Part 16 (1/2)

Only Hasdrubal was left in opposition. ”I swore to defend Carthage, not Nepheris,” he exclaimed. Then, with an unconscious imitation of the obstinate Spartan at Plataea, he took a huge stone from the ground and threw it down in front of him, saying, ”I give my vote for remaining.”[39]

Cleanor's private opinion was that his chief's obstinacy was nothing else than madness, but he could not leave the general to whose person he had been attached.

If Hasdrubal had thought that his opposition would determine the action of his colleagues he was mistaken. Without a word--and indeed there was no time for argument--they moved off in the direction of the fortress.

Hasdrubal was brought to his senses by this decisive action, just as the Spartan had been before him. Nor could he mistake the meaning of the agitation that at once showed itself among his men. It was not difficult to see that he would soon be left almost alone.

Accordingly he gave the signal to march. Some time, however, had been lost, and a number of light-armed troops from the Roman army were within a short distance of the retreating force. It became necessary, if their attacks were to be checked, for the rear ranks to face about. There was little or no actual fighting. The pursuers fell back as soon as the retreating division showed them a firm front. Their object was to cause as much delay as possible; the Carthaginians, on the other hand, had to solve the problem of making these necessary halts interfere as little as possible with the rapidity of their retreat. In this they were greatly helped by their high discipline and what may be called their perfect coherence, and they had actually got almost within a bow-shot of the rock-fortress when they had to turn, as they hoped, for the last time.

There was now some really sharp fighting. The pursuers had been reinforced by a detachment of picked troops from the main body, men chosen for the speed with which they could move under a heavy equipment of armour and arms. The Carthaginians fell slowly back before them, keeping an unbroken line, and encouraged by the thought that if they could get within range of the walls they would be in comparative safety.

Nor was this hope disappointed. The Romans, indeed, pressed on, for the walls were to all appearance deserted, but this appearance concealed a carefully concerted surprise. Hundreds of archers and slingers were crouching behind the battlements, and there were scores of catapults, with their range carefully adjusted, ready to discharge volleys of stones and javelins. At a given signal, fire, if the expression may be allowed, was opened with overwhelming effect. The Roman line absolutely staggered under the blow. At the same time the gates were thrown open, and before the enemy could recover, the whole of the retreating force was safe within the walls.

But when, an hour or so afterwards, the roll was called, Cleanor was among the missing.

FOOTNOTE:

39: ”At Plataea Pausanias commanded the Spartans to change their position. All the captains but one were ready to obey, but Amompharetus refused to move. 'I will not fly,' he said, 'before the strangers, nor bring disgrace upon Sparta.' After a while the Athenians sent a horseman to learn why the Spartans did not change their place as had been agreed upon. When the man came up the dispute was waxing hot, and Amompharetus took up with both hands a huge stone, and put it at the feet of the general, saying, 'With this pebble (_psephos_) I give my vote not to fly from the strangers.' At last the general gave the signal for retreat, expecting that Amompharetus and his men would not like to be left behind. And so indeed it turned out, for, when he saw the rest of the army in motion, he also left his place and followed them” (Herod. ix. 53-5).

CHAPTER XX.

TREACHERY.

The young Greek had had a narrow escape with his life. Two wounds--one on the head, producing a severe concussion of the brain; the other on the thigh, causing an almost fatal loss of blood--had well-nigh finished his career. For nearly forty-eight hours he remained in a state of complete unconsciousness; then the brain slowly began to resume its functions. But the weakness of extreme exhaustion still continued. He lay for days dimly conscious of his existence, but content to accept his surroundings, to swallow the food and drink which were offered him, and to sleep without asking any questions.

Then a certain curiosity began to awake in him. The place in which he found himself was unfamiliar, and he lazily wondered where he was. The voices about him were strange--his sight was still too weak to distinguish faces--and the speech which they used was strange. His first attempt to move was followed by a feeling of absolute helplessness; his first effort at speech produced a sound so far-away that he hardly recognized his own voice.

It was on the morning of the seventh day, after an unusually long and refres.h.i.+ng sleep, that he felt equal to the task of realizing where he was. The physician, who luckily happened to be paying him his morning visit, at once recognized the improvement in his patient.

”Hus.h.!.+” he said, when the young man attempted to speak. ”Be quiet till you have had some food. You are better, I see, but you want some refreshment. Then you may ask questions, and listen to what is told you, but only for as long as I allow.”

He clapped his hands, and an attendant entered the room, carrying a cup of broth which had been fortified with a cordial. Cleanor, who was still so helpless that he had to be fed like an infant, swallowed it with an excellent appet.i.te, and was sorry when the last spoonful had been administered.

”Good!” said the man of science; ”we have positively brought a little red into your cheeks. You shall have another allowance when that has run itself out three times;” and he turned, as he spoke, a water-clock which stood on a table by the bedside. ”Meanwhile, you can receive a friend who has been waiting for some days to renew his acquaintance with you.”

He nodded to the attendant, and the man pushed aside the curtain which hung over the entrance to the tent. The next moment the expected visitor appeared. Cleanor recognized in him the young officer, kinsman to Scipio, whose life he had saved in the attack on the Megara.

”The G.o.ds be thanked,” said the young Roman, ”that I see you yourself again!”

”That I am myself I must believe,” replied Cleanor, ”but of everything else I feel doubtful. Tell me what has happened.”

Scipio looked to the physician with a tacit inquiry whether the subject was permitted.

”Speak on; it will worry him more, now that he has begun to think, to be left in ignorance.”

”To begin, then,” said Scipio, ”when did you see me last?”

”Now I come to think of it, a dim remembrance of your face is about the last thing I can recall. But between that and the present there is a gulf of forgetfulness.”

”And no wonder; if you hadn't had a head of adamant that same gulf would have swallowed you up for good. Well, do you remember anything about a battle?”