The Lion\'s Brood

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

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All was over. Sergius' eyes, dim and bloodshot, wandered, at last,
from the contemptuous smile that had held them, and rested upon the
score of men, for the most part wounded, that remained about him. For
an instant the spears and swords ceased their work, and the dense mass
of lowering faces that surrounded the last of the legions rolled back.
Lanes appeared between the syntagmata; a chorus of wild cries swelled
up--swept nearer, and the furious riders of the desert came galloping
through every interspace. To them had been granted, for a mark of
honour, the ending of the battle. It was only a single rush, a
brandishing and plunging of javelins retained in grasp, a little more
blood spattered upon the horses' necks and bellies. No legionary was
standing when the tempest had gone by, and there, among his men, with
face turned from the red earth to the reddening sky, lay Lucius Sergius
Fidenas, in slumber fitting for a Roman patrician when the black day of
Cannae was done.

PART II.

CHAPTER I.

THE QUEEN OF THE WAYS.

There was much bustle and confusion throughout the little inn at
Sinuessa. August was just closing, and the midday summer sun beat down
too fiercely to permit of comfortable travel save toward morning or
night. The inn-keeper had hurried out and stood in the roadway, bowing
and wreathing his face with smiles of welcome, while, behind him, were
grouped his servants, each bearing some implement of his or her
calling--a muster well calculated to impress the wayfarer with the
assurance of comfort and good cheer.

The occasion of all this demonstration was a party that had halted,
apparently for refreshment and the customary traveller's siesta; a
rheda or four-wheeled travelling carriage, closely covered and drawn by
three powerful horses yoked abreast. Two armed outriders, one
apparently a freedman and the other a slave, made up the company, the
former of whom, a stout, elderly man with gray hair and beard, had
reined in his horse before the obsequious host, while the other
remained by the carriage wheel, as if to aid the driver in guarding the
rheda's occupants from intrusion.

The innkeeper, short and fat, was breathing hard from the haste in
which he had sallied out, but his words came volubly:--

"Let the gentlemen alight and enter--or, if they be ladies, so much the
better. They shall make trial of the best inn along the whole length
of the Queen of Ways. Such couches as they have never seen, save,
doubtless, in their magnificent homes, fit for the gods to lie
upon!--such dishes!--such cooking! guinea-hens fed and fattened under
my own eye, mullet fresh from the water with all greens of the season,
and such wine as only the Massic Mount can grow--"

Here, however, he paused to take breath, and the freedman succeeded in
interrupting the flow of words.

"By the gods! will you be silent?" he said. "Perhaps we shall try your
fare, if you do not take up the whole day in telling us about it.
First, however, it is necessary for us to learn certain things. How
many miles is it to Capua?"

The innkeeper's face took on a grieved look in place of the beaming
smile of a moment since, but he answered promptly and humbly:--

"The matter of twenty-five miles, my master."

"At what hour do they close the gates?"

The innkeeper glanced back at the group of domestics with a frightened
expression.

"That is a military question," he said. "How can I answer it in these
times? It is dangerous to talk about such things."

"Not dangerous for you," insisted the other, rather scornfully. "Since
you Campanians have become pulse-eaters, not the wildest Numidian would
dare disturb you. The cruel one is very tender of you all--_now_; but
wait till Rome shall fall, then you will know what his tenderness is
worth--when you are all busy grinding corn for Carthage--"

"By all the gods! speak lower--if you must say such words," whispered
the innkeeper, white with terror. "If one of my servants should betray
me! Like enough the gate is closed at all times. It is said that
Hannibal enters the town to-night."

"Hannibal in Capua to-night!" came a voice from the rheda--a woman's
voice, softly and delicately modulated, yet deep and rich in its tones.
At the same moment the curtains were drawn aside, and she looked out,
beckoning imperiously to the would-be host. "Come near, my good man, I
wish to speak with you more closely."

The innkeeper stood as one dazed, with open mouth and bulging eyes. He
had looked upon great and beautiful ladies before, for many such
travelled by the Appian Way, but the beauty and the nobility of this
face seemed to him more than mortal. With all the grace, all the
freshness, all the radiant charm of the girl Marcia, were now joined
the calm and deep-eyed crown of womanhood. The perfect lines that
could so perfectly respond to playful or tender emotions were still
unmarred, and yet sorrow that had left no other trace had endowed them
with new possibilities of devotion and high resolve.

"Come," repeated Marcia, and the little inn-keeper trotted up to the
rheda and stood watching her with an expression of canine wonder and
subservience in his big, dull eyes.

"Did I not hear you say that Hannibal was to be in Capua to-night?
Have these false Campanians indeed carried out the treachery rumoured
of them?"

The man had forgotten all his fears of a few moments since, nor did the
slur upon his race rouse aught of indignation. Held fast under the
spell of the dark eyes before him, he made haste to answer:--

"The rumour, madam, that a traveller left with me some hours since is
that Marius Blossius, praetor of Campania, has led all Capua out to
meet Hannibal, who is to feast to-night at the house of the Ninii
Celeres, Stenius and Pacuvius--"

"But how was this done?" she interrupted. "It was said at Rome that
some few evil spirits, like Vibius Virrius and Pacuvius Calavius, were
ill-disposed, but surely the senators of Capua are faithful?"

"I do not know as to that," said the fellow, with the stubborn dulness
of a peasant; "but I know it is hard to see your property and goods
destroyed and to hold fast to allies who do not protect you--and a
Roman garrison at Casilinum all the time. They say this African is
kind to his friends, and then, too, he sent home my son without ransom
when the young man was prisoner in the north--some battle by some lake
that I forget the name of--"

"Such talk is well enough for the poor-spirited rabble," cried Marcia,
impetuously; "but was there none of noble blood in the city? None who
could compel duty?"

A look of cunning crossed his face as he answered:--

"Pacuvius Calavius took care of that. He cooped up the senate in the
senate-house, by telling them the people sought their lives. Then he
went out and spoke against them to that same people, and offered to
surrender them for death, one by one; and then, when they had given up
hope, he made a clever turn and persuaded us to forego their just
punishment. So it is said in Capua that Pacuvius Calavius bought the
senators for his slaves, and not one but runs to do his bidding.
Senators, you see, do not like the rods and axe any better than humbler
people like the sword and the torch."

Marcia eyed him with disgust. Then her brow cleared. "What could be
expected from such a man," she thought. "Surely not exalted patriotism
or high ideals--especially when the class question had been brought
into play against public faith and public honour. Mere stupidity would
yoke him to the side that seemed to promise the most immediate
exemptions or rewards. It was possible, though, that the situation
might not be as bad as it was painted; that there might still be
faithful men in the second city of Italy--men who, while at present
held down by the skilful plotting of their enemies or the hopelessness
of open resistance, were yet waiting, vigilant to seize upon the first
promising opportunity to recover the lost ground. On the other hand,
innkeepers were apt to be a well-informed class, as to public
happenings, and this man told his tale with parrot-like precision. At
any rate, there was nothing to do but reach Capua as soon as possible;
for, the Carthaginian commander once within the walls, no one could
tell what precautions and scrutiny might be established at the gates."

She turned to the freedman.

"There is no time for resting and refreshment, Ligurius. We must not
lose the chance of entering the city before nightfall;" and to the man
who rode at the wheel: "Come, Caipor. A little weariness will not hurt
us."

The driver's whip curled about the horses' flanks, and they started
forward; but the disappointed innkeeper laid hold of one of the poles
that supported the covering of the rheda and gasped and sputtered as he
ran:--

"What now! Would you die of the heat? Am I to lose my custom because
I am good-natured and tell the news?"

Caipor turned in his seat and raised the thong used to urge on his
animal; but Marcia, hearing the clamour, thrust the curtain aside again
and, motioning the slave to restrain himself, threw several denarii to
her would-be host. At the same moment, the horses suddenly quickened
their gait, and the pursuer, keeping his hold, was jerked flat upon his
face.

"Be cautious!" shouted Caipor. "There is silver in the dust you are
swallowing," and they hurried on, unable to distinguish whether the
half-choked ejaculations that followed them were thanks or curses.

There was a short silence punctuated by the cracking of the whip, the
clatter of hoofs, and the crunching of wheels along the pavement; then
the curtains once more parted slightly, and Caipor, watchful to serve,
saw Marcia's beckoning hand and drew closer to the rheda.

"Bend down," she said, and, as he obeyed, she whispered:--

"You were my brother's servant, Caipor, and you bear his name. Will
you help me to avenge him?"

The slave's eyes flashed, and he straightened himself on his horse.
Then he lowered his head to hear more.

"Ligurius," she continued, "will be brave and faithful to my family in
all things. I want one who will be faithful to what is greater and to
what is less--to Rome and to me. I seek safety for the Republic; and I
seek revenge for those who are dead. Will you help me when Ligurius
halts?"

"The cross itself will not daunt me," he said simply. "Whatever you
shall do, lady, I will be faithful to the death."

"For me, perhaps, to the death, Caipor," she answered; "but for you, if
the gods favour me, to life and to freedom."

His cheek flushed with the rich blood of his Samnite ancestors, and, as
Ligurius glanced back from his post at the head of the party, the young
man made his horse bound forward, lest his attitude and perturbation
might bring some suspicion of a secret conference to the mind of the
old freedman.

So they descended within the hemicycle of hills. The heights of Mount
Tifata began to fall away on the left, the rough, precipitous line of
crags, sweeping around toward the east, seemed to dwindle into the
distance, even as they drew nearer, while the low jumble of Neapolitan
hills, beyond which towered Vesuvius with its fluttering pennon of
vapour, rose higher and higher upon the southern horizon. A turn of
the road, a temporary makeshift, led them around Casilinum, whose
little garrison lay close, nor opened their gates to friend or foe.
There, at last, in the midst of the level plain that stretched down to
the sea, lay Capua, gleaming white and radiant beneath the brush of the
now descending sun.

Gradually the great sweep of city walls grew lowering and massive. It
still lacked an hour of sunset, and the travellers had not urged
themselves unduly through the midday course. The foam, yellowed and
darkened by dust, had dried upon the horses' flanks save only where the
chafing of the harness kept it fresh and white. Marcia leaned far out
of the rheda and gazed eagerly at the nearing town, Caipor seemed
scarcely able to restrain his eagerness to dash forward, while Ligurius
shaded his eyes with his hand and viewed the spectacle like a general
counting the power of his approaching foe. Even at this distance they
saw, or began to imagine they saw, some indescribable change,--not a
flurry of motion or excitement,--they were too far away to note that,
had such been present. It was as though above, around every tower and
battlement hung an atmosphere of hostility and defiance; yet this was
the friend of Rome through days of weal and days of woe,--the second
city of Italy.

Nearer and nearer they drew. The horses threw their heads in the air,
and, presaging rest and provender, quickened their pace, without
urging. Suddenly an exclamation burst from the lips of Ligurius.

"Look!" he cried. "It is true. They are indeed here." Marcia and
Caipor strove to follow his hand. "My northern eyes, old though they
be, are better than yours of the south. Do you not see them--one, two,
three! Gods! They are thick on the walls."

"What? in the name of Jove!" exclaimed Marcia, impatiently, and then
Caipor started.

"I see! I see now," he cried. "Ah! mistress, they are the standards
of Carthage; the horses' heads, yellow, with red manes. Gods, how they
glitter! Gold and blood--gold and blood!"

"Drive on," said Marcia, for they had all drawn rein, half
unconsciously, and she lay back, behind the curtains of the rheda.

II.

THE GATE.

A harsh cry of command or warning rang out ahead, and the rheda stopped
short with a jolt. Ligurius had thrown his horse upon his haunches and
then backed him so as to take post at that side of the vehicle
unprotected by Caipor; but, a moment later, the rush of a dozen tall
figures thrust them both away, the curtains were torn aside, and Marcia
looked out into savage faces and great, staring, blue eyes. Three or
four overlapping circlets of iron just above the hips seemed the limit
of these men's defensive armour, and the skin of some animal was thrown
about the brawny shoulders of such as had not replaced their barbaric
mantles with the Roman military cloak; the hair of each, black or red,
but always long and indescribably filthy, was caught up in a knot at
the top of the head, whence it streamed away, loose or matted, like the
tail of an unkempt horse; their feet were bare, and their legs were
covered by linen breeches bound close with leathern thongs. It needed
not the great broad-swords slung about their shoulders to tell them for
Hannibal's Gauls--creatures scarcely half human, whose name brought
terror to the Roman maiden of the days of Cannae, as the sight of them
had carried death or slavery to her less-favoured sister of the blacker
days of the Allia.

But Marcia showed little of womanish weakness. To the jargon of a
dozen voices--a jargon that sounded like the yelping and barking of a
pack of dogs--she opposed a cold and dignified silence. A dozen hands
reached out to touch her, as they would touch something strange and
admirable; but she drew back, and the rude hands and staring, blue eyes
fell before the flash of her indignation.

At that instant, a man strode forward, hurling the soldiers from his
path to right and left, or striking them fiercely with his staff.
Taller by almost half a head than the others, his richer vesture and
arms, but, above all, the gold collar about his neck and the gold
bracelets upon his arms, marked the chief. Standing by the rheda, he
met Marcia's look of proud defiance, for a moment; then his eyes
shifted and seemed to wander; but, cloaking with martial sternness the
embarrassment of the barbarian, he spoke in Gallic:--

"Who are you?"

Unable to understand the question, much less to answer it, she turned
away and ignored both the man and his words. Again the look of
indecision and embarrassment returned to his face; but, glancing round,
he saw Ligurius struggling in the hands of his captors, and caught some
words of Gallic in his half-throttled remonstrances.

"Bring him," he said shortly, with a motion of his staff, and the
freedman, who had been roughly pulled from his horse, was thrust
forward, his clothes hanging in tatters, and his face bruised and
bleeding from his efforts to break loose and guard his mistress from
intrusion or insult.

"Who is _she_, and who are you?" asked the chief, sternly; for his
eyes, now that they looked into those of a man and an inferior, had
regained all their wild fierceness.

Ligurius hesitated, partly from lack of wind and partly from a doubt as
to how much or what it would be wise to tell.

"Speak!" cried the other, impatiently.

Marcia threw aside the curtains which had been allowed to fall back in
their place, and leaned out. The scene looked critical; the Gaul's
face was working with nervous irritation, while his followers, scarcely
recovered from his sudden onslaught, stood around in a ring, some
fingering their swords, and with expressions whose wonder and stupidity
seemed fast giving place to the lust of blood and plunder. Caipor had
been knocked senseless at the beginning, and the driver was in the
hands of several soldiers.

Ligurius looked inquiringly at his mistress.

"He asks who we are," he said. "What shall I say?"

"Ah! you plot to deceive me," cried the Gaul, losing control of his
temper, and, before Marcia could answer, he struck the freedman down
with his staff. One of his followers shifted his sword belt, and, half
drawing the great weapon, stepped forward; but Marcia had sprung from
the rheda, and stood, with clenched hands and flashing eyes, above her
prostrate attendant.

"Bandits! Murderers!" she cried. "Does your general permit you to rob
and kill travellers that seek to enter a friendly city?"

Understanding the act rather than the words, the soldier halted, and
the chief's eyes began again to shift nervously; but soon an expression
of mingled lust and cunning came into them.

"You are beautiful," he said. "You shall not die, you shall dwell in
my hut."

Marcia shuddered at the glance and change of tone. He reached out his
arms, tattooed in blue designs, and made as if to advance. She drew a
dagger from her girdle. Infuriated by the sight of what he took to be
a hostile weapon, the barbarian's sword was out in an instant. Then he
perceived that the dagger was directed not at his breast, but at the
woman's. The point of the great sword, already half raised, dropped
slowly to the ground, and a new look of embarrassed amazement took the
place of the momentary glare of savage fury.

How it would have ended never transpired, for a commotion at the gate
attracted the attention of all. A small detachment of soldiers was
advancing, at a leisurely pace, headed by a young officer whose arms
blazed with gold and silver. No Hannibalian veterans these. As they
came near, even Marcia could note the sleek, soft look of the men, and
their listless, muscleless gait; while their leader's hair and person
literally reeked with perfumes. His eyes turned slowly from the huge
Gaul to the woman; then a flash of animation lent them light.

"How is this?" he asked. "Why this tumult? Who are these people?"

The Gaul shook his head defiantly, as if ignorant of the speech of his
interrogator, while his followers began to nudge each other, pointing
out the round limbs and fresh complexions of the Capuans, and laughing
scornfully.

The young officer flushed, and, turning to Marcia, repeated the
question.

"I am a Roman. Do you not understand my tongue?" she said.

He glanced fearfully at the Gauls. Then, reassured by their evident
failure to comprehend, he regained his assurance and answered:--

"Surely, lady, an educated Capuan cannot fail to understand all
languages, civilized or barbarous. I speak the Greek, the Roman--all;
only permit me to beg you to be less frank in naming your city: 'Roman'
is a dangerous word to use here. What has led one so beautiful and so
accomplished to run the risk of such a journey? Do you not know that
Hannibal and his men are in Capua? That is why these beasts have been
able to disturb you; but fear not," he continued, as she was about to
speak, "_I_ also am here to protect you," and he accompanied the words,
with a glance that left the nature of the protection offered more than
equivocal.

Suppressing her mingled feelings of disgust and amusement, Marcia
answered haughtily:--

"May Jove favour you for your offer; but has it come that the expected
guest of Pacuvius Calavius needs protection at the gate of Capua?"

Amazement and deference were at once apparent in his changed manner.

"Ah!" he said slowly, as if trying to gather his wits; "that is
different--very different. It is a double regret that these vermin
have troubled you; but you are safe now."

Marcia found herself wondering whether he would allude to the Gauls so
scornfully had they been able to understand his words.

The Capuan turned to the Gallic chief, who, together with his
followers, had drawn nearer.

"Make way!" he cried. "Loose the slave that drives." Then to his own
men, "Raise up the two that are hurt;" and to Marcia, "And you, lady;
will it please you to return to your carriage?"

But the Gauls, although evidently understanding the nature of his
orders, showed no disposition to obey them. On the contrary, at a few
words from their chief, they pushed closer yet, and some of them even
began to jostle the soldiers of the Capuan guard. A light blow or a
sharp word bade fair to precipitate a conflict that, despite the
numerical equality, could hardly be doubtful in its outcome, when a
sharp, commanding voice rang out behind.

All swung around, as if to meet a blow, and the press opened. A rider,
glittering in arms of simple but rich design, and mounted upon a black
horse, was advancing from the gate. Two Spaniards, who rode several
spear lengths behind him, were his sole escort; but, alone or at the
head of a legion, it was all the same: no eye of Gaul or Capuan saw
aught but the one horseman; and yet it was not easy to tell wherein the
force lay. He was a young man, probably twenty--possibly twenty-five,
for life advanced quickly under the sun of Africa. His figure was
slender and boyish, his face thinly bearded, a lack which was
accentuated by the beard being divided into two points. Yes, now they,
saw; it was his eyes that had dispelled the boast and swagger of the
Gaul, the superciliousness of the Capuan, and whatever of brawling
boldness had been in either. These eyes were black and large and
flashing with courage and energy and the pride of noble birth. No
detail of the scene seemed to escape their first glance, and he asked
no question, as he rode into the crowd.

"Ardix," he said, addressing the Gaul in his own tongue, "back to your
gate! and you," turning to the Capuan officer and changing his language
with ready ease, "it would be wise for you to consider the unwisdom of
quarrelling with our veterans."

There was just enough of contempt in the inference of the last word to
check the flow of explanation and complaint that was rising to the lips
of the young exquisite. The newcomer had turned his back. The Capuan
saw his followers slinking away with Ardix and his Gauls. It was hard
to lose a chance of talking with a great man, and surely a few of the
words he could choose and speak so well would compel the Carthaginian
to value him at his worth. Still, there was something that impressed
upon him the unwisdom of speech, and, after a moment of embarrassed
indecision, he turned and strode away after the rest, seeking to
conceal the humiliation of his retreat by the swagger of his gait and
the fierceness of his expression--which there was no one to see.

While this little comedy was passing, he, whose advent had been its
occasion, was regarding Marcia fixedly; but he now looked into eyes
that neither quailed nor wandered before his own. At last he spoke,
and in Latin:--

"I am Mago, the son of Hamilcar. What brings a Roman woman to Capua in
these days?"

This youth, then, was the famous brother of Hannibal; the commander of
the ambush at the Trebia. His voice was cold, harsh, and metallic, and
in his eyes there was none of the rude lust of the Gaul or the polished
licentiousness of the Capuan. They burned only with the fires that
light the souls of patriots and leaders of men.

"I come," said Marcia, slowly, "for several reasons, and believing that
Carthage does not make war upon women."

The eyes lost nothing of their cold scrutiny at the implied compliment
or the covert reproach.

"And what reasons?" he asked sharply.

"For the one," replied Marcia, and she was conscious of an effort in
holding her voice to its steady inflection; "that my house is bound in
hospitality to that of Pacuvius Calavius--"

Mago's brow cleared for an instant.

"Our friend," he said. "He is married to one of your Claudians." Then
it darkened again as he continued: "Well, and you seek him for what?
To tempt him back to Rome?"

"I seek him," said Marcia, boldly, "because I am wise. Have I not seen
the narrowing of Rome's resources? the quarrels of the factions? I
have come from there, and I tell you that, if Hannibal have patience
until the spring, it is Rome that will beg him to take her. What part
has a woman with a man who cannot protect himself! Let her look for a
new defender, if she be wise."

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