Complete Works of Silius Italicus Page 14

  “But now the senate of Carthage resolved to take an oath of Regulus and send him to Rome as mediator with new conditions of peace; they sought to exchange Regulus for their own soldiers who had been taken prisoners in the course of the war. With no delay, a ship was launched from the arsenal and rode already on the waters close to the shore; and already the crew were shaping oars in the woods or felling pines to make new thwarts; some were busily engaged in fitting the twisted cordage, and others in fixing the canvas upon the high mast. They laid upon the prow the heavy iron anchor with its curved flukes. Chief of all Cothon, a skilful seaman and steersman of the ship, saw to the vessel and its rudder; the shining brass of the triple beak was reflected on the deep and glittered over the sea. Weapons also were brought on board, and much else to help them against the dangers of the sea in time of need. Amidships by the gunwale the coxswain stood, to regulate the rowers’ successive strokes, to set their cadence to the oars, and, as the blades were drawn back together, to make the water echo to the rhythm.

  “When the sailors had done their work, and the time for starting came, and the ship was fitted out, and the wind made sailing possible, then all the people hastened to the shore — women and boys and old men. Through the midst of the crowd and before their unfriendly eyes Regulus was brought along by Fortune, for them to look at. His calm brow met their gaze — calm as when he first brought the fleet under his command to the Carthaginian shore. I went with him, and he made no objection; sadly I went on board, to share his ill-fortune. To contend with pressing evils — squalid attire and meagre fare and a hard bed — this he thought more glorious than to win a battle; and he held it a nobler thing to conquer adversity by endurance than to avoid it by precaution. One hope I still cherished — although I knew well, and had long known, the inflexible conscience of the man — that, if we wretches were permitted to reach the walls of Rome and our homes, his resolution might give way and be melted at least by the tears of his wife and children. I hid my fears in my breast, and believed that Regulus could weep and feel misfortune like other men. When at last our ship glided into the Tiber, our native river, I watched his face and the eyes that reveal the mind, and never did I take my gaze oft’ him. If you can believe me, young man, his expression was unchanged amid a thousand dangers, unchanged in Rome and in the cruel city of Agenor, and unchanged even when he was tortured. From all the cities of Italy men came to meet the prisoner; and, when the plain could not contain the crowd, the neighbouring hills were thronged, and the high banks of the Albula resounded. Even the Carthaginian senators pleaded with that stern heart to resume his native dress, and the dignity of the gown was offered him. He stood there unmoved, while the senators shed tears, and the crowd of matrons and the young men wept for sorrow. On the river bank the consul first held out his hand, in friendly welcome to the exile as he set foot upon his native soil. Regulus stepped back; he bade the consul withdraw and not dishonour his high office; only the haughty Carthaginians and the company of prisoners were round him when he moved on, causing men to reproach Heaven and the gods.

  “Now Marcia came up, leading two boys, the pledges of their love — Marcia made unhappy by the too lofty virtue of her great husband; in her sorrow she tore her disordered hair and rent her garments. (Do you remember that day, Serranus, or has it slipped from your boyish memory?) When she saw him near, changed in mien and wearing the unsightly dress of Carthage, with a loud cry she fell fainting, and the hue of death covered her cold limbs. (If the gods have any pity, let them make Carthago witness mothers suffering like Marcia.) Regulus spoke to me in a calm voice and bade me keep from him the embraces of you two, his children, and of his wife; he remained obdurate against grief and never bowed his neck to pain.”

  Then Serranus spoke with a deep groan and starting tears: “Noble father,” he said, “not less divine to me than even the deity who dwells on the Tarpeian rock, if love has a right to complain, why did you so sternly deny my mother and me this consolation and this glory — to touch your sacred face and take kisses from your lips? Was I forbidden to clasp your hand in mine? How much lighter my present wounds would be, had I been allowed to carry to the grave the undying memory of your embrace, O worshipful father! But, Marus, unless memory deceives me — and I was but a child then — his stature was more than human; the unkempt hair fell down from his white head and hid the great shoulders; and on his brow with its disordered locks sat an awful majesty and reverend dignity. None like him have I seen since.” But here Marus took up the tale and prevented him from making his wounds worse by complaining: “And what,” he cried, “when he passed by his own house and sought the hateful hospitality of the Carthaginians and their unfriendly lodging? Shields and chariots and javelins were fastened at his doors — famous trophies of a great victory adorning a humble dwelling; these struck on his sight, and his wife was crying out from the threshold: ‘Whither are you going, Regulus? This is no Carthaginian prison, for you to shun. This house preserves the prints on our chaste marriage-bed, and our hereditary household gods are stained by no guilt. In it once and again — what, I ask, have I done to dishonour the house? — I bore you a child, and the Senate and people wished us joy. Look back! this is your own dwelling, from which, in all a consul’s state, your shoulders gleaming with purple, you saw the Roman lictors march forth. From it you went to the wars; and to it you often brought back the victor’s spoils, and we hung them up together on the threshold. No embraces do I ask, no union that the hallowed torch of wedlock brings; but do not persist in shunning the house of your fathers, and count it no crime to pass one night here for the sake of your sons.’

  ‘While thus she lamented he passed along with the Carthaginians and shut himself up in their lodging, deaf to her appeal. Scarce was the daylight shining on the famous pyre of Hercules upon Oeta’s height, when the consul ordered the Carthaginians to be summoned. Then we saw Regulus entering the temple. How the Senate debated, and how Regulus at last addressed the sorrowing house — this he reported to me himself with calm utterance. When he entered, all eagerly called on him with voice and gesture to take his wonted seat and former place. He refused and declined the seat of honour that once was his. None the less they gathered round, all seeking to grasp his hand and begging him not to deprive his country of so great a general; he, they said, might be exchanged for the crowd of Carthaginian prisoners; and then the hand which once wore fetters at Carthage would more fitly set fire to the Carthaginian citadel.

  “Then he lifted hand and eye together to heaven: ‘O Ruler of the universe, source of justice and truth; and O Loyalty, no less divine to me, and Juno of Tyre, ye gods whom I invoked to witness my oath that I would return, if I am permitted to speak words that befit me, and by my voice to protect the hearths of Rome, not unwillingly shall I go to Carthage, keeping my promise to return and enduring the prescribed penalty. Therefore cease to honour me and thus ruin the state. So many years, so many wars, have broken down my strength; and also long captivity in fetters has sapped the energy of an old man and a prisoner. Regulus is not the man he was once, when he never rested from the hard task of war; what you see now is a mere name, a bloodless body. But Carthage, that home of treachery, knows well what a wreck I am, and is scheming to get in exchange for my worn-out body our prisoners who are young and eager for battle. Foil their knavish tricks, and teach a nation that delights in deceit how much, though I be a prisoner, is still left to Rome. Accept no peace that is not concluded in the fashion of our fathers. The Carthaginians demand — and this is the message they gave me to carry — that you should weigh this war in equal scales, and frame conditions of peace that shall favour neither nation. But I would rather go down to the house of Hades than see the Romans strike so base a bargain.’

  “Thus he spoke and at once gave himself up again to the anger of Carthage. Nor did the Senate reject a warning so serious and so honest, but sent off the Carthaginian envoys, who made haste for home, vexed by their failure and threatening their prisoner. The Roman p
opulace accompanied the senators, beating their breasts and mourning, till the vast Field of Mars was filled with the sound. They were eager at times to call him back and to rescue him by force in their righteous indignation.

  “But when Marcia saw him hastening on board, she was bewildered and uttered a terrible cry, as if she stood suddenly by his death-bed. Hurrying to the shore, Take me, ye Carthaginians,’ she cried, ‘to share his punishment and his death. Husband, I ask but one thing in the name of the children I bore you: suffer me to endure along with you whatever earth and sea and sky can inflict. It was not I who sent the Spartan leader forth to battle; nor mine were the chains that were riveted round your neck. Why do you go all the way to Carthage, to escape unhappy me? Take me and these children with you. Perhaps our tears will melt the hard hearts of the Carthaginians; or, if that hostile city turns a deaf ear, then the same hour will await you and yours together. Or if you are resolved to end your life, let us die in our own country. Here is one to share your fate to the end.’

  “While she spoke, the ship was cast loose from her moorings and began to move slowly from the shore. Then indeed the unhappy wife, frantic with grief, stretched forth her weary hands over the bank with a loud cry: ‘See him! He boasts of keeping faith with the enemy and the abominable people of Libya. But where is now the compact made with me, and the troth you plighted at our marriage, unfaithful husband?’ These were the last words that reached the inflexible ear of Regulus; the rest was drowned by the plashing of the oars.

  “Then we went swiftly down the river to the seashore, and sailed over the deep, cleaving the vast expanse of water and the great waves with our hollow ship. Dreading a shameful death, I prayed that the violence of the sea might sink our vessel, or that the wild fury of the wind might dash her upon the rocks; then we should have died together. But the mild breath of gentle zephyrs carried us on to the torture, and gave us over to the rage of Carthage.

  “I, alas, witnessed his punishment, and was sent back to Rome to tell the tale; and dearly did I pay for my release. Nor would I now essay to tell you how the people of Carthage behaved with the cruelty of wild beasts, if mankind had ever seen in any part of the world a nobler example than was set by the splendid courage of your father. I am ashamed to complain of tortures which I saw him endure with cheerfulness. You too, dear youth, must still think yourself worthy of such a glorious descent, and check those starting tears. A frame all round him was faced with planking studded with points of equal length, and there was artfully compacted a painful system of puncture consisting of rows of projecting iron spikes. By this device sleep was denied him; for to whichever side passive drowsiness made him lean as time dragged on, these spikes pierced deep into his flesh. Weep no more, young man. That endurance is greater than all triumphs. His laurels will be green throughout the ages, as long as unstained Loyalty keeps her seat in heaven and on earth, and will last as long as virtue’s name is worshipped. The day will come when posterity will shudder to hear of the death which thou, O famous leader, madest light of.” Thus Marus spoke, while he tended the young man’s wounds with sorrowful care. details many years earlier, either from his mother, Marcia, or from Marus himself.

  Meanwhile Rumour, her swift wings dyed with blood — she had dipped them in the blood-stained waters of Lake Trasimene — spread tidings true and false throughout Rome. In their terror men recalled the battle of the Allia, the accursed Senones, and the sight of the captured citadel. Woeful Fear shook off all restraint, and the calamity was made worse by apprehension. Some rush to the walls. A dreadful cry is raised—” The enemy is upon us.” They hurl stakes and javelins at an imaginary foe. Women also, with their grey hair torn, lay their heads in the dust of the lofty temples, and besiege the gods with prayer for their dear ones whom death has already taken. Neither day nor night brings relief. The people, vociferous in their grief, lie scattered round the different gates; and they follow, step by step, the long procession of fugitives, and hang upon their lips. Good news they can hardly believe; they stop a man, to ask a second time; some beg for tidings with dumb looks, and dread the answer to their question. Some weep, when they hear of a grievous loss; others are affrighted, when the messenger professes ignorance and hesitates to answer. But when the fugitives came close and were clearly seen, then their friends crowded round them with a fearful joy, kissing their very wounds, and wearying Heaven with prayers.

  Now Marus came through the anxious crowd, leading Serranus with praiseworthy care; and then Marcia, who had never left the house since her husband’s death, but shunned society and endured life only for the sake of her sons — she too rushed forth, to mourn as she had mourned long ago. Startled by the sudden sight and recognizing Marus, she spoke to him: “Famous comrade of one most faithful, one at least you bring back to me alive. Is his wound slight? Or did the cruel point pierce deep, to my very vitals? In either case, I thank the gods, if only Carthage does not carry him off in fetters, and repeat the tortures that his father endured. Alas, my son, how often I begged you not to carry into battle the impetuous ardour of your sire, and not to be urged on to feats of arms by his crown of thorns! I have lived too long and paid a heavy penalty for my long life. Spare me henceforth, ye gods, if any gods have fought against us.”

  And now, as if the thunder-cloud of cruel disaster had dispersed, the Senate discussed the means of mending their desperate plight; each did his utmost to carry on the war; and fear was dispelled by the terrible danger. Their chief task was to appoint a commander, who could support Rome and the shattered edifice of the state, now that destruction was in sight. It was Jupiter who took in hand to grant a reprieve from ruin to Italy and to Roman rule. For aloft on the Alban mount he had seen the land of Tuscany, and Hannibal puffed up with success and ready to carry his victorious standards against the walls of Rome. Shaking his head in anger, he spoke: “Never shall Jupiter permit you, young man, to pass the gates of Rome and walk her streets. To cover the valleys of Tuscany with the slain, and to make the rivers brim with Roman blood — these things you may do; but I forbid you to approach the Tarpeian hill and to raise your hopes to the walls of Rome.” Then four times he hurled his flashing bolt with his right arm, till all Tuscany was lighted up; and rolling a black cloud through the sky, he broke it and made a rift in the heavens over the head of the Carthaginian army. Nor was he content with turning Hannibal away: his divine power inspired the Aeneadae to place a sure shield before the seat of Romulus, and to entrust to Fabius as general the control of their deliverance; and when he saw the supreme command handed over to him, “This man,” he said, “will never yield to jealousy or the sweet poison of popular applause; he will be proof against artful devices and desire of plunder and all other passions. A veteran soldier, he can meet success and disaster with a quiet mind; neither war nor peace is beyond his capacity.” Thus spoke the Father of the gods, and went back to his heaven.

  This Fabius, so praised by Jupiter, was never surprised by any foe; so wary a campaigner was he. Marvellous was his joy, when he came home and brought the soldiers he had led forth to war back to their country without one missing. No man was ever more eager to guard his own life, or the life of a beloved son, than he to spare his soldiers; and no man was sadder to see the blood of his comrades shed in battle; and yet he ever returned to Rome red with the slaughter of foemen, a conqueror with undepleted ranks. His birth was noble, and the founder of his family was akin to the gods. For Hercules long ago, when he came back from a far country, drove his booty in triumph to the place where glorious Rome now stands. He had taken the kine that were the pride of the triple monster; and men marvelled to see them. Legend tells that a man from Arcadia birthplace, on one of the Seven Hills which was afterwards called the Palatine. was then building a house on the Palatine among uninhabited thorn-brakes, a king with needy subjects; and the king’s daughter, unable to resist the divine stranger, gave birth to a Fabius — a sin that brought no sorrow; and thus the Arcadian woman blended with her own the blood of that mi
ghty sire, to become the ancestress of the stock of Hercules. Three hundred Fabii once went forth to war from a single household; but this Fabius surpassed their glorious deed by delay and by proving himself a match for Hannibal. So great wert thou then, O Hannibal!

  While the defeated Romans were preparing for a fresh campaign, Hannibal, rebuffed by Jupiter’s warning and hopeless of battering the walls of Rome, made for the hills and fields of Umbria, where Tuder hangs on a high mountain-top and slopes down its side; and where Mevania, lying low on the wide plains, breathes forth sluggish mists and feeds mighty bulls for Jupiter’s altar. Next he passed on over the land of Picenum, rich in olives, and took much booty; then he moved his plundering forces from place to place, wherever spoil attracted them, till mild Campania stopped his destructive raids and harboured the war in her undefended breast.

  Here, at Liternum in the marshes, while Hannibal viewed the temple and buildings of the city, he saw, painted in divers colours on the temple-cloisters, a record of the former war, which the past generation had fought to a finish; and these pictures remained upon the walls, representing a long succession of notable events. First there was Regulus, speaking with fierce aspect in favour of war — war that he died, having withdrawn from Rome in disgust with the state of public affairs. should have spoken against, could he have foretold the future. Next Appius was seen; he was first to declare war in the ancient fashion against Carthage; and crowned with laurel he led along a triumphal procession, earned by slaughter of Carthaginians. Hard by was seen a tall column of white marble, adorned with the beaks of ships, a naval trophy for a victory at sea; Duilius, the first to sink a Carthaginian fleet, was dedicating his spoils to Mars and offering sacrifice. (He had honour in the night; for flaming torches and a temple-piper attended him home from the banquet; and he walked back to his modest dwelling to the sound of a merry tune.) Here Hannibal saw too the last honours paid to a dead countryman; for Scipio, victorious over Sardinia, was conducting the funeral of a Carthaginian general. Next he saw the Roman soldiers on the African coast rushing on through a routed army; and in hot pursuit of the rear came Regulus with glittering plume: Autololes, Numidians, Moors, Ammonians, Garamantes — all laid down their arms and gave up their towns. Bagrada, the sluggish river that passes over a sandy desert, was shown there also, foaming with the monster’s slime, when the serpent challenged the threatening squadrons and fought a battle against Regulus. Elsewhere, the Spartan general, hurled overboard and appealing to the gods in vain, was being drowned by a treacherous crew; and thus Xanthippus at last paid the penalty to Regulus by a deserved death in the sea. The artists had painted also the two Aegatian islands rising in mid-sea; and the remnants of a shattered fleet were visible all round, and shipwrecked Carthaginians adrift on the water, while Lutatius, lord of the sea, drove the captured ships ashore before the wind. And there too was Hamilcar, the father of Hannibal; fettered in a long row of prisoners, he turned the eyes of the whole throng away from all the painted scenes upon himself alone. But there one might see the form of Peace, and the profaned altars at which the treaty was sworn, and the mockery of Jupiter, and the Romans dictating terms. With bowed necks the Libyans shrank from the bare axes, and held out their hands together begging for pardon, and swore to a treaty which they did not observe, while Dione looked on the scene rejoicing, from the heights of Eryx.