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  While this mischance disturbed the leaders, taking them from the battle-field and penning them in the camp, Flaminius, watching from a high mound, saw Hannibal leave the fighting-line and the black cloud of war disappear within the camp. At once in fury he attacked the wavering enemy with a picked force, and the sudden alarm opened up the ranks that were already growing thin; then he called fiercely for his horse, and rushed into the conflict in the centre of the valley. So, when Jupiter smites the earth with pouring rain and crackling hail, and stirs with his thunderbolt now the Alpine heights and now the Ceraunian mountains that reach to heaven, earth and sea and sky all quake together, and Tartarus itself is shaken in the convulsion of the universe. Even so the sudden storm of unforeseen destruction fell upon the startled Carthaginians, and cold terror made its way into their bones, when they saw the consul. He rode through their midst, making a wide passage and hewing down with his sword the ranks where they were thickest. The shouting with all its discordant cries carried the madness of war to heaven, and struck the stars. So Father Ocean together with raging Tethys beats on Calpe, a Pillar of Hercules, and drives the churned-up sea with its roaring waves into the hollow interior of the mountain; the cliffs bellow; and the crash of the breakers on the rocks is heard by Tartessus far-parted by broad lands, and heard by Lixus across a great space of sea.

  Bogus was the first to fall, by a javelin that came stealing noiselessly through the sky. He had launched the first flying spear against the Romans by the ill-omened river of Ticinus. Beguiled by deceitful omens from birds, he had believed that he would live long and see many children of his children. But no man may postpone by augury the date that Fate has fixed. He fell in the battle, looking up to heaven with blood-shot eyes, and calling upon the gods, even as he died, to redeem their promise of old age. Nor might Bagasus triumph or escape unpunished, when he had slain Libo in the consul’s sight. Libo’s ancestors had won laurels, and he was glorious in his vigorous youth; but the sword of the Massylian cut off the head on which the beard was just growing, and the savage warrior cut down by an early death the blossom of youth. But he cried to Flaminius, even as life left him, and his cry was not vain; for, head and all, the foeman’s neck was instantly shorn away: glad was he to imitate the conqueror’s cruelty and to slay him even as he had slain.

  Ye Muses, what god could narrate so many deaths in fitting language? What poet could utter a dirge worthy of the mighty dead? Who could tell of the striplings contending with one another for the prize of death; of the brave deeds done on the brink of the grave; of the fury that filled breasts pierced with wounds? Foe clashed furiously against foe and fell; and none found time to spoil his victim or think of plunder. They were driven on by thirst for blood, while Hannibal was kept close in camp by his brother’s wound. Among the myriad warriors Flaminius, spreading destruction with javelin or sword, was now conspicuous on horseback, and now fought fiercely on foot, in front of the eagles and standards. The accursed valley ran with blood; and the hills and hollow rocks echoed the clashing of arms and the snorting of horses.

  The combatants were scattered by Othrys of Marmarica, who brought to battle superhuman strength and stature; and the mere sight of his huge frame turned the Roman troops to flight. His giant head rose on broad shoulders high over both armies, and his mouth was hidden by the shaggy locks that grew on his grim forehead, and by a beard that rivalled his hair; a matted growth of bristles, like a wild beast’s fell, covered his hairy chest. None dared to challenge him or fight him at close quarters: like a wild beast in the open plain, he was assailed by missiles thrown from a safe distance by the host. At last as, shouting loud, he rushed with furious face against the backs of the straggling Romans, a Cretan arrow, flying noiselessly through the air, pierced his threatening eye and stopped his course. As he fled to the main body, Flaminius cast a javelin at his back; and it pierced the undefended ribs and revealed its point sticking out beyond the shaggy breast. Quickly he strove to pluck it forth, where he saw the bright steel point protrude. At last, after losing much blood, he fell forward in death, covering much ground, and hid the weapon with his wounded breast. His breath, as it poured forth, stirred the dust, blowing over the plain beside him and raising a cloud into the sky.

  Meanwhile, fighting as fierce went raging on, over the scattered hills and woods; and rocks and thickets were wet and red with manifold encounters fought over the rough ground. Sychaeus was the destroyer of the fugitives, bringing death upon them and untimely slaughter. His spear struck down from afar Murranus, who, in times of peace, was surpassed by none in drawing sweet strains from the lyre of Orpheus. He fell in a great forest and even in death recalled the mountains of his home, the vine-clad Aequan hills and soft Surrentum with its healthful breezes. Then Sychaeus sent another to keep company with Murranus; and the conqueror rejoiced in the strange manner of that cruel death. For Tauranus, while following the stragglers, had found his way to a high wood, where he leant his back against an ancient elm-tree and tried to shield himself with its trunk against attack; and there with his last words he summoned the comrades he had left behind. In vain; for the spear of Sychaeus pierced him, and, after swiftly passing through his body, lodged in the tree that stood in its path.

  What ailed ye, O men? Was it divine wrath or disastrous panic that possessed your minds, when you gave up fighting and sought help in trees? Fear is indeed an evil counsellor in danger: the stern issue proved that cowardice gives bad advice. An ancient oak grew there, which shot its tall branches to the sky, thrusting its shady top into the clouds and towering over the forest; had it grown on the open plain, it would have looked like a whole grove; and it covered a wide space of ground with the dark shade of its foliage. Beside it grew another oak of equal size, that had striven for centuries to exalt its hoary head to the sky; the spreading trunk was crowned with a vast circle of leafage that overshadowed the top of the mountain. Hither flew in haste men of Henna, whom the king of Arethusa had sent from Sicily; they knew not how to preserve death from disgrace, and they were mad with terror. One after another they climbed aloft and bent the swaying branches with their shifting weight. Then, as one climbed above another in his eagerness to reach a place of safety, some fell to the ground, deceived by the rotten boughs and decay of the treacherous tree, while others hung in terror in the lofty tree-top, a mark for missiles. Eager to destroy them all in their distress by the same death, Sychaeus changed his weapon: he laid down his shield and caught up at once his brazen battle-axe. His comrades lent a hand, and the tree, yielding to repeated blows, creaked with a crashing sound. The wretched fugitives toss to and fro when the trunk is smitten; as, when the blast of the Westwind rocks ancient groves, the bird and her nest also are tossed about, and she can scarce find foothold on the swaying tree-top. At last the unfriendly oak, a sorry refuge in trouble, fell under the blows of many axes, and crushed the men’s limbs in its far-spreading downfall.

  Other forms of disaster followed. The other oak, close to the scene of slaughter, took fire and was soon wrapped in flames. And now among the leaves, spreading with fierce eddies over the dry wood, Vulcan brandished tongues of fire with panting heat and scorched the topmost branches. And all the time the shooting went on; and half-burnt bodies, clutching at blazing branches, fell shrieking to the ground.

  In the midst of these pitiful conflicts, see! Flaminius arrives, with wrath in his heart and destruction for Sychaeus. The young man, fearing the danger of so mighty a duel, was first to try his fortune with his spear; but the weapon lodged lightly on the brazen plate in the centre of the shield, unable to pierce the wicker-work in its path. The consul, unlike his rival, was not willing to trust to his spear for success in the victory he desired: he stabbed Sychaeus in the body with his sword; and the round shield of raw leather failed to stop it. The victim fell and, as he died, bit the earth with bleeding mouth. Then, as the fatal chill spread through his frame, and death made its way to his vital parts, he suffered it, and closed his eyes in eternal sleep.
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  While the battle went on thus, with varying fortune and such scenes of horror, Mago and Hannibal had already left the camp, and were hurrying their troops on with speedy march, eager to make up for lost time by slaying Romans, and to make it good by much bloodshed. On came their troops, raising a black cloud of whirling dust; the sand rose and lifted the soil with it; and, wherever Hannibal moved and turned his steps, the storm of war, driven by a billowy tempest, rolled in all directions and veiled the high mountains with darkness. Fontanus fell, pierced in the thigh; pierced was the throat of Buta, the minstrel, and the spear-point stuck out beyond the sore wound and beheld his back. The first, a man of long descent, was mourned by Fregellae; and his native Anagnia wept for the other. Laevinus fared no better, though he had been less bold; not daring to challenge Hannibal, he had chosen Ithemon, a captain of Autololes, as a fitting rival. Him he had hamstrung and was stripping him, when the heavy ashen spear with furious force broke in his ribs: and he collapsed under the blow and fell instantly on the corpse of his prostrate foe.

  Nor were the men of Sidicinnm backward. A thousand of them served under Viriasius, who had no superior in pitching a camp or building a raft or battering walls with the tough ram or planting improvised gangways against a tower. But Hannibal saw him exulting in his prowess, because Arauricus, distrusting his light armour, fled wounded before him in hot haste; and his ardour was kindled by the prospect of a glorious combat; and he thought it not beneath him to close in conflict with the fierce warrior. As Viriasius drew his spear forth from the body of Arauricus, Hannibal rushed up and stabbed him in the breast, crying: “Famous fighter, whoever you are, you deserved to fall by no hand but mine; carry down to the shades the glory of your death; had not the land of Italy given you birth, I should have suffered you to depart alive.” Next he attacked Fadus and the veteran Labicus, whom Hamilcar had once fought in Sicily and made famous by a memorable contest. Unmindful of his years and forgetting his age, he came forth now to battle. He kept his youthful ardour and all the passion of youth; but his feeble blows betrayed the weakness of the aged warrior: so a fire of straw crackles to no purpose and blazes up with no strength and no effect. When Hannibal learnt his name from Hamilcar’s armour-bearer, he cried exultingly: “Here and now you shall pay the penalty for the first battle in which you fought: the famous Hamilcar uses my arm to send you down to the shades.” Then he raised a javelin to his ear and threw it, and then ran him through as he lay writhing upon his wound. When the weapon was drawn forth, the blood defiled his grey hairs, and death ended his long service. Herminius likewise was slain in his first battle by Hannibal — Herminius who was wont to pillage Lake Trasimene and draw forth the fish with his hook, pulling out food for his ancient father with a line that hung over the motionless pools.

  Meanwhile the sorrowing Carthaginians raised the lifeless body of Sychaeus upon his shield and bore it to the camp. When Hannibal saw them hasting with loud lament, his heart was stricken with foreboding grief. “Why mourn ye thus, comrades?” he asked: “Whom have the angry gods taken from us? Is it you, Sychaeus, burning with desire of glory and too eager in your first battle, whom the black death-day has cut off before your time?” When the tears of the mourners answered his question, and when they told at the same time the name of the slayer, Hannibal spoke thus: “I see the glorious wound of the Roman spear on the front of your body. You will go down to the shades, worthy of Carthage, worthy of Hasdrubal; your good mother will mourn you as a true descendant of your ancestors; and, when my father Hamilcar meets you in the darkness of Hades, he will not shun you as degenerate. My own grief shall be lessened by the death of Flaminius, the author of our sorrow. He shall be the escort that follows you to the grave; and wicked Rome shall dearly repent too late the stroke that robbed my beloved Sychaeus of life.”

  While he spoke thus, a reeking steam issued from his mouth, and a hoarse inarticulate sound came forth from his furious breast, as water overflows with fire-heated waves, when it rages angrily, confined in the burnt cauldron. Then he rushed headlong into the fray, and singled out Flaminius for attack, taunting him; and Flaminius was ready for battle on the instant. The War-god towered up closer, and now the pair stood face to face on the field, when suddenly there came an awful crash along the cliffs, and the heights were shaken and the high peaks rocked all along the range; on the pine-clad summit the trees swayed, and fragments of rock rushed down upon the armies. Splitting asunder in its lowest depths, the earth rumbled in its tortured hollows and opened up great chasms; and the vast gulf, yawning wide, revealed the shades below; and the dead in the depths were terrified by the daylight they once had known. The dark lake, forced from its ancient seat, rose to the height of the mountains, and bathed the Tuscan woods with moisture unfelt before. And now that same storm and dire catastrophe overthrew and destroyed nations and the cities of mighty kings. And rivers also flowed backwards and fought against their sources; the sea-waves reversed their course; and the Fauns who dwell on the Apennines left the hills and fled towards the coast.

  Yet — alas for the frenzy of war! — the battle still went on; and the soldiers, though staggering on the unsteady ground and falling when the earth withdrew beneath them, kept hurling their uncertain missiles against the foe. At last the Romans were defeated and turned their random flight to the lake-shore, and were driven distracted into the water. The consul had been separated from them by the earthquake; but now he overtook them and reproached them from behind: “What still remains, if you fly now? what, I beseech you? You are leading Hannibal against the walls of Rome; you are giving him fire and sword, to use against the Tarpeian shrine of the Thunderer. Stand firm, soldiers, and learn from me to fight bravely; or, if fight is impossible, learn how to die. Flaminius shall set a worthy example to coming generations. No Libyan, no Spaniard, shall ever behold the back of a consul. If you are possessed by such a mad passion for flight, then single-handed I shall intercept every weapon with my own breast; and, dying, as my soul departs through the sky, I shall call your swords back to the battle.”

  While Flaminius spoke thus and plunged into the thickest of the enemy, Ducarius rode up, savage in mind as in aspect. That fierce warrior bore a name familiar in his tribe, and his savage heart had long cherished resentment for the defeat suffered in time past by his countrymen, the Boii. Recognizing the face of their proud conqueror, he cried: “Art thou he whom the Boii so much dreaded? I intend this weapon to decide whether blood will flow, when such a hero is wounded. And you, my countrymen, shrink not from offering up this victim to our noble dead. This is the man who stood in the chariot and drove our defeated sires to the Capitol. Now the hour of vengeance summons him.” Then the consul was overwhelmed with missiles that rained from all sides alike; and, covered by the shower that hurtled through the sky, he left to none the power of boasting that his hand had slain Flaminius. When the leader was slain, the fighting ceased. For the foremost soldiers closed their ranks; and then, enraged against Heaven and themselves for their defeat, and thinking it worse than death to see the Carthaginians conquer, they hastened eagerly to pile over the body of Flaminius and walked in front of their conqueror’s chariot to the temple of Jupiter. his prostrate limbs their weapons, their bodies, and their hands red with the blood of defeat. Thus they covered him with a close-packed heap of corpses for a tomb. The dead lay scattered in the water, in the woods, and in the valley where the blood ran deep, when Hannibal rode up with his brother to the centre of the carnage: “Do you see these wounds, these deaths?” he said to Mago: “each hand grasps its sword, and the warrior lies in his armour, and still maintains the strife. Let our soldiers look and see how these men died! Their brows still frown, and martial ardour is fixed upon their faces. It misgives me that this land, the fertile mother of such noble heroes, may be destined to hold empire, and may, even by its lost battles, conquer the world.” Thus Hannibal spoke and then gave way to night; for the sun had vanished, and the coming on of darkness ended the slaughter.

 
BOOK VI

  ARGUMENT

  SCENES ON THE FIELD OF THE LOST BATTLE. FLIGHT OF THE ROMANS (1-61). SERRANUS, A SON OF THE FAMOUS REGULUS, IS ONE OF THE FUGITIVES: HE REACHES THE DWELLING OF MARUS, WHO HAD BEEN HIS FATHER’S SQUIRE IN AFRICA: MARUS DRESSES HIS WOUNDS (62-100), AND TELLS THE STORY OF REGULUS AS CONQUEROR AND AS CAPTIVE (101-551). MOURNING AND CONSTERNATION AT ROME AFTER THE DEFEAT. SERRANUS RETURNS TO HIS MOTHER, MARCIA (552-589). THE SENATE DISCUSS PLANS OF CAMPAIGN. JUPITER PREVENTS HANNIBAL FROM MARCHING ON ROME. Q. FABIUS IS CHOSEN DICTATOR (590-618). HIS WISDOM (619-640). HANNIBAL MARCHES THROUGH UMBRIA AND PICENUM TO CAMPANIA: AT LITERNUM HE SEES ON THE TEMPLE-WALLS PICTURES OF SCENES IN THE FIRST PUNIC WAR, AND ORDERS THEM ALL TO BE BURNT (641-716).

  Now on Eastern shores the Sun was yoking the steeds that he had freed in the sea of Tartessus when he scattered his fires for the night; and the Seres, first disclosed by the sunrise, began again to pluck fleeces from their wool-bearing trees. Then hideous havoc was revealed, and the work of War’s madness was seen clearer — a medley of arms and men and horses, and hands that still clung to the wound of a slain enemy. The ground was littered with shields and helmet-plumes, with headless corpses and swords that had broken against tough bones; and one might see the eyes of half-dead men looking in vain for the light. Then there was the lake foaming with gore, and the corpses floating on its surface, for ever deprived of a grave.