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  While the Romans were thus engaged with troubled hearts, Hannibal was riding over the battle-field, reviewing his dreadful handiwork and feasting his eyes upon wounds. A numerous staff surrounded him, and the sights he showed them were welcome to the cruel eyes of the Carthaginians. Amid these heaps of dead lay Cloelius, with many a wound in the breast and at the point of death. Sinking fast and sighing out his latest breath, he was just able with a faint effort to raise his drooping head and support it on his feeble neck. His horse knew his master; he pricked up his ears and neighed loudly; then he threw Bagaesus, his captor who was then riding him towards the battle-field. Galloping at speed, he flew over mangled corpses and ground made slippery by pools of clotted blood, and halted by the face of his stricken master. Then with sunk neck and sloping shoulders, he bent his knees, as he had been trained to do, to let his master mount; and in his anxious concern he showed an affection that was all his own. No more gallant horseman than Cloelius had ever ridden that mettled steed, either reclining at full length on the flying back, or standing erect with no saddle under him, while the horse flew over the race-course and covered the distance at top speed.

  Then Hannibal, marvelling much at a horse which showed the feelings of a man, asked who it was that was fighting so hard against grim death — what was his name and rank. And, as he spoke, he put Cloelius to a speedy and merciful end. Cinna answered him. Deceived by Roman reverses, he had taken sides with Carthage and now rode beside the conqueror. “Brave general,” he said, “it is worth your while to hear the early history of his family. Rome, which now rejects the rule of Carthage, was herself once ruled by kings. But when she resented the reign of Superbus and expelled the tyrant, at once a great army came from Clusium’s royal dome — you may have heard tell of Porsena and Horatius and the Etruscan invasion. Porsena, supported by the power and manhood of Etruria, strove to restore the exiled kings by war. Many an effort they made without success, and the foreign king pressed hard upon Janiculum. At last peace was decided on: they ended hostilities, stopped the war, and agreed to a treaty; and hostages were given in pledge of its fulfilment. But Roman hearts could not be tamed — witness heaven! — but were ready to face any danger for the sake of glory. With other Roman maidens Cloelia was sent across the river to the king as a pledge for peace — young Cloelia who was not twelve years old. Of brave deeds done by men I say nothing; but this maiden, in spite of the king and the treaty, in spite of her youth and the river, swam fearlessly across the astonished Tiber, stemming the stream with childish arms. If nature had changed her sex, perhaps Porsena would never have been able to return to the Tyrrhene land. But, not to detain you longer, from her this young Cloelius is descended, and owes his glorious name to that famous maiden.”

  While Cinna told this tale, a sudden shout was heard not far away on their left hand. From a disordered heap of weapons and mangled corpses they had drawn forth the body of Paulus in the centre of the pile. How changed, alas! how unlike the Paulus whose prowess lately disordered the ranks of Carthage, or the Paulus who overthrew the kingdom of the Taulantes and bound the king of Illyricum in chains! His grey hairs were black with dust, and his beard defiled with clotted gore; his teeth were shattered by the impact of the great stone; and his whole body was one wound.

  Hannibal’s joy was redoubled by the sight. “Fly, Varro, fly!” he cried, “and save your life — I care not, so long as Paulus is dead. You are a consul: tell the whole story of Cannae to the Senate and the people and to Fabius, the man of inaction. Once again, Varro, if you love life so much, I shall give you leave to fly. But this hero, worthy of my enmity, whose heart beat high with valour, shall receive burial, and his grave shall be honoured. How great is Paulus in death! The fall of so many thousands gives me less joy than his alone. When fate summons me, I pray to die like him, and may Carthage survive my death!” Thus he spoke, and ordered the bodies of his soldiers to be buried when rosy Dawn should issue from her chamber on the following day, and piles of arms to be raised, as a burnt-offering to Mars. The men, though weary, made haste to do his bidding. They dispersed to the neighbouring copses and felled the trees; and the high woods on the leafy hills resounded with the axe. Here ash-trees and tall poplars with white foliage were smitten and cleft by sturdy arms, and there holm-oaks, planted by a former generation. Down came oaks and pine-trees that love the shore, and cypresses that deck the funeral train and mourn beside the pyre. And lastly they hastily built funeral pyres — a mournful duty and a tribute that means nothing to the dead — until Phoebus plunged his panting steeds in the waters of Tartessus, and the moon’s disk departing from the sky brought on the blind darkness of black night. Then, when the chariot of the sun shone forth with dawning fire and the earth resumed its familiar colours, they kindled the pyres and burnt the corrupting bodies of their dead on a foreign soil. They felt a dreadful apprehension of the uncertain future, and an unspoken fear invaded their inmost hearts, that, if the fortune of war turned against them later, they themselves must lie in this unfriendly earth. Then, as an offering to the War-god, a huge pile of armour was raised up to the sky. Hannibal with his own hand held up a tall pine-torch with fire for foliage and called on the god to hear his prayer: “Hannibal, victorious over the Italian nation, burns these first-fruits of battle and offerings of conquest; and to thee, Father Mars, whose ears were open to my prayers, this host of surviving men dedicates the choicest armour.” Then he threw the torch upon the pyre, and blazing fire made havoc of the burning mass, till the crest of flame burst through the smoke and rose to the sky, flooding the fields with bright light. From here Hannibal went quickly to witness the funeral rites granted to Paulus, proud of showing honour to a dead enemy. A tall pyre was reared, and a soft bier was made of green turf, and offerings were laid upon it, to honour the dead — the shield, the sword dreaded by those who had felt it, the rods and axes taken in the battle, broken now but once a badge of power that all men feared. No wife was there, no sons, no gathering of near kinsmen; no customary masks of ancestors were borne on high litters before the corpse to grace the funeral procession. Bare was it of all trappings; but the praise of Hannibal was glory enough in itself: sighing he threw on the body a covering bright with rich purple dye and a mantle embroidered with gold, and uttered this last tribute to the dead: “Go, pride of Italy! Go whither spirits may go that exult in brave deeds! To you fame is secured already by a glorious death, but I must struggle on as Fate drives me, and she hides future events from my knowledge.”

  So Hannibal spoke; and suddenly, mid the crackling of the flames all round, the spirit of Paulus sprang forth and rose triumphant to the sky.

  Meanwhile rumour waxed ever louder and louder till it reached heaven. Soon it found its way over sea and land, and came first of all to Rome. Putting no trust in their walls, the terrified citizens were content to rely upon the citadel and nothing else. For they had no fighting men left, and Italy was nothing now but an unsubstantial name. If the enemy had not yet burst in through the gates, they imputed his delay to contempt. Men thought that they saw the houses burning and the temples pillaged, their sons foully slain, and the smoke rising up from the Seven Hills. A single day mourned for the dead corpses of two hundred high magistrates, and mourned for the tottering walls of the depopulated city which had lost twice thirty thousand fighting men; and this after Trebia and the battle by Lake Trasimene; and of the allies also an equal number had fallen at the same time. But, none the less, the surviving senators did their duty and entered upon the functions prescribed to them by lot. Fabius found speed and was everywhere, crying out to the panic-stricken people: “Believe me, there is no longer any reason for delay. Let us make haste to man the walls and baffle the enemy’s approach. Ill fortune is increased by the inaction of cowardice, and defeat is made worse by fear. Go quickly, ye young men, and pull down the armour in the temples. Strip the walls of your houses with speed, and take down for service the shields you took in fight. We are enough to save our country, if no one of us wi
thdraws in fear from battle. The dreaded foe may be formidable in the open plain; but the naked Moor, for all his speed and activity, will never break down city walls.”

  While Fabius thus encouraged hearts that had failed for fear, a report that Varro was approaching spread up and down through the city and filled all hearts with secret uneasiness. So, when the captain of a wrecked ship is saved from the sea and swims ashore alone, men are at a loss and uncertain whether to welcome the sea-tossed man or to disown him; they cannot bear that the captain only should be saved when his ship is lost. What a stain must cling to Varro’s name, when he dares to approach the gates, and presents himself, a bird of ill-omen, to his horror-stricken countrymen!

  Fabius smoothed down these protests. He told them it was a shameful thing to be angry with a defeated general, and so he averted the people’s indignation. Men who claimed Mars as their ancestor should not (he said) be mastered by adversity, nor be unable to hide their grief; nor should they seek solace for their mourning in punishing others. “But if I am allowed to speak a word of reproof,” said he, “that day on which I saw Varro proceed to the camp was more painful to me than that on which I see him return without an army.” By his words their threats were silenced and their feelings underwent a sudden change: now they pity Varro’s misfortune, or reflect that Hannibal has lost the satisfaction of slaying both the consuls. Therefore all the populace poured forth in long procession to thank him; and they protested that he had acted nobly, when, relying on the ancient glory and power of his country, he refused to despair of the city inhabited by the sons of Laomedon.

  None the less, sad at his failure and sore ashamed, Varro drew near the walls with faltering steps and weeping eyes; it was pain to him to raise his eyes from the ground and look upon his native city and recall their losses to the citizens. Though the Senate and people came out then to meet him on his return, he felt that they were not there to thank him, but that each man was demanding a lost son or brother, and that unhappy mothers were ready to tear out the consul’s eyes. Thus his lictors kept silence as he entered the city and he claimed no respect for the high office which the gods had condemned.

  But the senators and Fabius put sorrow in the background and turned quickly to their tasks. Slaves, chosen for their strength, were armed in haste; the barracks were thrown open to them; for pride gave way to the safety of the state. They were determined to bring, by any agency, the realm of Aeneas back to the land of the living, and to arm even bondsmen in defence of the Capitol and the empire and glorious freedom. They took off from their own children the purple-bordered garment of boyhood and put armour on their unaccustomed shoulders. Boys hid their faces behind the helmet, and were bidden to reach manhood in slaughter of the foe. Likewise, when they were begged to ransom at an easy rate the multitude of Roman prisoners — and the number of petitioners rose to many thousands — they persisted, to the astonishment of Hannibal, in their refusal to redeem them. For they held it worse than any misdeed or any crime for an armed man to surrender. Then sentence was passed on soldiers guilty of desertion: they were banished to distant Sicily, to serve there until the invader should retreat from Italy. Such was Rome in those days; and, if it was fated that the Roman character should change when Carthage fell, would that Carthage were still standing!

  BOOK XI

  ARGUMENT

  MANY PEOPLES OF ITALY REVOLT FROM ROME AND JOIN HANNIBAL (1-27). CAPUA TOO IS INCLINED TO GO OVER TO THE CARTHAGINIANS: THE WEALTH AND LUXURIOUS HABITS OF THE CITIZENS (28-54). ON THE MOTION OF PACUVIUS, THEY SEND VIRRIUS AND OTHER ENVOYS TO ROME, ASKING THAT ONE OF THE TWO CONSULS SHOULD BE A CAMPANIAN: THIS DEMAND IS INDIGNANTLY REFUSED BY TORQUATUS, FABIUS, AND MARCELLUS (55-129). CAPUA GOES OVER TO HANNIBAL: DECIUS ALONE PROTESTS BUT IN VAIN (130-189). HANNIBAL STARTS FOR CAPUA: HE ORDERS DECIUS TO BE ARRESTED: DECIUS DEFIES HIS THREATS (190-258). HANNIBAL VISITS THE CITY AND IS ENTERTAINED AT A GREAT BANQUET (259-368): TEUTHRAS OF CUMAE, A MUSICIAN, PLAYS AND SINGS (288-302). THE SON OF PACUVIUS INTENDS TO STAB HANNIBAL WHILE FEASTING, BUT IS INDUCED BY HIS FATHER TO GIVE UP HIS PLAN (303-368). MAGO IS SENT TO CARTHAGE TO ANNOUNCE THE VICTORY (369-376). HANNIBAL WINTERS AT CAPUA: VENUS ENFEEBLES THE SPIRIT OF HIS ARMY: HE HIMSELF TAKES PLEASURE IN THE MUSIC OF TEUTHRAS (377-482). MEANWHILE MAGO REPORTS AT CARTHAGE THE SUCCESSES OF HANNIBAL AND MAKES A FIERCE ATTACK UPON HANNO (483-553). HANNO REPLIES, URGING THAT PEACE SHOULD BE MADE (554-600). BUT REINFORCEMENTS ARE SENT BOTH TO SPAIN AND ITALY (600-611).

  NEXT let me tell of the peoples who went over to the side of Libya and the camp of Hannibal after the signal victory on the plains of Apulia. Nowhere do men remain loyal for long when Fortune proves unstable. Too prone, alas, to distrust the unfortunate, the states vied with one another in open offers of friendship to faithless Carthage. Fiercest of all were the Samnites, ever ready to keep alive ancient feuds, and eager to gratify their hatred afresh when occasion offered. Their example was followed by the Bruttians, a fickle folk whose late repentance was to avert their doom; by the treacherous Apulians who own no fixed alliance; and by the Hirpini, light-minded and restless men who had no reason to break faith. It was like a horrible plague that spread infection all over the country. Now Atella and Calatia sent their soldiers to Hannibal’s camp, their fears prevailing over their sense of duty. Tarentum too, the city of Phalantus, proud and fickle, threw off the Roman yoke. Crotona on the height opened her gates in friendship, and taught the descendants of the Thespiadae to bow their necks to the bidding of the African barbarian. A like madness affected the Locrians. The low-lying coast, where Greater Greece preserves Argive cities and bends round till it is washed by the Ionian sea, was attracted by the victories of Libya and her success in war, and swore to serve under the dreaded Carthaginians. And also the vainglorious Celts who dwell by the river Po attacked Italy in her distress; they had ancient grievances, and hastened to assist the enemy with their full strength.

  It might be lawful for Celts, lawful for the tribes of the Boii, to renew impious warfare; but who could believe that Capua would take the same mad decision as the tribe of Senones, and that a city of Trojan origin would ally herself with a barbarous ruler of Numidians — who could believe this now, when times have changed so greatly? But luxury, and sloth fed by riotous debauchery, and utter shamelessness in sinning, and scandalous respect for wealth and wealth alone — such vices preyed upon an indolent and listless people and a city freed from the restraints of law. Their savage cruelty also bore them to their doom. And they had the means to pamper their vices. No people of Italy possessed gold and silver in more abundance — so favoured were they then by Fortune; their garments, even those worn by men, were dyed with Assyrian purple; their princely banquets began at noon, and the rising sun found them at their revels; and their way of life was defiled by every stain. Moreover, the senators oppressed the people, the masses welcomed the unpopularity of the senate, and civil discord made the parties clash. Meanwhile the old men, more corrupt themselves, outdid the headstrong follies of the young. Men notorious for humble birth and obscure origin asserted their claims, expecting and demanding to hold office before others, and to rule the sinking state. Then too, it was their ancient custom to enliven their banquets with bloodshed, and to combine with their feasting the horrid sight of armed men fighting; often the combatants fell dead above the very cups of the revellers, and the tables were stained with streams of blood.

  Thus demoralized was Capua, when Pacuvius, a man whose name is known only because of his misdeeds, worked cunningly upon the minds of the citizens, in’order to make them more eager to join the Carthaginians. He urged them to demand of Rome what he knew that Rome would never grant — indeed he did not wish it to be granted — that Capua should claim an equal share in the highest office and that the rods should pass in turn from one consul to the other. And, if the Romans refused to share their curule chair and to admit a partner, with a second set of axes, to the high office, then one who would avenge the rebuff was near and in full view. Therefore a chosen body made
haste to carry the message. Their chief was Virrius, an eloquent speaker but a man of low origin and second to none in violence.

  When he had set forth the outrageous proposals of a brainsick mob at a great meeting where all the Roman senators were assembled, and even before he had ceased to enrage his hearers by his high-flown eloquence, a unanimous shout of angry refusal rose from the whole assembly; and then each separate senator rebuked him, till the building shook with their contending voices.

  Then Torquatus rose. His brow severe recalled that of his noble ancestor. “How now?” he asked. “Have you dared to bring such a message from Capua to the walls of Rome — these walls which Carthage and Hannibal, even after their victory at Cannae, dared not attack? Have you never heard how it fared with the insolent spokesman of the Latins, when they came to the Capitol and made a like request? Not a word was spoken: he was flung forth from the temple doors and rolled down with such violence that he was dashed against the pitiless rock. Thus he atoned, under the eyes of Jupiter, for his insolence; and the penalty for his blasphemous speech was death. Look at me! I am descended from that consul who drove the speaker forth from the Thunderer’s temple, and whose unarmed hand defended the Capitol.” Then in his rage he shook his fist in the faces of the envoys and was about to repeat the action of his ancestor; but when Fabius saw him proceeding to actual violence, he spoke next, grinding his teeth as he spoke: “Out on such utter shamelessness! See! a consul’s seat is vacant, deprived of its occupant by the stress of war. Which, pray, of your number do you intend to place there? Whom do you propose, to fill the room of Paulus? Are you perhaps, Virrius, summoned first and foremost by the lot with the permission of the Senate? and does the purple robe put you on a level with our Brutus? Go, poor fool, to the mark you are aiming at: let treacherous Carthage make you her ruler.” His fiery speech was not finished when Marcellus, no longer content to groan and hold his peace, burst out in fury and blazing wrath: “Are you, Varro, so utterly stunned by the fierce ordeal of battle? What sluggish endurance ties your tongue, so that you, the consul, can put up with the dreams of these madmen? Will you not instantly turn them out from the temple, drive them headlong to the city gates, and compel these effeminate wretches to learn the power of a consul elected in Roman fashion? I warn you to depart at once from Rome — you who are never sober and are doomed soon to perish. A general at the head of an army shall give you the answer you deserve in the right place — before the walls of Capua.” Then all the House rose as one man and loudly threatened the envoys. The men of Capua themselves hastened to go forth; and Virrius, resenting so sharp a rebuff, had the name of Hannibal on his lips. Thereupon Fulvius, whose prophetic soul assured him of future glory, and who could already see with his mind’s eye the ruin of Capua, spoke thus: “Even if you conquer Hannibal and bring him here to Rome as your captive, never again shall you be permitted to enter the sacred dwelling-place of Quirinus. I beg you will hasten to the goal, whither your folly summons you.” Then the envoys took back this threatening message in haste to Capua, and reported the grim reply of the angry Senate.