Complete Works of Silius Italicus Page 26

  When he had beheld all these sights, he returned to the high walls of the Pheretiades, and laid waste the Nysaean heights of Gaurus where the vine-plant flourishes luxuriantly; and from there he quickly moved his army to Nola, a colony from Cumae. Nola, situated on a plain, is easy of approach, but is surrounded by a ring of many forts, whose high ramparts prevent access to the level ground. But Marcellus, who came to aid and support them, was not the man to shelter his troops behind the forts: his object was to defend the town by striking the first blow. When he saw the Carthaginians moving like a distant cloud across the plain and advancing towards the city, he shouted out: “To arms, my men! to arms! the murderous foe is at hand”; and as he shouted he took arms himself. As he cried aloud, his officers gathered round him in haste and fastened the general’s blood-red plume to his helmet. Then his voice rang out, as he made a speedy disposition of his forces: “You, Nero, must guard the entrance of the right-hand gate; and you, Tullius, pride of the Volscians, march your countrymen and the soldiers of Larinum to the gate on our left; but, when I give the word, open the gates in silence and hurl a sudden shower of missiles over the plain. I myself, when the gate is opened, shall charge into their midst and the squadrons of cavalry will follow me.” While Marcellus spoke thus, the Carthaginians were trying to pull down the ramparts; and, disdaining to use ladders, they sought to breach the walls.

  Everywhere the trumpets brayed, the soldiers shouted, and the horses neighed; the clarion sounded together with the deep boom of the horn; and armour rang on the bodies of the eager combatants. The gates were thrown down, a fierce attack rushed forth, and the squadrons surprised the enemy as they galloped forth in a flood. So a swollen river overflows when its dykes are broken, and so the sea is dashed upon the rocks by the force of the Northern blasts, and so the winds, when they break prison, make war on the earth. When Hannibal saw this avalanche of arms and men advancing, he lost courage and confidence. The Roman leader pressed hard on his dismay: as he rode in front, he bent down to spear the backs of the flying foe. At one time he plied his men with encouragement—” On! on! make haste! This is our hour and Heaven is favourable. Yonder lies the way to Capua.” Then again he addressed Hannibal:— “Stay! whither are you rushing? It is you, the leader of the host, and not your fugitive soldiers, that I blame. Stay! Here we have weapons and a field to fight on. Let the soldiers cease from slaughter and watch our single combat. I, Marcellus, challenge you to battle.” Thus the Roman general spoke; and the Carthaginian was fain to fight, for honour’s sake and for the prize of victory.

  But Juno could not behold this scene with a mind at ease, and turned Hannibal from his purpose as he was rushing upon his doom. He strove to rally and recall his panic-stricken men: “Is this the state in which we come forth from the lap of Capua and her baleful hospitality? Stand fast, miserable men, whose fame, once so high, has become your disgrace. Believe me, if you retreat to-day, you will find safety nowhere. You deserve that all Italy should fall upon you; and the result of all your fierce fighting is this, that, if you are beaten now, you have lost all hope of peace and of life.” His shouting drowned the trumpets, and the noise of his angry rebuke made its way through the tumult to their ears.

  Young Pedianus fought bravely there in the armour of Polydamas. He claimed descent from Troy and Antenor as his ancestor; he was a worthy scion of his race, the pride of the sacred river Timavus; and his name was dear to the Euganean land. Father Eridanus, the Venetian clans one and all, and the men who rejoice in the spring of Aponus — these declared that he had no rival, either in battle or when he preferred the peaceful company of the Muses and the obscurity of a studious life, and charmed away trouble with the music of the lyre. No youth was better known to Mars, and none better known to Apollo. He was riding at full gallop on the heels of the retreating enemy, when he recognized the helmet and plume taken from Paulus after death. The wearer was young Cinyps, proud of this great gift from his general. Cinyps was the favourite of Hannibal, and the comeliest of all the host; and no face was radiant with more charm than his, like ivory which remains ever new and bright in the air of Tibur, or the jewel brought from the Red Sea which glitters in a lady’s ear and dazzles the eye with its purity. When Pedianus saw him in the rearguard, conspicuous by the plume he wore, and recognized the glittering helmet, he rushed on him in fury, as if the ghost of Paulus had risen suddenly into view from the nether world, demanding his lost armour: “How dare you, meanest of cowards, to wear that sacred head-piece, which, even if your general wore it, would make men cry out against the injustice of Heaven? Behold, Paulus!” Then he called the hero’s ghost to watch, while he drove his sharp spear through the ribs of the fugitive. Next he sprang from his horse, and tore away the great consul’s helmet and plume; and Cinyps saw himself stripped. Death robbed him of all his beauty: a Stygian hue spread over his snow-white skin and destroyed his comeliness. His ambrosial locks were disordered; his neck gave way, and the wounded head fell forward over the marble throat. Thus the star of Venus, when it returns from Ocean and displays itself with new-spangled brightness to its mistress, grows dim if a sudden cloud comes over it, and hides its failing light, growing smaller in the darkness. Pedianus himself, when he had snatched the helmet, was struck dumb by the sight of the uncovered face, and checked his fierceness.

  Then he carried off the helmet amid the loud shouts of his men, and urged on his fiery steed, which champed the foaming bit till the blood came. Marcellus, fighting fiercely, met him in the haste and confusion of battle, and recognized the glorious trophy: “Well done!” he cried, “son of Antenor, and worthily of your brave ancestors! But one thing still remains: let us spoil Hannibal of his helmet.” Eagerly he hurled his deadly spear, and it sped with a dreadful whizzing noise. And perhaps he would have gained his end, had not brave Gestar met the weapon and stopped it by throwing his body in the way. He stood beside his general and sheltered him; and the heavy spear, which thirsted for another’s blood, pierced him through and wreaked its mighty wrath upon the wrong victim. Hannibal rode off in haste, troubled by his narrow escape from death, and galloped back in rage to the camp. And now the Carthaginian army, wholly bent on flight, turned and ran a headlong race for safety. Behind them came the Roman pursuers; and each man glutted his long-pent resentment of defeat, and each held up his bloody sword, for Heaven and the avenging deities to see. That day first proved, what none would have dared to believe, though the gods had promised it — that the Libyan leader could be withstood in battle. They seized chariots and men and elephants; they tore off the armour from living combatants and carried it away; and then they left off, content to have seen Hannibal’s back at the point of their spears. Then they praised Marcellus as equal to Mars in glory; and he rode on escorted by a triumphant procession, a greater man than when after victory he bore the choice spoils to the Thunder-god’s temple.

  When Hannibal had with difficulty repulsed the enemy from his camp, he vented his anger thus: “When can I wash away this stain, and how much Roman blood will be needed to cleanse it? Has Italy been permitted to see me turn my back? O mightiest of the gods, dost thou consider me, the victor of Trebia, worthy of such disgrace and defeat? And you, so long invincible but now, alas, defeated in peace by the luxury of Capua, I was not untrue to my past, I did not lower my victorious standards before the Romans: it was you who made me retreat. When I summoned you to arms, I saw you slink off in fear, as if I had been the Roman general. What is left of your former spirit, when you dare to turn your backs and neglect my call?” Thus Hannibal spoke; but the Roman troops went back to the walls of Nola, shouting loud and bearing their spoil with them.

  And now Rome, so long accustomed to hear news of defeat to her armies, and never relieved by success, took heart again at this first sign of heaven’s favour, when the news of a victory came at last. First of all, they punished for their slackness all those who had been slow to enlist and face hardship, and had concealed themselves amid the thunder of war; and next they con
demned the men who had clung to life and therefore devised a trick to evade the sworn agreement made with the Carthaginians; and so the nation was cleared of that guilt. Metellus also, who had proposed to abandon Italy, was punished for his ill-advised policy and heinous crime. Such was the spirit of the men at Rome; and indeed the women were as high-hearted as the men and claimed a share of the praise. All the matrons came eagerly forward, bringing their family jewels for head or hand and ornaments torn from their necks, as a contribution for the war. Nor were the men displeased to let the women have precedence in so noble a cause and at such a crisis: they were glad to have given the opportunity for a sacrifice that will never be forgotten. The High Court of the Senate followed suit. With eager rivalry, they poured out private wealth for public ends, rejoicing to strip their houses bare and keep back nothing for their own use in better times; and even the nameless populace were of the same mind. Thus a united Rome made use of all her members and once more raised towards heaven her sore-stricken head.

  Hope, so sweet to the suffering, was also brought by the envoys who bore the answer of Apollo from Cirrha. For they reported that they had heard glad tidings at the shrine, when the divine voice thundered through the grotto, and the priestess, possessed by the god, muttered her message: “Children of Venus, dismiss from your hearts all graver fears. You have done now with defeat and all the calamities of war that were appointed for you. Lighter tasks remain, and danger, but not destruction. Only make prayer and supplication to the gods and wet their altars with warm blood. And do not run away from your troubles. Mars will help you; and the Seer of Delos himself, who, as men know, ever lightened the sufferings of Troy, will turn away imminent danger from you. But remember this: to Jupiter before other gods a hundred altars must smoke in his honour and victims must be slaughtered by a hundred knives. His power will drive the angry cloud and fierce storms of war away to Libya; and you yourselves shall see him shaking the aegis for battle in a stormy sky.” And, when news came that this message had been proclaimed in the cavern of Parnassus, and the divine word reached the ears of the people, they made haste to climb the hill of the Capitol, and prostrated themselves before Jupiter, and honoured his shrine with the blood of beasts. Then they sang a paean, and prayed that the oracle might come true.

  Meanwhile Torquatus, now advanced in years, was attacking the island of Sardinia, where he had fought before, with an army from Italy. For Hampsagoras, proud of the name which he had inherited from Trojan ancestors, had invited the Carthaginians to start a fresh campaign in the island. His son Hostus was a goodly youth and worthy of a better father; and Hampsagoras, no friend to peace and devoted to barbarous customs, relied upon his son’s youthful vigour and hoped by war to revive his own feeble old age. When Hostus saw Torquatus and his army coming on with speed and eager for battle, he eluded them by his knowledge of the country and fled through secret byways in the forest; and so, escaping by familiar short-cuts, he concealed himself in a wooded valley under the shade of trees.

  The island of Sardinia, compassed about by the sound of the waves, is made narrow at the ends by the sea that shuts it in; and the land within its borders is irregular in shape, resembling the sole of a naked foot. Hence it was called Ichnusa by the first colonists from Greece. But afterwards Sardus, proud of his descent from the Libyan Hercules, named it anew after himself. Then some Trojans, scattered over the seas after the sack of Troy, came and settled there against their will. Iolaiis, too, increased the fame of the island when he brought thither a band of Thespiadae on ships of Thespiae. Legend also tells that, when Actaeon was torn to pieces — the grievous penalty he suffered for seeing Diana while bathing — his father, Aristaeus, appalled by so strange a tragedy, fled across the sea to the bays of Sardinia, guided, it is said, by his mother, Cyrene, to this unknown land. The island is free from snakes and breeds no poisons; but the climate is gloomy and the air infected by the swamps that abound there. The side that looks toward Italy and defies the waves with its rocky cliffs is sultry; and inland the feeble crops are burnt up by excessive heat, when the South-winds blow at midsummer. But the rest of the island flourishes under the special favour of Ceres.

  Such is the nature of the land, and here Hostus slipped away from Torquatus again and again through the trackless woodlands; he was hoping for a Carthaginian army and Spaniards also to help him in the fighting. As soon as he was encouraged by the landing of their ships, he burst forth at once from his concealment; and the armies, bristling with spears, faced each other, eager to come to close quarters. Spears, hurled from a distance, speed across the open space between the hosts; and at last they take to the sword, that tried and trusty weapon. Fearful carnage followed; they slay and are slain, and death by the ruthless blade overtakes man after man on either side.

  I cannot hope to tell of all these countless deaths and dreadful deeds in a manner worthy so great a theme, or find words to match the ardour of the combatants; but grant me this, Calliope, in reward of my pains — that I may hand down to long ages the noble deeds, too little known, of a great man, and crown the poet’s brow with the wreath he deserves. Foremost in the fight was Ennius, a scion of the ancient stock of King Messapus; and his right hand held the vine-staff, the distinguishing badge of the Roman centurion. He came from the rugged land of Calabria, and he was a son of ancient Rudiae — Rudiae which now owes all her fame to this child of hers. He fought in the van; and, even as the Thracian bard long ago dropped his lyre and hurled missiles brought from Rhodope, when Cyzicus made war upon the Argo, so Ennius had made himself conspicuous by slaying many of the enemy, and his ardour in battle grew with the number of his victims. Now, hoping to win everlasting fame by disposing of such a dangerous foe, Hostus flew at Ennius and strongly hurled his spear. But Apollo, seated on a cloud, mocked his fruitless endeavour and sent the weapon wide into the distant air. Then he spoke: “Too insolent, too bold are you: give up your design. That sacred head is dearly loved by the Muses, and he is a bard worthy of Apollo. He shall be the first to sing of Roman wars in noble verse, and shall exalt their commanders to the sky; he shall teach Helicon to repeat the sound of Roman poetry, and he shall equal the sage of Ascra in glory and honour.” Thus Phoebus spoke, and Hostus was struck by an avenging arrow which pierced both his temples. Panic-stricken by their prince’s fall, his soldiers turned and fled, rushing all together from the field. When Hampsagoras heard of his son’s death, he was distracted with rage: with hideous yells such as barbarians utter, he stabbed his own heaving breast and hastened to join his son in the nether world.

  Hannibal meanwhile, beaten by Marcellus and sorely mauled in battle, had abandoned fighting in the open and turned his superior strength against hapless Acerrae. He gave the town to fire and sword, and then, hurling himself against Nuceria with as heavy a hand and as fierce an anger, razed the walls to the ground. Next came Casilinum, where he struggled long against the ill-matched efforts of the defenders, till at last he gained entrance by a stratagem and granted the besieged their lives in return for gold. Then he shifted his army to the Daunian plains and turned his fury against any spot whither booty or anger drew him. Petilia, unhappy in her loyalty and a second Saguntum in her fate, was set on fire, and the smoke went up from her ruined houses; yet once she had prided herself on preserving the arrows of Hercules.

  Tarentum too had gone over to the invaders, and the Carthaginians had entered her gates. But a close-packed Roman garrison was quartered in the far-shining citadel, confident in their strong position. Then Hannibal devised a wondrous plan. The Tarentine fleet was at anchor and hidden away in the harbour; for the sea bursts in through the rocks by a narrow entrance and floods an ample basin with water separated from the main. Therefore, as the ships were shut in and prevented from sailing forth by the citadel commanding the entrance, Hannibal artfully brought them out by transporting them over dry land on the side away from the citadel. A slippery surface was laid down underneath wooden wagons, and wheels, moving easily over the hides of freshly-sla
in bullocks, carried the ships through the meadow-land. And soon the fleet, moving on over hills and through thickets without the help of oarsmen, reached the shore and rode upon the waves.