orders.

“Pray be quick,” he added, “for I feel my strength rapidly failing me, and if I have not fulfilled my duty before, like my horse yonder, I die, I shall have failed in my vows to my General and to my country.”

He removed his helmet as he spoke, and all the three maidens noticed not only that the young man was turning deadly pale, but that a wound on the side of the head, which had been covered with coagulated blood, had broken out, and was bleeding violently afresh.

But he had yet strength to hand a garment, the first he found to hand, to Elissa, who, while attiring herself in the water, turned sharply to her attendants, and addressed them authoritatively.

“Leave the water, maidens, and let no false shame delay ye for a moment, for I see this is a matter of life or death. Begone at once, and thou, mine aunt,” she cried.

Like startled deer, the two girls, having recovered some of the scattered raiment, fled from the pond, and rushed within the palace, followed by the dishevelled Princess Cœcilia. But whether from being reminded thus forcibly that she was but a slave, or from a combination of feelings, no sooner had Melania reached her apartment than she burst into a flood of violent weeping. The princess was wringing her hands as she went, and talking aloud.

“Oh, dear me! this is very odd and very dreadful, and most improper! But poor Maharbal’s horse is dead, and he looks at death’s door himself. Oh! what hath happened? I hope Hannibal is not dead as well, or a prisoner, or anything awful. But nay! he hath sent his seal. But I must prepare a room for poor Maharbal to die in; where shall I get a bed big enough? what a long body he will be.” And so chattering to herself, for want of anyone else to talk to, she left Maharbal, the handsome young warrior, alone with the beautiful child of sixteen, the Lady Elissa.