Ministry of Education Ontario - "Ontario Teachers' Manuals: Household Science in Rural Schools"

Edna Ferber - "Gigolo"

Louis Joseph Vance - "The Bronze Bell"

Samuel Pegge - "The Forme of Cury"

Annual Bibliography of Commonwealth Literature 2007
This paper argues that discourses of love in Ghanaian market literature for youth offer a view into complex negotiations of agency and empowerment. Drawing on Deborah Durham's notion of youth as "social `shifters'" and Francis Nyamnjoh's conception of the "interconnectedness" of agency, I take Ghanaian market literature as one specific case of how African literature for youth foregrounds questions of continuity and change as African societies enter into increasingly complex global relations. In this literature for youth, received notions of love, often constructed out of impressions from American pop and hip hop music, carry new notions of agency that compete with existing "domesticated" forms. Authors like Ike Tandoh and Evelyn Tay employ discourses of love to offer youth alternative avenues for empowerment in a context of socio-economic disenfranchizement. In a creative process of "straddling", this writing both reveals and reproduces the contradictions that obtain in youth configurations of agency.

The Lion\'s Brood

D >> Duffield Osborne >> The Lion\'s Brood




A commotion at the street entrance, the sound of approaching footsteps,
and the rustle of a gown seemed about to answer her question. The next
moment, her host stood before her and surveyed with astonished approval
the appearance she presented.

"You are very beautiful," he said slowly and as if thinking with regret
that he was surrendering such perfection for mere influence and power.
"I have spoken of you and your wish, and Stenius and Pacuvius--the
Ninii Celeres--consent to your presence. The litters await us in the
vestibule, and it is time that we set out."

Marcia rose, and he led her back through the halls and courts.

"Who will be there?" she asked, as they approached the street door.

"All of especial note, except Vibius Virrius and Marius Blossius. They
are away, busied about matters of state. Mago also has just departed
on a mission to Carthage. There will be no Campanians save our hosts,
myself, my son, Perolla, and Jubellius Taurea, the bravest of our
horsemen. Of our good allies, you shall see Hasdrubal, Maharbal,
Hannibal-the-Fighter, Silenus the Sicilian, who is to write the history
of the wars, Iddilcar the priest of Melkarth, and the great
captain-general himself--"

"Come, let us hasten," said Marcia, quickly, as if fearful lest her
resolution might forsake her while there was yet chance to withdraw.

A moment later and Calavius had assisted her into a gorgeously
caparisoned litter. She hardly noticed the rabble that thronged round
the door as she passed out, and whom the slaves of her host seemed to
keep back with difficulty. Still, she was conscious of nudgings,
looks, and gestures that made her blush, though the words that
accompanied them were unintelligible. Calavius was furious and paused,
as if to give orders for harsher repression. Then a voice called out
in coarse jargon--half Latin, half Campanian:--

"She is pretty, my Pacuvius! Venus grant her to restore your youth!"

With an effort, he twisted his features into a smile.

"May the gods favour your wish, my friend!" he said. Then, plunging
into his litter, he clapped his hands, for the bearers to proceed, and,
lying back among the cushions, ground his teeth in rage.

"Ah! I must play to them--now. Later I shall remember and know how to
avenge. The lump of filth! Who knows, though, but that he spoke
wisdom? Perhaps I am truly giving up the hope of my youth to others."

Meanwhile the bearers were running swiftly through the streets; that
is, as swiftly as the crowds and their condition and humour permitted.
Torches gleamed everywhere, and, from time to time as the curtains
parted slightly, Marcia caught glimpses of the scene. The city had
abandoned itself to the wildest debauchery--a debauchery that had about
it more of the desire to drown unpleasant thoughts and haunting fears
than of spontaneous exultation or mirth; and their drunkenness seemed
but a garment, thrown over the head to shut out the approaching spectre
of Roman retribution. All Capua presented to her the spectacular
results of a turbulent democracy exalted to power; for the vagaries of
the Roman plebeians seemed as nothing beside the unbridled insolence of
this populace. Here was Pacuvius Calavius, who had triumphed by their
aid over a senate more than half in sympathy with Rome; and now,
recognizing his litter, they thronged around it, calling out familiar
greetings, or even sheer vulgarities, pulling the curtains aside,
kissing their hands to him, and, from time to time, compelling his
bearers to pause while they slobbered drunken kisses upon his garments
and person. No sign of true respect greeted their leader; it seemed as
if the mob recognized him only as the creature of its whim, to be
upheld as a facile puppet or cast down by the first savage gust of
discontent.

As for Calavius himself, he, too, fell readily into the part assigned
him. His face was wreathed in a constant smile, his lips spoke only
compliments, his hands waved greetings, until, at last, Marcia lay
back, and, closing her eyes, refused to see more of her host's
degradation.

Suddenly the litter-bearers paused and set down their burdens. In
distance the journey had been short, but the many enforced halts had
made it seem as if the whole city had been traversed. They were now
before the porch of a house that was, if possible, even more
magnificent than that of Calavius. Every column was twined with
garlands, flowers hung in festoons from the architrave, incense steamed
up from brazen tripods set on either side of the entrance. In front
and around the entire insula, the streets were packed dense with a
seething crowd, save only for a small space before the vestibule, where
was stationed a guard of Africans equipped in the manner of Roman
legionaries. These were rude, wiry soldiers, scornful of civilians and
their fancied rights, but, above all, contemptuous of the soft
Campanian mob that arrogated so much and could command so little. At
first the populace had tried to browbeat and play with them, and the
soldiers had sallied out into the street and killed a couple of the
most talkative, wounding half a dozen more. Now the cowardly Capuans
stood back in awe, giving passage whenever the strangers called for it,
and hardly daring to whisper among themselves as to what manner of rule
they had invited to destroy them. Were it not for this summary
treatment it is doubtful whether any of the guests would have been able
to gain the entrance--least of all Calavius, who was looked upon as
their peculiar creation and mouthpiece, and at whom a hundred
complaints were volleyed (in low voices, be it said) as he made his
slow way through the press.

Glad to escape at last from a position at once embarrassing and
dangerous, he now made haste to escort Marcia between the files of
foreign guards, into the atrium, where the Ninii Celeres--smiling
hosts--had stationed themselves to receive the guests that had been
bidden to so important a festivity. Thence he led her, muffled as she
was, to a vestiarium opening to the left side, where were already some
half-dozen women, whose attendants were adding the finishing graces to
toilets disarranged in the litters. One of these latter was assigned
to Marcia's aid, but a few touches to her hair and a slight
readjustment of the cyclas were all that was needed.

Meanwhile, the Roman was watching, with deep interest, the group in the
court of the atrium. She had taken a position from which she could
have an unobstructed view through the doorway, and her attendant had
evidently informed herself as to the identity of the strangers, and was
anxious to win approval by communicating her knowledge.

"That is he, most beautiful lady; the one with the long, white tunic,
at the right of my masters. Is he not poorly dressed for so great a
man? Who would imagine him of any consequence at all?"

While the girl spoke, Marcia was regarding earnestly, and for the first
time, the chief of Carthage, the conqueror of Trebia and Trasimenus and
Cannae--of Sempronius and Flaminius and Varro. She saw a man slightly
above the middle height, well built, with strong, aquiline features and
thick, black, curling beard and hair, though the latter was worn away
at the temples by constant pressure of the helmet. It was a face that
combined deep thought, immeasurable pride, and absolute self-poise and
inscrutability--a face that would have been handsome but for the
disfiguring effect of the eye lost in the marshes of the Arnus.
Perhaps it was this that lent it something of its prevailing expression
of sadness; perhaps it was a realization of responsibilities met and to
be met and a premonition of the inevitable end. His dress was, as the
maid had so scornfully commented, plain in the extreme--a striking
contrast to the celebrated magnificence of his armour and military
equipment. Now, a simple, white, tunic-like garment, relieved by a
narrow border of gold, descended to his feet, while a slender gold
fillet was his sole ornament in addition to the seal finger-ring and
heavy earrings, which he wore in common with his companions.

The latter formed a group hardly less interesting than their leader,
and the girl pointed them out, one by one, and made her approving or
slurring comments. There was Hasdrubal, coarse-featured, middle-sized,
and corpulent, whose garments gleamed with purple and gold, and whose
ears, fingers, and neck glittered with a profusion of jewels. Him
Marcia's informant evidently regarded with admiration approaching to
awe, although his skill as manager of the commissariat, and his
exploits as a soldier when occasion demanded, were probably unknown to
her.

Maharbal, slight and agile, with plain, dark robe and few jewels, with
hair dressed high, diadem of plumes, and beard worn forked in the
Numidian fashion, attracted but passing comment. He was doubtless a
savage from the desert and of little wealth. Another of the generals,
however, seemed to arouse more positive sentiments: a giant in size,
with scarlet tunic, and loaded with gold chains and rings and gems, his
dark, ferocious face towered above the heads of his companions. The
woman's voice sank to a whisper as she said:--

"That is the one they call Hannibal-the-Fighter. They say he never
spares an enemy, and that he eats the flesh of those he kills. May the
gods grant that my masters shall wean him to-night from the love of
such hideous, barbaric fare!"--and yet, with all her horror, Marcia
almost smiled to note how the girl looked upon this brute with more of
woman's feeling for man than she bestowed upon any of his better
favoured and more famous compatriots.

From these four the Roman's eyes wandered to a fifth Carthaginian, who
seemed to complete the tale of guests of that nationality. Her
informant had passed him by in silence, and had gone on to point out
Jubellius Taurea, Pacuvius Calavius, and his son, Perolla--the only
Campanians present besides the hosts of the occasion. When the
category was completed, however, she called the maid's attention to the
omission.

"He?" said the latter, lightly; "the man in the violet tunic? He is
nothing--a priest of one of their gods whom they call Melkarth."

He was a tall, gaunt man, and he stood directly behind Hannibal, and
kept his eyes fixed upon the pavement, as if studying the intricacies
of its mosaic pattern.

Silenus, the Greek rhetor, made the last of the group.

And now, at a signal from the hosts, the company turned and followed
them in single file toward the rear of the house.

"They will send for you when they have reclined," said the attendant,
in answer to a glance of inquiry from Marcia; and, a moment later, the
summons came.

Walls, floors, ceilings, every part of the house through which they
passed, seemed covered with roses clustered, festooned, and superlaid.
Suddenly they found themselves at the entrance of the great banquet
hall, where two triclinia were set facing each other, with room for the
servants to pass between and minister to the wants of the feasters.

At the table to the east--that of honour--reclined Stenius Ninius, in
the middle place of the middle couch, with Hannibal himself at his
right, the place of honour above all. Marcia was led to the head of
the lowest couch, next to the Carthaginian leader, where she found
Pacuvius Calavius reclining below her, as the phrase went; while on the
couch directly opposite lay the priest of Melkarth in the lowest place,
and Perolla in the highest. The other places, below Pacuvius, between
Stenius and the priest, and between the priest and Perolla, were
assigned to the women, while the other table, over which Pacuvius
Ninius presided, was arranged in similar fashion.




V.

THE BANQUET.

Marcia had felt an instinctive shrinking when she saw that the women,
also, were to recline, after the manner of the dissolute Greeks,
instead of sitting, as she had been taught to consider the only decent
posture for a Roman maid or matron. Then the thought of her mission
brought the blush surging to her cheeks, whence it receded, leaving
them pale with a sterner resolve. Was not love of country the greatest
virtue? It was time to school herself, to shrink at nothing in that
cause. As she took her place, she noticed that the priest of Melkarth,
who lay directly opposite, had been regarding her fixedly.

She could see his face now, and it was not a pleasing one. The Semitic
features, fine and noble in their best form, but capable of greater
depths of degeneration than those of any other type, were in his case
exaggerated to an extreme degree of coarseness. The mouth was large
and badly formed, the forehead low, the small eyes peered out snakelike
from under heavy, puffy lids. The nose alone was cut with any measure
of fineness, and that projected, wide-nostrilled, and aquiline as the
beak of a bird of prey. It would have been difficult to imagine a face
more gross and sensual in its lines, and the look of low admiration and
eagerness which it now wore, was well calculated to bring out the
sensuality in its most repulsive form. Marcia felt her cheeks burning
under the fixedness of the man's gaze, and, looking down, she struggled
to compose herself by a close study of the gorgeous coverlid of the
couch,--a fine Campanian texture, dyed scarlet, and heavily embroidered
with figures of birds and beasts and flowers, worked into an elaborate
design.

Even then, his eyes seemed to burn through her hair, through her brain,
down into her heart, and she found her will revolting more violently
than ever against the possibilities involved in her mission.

The voice of Hannibal, addressing some conventional compliment to
Stenius upon the perfection of the arrangements, came as an intense
relief, for the others all turned toward the speaker, and, a moment
later, the slaves passed around with silver basins and ewers, pouring
scented water upon the hands of the guests and drying them with dainty
flickings of filmy napkins. Vessels of gold and silver and fine
earthenware burdened the tables, while at each end of the garden stood
a butler in charge of several large amphorae. Those at the north end
were half buried amid imitation mountains, peaked with real snow
wherewith the wine was to be cooled, while those at the south were
surrounded by more than tropical verdure, with the braziers and vessels
of hot water beside them, ready for mixing the warm draughts.

And now the slaves hurried hither and thither, bearing costly dishes
with elaborately dressed viands: dormice strewed with honey and poppy
seeds; beccaficoes surrounded by yolks of eggs, seasoned with pepper
and made to resemble peafowls' eggs in a nest whereon the stuffed bird
was sitting; fish floating in rich gravies that spouted from the mouths
of four tritons at the corners of the dish; crammed fowls, hares fitted
with wings to resemble Pegasus, thrushes in pastry stuffed with raisins
and nuts, oysters, scallops, snails on silver gridirons, boar stuffed
with fieldfares, with baskets of figs and dates hanging from his tusks,
sweetmeats, cold tarts with Spanish honey--these and a hundred other
dishes, strange or costly, followed each other in quick succession,
and, all the while, the carvers flourished their knives in time with
music, now of instruments, again of choruses of boys and girls. The
butlers, too, had not been idle, and the cups were constantly
replenished, first with the warm and, later, with the cold mixtures.

Yet, though both men and women ate greedily and drank deeply, a gloom
seemed to hang over the feast. The Carthaginians, whether influenced
by native dignity or by a real or simulated contempt for their hosts,
were reserved and silent, while the Capuans seemed, at one moment,
forcing themselves into strained merriment, and, at another, cowering
before the cold eyes that watched their efforts with scarcely veiled
indifference. With fear on the one side and distrust upon the other,
the chances for hilarity and good fellowship looked scanty enough, and
yet Stenius Ninius was too much a man of the world to yield readily to
untoward social conditions.

Clapping his hands, he cried out, as the head butler bowed before him:--

"Now, my good Cappadox, let us have no more of these native vintages.
Good though they were, they but serve to cultivate the taste for the
wines that cement friendships such as ours. Henceforth pour for us
only the Coan, Leucadian, and Thasian, and see that you select those
amphorae whose contents are toothless with age."

A rough laugh rolled up from the other table, and the voice of
Hannibal-the-Fighter broke out with:--

"It is well said, host. Truly I was wondering if we had been drinking
from the famous cellars of Capua. We washed our horses with better
wine in the north."

Stenius flushed. Then he smiled.

"And, Cappadox," he went on, in an unruffled voice, "do you send what
remains in my cellar of the vintages we have been drinking, to the
horse of my worthy guest."

At the giant's discourteous words, Hannibal himself had started from
the mood of thought in which he had seemed well-nigh buried. A quick
glance shot from his eye, and his brow furrowed. Then the courtly
answer of Stenius relieved the situation, and he turned to his host.

"You must pardon rough words to rough soldiers, my friend. We of
Carthage have had but slender chances to avail ourselves of Greek
culture and urbanity. We are mere merchants and warriors--not men of
letters or of social manners."

The hulking savage grew purple and trembled under the rebuke of his
chief. Twice he essayed to speak and then discreetly gulped down the
words, for Hannibal's face, though calm and courtly, showed a hardening
of its lines which meant much to those who knew him.

As for the Campanian, he raised his hands in voluble deprecation of the
apology.

Did _he_ not realize that but for soldiers and merchants, letters and
social manners would never have come into being? It was the privilege
of so brave a warrior as Hannibal-the-Fighter to say what he pleased,
and when and where. Ordinary rules were only for little men. Besides,
the best of Campanian wines were truly all too poor for heroes whose
souls were already attasted to the nectar of the gods.

The suppressed fury and shame of the offender melted away under the
balm of these honeyed words, and, laughing loudly but with some
constraint, he tossed off to his host a cup of the wine last brought.

And now Hannibal seemed to shake himself loose from the bonds of
silence and thought, though his conversation still showed the trend of
his mind. He turned to Calavius.

"Thirty thousand foot and four thousand horse form an excellent array,
and yet I should imagine that the second city in Italy could do even
better--in case of need."

The attention of hosts and guests became tense at once, though Marcia
could note that the motives were diverse.

Calavius seemed nervous and flustered.

"There was a time when that was undoubtedly so, my Lord," he said
hastily; "but, now, many of our young men have fallen in the wars, and
many are serving with the enemy, unable to escape and doubtless in
serious danger--"

"Three hundred horsemen," interrupted Hannibal, dryly, "and my spies
inform me that they are likely to continue serving Rome--by choice, as
would doubtless many of your well-born at home--like this fellow,
Magius," and his brow darkened ominously.

The Campanians moved uneasily on the couches.

"Magius is a traitor and will be dealt with in due season," said
Stenius. "It is friends and festivities first with us, and enemies and
punishments later."

"Yes, Magius shall be dealt with," echoed Hannibal; but the
acquiescence brought no relief to his hearers. Why should he feel it
necessary to supplement their assurance so significantly? Did not the
treaty between Carthage and Capua provide that Capuan laws and
magistrates should still govern all Capuans? Why should he speak so
markedly of their military power? Did not the treaty expressly state
that no Capuan was to be called upon for military duty except by his
own rulers?

Calavius had been signalling vigorously to his son, Perolla, who had
reclined silent and gloomy, but who now seemed about to speak.
Disregarding his father's warning, the young man broke in:--

"It is idle to deny that the Campanian horse serve willingly with Rome
and will continue so to serve. As for Decius Magius, there are many
good men here who hold with him, but who lack his boldness."

For an instant every one held his breath in terror of the coming
outburst, but those whose angry or frightened eyes first ventured to
glance toward the captain-general saw his face wreathed in smiles, and
his wine cup raised toward the daring speaker.

"Happiness to you, flower of Campanian youth! and know that there are
two things that Hannibal prizes most among men: a friend who was once
an enemy, and a friend who dares to speak the truth."

Calavius had recovered his composure during this speech.

"I would not have you imagine, my Lord," he began, "but that my son
speaks as he believes and in order that you may have full information;
yet, he is ill to-day in body and mind, and, even were it not so, I am
older than he and know more of men. That Decius Magius has
sympathizers, it is vain to deny; but that they are many or
influential, I, who know the Capuans, aver is not the case. As for our
horsemen, it is easy to see that their safety demands an apparent
friendship for Rome. It is not wise for three hundred to revile thirty
thousand."

Hannibal had continued to keep his gaze upon Perolla, scarcely
listening to his father's words. In the young man's face something of
surprise had mingled with his half-defiant, half-moody expression.

"I do not ask of you, my son," pursued the general, "that you whose
heart was but lately with our enemies, should love and trust us at
once. That were the part of a hypocrite, and I honour you, both for
the filial piety that threw down your preference before your father's
will, and for the slowness with which your heart follows your act.
Grant me but this: that you judge us fairly by our deeds, and if we
prove not better friends than Rome, return to them in peace and safety.
Meanwhile there is a horse with crimson mane and feet that shall be led
from my stable to yours in the morning. Ride him, and remember that
Hannibal honours courage, filial obedience, and truth--all in like
measure."

Subdued applause from both tables followed these words, but the face of
Perolla lost but little of its stubborn hostility. Hannibal turned
away, and Calavius and Ninius sought to cover by eager talking the
young man's ungracious reception of such signal favour. The faces of
the Carthaginians remained for the most part impassive; only their dark
eyes seemed to sparkle, either with wine or suppressed passion. Marcia
still felt that one pair was trying to look through her, and she was
conscious that Silenus, the Sicilian Greek, was making eager and
indecorous love to one of the women at the other table. Another of the
latter had just ventured on some light badinage with the chief guest,
in whose face smiles had chased away all the abstraction of the earlier
hours. He answered her as lightly, but with indifference, and turned
to Marcia.

"And what says our Roman beauty?" he asked. "She has come boldly and
far to see her enemies. Who knows but she has a boon to beg."

Again Marcia noted disturbance under Calavius' smile. He was wondering
at the general's knowledge. Then he realized that Mago's report must
be its basis, and his face cleared.

"Yes, truly, I _have_ a boon to ask," replied Marcia, fixing her great
eyes upon the bearded front, stern through its smiles. "It is that you
will spare one house in Italy from ravage and destruction."

"And where may this house be?" he asked in bantering tones. "We shall
leave many standing, but this one most surely of all."

"It is upon the brow of the Palatine Hill--" she began, and then a
burst of applause gave notice that the compliment had struck home. "It
is my father's," she concluded, blushing.

Calavius was in ecstasy over the graceful tact of his protege. No
Capuan or Greek could have done better. Hannibal eyed her with a
curious expression, half admiring, half doubtful.

"I grant the boon--freely," he said. Then, fixing her with his gaze,
he went on, "And when will you claim it?"

"The son of Hamilcar knows best," replied Marcia, casting down her
eyes, and again she felt the approval of her host and his friends.

That Hannibal was pleased and flattered was evident, and yet there was
a certain reserve in his manner. Possibly he suspected that she wished
to provoke an announcement of his plans; perhaps an even deeper insight
led him near to a fuller conception of her purpose.

"Yes, it is truly for us to say," he said loudly, glancing around the
board; then, turning quickly to Marcia: "I understand that you
counselled delay until spring to my brother, Mago. Why?"

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