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  On he rushed and slew Thuris and Butes, Naris and Arses, and Mahalces who had dared to face him, a famous warrior who had gained glory by his spear. Then he laid low Garadus and Adherbes of the long hair, and Thulis who towered above both armies and could grasp the topmost battlements on a lofty wall.

  These he slew from a distance; and his sword accounted for Sapharus and Monaesus, and for Morinus, as he stirred the hearts of the combatants with the trumpet’s blare; the fatal blow struck his right cheek, and the blood, running down through the trumpet from the wound in his face, flowed forth, expelled by his dying breath. Close by him fell Idmon, a Nasamonian, slain by a javelin. For as he slipped on the warm blood and was vainly striving to plant his unsteady feet on firm ground, the Dictator’s horse struck him down; and, when he tried in haste to lift his bruised limbs from the ground, Fabius pinned him to the earth by a strong thrust of his spear and left the weapon in the deadly wound. Sticking in the ground, the spear quivered as the dying man moved, and kept guard on the plain over the corpse consigned to it.

  This glorious example inflamed the younger men: a Sulla and a Crassus with him, Furnius and his comrade Metellus, and Torquatus, a more practised warrior, entered the battle; and all alike were willing even to die, if they might have the eyes of Fabius upon them. Unhappy Bibulus was stepping quickly backwards and swerving aside, to elude a huge stone hurled at him, when he stumbled on a heap of Roman corpses in his movement to the rear; and an iron point, which happened to project from a dead body, entered his side where many a blow had loosened the clasps of the buckle on his corslet; and his fall drove the weapon home to his vitals. Alas, for so strange a death! He was spared by the missiles of the Garamantes and the swords of the Marmaridae, in order to be laid low by a senseless weapon — a weapon aimed at a different victim. Down he fell in death; a strange pallor disfigured his youthful beauty; his shield fell from his loosened grasp, and the sleep of darkness stole over his eyes.

  Cleadas, a descendant of Cadmus, had come to the wars from Tyrian Sidon, summoned by the entreaty of the daughter-city, and fought side by side with the Carthaginians, proud of his troop of archers from the East; jewels sparkled all over his golden helmet and golden collar. So sparkles Lucifer, when, refreshed by the waters of Ocean, he is approved by Venus and outshines the greater stars. Purple was his dress, and purple the housings of his steed; and on all his company glittered the precious dye that is steeped in the vats of Sidon. Brutus, eager for the fray, was burning to blot out such a famous name; but Cleadas mocked him, wheeling his horse lightly round in mazy circles, now to the right and now to the left; and then he shot a winged arrow over his shoulder, refusing in Persian fashion to face his foe. Nor did he fail to hit: the keen arrow lodged, alas, right in the chin of Casca, the squire of Brutus; warmed with blood the point passed upwards, leaving a jagged wound, and forced the steel into the moist palate. But Brutus, troubled by the grievous plight of his friend, no longer tried to ride down Cleadas, as he ranged at large and sent out a shower of deadly arrows while pretending flight: he entrusted to his spear all the fierce anger of his heart, and launched the flying weapon with a thong; and the point pierced his breast, where the collar with its row of pendants hung loose and left the neck exposed.

  Cleadas’ bow was bent when he was laid low by the spear; the bow slipped from his left hand and the arrow from his right, as down he fell.

  But better fortune in battle befell Carmelus, the pride of Soracte sacred to Apollo. For he had already dyed his sword with the blood of Bagrada, lord and leader of a Nubian people; and he had slain Zeusis also, a warlike son of Spartan Phalantus, whom a Punic mother had borne to a famous Lacedaemonian. Then fearing the same fate, Hampsicus had not confidence to engage so active a foe, nor even to fly: urged by terror, the poor wretch had passed through thickets and climbed to the top of a neighbouring oak, where he hid in the thick leafage, standing on boughs that shook under his weight. But Carmelus ran him through with his long spear, as he begged hard for mercy and sprang from branch to branch overhead. Thus the fowler who dispeoples the grove with his cane-rod tipped with birdlime, pursues the bird over his head with a lengthening reed, and silently tries to reach at last the topmost branches by adding a joint to his tapering rod. Hampsicus poured forth his life; his blood streamed down from above, and his lifeless limbs bent down the branch on which they hung.

  And now the Romans were fighting fiercely against the straggling and fleeing foe, when suddenly Tunger, the Moor, a terrible giant, rushed forward to battle. His body was black, and his lofty chariot was drawn by black horses; and the chariot — a new device to strike terror — was the same colour all over as the dusky backs of the steeds; and on his lofty crest he had been careful to set a plume of the same hue; and the garment he wore was black also.

  So the Ruler of the eternal darkness, when he carried off the maiden from Henna long ago and hastened to their bridal chamber in the lower world, drove a chariot black with the darkness of Hell. But Cato, on whose cheeks the down of manhood was just appearing, was undismayed. He was the pride of his native Tusculum, which lies on Circe’s height and was once ruled by the grandson of Laertes. Though he saw that the Roman van was checked and had withdrawn in confusion, he drove on his hesitating steed with iron heel and freely loosened rein. The horse refused to go forward and stood trembling, terrified by the harmless shadow that Tunger cast. Then quickly dismounting from his tall horse to fight, he followed the flying chariot on foot, and sprang upon it from behind as it sped on. Reins and whip were dropped in a moment; and the ill-fated Moor lost courage and turned pale, dreading the sword that hung over his neck. Cato cut off his head with the sword and carried it away, stuck on the point of his spear.

  Meanwhile the Dictator, exulting in fierce battle, burst his way through a mass of exhausted men, and carried death with him. Then he saw a pitiful sight — Minucius weary, wounded, and bleeding, and asking for a shameful death. Fabius shed tears, and protected the frightened general with his shield. Then he encouraged his son to battle thus: “Brave son, let us wipe off the stain upon us and repay Hannibal in full for his kind treatment in dropping no fire upon our fields.” Then, rejoicing in the encouragement of his wise father, the young man drove off with the sword the surrounding ranks of Carthage, and cleared the plain; and Hannibal at last withdrew from the field. So, when the shepherd’s back is turned, the wolf that Mars loves, urged by hunger, snatches up a lamb and holds the frightened youngling fast in its jaws; but, if the shepherd hears a bleating and runs to face the wolf, then it fears for itself, and casts up the still breathing prey from between its teeth, and makes off in wrath with empty jaws. Not till then was the Stygian darkness, with which the black cloud of the Carthaginian attack had surrounded the army of Minucius, at last dispelled. Their hands were numbed; they said they were not worthy to be rescued; they were stunned and confused by sudden good fortune. Even so, men buried beneath a falling house, when dug out and suddenly released from darkness, blink with their eyes and fear to see the sun again.

  When all this was done, Fabius numbered his army and was glad, and marched back to the heights where they were safe in camp. But, behold, the soldiers, recalled to life from the very jaws of death, raised a shout to the sky and marched triumphantly in long procession, all with one acclaim loudly hailing Fabius as their glory, Fabius as their saviour, and Fabius as their father. Then the general who had lately parted from him, taking half the army with him, spoke thus: “O worshipful father, if I, thus restored to the blessing of light, may make a just complaint, why were we permitted to have separate camps and separate armies? Why did you submit to hand over a force which you alone are fit to command? To that generous act we owed our fall and looked on the darkness of death, and much blood was spilt.

  Make haste, ye soldiers, to bring back hither the eagles and standards which Fabius saved! Fabius is our country, and the walls of Rome rest on the shoulders of a single man! And you, Hannibal, have done with your stale tricks and strat
agems; in future you have to fight Fabius and him alone.”

  When Minucius had spoken thus, an imposing sight then wasseen — a thousand altars of green turf raised in haste; and no man dared to touch food or the pleasant gift of Lyaeus, till he had offered many a prayer and poured out wine upon the board in honour of Fabius.

  BOOK VIII

  ARGUMENT

  HANNIBAL’S ANXIETY (1-24). JUNO SENDS ANNA TO COMFORT HIM: ANNA, THE SISTER OF DIDO, IS NOW A NYMPH OF THE RIVER NUMICIUS: SHE TELLS HER OWN HISTORY, AND ENCOURAGES HANNIBAL BY FORETELLING THE BATTLE OF CANNAE (25-241). C. TERENTIUS VARRO IS ELECTED CONSUL AT ROME: HIS BOASTFUL SPEECHES (242-277). HIS COLLEAGUE, L. AEMILIUS PAULUS, IS AFRAID TO THWART HIM (278-297). HE IS ADVISED BY FABIUS TO OPPOSE VARRO (298-348). THE CONSULS START FOR APULIA: A CATALOGUE OF THEIR TROOPS (349-621). EVIL OMENS BEFORE THE BATTLE ALARM THE SOLDIERS (622-676).

  FABIUS had been the first to show the Romans the retreating backs of the Carthaginians. Him alone his soldiers called their father, and him alone Hannibal called his foe. The Carthaginian leader raged, impatient of delay: for a chance of fighting, he must wait for the death of Fabius and summon the Fates as allies in war; for, so long as that old man lived, he had no hope of shedding Italian blood. Further, the united army, serving with standards restored under a single commander, and the necessity of wrestling again and again with Fabius alone — all this weighed still more heavily on his anxious spirit. By skilful inaction and by slackening the pace of war, the Dictator had effected much; and, above all, lie had deprived the Tyrian army of all supplies; and, though a fight to a finish was still in the future, he was already the master of the foe. Moreover, the Gauls, a boastful and unstable people, bold at the start but infirm of purpose, were turning their eyes homewards: unaccustomed to a bloodless campaign, they grieved that their hands, unwetted with gore in time of war, should be enfeebled by thirst for conflict. Nor was this all: his troubles were increased by dangers at home — the jealousy of his fellow-citizens and the opposition of Hanno to the enterprise; for Hanno would not suffer their senate to send reinforcements or supplies of any kind.

  Though tortured by these anxieties and fearing the worst, Hannibal regained hope of victory and renewed his insane ambition, by help of Juno; the goddess foresaw the field of Cannae, and coming events filled her with pride. Summoning Anna from the river of Laurentum she thus addressed her, pressing her with flattering appeal: “Goddess, a youth akin to you is in sore straits — even Hannibal, a famous name, descended from Belus the Phoenician. Arise, hasten, and assuage his raging sea of troubles. Dislodge Fabius from his mind. Fabius alone stands between the Romans and subjugation; but he is now putting off his armour, and Hannibal will have to fight against Varro and meet Varro in battle. Let him move his standards forward and take advantage of Fortune. I myself shall be there. Let him march instantly to the plain of Iapygia. The doom of the Trebia and Lake Trasimene shall be repeated there.”

  Then the nymph, who dwells near the sacred grove of the native god, thus replied: “It is my duty to do your bidding without delay. One thing only I beg: suffer me to keep the goodwill of my former country and to carry out the solemn behests of my sister, although the deity of Anna is among those honoured by the Romans.”

  Far back in history, and hidden in deep darkness by the uncertain report of antiquity, lies the answer to this question: why should the Italians consecrate a temple to a Phoenician deity, and why should Dido’s sister be worshipped in the country of the Aeneadae? But I shall repeat the legend from the beginning, keeping my tale within strict limits, and briefly recalling the past.

  When Dido was deserted by her Trojan guest and hope was utterly dead, she hastened in frenzy to the fatal pyre within the palace. Then, resolved on death, she seized the sword which her runagate husband had given her for her destruction. Iarbas, whose hand she had refused in marriage, usurped the throne, and Anna fled before her sister’s pyre was cold. Who would help her in her need, when that king of the Numidians spread terror far and wide? It chanced that Battus then ruled Cyrene with gentle sway — Battus, a kindly man and ready to give a tear to human suffering. When he saw the suppliant, he trembled at the thought of what princes may suffer, and stretched forth his hand to her. And there she stayed for a time, till the golden ears were twice cat down by the reapers. Then she could no longer avail herself of Battus and his friendship; for he told her that Pygmalion was sailing thither, intent on her destruction. So she was driven to the sea, angry with Heaven, and with herself for not dying together with her sister, and was pitifully tossed with tattered sails, till at last a fateful storm wrecked her upon the coast of Laurentum. A stranger to that clime and soil and to its inhabitants, the Phoenician princess was afraid when shipwrecked upon the land of Italy. But see! Aeneas, having now gained a kingdom, came with godlike lulus, and his face she knew. In great fear she gazed upon the ground and then knelt down before weeping lulus; but Aeneas raised her up and led her gently within the palace. And when a courteous reception had lightened her troubles and dispelled her fear of danger, with anxious sorrow he asked to hear about the death of unhappy Dido. And Anna thus began, sighing and weeping abundantly as she spoke, and used soft words too to suit the occasion: “O goddess-born, my sister’s throne and her life depended upon you alone; bear witness her death and that funeral-pyre, which would that I then had shared! When the sight of your face was taken from her, she sometimes sat, sometimes stood, on the shore in her misery; watching the course of the winds, she called Aeneas back with a great cry, and prayed that you would deign to take her alone on board your ship. Then in confused haste she hurried back to her chamber, and suddenly trembled and stood still, fearing to touch that sacred couch. Next in her distraction, she first clasps the beauteous image of radiant lulus, and then, quickly turning her whole mind to your likeness, hangs upon your image, making her plaint to you and hoping for an answer. Love never abandons hope. Now she leaves the palace and goes back in frenzy to the harbour, in case some wind may shift its course and blow you back. She stooped even to magic arts, driven to this by the wicked deceitfulness and folly of the Massylian race. But, out upon wizards and their accursed delusions! While they called up the infernal gods and promised relief for her strange trouble — what a dreadful sight did I, who believed them, witness! — she heaped upon a fatal pyre all memorials of you and your ill-starred gifts.”

  Then Aeneas answered, revisited by passion with all its sweetness: “I swear by this land, to which you both often heard me appeal when we exchanged vows; I swear by the head of gentle lulus, once so dear to you and to your sister: in sorrow and with a longing look behind I left your kingdom; nor would I have broken off the marriage, had not the god of Cyllene, with dreadful threats, set me on board with his own hand, and driven the fleet out to sea with swift winds. But why — too late, alas, is my warning — why at such a moment did ye allow passion to run wild unwatched?”

  Anna thus replied with quivering lips and in a breathless voice between her sobs: “I chanced to be preparing strange offerings for the sable King whom the third realm obeys, and for the partner of his gloomy bed, in order to relieve my love-lorn sister of her sorrow and unrest; and I was myself bringing black-fleeced sheep, and making haste, to avert an evil dream. For, in my sleep, an awful fear had filled my heart; and thrice, thrice over with a loud cry, had Sychaeus claimed Dido as his own and shown a face of pride and joy. I drove this from my thoughts and prayed to the gods to give a favourable turn to the dream, when day came; and I bathed in a running stream. Meanwhile, Dido went quickly to the beach and kissed many times the dumb sand where you had stood; and then she fondly embraced all your foot-prints, even as a mother strains to her breast the ashes of a lost son. Then she rushed back headlong with hair unbound and came to the great high pyre she had raised already; and from its site all the sea was visible and the whole city of Carthage. Next she put on the robe from Troy and the necklace of pearls; she drank in, poor wretch, the memory of that day when she first saw
those gifts; she recalled the banquet and the feast that greeted your arrival, when you told in order the long agony of Troy, and she sat late to hear you. Then in distraction she turned her weeping eyes to the harbour. ‘Ye gods of endless night,’ she cried, ‘whose power seems greater to one at the point of death, help me, I pray, and give a kindly welcome to a spirit that love has conquered. The wife of Aeneas, the daughter-inlaw of Venus, I avenged my husband, I saw the towers of my city Carthage rise; and now the shade of a great queen shall go down to your domain. Perhaps my husband, whose love was sweet to me long ago, is waiting for me there, eager to love me no less than before.’ Thus speaking she drove a sword into the centre of her breast — the sword which she had received as a pledge of the Trojan’s love. Her attendants saw it, and rushed together through the halls with mourning and beating of breasts; the palace resounded with their loud cries. I, unhappy, heard the tidings; terror-stricken by that dreadful death, I tore my cheeks with my nails, as I rushed in frenzy to the palace and struggled to climb the lofty steps. Thrice I strove to throw myself on the accursed sword, and thrice I fell prostrate on the body of my dead sister. Soon the rumour spread through the neighbouring cities; the Numidian chiefs and fierce Iarbas prepared for war; and I, driven by Sychaeus. fate, came to the city of Cyrene; and at last the violence of the sea brought me to your coast.”