The Lion\'s Brood

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The taunts and threats that had assailed the prisoner died away amid
shrieks of terror or pain and the deep rumble of the mob. Stupid with
drink, drunk with the exultation of ungoverned power, they wondered
vaguely, as they crushed back, why their new friends should strike,
merely because they,--the Capuan people,--allies of Carthage, strove to
punish a traitor and a common enemy. The prisoner's lips were seen
moving, as his captors hurried him along; but no speech from them could
be heard, until the Forum had been nearly traversed. Then, on the hush
born of surprise and efforts to escape blows, the words of Magius were
audible, at least to those nearest.

He was protesting against this violation of the treaty. He was
speaking of himself; a Capuan, than whom no one was of higher rank,
being dragged in chains to the camp of an ally who had sworn that no
Carthaginian should have power over a citizen of Capua. At the mention
of his rank, malice and envy lent to some of the cowed rabble courage
to jeer once more. Then he had asked, how they expected that an ally
so careless of recently sworn obligations would respect his vow that no
Capuan would be compelled to do military service against his will;
whereupon, some of those who heard looked serious, for this seemed
reasonable, and brought the possibility of evil unpleasantly home to
them. Finally, he congratulated them upon this marvellous, new-found
freedom which the Carthaginian alliance had brought, and which they had
been celebrating so earnestly.

Perolla and his companions had found themselves crushed against the
portico of the temple of Hercules, in which, only the day before, had
been established, also, the worship of the Tyrian Melkarth, out of
compliment to the new alliance.

At first they had realized but little of what was going on before and
around them. They had listened vacantly to crazy rumours of how the
statue of Jupiter in the Senate House had bowed to Hannibal as he
entered, and how the Senate had forthwith saluted him as a god and
declared him the patron and protector of the city; and, again, to other
rumours even more wild of how the wives of all the Capuans had been
decreed to be given to the Carthaginians, in return for which the women
of Rome were to be surrendered to the Capuans by their victorious
allies.

When Decius Magius was led out in custody of the soldiers, Perolla was
trying to think whether, after all, he would not prefer Marcia to
Cluvia. Then followed the passage through the crowded Forum, straight
toward the exit beside the temple of Hercules, and Perolla found
himself within a spear's length of his captive friend, whose words of
protest and warning fell upon his ears like molten lead, and whose
reproachful eyes gazed into his own, piercing through them to his brain
and dissipating the fumes of intoxication as sunlight melts the fog.
Decius had not spoken to him, for he was mindful that such speech might
bring suspicion upon the younger man, but his look had said all that
his tongue refrained from saying, and Perolla realized his degradation
and his shame.

He started forward and cried out:--

"I was mad, my father; _mad_! do you hear? It was because I knew
suddenly that I loved her, and that she would never love me! and then I
rushed out and met others who were drinking, and we feasted and drank
until I knew nothing. Pardon! pardon!"

Suddenly he became conscious that Decius and his guards were gone. Had
he heard his plea? Surely yes, for did not he, Perolla, now hear his
friend's eyes saying to him that he was but a fool who had added to
folly, philosophy, and to both, weakness, and to all, madness? He
looked around at his companions. Some were gaping at him vacantly,
some were laughing. Cluvia tried to grasp his arm, and he shook her
off and saw her stumble and roll down the steps that led up to the
portico; then a new commotion arose in the direction of the Senate
House, and the attention of the bystanders was diverted. More
Carthaginian soldiers were forming and marching through the mob that
now opened to give passage of double width; and, as the escort came
nearer, Perolla saw Hannibal, clad in the gown of a Capuan senator,
moving calmly in their midst.

A new frenzy came to his brain to take the place of the fumes of wine:
perhaps it was one compounded of that and of shame and horror and
revenge. He groped under his torn tunic and found his dagger; then,
brandishing it, he burst down through the crowd, uttering incoherent
words, and threw himself, like a wild beast, upon the guards.

He had stabbed one through the throat and another in the shoulder,
before he was beaten down by a blow from the staff of a javelin. A
moment later, the first soldier to recover from the surprise of the
incident bent over him with drawn sword.

A sharp exclamation from behind checked the descending thrust, and the
soldier turned quickly. Hannibal stood beside him, with a thoughtful
smile upon his lips.

"Would you kill a citizen of Capua? a man of our allies?" he said
quietly.

The African looked around stupidly. That he should not crush the
Italian vermin forthwith was beyond his comprehension, but evidently
such was not the schalischim's wish. Grumbling, he slipped his sword
slowly back into its sheath, and, at that moment, several of the Capuan
senators in Hannibal's train gathered round him with protestations and
expressions of regret. The general looked at them and frowned.

"I have been with you scarcely two days," he said, "and now you try to
murder me."

The senators fell upon their knees, kissing his gown and hands, in a
frenzy of horror at the thought.

"Who is this fellow?" asked Hannibal, turning Perolla over with his
foot. Then, recognizing the son of Pacuvius Calavius, he went on:
"Some one of no consequence, doubtless; dust of the street that stings
when the wind drives it," and he glared around at the prostrate
senators.

They glanced at the senseless figure, as if hardly daring so much.
Some knew him, more did not; but all united in protesting their
ignorance.

Hannibal viewed them with drooping lids, and the smile returned to his
lips. Perolla stirred slightly.

Again he addressed the Capuans, raising his voice somewhat, so that the
crowd might hear.

"What is your law for the punishment of such a crime?"

Those who had not recognized the assassin, cried out, "Death." Others,
divided between the more powerful enmity of Hannibal and the slower
revenge of Calavius, made their lips move but were silent, hoping to
escape notice in the shout of the others. A few of these were envious
of the young man's father; more feared him.

Hannibal noted their confusion and came to their relief.

"But perhaps so wicked a man is not a Capuan, after all. It is
difficult to believe that the gods would suffer such impiety to lurk in
a city so beloved as yours; and, if no one knows him--"

A chorus of disclaimers snatched at the proffered evasion, and the
smile on Hannibal's lips grew more subtle, as he said:--

"In that case, the treaty does not stand, and you, my fathers, are
relieved from the burden of his trial and punishment. I am still free
to condemn an ally of Rome. Let your rods and axe do their office."

The senators were standing now, and several of them winced and looked
frightened at the swift result of their complaisance. One, even,
gathered courage to say:--

"When is it my lord's will that punishment fall?"

Hannibal eyed him closely for a moment.

"Here, in your forum, and now," he said, "provided you would give
prompt warning to such vermin."

The Capuan shifted uneasily and looked down. Several of the soldiers
had already lifted Perolla to his feet, and, holding him upright, had
torn away what remained of his garments; others sent for the
executioners, and, in a moment, these appeared with the instruments of
their calling.

It was doubtful whether the prisoner had recovered full consciousness
when the first rod fell upon his shoulders, but he groaned and writhed
slightly in the grasp of the four soldiers who held him extended upon
the pavement.

Then Hannibal turned away, ordering one of his officers to remain and
see the end. He signed to the Capuans to follow him.

"Such jackals, my fathers, are not worthy that men of rank and wealth
should watch them die," he said lightly. "The rabble will provide him
with sufficient audience."

And the senators, with awed and thoughtful faces, followed in the train
of the captain-general of Carthage.

VIII.

DIPLOMACY.

Pacuvius Calavius sat in the atrium of his house. Black robed from
head to foot, with hair and beard untrimmed and uncombed, and face and
hands foul with dirt, he rocked to and fro and groaned. From time to
time he ran his fingers through beard and hair, and uttered the
measured cry of the Greek mourners.

An hour before, one of the senators had stolen furtively in, and,
having hurriedly related the grewsome scene just enacted in the Forum,
had sneaked out again as if he were a spy passing through hostile
lines. None other of the friends of the afflicted father had ventured
to bear or send a message of condolence. It was as if the house of the
once acknowledged leader had been marked for the pestilence--and no
pestilence was more to be shunned than the deadly blight of broken
power. Even the slaves shifted about in embarrassed silence, offered
little service, and obeyed as if conscious that obedience was something
of an indiscretion, and was liable at any moment to become a crime.
Some had slipped away to their quarters, and had begun to discuss the
relative possibilities of freedom, wholesale execution, or a new
master, when the coming blow should fall upon this one.

To Marcia, on the other hand, had been born a feeling of sympathy for
her host, that, for the present, overcame the contempt with which he
had inspired her--a contempt scarcely lessened by the repulsive
ostentation of his mourning. She alone ventured to minister to his
wants and to beg him to partake of food and drink. Perhaps her
attitude was due in a measure to the horror with which she herself had
listened to the morning's news. To be sure, she had not admired the
character of Perolla. It had in it too much of the weakness and
puerility engendered by the bastard Greek culture fashionable in lower
Italy, and which naturally attained its most offensive form in the
towns of Italian origin. Still, he had been faithful to Rome, and
there was something within that told her his madness and ruin were not
entirely disconnected with her own personality. Word, too, had just
been brought her that both Ligurius and Caipor had died of their
injuries. They had seemed on the road to recovery when she visited
them on the previous day, and this sudden misfortune filled her with
new forebodings, mingled with a suspicion too horrible to dwell upon.
As for Decius Magius, she had barely seen him, yet she had felt him to
be one of all others upon whom she could rely--an Italian uncorrupted
by Capuan luxury, a worthy descendant of the rugged Samnite stock, a
Roman in all but name; and now he was snatched away, a prisoner in the
hands of enemies who knew nothing of mercy. Still, he had approved of
her design; had seen in it the possibility of success; and there was at
least a consolation in the thought that, without friends or allies, no
one but herself would now be cognizant of the fulfilment of her
impending degradation.

Another hour had passed; into Marcia's mind had come the calmness of a
fixed resolve. Calavius still moaned and cried out his measured "Aei!
aei!"

Suddenly a tumult of noises sounded from the street: the approaching
murmur of a multitude, the footsteps of men, shouts of applause, cries
of wonder or warning, and sharp words of command.

Ah! the end was near, now. Calavius began to imagine himself
stretching out his neck to the sword, and he sought, by proclaiming his
willingness and welcome, to stay the chilling of his blood, the
trembling of his lips and hands.

Staves were beating upon the outer door; the hum of voices in the
street rose and fell and rose again.

"Open the door, Phoenix," mumbled Calavius, as he rocked and swayed.
"Open the door and let them enter. I am an old man. My son is dead.
What matters a few years of life? I pray to the gods that the
barbarians may not hack me. You shall see how easy I will make it--if
they have but a sharp sword." Suddenly he sprang to his feet and
grasped Marcia's arm. "They will not scourge me? Surely they will not
scourge me? I am a senator and the friend of Carthage!--will the door
hold? Hasten, my daughter; run and tell me whether they are guarding
the street in the rear--before the tradesmen's gate."

The beating upon the door still continued, with short intermissions,
and Marcia surmised that the porter was probably skulking in the attic
with his fellow-slaves. Calavius had turned suddenly from the depths
of despair and the height of resignation to a keen desire for life. He
had hurried away to seek for some unguarded exit, heedless, for the
moment, of what even Marcia fully realized: the utter impossibility of
a man so well known escaping unaided through a hostile city and without
a friendly land whereto to turn his flight. He had left her standing
in the court, to be a first prey of the assailants, whether Capuans or
Carthaginians, and she reasoned that it would be better, or at least
quicker, to unbar the door before it should be broken in: she was
wondering, in fact, at the forbearance that had preserved it thus far
from more violent assault. Calavius had been gone some time.
Doubtless he had escaped or, recognizing the uselessness of his
attempt, was hiding somewhere, and, in either event, nothing would be
lost by judicious parleying.

Arranging her robe, she walked slowly through the hall, slid back the
bolts one by one, and let the door swing out into the street; then she
stood, dazed and frightened, for the sight that met her eyes was
Hannibal himself reclining in a litter borne by four Nubians. The
curtains were thrown back, and he was leaning out, evidently giving
some directions to the attendants whose summons had thus far failed to
obtain an answer. Beside the litter stood the priest, Iddilcar, with
folded arms and look bent upon the ground. Around them were ranged a
strong guard of Africans, and, back through the streets, as far as she
could see, the Capuan rabble were thronging forward, curious or
bloodthirsty.

All this was visible in a moment, and then the general, attracted by
the creaking of the door and the exclamation of the crowd, looked up
and saw Marcia standing upon the threshold.

The litter was set down at an imperceptible signal, and he stepped out,
robed in a loose gown of black, entirely without ornaments, and with
hair and beard uncombed and sprinkled lightly with ashes. Marcia
stared in wonder. Surely this could not be the Carthaginian method of
announcing judgment or execution! She caught a flash of subtle
lightning from the eyes of Iddilcar, though these had not seemed to
neglect for a moment their close scrutiny of the pavement. Then
Hannibal stood before her, bowing low and speaking in suppressed
tones:--

"The gods be with you and dwell within this house! I have come to look
upon the face of my father, and, if may be, to console him. Praise be
to Tanis for the omen that you have opened to us, rather than one whose
servile duty it was. So shall our entrance be free and our going
joyful."

He had cast a rapid glance around, as he spoke, and Marcia knew that he
divined why the service of tending the door had been left to her--a
free woman and a guest; yet he was pleased to ignore all inferences,
and to attribute her act to some divine will. His words, too, were
more than friendly, and, if they covered no snare of Punic faith,
augured safety and continued favour.

"I have come," he continued, "that I might mingle my tears with those
of my father who mourns the death of a son."

Marcia stood amazed. Had they not been told how this man had himself
ordered the execution of Perolla? How, then, could even a Carthaginian
show such effrontery! Still, it was necessary to think quickly, and
her woman's wit told her that, in any event, Calavius' best chance of
safety was to seem to accept the visit in the spirit which cloaked it.
So thinking, she led the visitors into the peristyle,--Hannibal,
Iddilcar, and some twenty soldiers who followed as if by previous
orders; while the rest mounted guard before the vestibule. Murmuring
some word of apology, she hurried back through the garden to the
tradesmen's door.

It was still closed and barred, facts which, together with the rumble
of the crowd without, showed that Calavius' plan of escape had proven
impracticable. Then she began a careful search, becoming more
agitated, with each moment, about the difficulty of explaining the
delay. At last she found him, hidden away under a couch in one of the
slaves' apartments, so senseless with terror that several minutes
passed, before he could grasp her tale of Hannibal's presence, and of
the chance of safety it offered. When, however, he understood that
there was yet room for diplomacy,--that the visitors were not mere
executioners with orders to obey,--he drew himself out from his
hiding-place, alert and active. The need of haste, in view of the time
already lost, was apparent; but, nevertheless, he paused in the garden
to wallow a moment in the mould and plunge his hands into its depth.

Marcia saw with disgust, but she led on until they reached the
peristyle; when, slipping aside into one of the cells, she watched the
playing of the game.

Calavius paused a moment at the entrance. Then, groaning deeply to
attract attention, he shambled forward, and, throwing himself at full
length before Hannibal, seized the hem of his robe and pressed it
eagerly to his lips.

"Ah, my master!" he cried. "Slay me, slay me at once or with tortures.
Surely that man is not fit to live whose loins have engendered such a
monster of wickedness. Only by death can I hope to expiate my offence
and retain the favour of the gods."

"Rise, my father," said the captain-general, and to Marcia's ears his
voice rang true with sympathy. He reached out his hand to help
Calavius. "Do you not see that I also wear mourning for this
melancholy error?"

"Never shall I rise or face you," cried Calavius, "until you give me
your oath that I shall have your forgiveness before I die. Ah, the
monster! the parricide! who would slay, at one stroke, both him who had
brought him up to better deeds, and him who is indeed the father of his
country. Ah, gods! the shame of it! Give orders, lord, quickly--only
vow first that you forgive me."

Hannibal's tones were low and deep with sorrow, and, by an
imperceptible effort of what must have been prodigious strength, he
raised the unwilling Calavius to his feet.

"Listen, my father," he said. "Have they not told you how I knew not
the young man? He was stained and dishevelled with revellings in
honour of our alliance--in honour of me, unhappy one. Perchance the
Lord Bacchus, whom you worship, willed to have him for his own, for
surely it was he that raised the young man's hand against me. Ah! my
father, did I not know how this son of thine was most beautiful, best,
and bravest of the Capuan youth? Had I not marked him out for signal
honour--only less than yours, my father and his? See, now, how the
gods confuse the affairs of men. It was at the banquet that I learned
his worth, and determined that he should love me and find in me a
friend."

"Truly yes," interrupted Calavius, "and you had won his heart, for,
walking in the garden, he told me as much, only adding that he must
appear to turn to you slowly--for the honour of his name among the
partisans of Rome, whom may the gods confound as they have done."

Hannibal smiled softly, as he took up the words:--

"All this I knew well, being somewhat learned in men, my father; and
now the gods have smitten my brother with madness that he should try to
slay me, and myself with blindness that I should, unknowingly, order
the death of one I loved most. Look, my father, I join you in your
mourning, with black robes and ashes; I come to weep with you at the
feet of Fate--you whose love for me has lost you a son, and to offer
you myself to be a son in his place."

Calavius embraced him, mumbling prayers and vows and endearments in the
sudden joy of escaped death. Iddilcar raised his eyes from the study
of the mosaics and turned aside, shaking as if with some strong
emotion, and Hannibal spoke again.

"One thing more, my father, I would speak to you of, though for my best
interests I should hold my peace nor make dissensions among allies.
There were those with me when this evil happened--men of your Capuan
Senate--who knew this youth better than I, and who I am convinced
suspected the truth; yet they spoke not--"

"Ah!" cried Calavius, "and you have their names writ down for me? We
shall slay them!"

Hannibal's face wore an expression strangely inscrutable as he
answered:--

"Yes, my father, I have their names whom I suspect; and they shall
surely die. Grant it to me, though, that I alone keep them and expiate
my own fault by avenging your wrong. This I swear by Baal-Melkarth and
Baal-Moloch to accomplish at the season best for our plans. Therefore
I tell you the fact, but without names, that you may know that you have
enemies and walk warily, while I, your son, shall, under the gods, be
your reliance for protection and revenge."

Another thought seemed to be struggling for utterance in the bosom of
Calavius--a wish prompted by religion but checked by prudence. Twice
he raised his head as if to speak, and twice his eyes wandered. Then
Hannibal spoke again, as if reading the other's thoughts:--

"I have also, my father, given orders that funeral honours be paid to
my brother; a pyre rich with woven fabrics and wine and oil and spices,
and, from my own share of the Etruscan spoils, I have chosen a vase
boldly pictured with a combat of heroes."

Tears gushed anew from the eyes of Calavius at this added evidence of
thoughtful friendship, and once again he embraced his benefactor, but
with somewhat more of dignity, now that the fear of death was removed.

Suddenly Marcia became conscious of an intruding presence beside her,
and, turning, her eyes fell upon the repulsive features of Iddilcar,
that seemed to sneer through the semi-gloom. She shuddered and drew
back against the wall. Iddilcar held out his arms which the broad
sleeves of his robe left bare to elbow. An expression of eager lust
made his face even more hideous than did the sneer of a moment past.

"Come, little bird," he said, "and I will charm you. Moon of Tanis!
Lamp of Proserpine! Essence of all the Heavens! do you not see I love
you?--I, Iddilcar, priest of Melkarth. Behold, my robe is dark. It
mourns--not for the fool who died, but because you have not loved me.
Love, and it will gleam again in violet, and all the bracelets that
hung from my arms at the banquet shall be yours."

She pressed her hands to her face; she felt herself swaying upon her
trembling knees; only the support of the wall saved her from sinking
down.

After a moment's silence he began again:--

"What is an old man, and weak--a sport of foreigners--to me who am
young and strong, and by whose word even the schalischim of Carthage
must march or halt? I, the favoured one of Melkarth, beseech you, a
Roman, for favour, because Adonis wills it. See how I come to you,
unpermitted, from those who cajole each other, and I show you my heart.
Love me! love me! leave this keeper, who is but an old woman, and you
shall be a priestess in Carthage, and the people shall swarm around and
cast their jewels and wealth before you, for the deity--that shall be
you alone; and we shall feast and love and love and feast again in such
splendour as not even Carthage has ever known--"

She could restrain her feelings no longer; all her resolves seemed to
slip from her in the presence of this man; she thrust out her hands and
turned her head away with a shiver of utter disgust. Her movement was
vague in the dim light, but he saw it, and his face darkened.

"What is this house?" he exclaimed harshly. "How long will it stand
against me? Shall I not crush its root, even as its branch was torn
off to-day? Filth! vermin! dust! Shall not its flower lie in my bosom
to bloom forever, if she wills--or to bloom for a moment and wither and
be cast away, if she wills not?"

He strode forward and caught her wrist; his hot breath steamed in her
face.

"No! no! I _hate_ you! Go!" The words sprang from her lips, without
power to hold them back, and she struggled frantically in his grasp;
she heard his teeth grinding, as, mad with passion, he strove to bind
her arms to her sides. At that moment a rattling of weapons from the
peristyle seemed to bring him to a consciousness of his surroundings.
Releasing her, he half turned, and she sank down in the corner of the
cell. The visit was evidently over, and Hannibal, about to take his
leave, was glancing around, evidently in search of the missing priest.

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