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 For seeing herself made of so little account before the eyes of all,
Elissa, disgusted and disgraced, determined to put an end to her
miserable existence once and for all.
But Cleandra, as upon a previous occasion, urged her yet to live
for her country’s cause. And this was upon the very night on which
Cleandra obtained from Æmilius Scipio’s letter, which came as balm
to soothe her. It was written in Greek, and was as follows:—

“From Publius Cornelius, son of Publius Cornelius Scipio, to

Elissa, daughter of Hannibal.

“In the name of the great god Jupiter, lord of the universe,
greeting! The years have passed away one by one with
rapidity, and great and sudden have been the changes upon
the face of the world. But one thing hath neither passed away
with time nor altered with change. As Scipio did love thee
when thou didst even weep upon his shoulder upon bidding
him farewell in New Carthage, so doth he now love thee upon
sending thee these lines of greeting from Rome. And greatly
doth he long to have tidings of thee by thine own hand, and
still more to again behold thy beautiful and beloved features.
“Elissa, I, Scipio, have been fighting all these years in
Iberia, and have driven out thine uncle Hasdrubal in the north,
who marched across the Alps into Italy, and fell bravely
fighting at the battle of the Metaurus. I have likewise driven
out thine uncle Mago in the south, who, after retiring for a
space to the Balearic Islands, hath now seized upon the city
and province of Genoa in Northern Italy. Hasdrubal, the son of
Gisco, have I also met in various bloody encounters, in which
the gods were ever propitious to me and to the arms of Rome.
Thus all Iberia hath fallen into my hands, and I am now
recalled to Rome. For owing to the continued presence of thy
father and his armies, after so many years, even yet
continuing the struggle with occasional successes in the south
of Italy, and on account of the great insult that he put upon the
city of Rome herself, in riding up to her walls and throwing his
javeline over the very city gates, the Romans are now
determined to take by my hand means to avenge these insults
by carrying the war beyond our coasts upon African soil. And
since there is no secret made of this determination, I do write
unto thee upon the subject for thine own welfare. For, my
beloved, even as I have loved thee, and offered up my
prayers and sacrifices unto the gods for thy sake during all
these my vicissitudes by war, so do I still consider thee and
love thee with a single-minded devotion that nought save
death may change.
“Therefore, no thought of any possible military glory which
may accrue unto myself can weigh in the balance where thy
happiness and welfare are concerned, especially since I see
that through thee any further bloodshed may now be avoided.
For thy country of Carthage may be even yet saved from
invasion if thou wilt but hearken unto my words and come to
me now, when I will espouse thee, and peace will be made
between Rome and Hannibal. For both sides are utterly weary
of this endless war, and thy father Hannibal, after having lost
Capua, which was retaken by our arms despite his repeated
attempts to relieve it, after having lost Tarentum, which is also
retaken by Rome, after having lost nearly all his Numidian
cavalry at the town of Salapia, including, it is said, thine old
lover Maharbal, is now reduced to the position of a wolf
guarding the mountain passes of Bruttium and the few Greek
cities on the Bruttian promontory beyond. ’Tis true that, like
the bold wolf that he is, he doth occasionally sally forth from
his corner of Italy, and ever with certain success; and hath
even recently, in one of these expeditions, slain the mighty
Marcus Marcellus himself, the sword of Rome, the conqueror
of Syracuse, for whose memory thou canst bear no great
love. For I did hear how, after thine escape with Cleandra, by
the treachery of the flag-captain, from Caius Lælius’s ship—
which escape did greatly chagrin both Caius, on account of
Cleandra, and myself—fearing for thy life in Syracuse—thou
didst bravely fight against Marcellus throughout the whole
siege, ay, even until the fall of the city. And since then,
although having learned with greatest joy of thine escape from
death in the final massacre of Syracuse, I have become
aware, with deep regret, of thy residence at the court of Philip
of Macedon. From him I would have thee at once fly in the
ship with Marcus Æmilius, the bearer of this letter, whom thou
didst meet with me in Numidia. For it is not possible but that
the doings of the daughter of Hannibal must be known
everywhere, especially when that daughter is Elissa, whose
beauty and feats are so celebrated. Hence I, in common with
all the Romans, have perfectly understood that it is thou
thyself Elissa who hast been the cause of the war between
Philip of Macedon and Rome. For knowing thy devotion to thy
country, it is not difficult for me to clearly understand with what
object thou hast consented to live with the base Macedonian
wretch, whom, so I have recently heard by spies, maketh thee
by no means happy. But for one reason do I ardently desire
the continuation of that war of thy making with Philip, and that
is that the gods may spare me to drive my sword up to the hilt
in the throat of the scoundrel king. For hath not he, by nought
save guile and wickedness, gained possession of that one
dear flower of womanhood which I would have plucked and
worn myself; and hath not he again, after having himself
ravished the flower from its stem, now left its petals in all their
sweetness to wither and perish with neglect? Therefore,
accursed be he—ay, doubly accursed—by all the gods!
“Now Elissa, my beloved, after deep communing with the
mighty Olympian gods, who have even appeared unto me in
dreams, they have clearly pointed out to me both my duty to
my country and to the woman whom I love, and also the duty
to her country, to herself, and even to me, Scipio, of that
woman, she being Elissa, the daughter of the great Hannibal,
son of Hamilcar Barca. Thus the gods themselves, by whom,
as thou knewest in times past, I am beloved, and who appear
unto me still, even as did Neptune, god of the sea, before the
fall of the New Town, have clearly directed thy course for thee
for the sake of thine own country’s welfare. Since, moreover,
there is now no longer the shadow of the Numidian Maharbal
between us, do I beseech thee to fly from the court of this
dissolute Philip, and come to Rome with Marcus Æmilius; and
then I pledge thee my troth that, saying never a word of
reproach concerning the said Philip, I will make thee my loved
and honoured wife. And there shall thus, by thee, be peace
again between Carthage and Rome, after so many years of
warfare and of misery. Now, farewell, Elissa. I prithee salute
the lady Cleandra if she be still with thee; Caius Lælius
likewise sendeth her salutations. As for thyself, I commend
thee to the blessing of the gods.
“(Sealed) Scipio.”
 CHAPTER V.
A SCENE OF HORROR.

It was night, a calm summer night, when Elissa, after reading

Scipio’s letter, remained alone within a gorgeous pavilion in a camp
established upon the shores of the Hellespont, the letter lying
listlessly upon her lap. With head thrown back upon the cushions of
her divan, the light of a single cresset lamp, formed of gold in a
chaste design, but barely illumined her features, for she was
withdrawn, while thus leaning back, from the radius of its not too
powerful glow. The doors of the tent being open, Elissa could see the
radiant moonbeams without dancing upon the waters of the
Hellespont, and lighting up at the same time the tideless sea and the
mountains upon the further shore.
The Carthaginian maiden rose, and stepping without the tent
gazed wistfully across the straits. How peaceful would have been the
scene had Mother Nature alone been the all-pervading genius of the
surroundings.
But, alas! there were other and more horrid sights and sounds,
making the night, otherwise so beautiful, most terrible in all its
aspects.
On every side could be seen flaming houses; in all directions could
be seen the flying forms of screaming women and children, as their
fathers, husbands, or lovers, carrying out the fearful compact made
among themselves, ruthlessly pursued those nearest and dearest to
them to put them to a cruel death.
At hand here and there could be seen, even close to the tents of
the royal encampment, shapeless, huddled-up forms lying on the
ground. Some of these, lighted up by the rays of the brilliant moon,
or glittering in the flickering light of the fires, betokened that they
were the bodies of dead warriors; others, from their white,
disordered, and oft-times blood-stained raiment, were clearly the
corpses of some of the unhappy female victims. Some, indeed, of
the prostrate women, as appeared by their writhings and spasmodic
struggles, were not even yet dead, but no one took the trouble to put
them out of their misery, for the groups of Macedonian guards who
were here and there lying about the open space, were evidently all
under the influence of numerous libations, and were in a drunken
sleep, utterly careless of their surroundings. Meanwhile, while the
fires around ever crackled and roared, and the heavy smoke drifted
away landward before a faint sea breeze, louder and more
discordant sounds disturbed the midnight air.
From an adjacent and brilliantly lighted pavilion there arose, all
combined, noisy shouts, uproarious laughter, and the screams of
women.
Walking unmolested across the open space which separated her
pavilion from that of the king, and carefully avoiding stepping upon
any of the corpses as she went, Elissa looked within. The sight that
she saw filled her with loathing and disgust. For Philip and his
courtiers, lolling round a huge table, covered with gold and silver
wine-cups, were making merry of the misery of many beautiful young
women, their recent captives, whose tear-stained faces and
disordered dress told only too plainly the brutality to which they were
exposed.
The king himself was a ring-leader at the horrid game which they
were playing with the struggling young women. Holding forcibly a
damsel upon each knee, he was, with hilarious laughter, delighting at
their unavailing struggles, while some of his sycophants poured by
force between their unwilling lips, cup after cup of the rich red wine.
Thus were they making drunk, in spite of themselves, the miserable
maidens, many of whom had probably never even tasted wine
before. Some of the young girls had already thus been reduced to a
state of intoxication, and were reeling about the spacious apartment,
or lying helplessly, grotesquely weeping, on the floor. The onlooking
Macedonian nobles meanwhile shouted with laughter. It was a
terrible sight! Not only did it fill her with terror at what might
perchance befall herself, but the horror and anger that filled Elissa’s
mind drove her to an awful resolve. Seizing a firebrand from a
deserted watch-fire, she advanced once more stealthily towards the
windward side of the huge tent, intending to burn alive this satyr of a
king and all his horrid crew. But, just in time, she remembered that
she would have to burn as well all the wretched young women.
Therefore, although she rightly considered that a speedy death
would be far better for them than a life under such conditions, she
could not find it in her heart to let the poor helpless victims die so
painfully. With a groan she threw the firebrand back into the fire, and,
invoking all the curses of the gods upon the head of Philip, she
retired once more to her tent. Here, trying to shut her ears to the
roaring of the fires, the screaming of the dying women and children,
the brutal shoutings of the drunken nobles, and the miserable
lamentations of the insulted maidens, she once more read through
Scipio’s letter.
She made up her mind at once that Scipio was right, that her duty
to her country was, whatever it might have been in the past, now
undoubtedly to proceed to Rome, and, by espousing Scipio, whose
devotion touched her heart deeply, to conclude a peace, if possible,
between Rome and Carthage. Two reasons strongly impelled her.
One was that the death of her once so deeply-beloved Maharbal had
now removed a great barrier; the other, that she believed firmly, with
many others, that Scipio was indeed, as he pretended, a man
specially favoured by the gods, and that they held personal
communings with him, and to her mind these divine inspirations
accounted for all his successes. Of one thing, at all events, Elissa
was certain, that she wished for no more war. For, if her efforts to
embroil Philip in the struggle between Carthage and Rome had only
resulted in such terrible scenes as she had been witnessing during
the last few days, she felt convinced that such war must be
distasteful to the gods themselves. Therefore she determined to use
all her endeavours now to bring about a lasting peace, for that was,
since the gods themselves had declared it, clearly at this juncture
her duty to her country, and to the world at large.
Elissa summoned Cleandra, who was even more terrified than
herself at the awful scenes around, and with reason, for upon
returning from the tent of Marcus Æmilius only an hour previously,
she had had a very narrow escape of her life from some of the
citizens of Abydos. They had been upon the point of slaying her by
mistake for one of their own women, when fortunately some
Macedonians of the royal guard, to whom she was known, had come
to her assistance, and had slain her aggressors. But now the guards
were all drunk, and the two women knew that if they were to escape
they must reach alone the camp of the Roman embassy, which,
being on the shore close to the Roman ships, was carefully
entrenched and properly guarded by the ambassador’s own escort.
Cleandra, who had, when in the tent of Æmilius, had her wits
about her as usual, had not been wasting her time. She knew all
about the drift of the contents of Scipio’s letter, and had even heard
of the death of Maharbal before Elissa gave her the tidings, but she
had preferred to keep her own counsel until her mistress and friend
should learn them for herself from the letter.
Not waiting for Elissa to make up her mind to fly, Cleandra had laid
her schemes, anticipating Elissa’s consent. She had accordingly
arranged with Marcus Æmilius to have all his men ready on board
ship, and everything prepared for instant sailing, promising him to
return with Hannibal’s daughter, if possible, before dawn.
In the event of her not being able to prevail upon Elissa to fly,
Cleandra had begged the gallant young Roman to leave Abydos
without her, for she was resolved herself to share Elissa’s fortunes
for weal or woe in the future as in the past. Nor could the prayers of
Marcus, who was most loath to leave her, that she should herself fly
with him, move Cleandra in the least; for, although ever fickle with
men, she was faithful beyond the fidelity of women where Hannibal’s
daughter was concerned.
Scarcely staying to console Elissa upon the death of Maharbal,
which she evidently felt deeply, Cleandra set about collecting all their
jewellery and money, and concealing it about her person. As for
Elissa, she donned instantly her war-gear, and armed herself with a
sheath, darts, and a sword, for in this garb she had no fear of not
being able to pass in safety through any such parties of the
Macedonian guards as might not be too intoxicated to recognise her.
Bidding Cleandra cover herself with a dark cloak and to follow her,
she, after extinguishing the light, stepped forth from her tent, the
entrance to which she closed. Then passing in rear of the king’s
pavilion, where the noise was not now quite so excessive, they took
their way to the Roman entrenchments.
 They had passed the royal tent in safety, and, while threading their
way with caution, were nearly out of ear-shot of the royal
encampment, when suddenly they came, standing outside their own
tents, upon two of the most debauched nobles of a debauched court,
Alexander, son of Phidias, and Xenacreon, son of Themistocles.
Xenacreon had for long ardently pursued Cleandra, and, despite her
cloak, he recognised her in a moment. Bounding forward he seized
her, exclaiming:
“Aha, my lady Cleandra! whither away thus in disguise like a thief
in the night? For sure thou seekest a lover; well, here am I all ready
to thy hand, take me!” and he embraced her rudely.
Cleandra did not seek to struggle at first, but only to temporise.
She answered civilly, for she did not wish the sound of the
discussion to reach the king in his tent.
“I pray thee release me, my good Xenacreon, and I will meet thee
some other time. Just now I may not stay; I am engaged on
important business with the lady Elissa.”
“With Elissa, the king’s courtesan, now out of favour!” exclaimed
Xenacreon loudly. “Well, what is good for one is good for another. I
will not, so that I get thee, grudge her to Alexander here, who long
hath admired her; so take her, Alexander, I give her unto thee! But
come thou with me now, sweet Cleandra, no time is like the present.”
And while he sought to drag her within his tent, Alexander sprang
forward swiftly and attempted likewise to seize upon Elissa herself.
But she was far too quick for him, and leapt nimbly on one side,
discharging, as she did so, a dart which transfixed him through and
through. He fell groaning to the ground, writhing in agony.
“Now for thy turn, Xenacreon!” cried Elissa. “Take thou this for thy
dastardly insult to ‘the king’s courtesan, now out of favour.’ ”
And she plunged her sword deep into his body below the upraised
arms with which he held Cleandra. Snatching Cleandra from his
grasp before there was time even for her to be stained with his
blood, Elissa started running, dragging Cleandra after her, for she
perceived that the king himself had rushed out of his tent, followed
by such of his officers as could stand.
But, although raising hoarse, drunken cries, they ran in the
direction of the women, they could not see them, or, indeed, their
own way, for on coming out into the darkness from the brilliant light
they were blinded, and caught their feet in the numerous tent ropes,
and fell sprawling in all directions. Some of them even got so far as
the prostrate bodies of Alexander and Xenacreon, over whose still
breathing forms they fell heavily, while cursing loudly. But Cleandra
and Elissa easily escaped, and soon reached the Roman
entrenchments in safety, where Marcus Æmilius was waiting in
person to receive them.
Welcoming them heartily, he quickly took them off to his ship. Then
withdrawing his guard, but leaving his camp standing so as to
deceive the Macedonians in the early morning, he set sail at once
with his three vessels, and soon they felt the cool breezes of the
Ægean Sea blowing in their faces. Long before dawn they were well
out of sight of land, and steering a course for Tarentum on the
Iapygian promontory.

END OF PART V.
 PART VI.

CHAPTER I.
A SPELL OF PEACE.

For the first time for years Elissa was able to enjoy a space of
peace of mind and body. Lying back upon her cushions, beneath the
awnings on the deck of the stately ambassadorial quinquereme, she
was at length at rest. Lulled rather than disturbed by the swishing
sound of the five banks of oars moving in absolute unison, she
gazed out languidly at the successive red-cliffed and grass-clad
islands of Greece and felt happy. For now all suspense was over,
she had resolved upon her future course; and, as Polybius has said,
there is naught so terrible as suspense. Let the circumstances of life
be good or bad, while they are hanging in the balance there is ever
anxiety, agitation, impatience, to distress the mind. But once they be
decided one way or another the soul is relieved; if decided for evil,
then the worst is known already, if for good, the heart will cease from
painfully throbbing in anxious agitation, and be at rest.
Thus, then, was it with Elissa, as, for want of wind, propelled
merely by the oars, the ship glided steadily onward over the sunny
summer seas. Now she had no longer any anxiety as to the port for
which her life’s bark was steering. She had made up her mind at
length to marry Scipio, and was clearly satisfied that her ship of life
was having its course shaped by the great gods who ruled her
destiny, and that therefore that course must be right, and her own
determination a righteous one.
So, even while thinking of Maharbal with a softened regret—for he
was scarcely more to her than a dream of years long gone by—she
allowed herself the almost unknown luxury of being happy. And the
happiness came, not from any sense of satisfaction at a realised
ambition, nor from the feeling of joy that is experienced in the
attainment of a long-desired love, but simply from the relief obtained
after long battlings in stormy waters. Now the guest and not the
prisoner of Rome, she day after day enjoyed her calm repose, and,
while fervently thanking the gods for her relief from the degrading
atmosphere of Philip’s court, did not weary her mind with anxious
forebodings or misgivings for the future. She thought, it is true, of
Scipio, and thought of him frequently, but it was more in admiration
of his nobility of soul than with the ardent passion of a lover.
That passion, indeed, he had inspired years ago, but it had been
in spite of herself, and she had known how to do her duty to her
absent lover in repressing it. Now she felt that she loved him indeed,
and deeply, but the affection which she felt in her inmost
womanhood was, she was aware, more like that very love of a sister
which she had formerly professed for him, than that more thrilling
love of mutual passion which she knew they had both experienced in
bygone days.
The moderated nature of her sensations, however, did not trouble
her; on the contrary, their very moderation was a part of the relief of
mind which she now experienced. She loved Scipio in a pure way,
and she longed to see him and to tell him her deep and great
admiration for the grandeur of his soul; the other feeling might come
back again later, on meeting again. If so, she would welcome its
return gladly, for she felt that Scipio deserved something more at her
hands than mere sisterly love; but in the meantime it suited her
wearied brain to think about him, as of all other things, tranquilly. For
her past had in very sooth been stormy enough under all its aspects,
from its very commencement as a child with her father in scenes of
war; as a maiden, in her mad and unreasoning passion for Maharbal
and the grief of separation from him; then later during the bloody and
terrible sieges of New Carthage and Syracuse; and last, but by no
means least, the terrible humiliation endured in the court of the
Macedonian king.
Elissa was now no longer a girl, and, as she closed her eyes and
thought dreamily of all her past, she realised that for nothing on earth
would she live over again the terrible years that had rolled over her
head since she had changed from an inexperienced maiden to an
experienced woman, whose life was far too highly filled with incident
for anything approaching to real happiness to find a home within her
breast. But she was happy now at length for a season, after all her
warrings and wanderings, and, realising this fact, she wished that the
peaceful voyage might never come to an end.
Cleandra, in the meantime, was adapting herself to circumstances
as usual, and was happy too. For, forgetting her first husband, Imlico
the Carthaginian noble, whom she had taken as a mere means to an
end—to escape from slavery to wit; forgetting also her second
husband, the Roman flag-captain Ascanius, whom she had taken for
a similar reason, she had now for the first time in her life fallen
deeply and ardently in love. And this time her love was, she well
knew, as ardently and truly returned by Marcus Æmilius, the
youngest of the Roman ambassadors, whom King Philip had rightly
designated as the handsomest man of his time.
Thus Cleandra looked forward to the time when Elissa should be
united to Scipio with pleasant anticipations of herself, upon the same
occasion, becoming once more a bride, and this time a bride entirely
from choice, not from necessity. Meanwhile, as there was a band of
musicians on board the young ambassador’s ship, consisting of
minstrels and dancing girls, the evenings passed merrily with song
and dance. Thus the time sped gaily enough.
The ships, after passing through the Grecian islands, hit off the
southernmost coast of the Peloponnesus but did not touch
anywhere. But once the western side of the lowermost parts of
Greece had been gained, a strong western breeze set in, on account
of which the land was not only closely hugged, but frequent
stoppages were made at various ports or inlets. For the inhabitants
of the western coast were, if not exactly friendly to Rome, afraid of
Rome, and, above all, the name of Philip was abhorred in those
parts. Therefore, frequent landings were made in convenient creeks
and inlets, and, to pass the time, when the wind was too strong
without, the seine nets would be got out, and a morning or afternoon
employed innocently in fishing beneath the shadow of a headland in
some land-locked bay.
 It was delightful to Elissa now, her armour all laid aside, clad in
modest raiment given to her by the minstrel girls on board, to join in
these fishing parties. She loved also to watch the sea-gulls grouped
on the rocks, or the nimble-winged flying-fishes springing like a
covey of partridges from the foam. What, in her present softened
mood, when all relating to war and death was distasteful, grieved
her, however, was that even to capture the innocent fishes meant
death to some of the creatures created by the gods, while she soon
learned that when the flying-fishes sprang into the air, it was only
because a group of porpoises was pursuing them. Moreover, she
observed that, especially when near the coast, the ospreys or fish-
eagles, swooping down from their eyries, would often seize them in
their talons. Thus, if they escaped by taking flight from one danger in
the sea, they, nevertheless, succumbed to another danger in the air.
And whenever Elissa allowed herself to think at all, a thing that she,
with all her will, did her utmost to avoid, she vaguely hoped that her
fate might not be that of a flying-fish springing from one danger, that
it knew of close at hand in the water, to another, that it knew not of,
in the air.
But she realised, from thus observing the birds and the fishes,
that, even in the calmest scenes of nature, the eternal laws of death
and destruction are ever present and in force; that there is nought
that liveth but must die, and die, more frequently than not, by a cruel
death. All this only strengthened all the more her serious resolve to
do all within her power to save unhappy humanity from further
suffering, and for the future to work in the interests of peace alone.
Having made up her mind firmly on this point, she determined
further that never again would she raise her own hand in warfare,
that never would she wear armour more.
Calling Cleandra, she bade her bring to her, where she was
reclining under a silken canopy on the poop, the light cuirass and
helmet incrusted with gold that had protected her in many a fight, the
trusty sword with which she had struck in the wars with Mago, in the
defence of the New Town and in the streets of Syracuse, many a
blow on behalf of Carthage. She bade Cleandra bring also to her the
sheath of darts, whence she had drawn years before the weapon
which had slain Cnœus Scipio, and quite recently that which had
procured her escape from Alexander, son of Phidias, by causing his
death.
Lastly, she bade Cleandra bring her beautiful shield of polished
steel, inlaid with gold, bearing on its centre a golden representation
of the horse of Carthage. When Cleandra had placed all these
weapons and arms by Elissa’s side on the deck, she asked, with
some curiosity:
“What wilt thou do with thine armour to-day, Elissa? Here in this
land-locked bay there is nought for thee to fight, unless it be with
yonder monstrous shark, whose triangular back fin appeareth
moving lazily above the surface of the pellucid waters. Ugh! I hate
sharks! and this one hath followed us for days. Canst thou not fancy
his horrid teeth meeting through thy flesh?”
And, clasping her hands to her bosom, Cleandra shuddered.
“Ay, what would the lady Elissa do with her arms here upon my
ship?” asked courteously Marcus Æmilius, who had followed
Cleandra. “Hath she cause of offence against any person that she
need defend herself while being my guest? If so, by the Olympian
Jove, the offender shall suffer for it.”
“Nay, nay, good Marcus!” answered Elissa, laughing at the young
man’s serious looks, “I need not mine armour for any defensive
purposes, but merely as solid food wherewith to feed yonder hungry
shark. For henceforth I will be a woman only, and mine only defence
shall be my virtue; or, rather,” she continued, smiling bitterly, “so
much of it as King Philip hath left me. I have no longer need for
sword or shield, neither helmet nor cuirass can make me what I was;
no arms, alas! can give me back the self-respect that was mine
before I fell into the clutches of Philip of Macedon; thus I will no more
employ them to slaughter hapless beings who may already,
perchance, have suffered as deeply as I have myself.”
She paused, and furtively wiped away a tear, for she was, indeed,
all woman now. Stooping, she seized upon her helmet, rose, and
cast it overboard.
Like a streak of light did the shark, with gleaming side, dash
through the water. Turning belly upwards, he seized the helmet,
displaying two triple rows of teeth just below them as they stood by
the bulwarks.
 Cleandra screamed at the sight of the horrid monster so close to
her, and seized Marcus tightly by the arm.
“Dost thou see the brute?” quoth Elissa; “he eateth, with the
digestion of an ostrich, everything, no matter of what description, that
falls overboard; I have watched him for days. He would, indeed,
make but one bite of thy sweet rounded form, my dear Cleandra, so
grasp thy Marcus firmly.
“But now,” she continued, “he shall have that I never yet yielded to
living man—and much good may it do him.”
So saying, she cast her bared sword into the water. The savage
brute dashed at it as before, and caught the glittering weapon in its
gigantic maw.
In striving to close its mouth, however, the point entered deeply
into the upper jaw, while the hilt remained against the lower one.
Thus, the huge beast could not close its horrid teeth, but remained
lashing furiously with its tail the waters, which were soon tinged with
blood. Meanwhile, while watching the struggles of the gigantic shark,
Elissa threw over in turn her cuirass and her sheath of darts.
There now remained nought but her shield. Elissa picked this up,
intending that it should follow all the rest. But her hands were
unequal to the deed. As she gazed down upon the golden horse in
its centre, the salt tears fell upon the polished but dinted steel,
wherein she seemed to see as in a mirror all her warlike past, all
those deeds of arms that she was renouncing now for ever.
“Oh, I cannot do it, I cannot do it!” she sobbed. “I cannot cast away
my shield, my last defence, so oft my trusty friend.”
Gently, the loving Cleandra wound an arm round the beautiful
young woman and soothed her, while Marcus Æmilius, embarrassed
beyond measure, and, as a warrior, grieved also at the scene he had
been witnessing, in seeing these arms cast away, turned to the side
of the ship to watch the still struggling tiger of the deep, who, now
that he was in adversity, was being attacked by several others of his
own kind. For some small ground sharks, that had not hitherto
shown themselves, suddenly appeared from the bottom of the bay,
and were savagely tearing away at his defenceless sides, biting out
huge pieces.
 Elissa, recovering herself, pointed out what was taking place to
Cleandra.
“How like humanity! where the little are ever ready to take
advantage of the misfortunes of the great. And how like a warrior
deprived of sword and shield, ay, even like myself, is that now
defenceless monster. But although in future I will be woman, not
warrior, I will not after all cast away that emblem of a warrior’s
defence, for which a woman hath no need.”
She drew herself up proudly, and approached the Roman.
“Marcus Æmilius, since thou art my defence at this moment, and
since, by all the gods! I do most sincerely trust in thine honour, I will
even confer upon thee that which hath been the safeguard of
Hannibal’s daughter from Roman weapons in many a bloody field.
For no need have I, now nought but a mere woman, for a shield,
being under the care of an honourable man. Therefore take thou my
buckler, and keep it, for Elissa’s sake.”
The handsome young ambassador was a most courtly knight. He
threw himself upon one knee to receive the tendered gift. While he
received the shield with one hand he raised the other to heaven in
an invocation.
“May the great god Jupiter destroy me with his thunderbolts, if
ever I should part from this most sacred shield, or should I ever harm
a hair of the head of the most gracious and lovely lady who hath
bestowed it upon me.”
He kissed Elissa’s hand, then rising and holding the shield with all
honour, as though it were an offering consecrated to the gods,
Marcus Æmilius bore it with him to his cabin.
Meanwhile, the little sharks were still tearing the big shark to
pieces, and, as the monster writhed about in its agony, the rays of
the sun were frequently brilliantly reflected from Elissa’s sword blade
fixed upright in the midst of its horrible fangs. But even as Æmilius
disappeared from view, bearing her shield, so with a last convulsive
struggle did the monster sink, followed by its tormentors.
Elissa accepted this as a good omen, a sign that her own troubles
were buried for ever with her sword at the bottom of the sea. And
she felt happier and altogether more womanly now that she had thus
divested herself of her arms and armour.
 The voyage was a long one, owing to the adverse breezes, which
made the crossing of the southern part of the Adriatic impossible for
a time; but at length, the wind changing, the ships were able to issue
from the Grecian land-locked harbour, where they were lying, and
pass swiftly across to the entrance of the Tarentine Gulf, situated
between the Iapygian and Bruttian promontories, which form, as it
were, respectively the heel and the toe of the south of Italy.
As the ships sailed in, the day being remarkably clear, Æmilius
pointed out to Elissa and Cleandra something white glistening on the
hill-tops to the far west across the gulf. This, he informed them, was
the celebrated temple of Juno Lacinia, which was held most sacred
by all, and especially by seamen, as it formed a landmark for them to
steer by. What neither Æmilius nor Elissa knew, however, was that
Hannibal her father was at that very time encamped with his forces
in the sacred groves and parks surrounding the temple. For he had
made of that spot, known as the Lacinian Promontory, his head-
quarters.
Although some Carthaginian vessels were sighted in the distance,
and Æmilius had some anxiety in consequence, he managed to
elude them, and to arrive with his three ships safely within the
harbour of Tarentum. Before entering the harbour, a great part of the
town had been passed, and Elissa noticed that it had a miserable
and deserted look. This was not surprising, for, upon its recent
delivery by treachery to the Romans, thirty thousand of its Greek
inhabitants had been sold into slavery, while all its Bruttian
inhabitants had been massacred. Moreover, all the famous statues
and works of art in the city had been taken away to Rome.
 CHAPTER II.
ELISSA WRITES TO SCIPIO.

When the three Roman warships were safe within the shelter of the
harbour, the entrance to which was completely dominated by the
citadel, now full of Roman soldiers, the first thing that was pointed
out to Elissa was the place where her father Hannibal had, by night,
some years previously, withdrawn the Tarentine fleet from the waters
and conveyed the whole of the ships on wheels and rollers across
the isthmus into the open seas without. At the same time Æmilius
dwelt with pride upon the fact that, although Hannibal had entered
the town by the treachery of two of its inhabitants to Rome, and
eventually lost it again by the treachery of its commander to
Carthage, yet had her father never been able to capture the citadel,
notwithstanding his several years’ occupation of the city.
The arrival of the young ambassador and his squadron created no
slight stir in the place, and the three quinquiremes had no sooner
cast anchor than the Roman governor of the town, one Caius
Tacitus, lost no time in coming off in his State barge to visit the
envoy, and to learn the latest tidings from the court of Philip.
When the governor found that Elissa was on board, as the friend,
not the prisoner of Marcus Æmilius, his surprise knew no bounds.
Nor was his surprise modified when he learned that Hannibal’s
daughter was on her way to Rome to marry Scipio. Withholding any
news of Italian matters until later, Caius invited Marcus and his
guests to come ashore without delay, when he entertained them right
royally to a banquet in the citadel.
It was during this banquet that Elissa became aware of two
circumstances. The first was that her father was encamped with his
forces somewhere in the Bruttian Peninsula, at some point probably
within a hundred Roman miles of where she then was; the second
that, despite his youth, Scipio had been elected consul for the year,
and had been recently despatched into Sicily. Thither he had been
sent with two Roman legions as a nucleus, and was now busy
raising a large army from various sources and building a fleet with
which to cross over the sea to Carthaginian soil.
This information gave Elissa much cause for reflection; for it was,
indeed, thoroughly calculated to arouse all kinds of conflicting
feelings in her mind.
The calm which had so recently existed in her breast was already
disturbed, and once again all was riot and chaos within. For her duty
now scarcely seemed so clear to her as it had been, when all that
was required of her was to go straight to Rome and join Scipio, and
when she had had no idea of her own father’s likely proximity. She
wondered now if it were not rather her duty to endeavour by some
means or other to join her father.
That night, after her return to the ship, she pondered long on the
subject, nor would she hold any converse with Cleandra, who was
anxious to know how Elissa had taken the news. Her she sent to talk
with Æmilius, while keeping apart herself in a separate part of the
ship. And thinking of her father’s many exploits, by one alone of
which this very city of Tarentum was to be for ever celebrated, she
remained gazing into the night, and most ardently did Elissa offer up
her prayers to the great god Melcareth that he would guide her in
this juncture. She was not weighing in her mind the possibility of
carrying out any plan of escape to her father’s camp, but rather that
which would be right and just for her to do in the sight of heaven. At
length light came to her brain and her course seemed clear.
Evidently she was bound more than ever now to fall in with Scipio’s
wishes; bound in honour to him, for was she not now by his means
safely removed from the clutches of the detested Philip? and, more
than ever, for the very sake of Carthage, for, while the Phœnician
power was diminishing to a vanishing point all over the world, the
power of Rome was ever increasing by leaps and bounds.
Further, since Scipio had, in addition to all the honours he had
won, now been appointed consul, he would be in a far better position
to make himself heard before the Senate in a matter of peace and
war. Moreover, the invasion of Carthage clearly depended in a great
measure upon him alone, since he had only been provided with two
legions to start with, which legions consisted merely of the runaways
from the battle of Cannæ, who had been kept for punishment in