Part 57 (1/2)

But a violent screech came from Lampaxo, who had just comprehended the fate awaiting.

”_Ai! ai!_ save me, fellow-h.e.l.lenes!” she bawled toward the penteconter, ”a citizeness of Athens, the most patriotic woman in the city, slaughtered by Barbarians-”

”Silence the squealing sow!” roared Hasdrubal. ”They'll hear her on the war-s.h.i.+p. Aft with her and overboard at once.”

But as they dragged Lampaxo on the p.o.o.p, her outcry rose to a tempest till Lars the Etruscan clapped his hand upon her mouth. Her screaming stilled, but his own outcry more than replaced it. In a twinkling the virago's hard teeth closed over his fingers. Two ran from the oars to him. But the woman, conscious that she fought for life or death, held fast. Curses, blows, even a dagger pried betwixt her lips-all bootless. She seemed as a thing possessed. And all the time the Etruscan howled in mortal agony.

The thin dagger, bent too hard, snapped betwixt her teeth. Lars's clamour could surely be heard on the penteconter. Again the breeze was falling.

They seized the fury's throat, and pressed it till she turned black, but the grip of her jaw only tightened.

”_Attatai! attatai!_” groaned the victim, ”forbear. Don't throttle her.

Her teeth are iron. They are biting through the bone. If you strangle her, they will never relax. _Attatai! attatai!_”

”Nip him tight, little wife,” called Phormio, for once regarding his spouse with supreme satisfaction. ”It's a dainty morsel you have in your mouth. Chew it well!”

Lampaxo's attackers paused an instant, uncertain how to release the Etruscan. To their threats of torture the woman was deaf as the mainmast, and still the Etruscan screamed.

Glaucon had stood perfectly pa.s.sive during all this grim by-play. Once Phormio saw his fellow-captive's face twist into a smile, but in the excitement of the moment the fishmonger as well as the Carthaginians almost forgot the Isthmionices, and Hib relaxed his grip and guard. Lars's finger was streaming red, when Hasdrubal threw away the steering-paddle in a rage.

”Silence her forever! The axe, Hib. Split her skull open!”

The axe lay at the Libyan's feet. One instant, only one, betook his hands from the athlete's wrists to seize the weapon, but in that instant the yell from all the crew drowned even the howls of Lars. Had any watched, they might have seen all the muscles in the Alcmaeonid's glorious body contract, might have seen the fire spring from his eyes as he put forth a G.o.dlike might. Heracles and Athena Polias had been with him when he threw his strength upon the bands that held his arms. The crus.h.i.+ng of Lycon down had been no feat like this. In a twinkling the cords about his wrists were snapped. He swung his free hands in the air.

”Athens!” he shouted, whilst the crew stood spellbound. ”Hermione! Glaucon is still Glaucon!”

Hib had grasped the axe, but he never knew what smote him once behind the ear and sent him rolling lifeless against the bulwark. In an instant his bright weapon was swinging high above the athlete's head. Glaucon stood terrible as Achilles before the cowering Trojans.

”Woe! woe! he is Melkarth. We are lost men!” groaned the crew.

”At him, fools!” bawled Hasdrubal, first to recover wits, ”his feet are still shackled.”

But whilst the master called to them, the axe dashed down upon the fetters, and one great stroke smote the coupling-link in twain. The Athenian stood a moment looking right and left, the axe dancing as a toy in his grasp, and a smile on his face inviting, ”Prove me.”

A javelin singing from the hand of Adherbal flew at him. An imperceptible bending of the body, a red streak on Glaucon's naked side, and it dug into the deck. Yet whilst it quivered, was out again and hurled through the Carthaginian's breast and shoulders. He fell in a heap beside the Libyan.

Another howl from the sailors.

”Not Melkarth, but Baal the Dragon-Slayer. We are lost. Who can contend with him?”

”Cowards!” thundered Hasdrubal, whipping the sword from his thigh, ”do you not know these three sniff our true business? If they live when the penteconter comes, it's not prison but Sheol that's waiting. Their lives or ours. One rush and we have this madman down!”

But their terrible adversary gave the master no time to gather his myrmidons. One stroke of the axe had already released Phormio, who clutched the arms of his wife.

”The cabin!” the ready-witted fishmonger commanded, and Lampaxo, scarce knowing what she did, released her ungentle hold on Lars and suffered her husband to drag her down the ladder. Glaucon went last; no man loving death enough to come within reach of the axe. Hasdrubal saw his victims escaping under his eyes and groaned.

”There is only one hatchway. We must force it. Darts, belaying-pins, ballast stones-fling anything down. It's for life or death!”

”The penteconter is four furlongs away!” shrieked a sailor, growing gray under his dark skin.