Her place was taken by the spirits of his father and his uncle — a pair of loving brothers. Scipio rushed through the gloom, seeking to embrace them; in vain, for the spirits he was fain to clasp were like mist or drifting smoke. “Beloved father, what god so hated Latium that he carried off you, the pillar of Roman rule? Alas! why was I ever unfeeling enough to be absent one moment from your side? I might have thrown myself in front of you and died in your stead. How sorely all Italy mourns for your deaths! By decree of the Senate, a double tomb is now rising in your honour on the grassy Field of Mars.” They suffered him to say no more: even while he spoke, thus they began reply. His father’s ghost spoke first: “Virtue is indeed its own noblest reward; yet the dead find it sweet, when the fame of their lives is remembered among the living and oblivion does not swallow up their praises. But make haste, glorious scion of our house, and tell how great is the burden of war you are now bearing. Alas, how often dread comes over me, when I remember your fiery onset in the face of great peril! I entreat you, my hero, bear in mind what brought us two to our deaths, and control your ardour in battle. Be warned by the experience of your kinsmen. The eighth summer was thrashing the rattling ears of ripe corn; eight years had passed since I had set my foot on the neck of all Spain and my brother had conquered the land and made it pass beneath the yoke. We rebuilt hapless Saguntum and gave her new walls; we made it possible to drink the water of the Baetis and fear no foe; again and again we forced the invincible brother of Hannibal to retreat. But, alas, barbarians are ever foul traitors. Hasdrubal was crippled by defeat, and I was in victorious pursuit of him, when suddenly the Spanish cohorts, a mercenary rabble whom Hasdrubal had enslaved to Libyan gold, broke their ranks and deserted our standards. Thus left in the lurch by our allies, we were far inferior in number to the enemy; and they formed a dense ring round us. We died not unavenged, my son: we played the man on that last day and ended our lives in glory.”
Then his brother added the story of his own death: “When all was over and I was hard beset, I sought the protection of a lofty tower and fought my last battle there. Smoking torches and a thousand fire-brands were hurled at the building, and the conflagration spread far. I have no grudge against the gods on the score of my death: by them my limbs were consigned for burning to no humble sepulchre, and I kept my armour in death. But I grieve to think that, after the disaster that brought me and my brother low, Spain may have yielded under pressure to the attacks of Carthage.”
The young man answered, and his face was marred with weeping: “Ye Gods, I pray that Carthage may be punished as she deserves for such doings. But the fierce tribes of the Pyrenees are now held in check by Marcius, a famous warrior who proved his worth in your army; he protected our defeated forces and carried on the war; report even said that the Carthaginians had been routed in a battle and paid the penalty for your death.” Cheered by these tidings, the generals went back to the pleasant places of the blest, while the young man gazed after them as they went, and worshipped them.
Next Paulus came, hard to recognize in the dim light, and drank of the blood, and spoke thus: “Bright star of Italy, whose martial feats, too great by far for a single arm, these eyes beheld, who forces you to descend into darkness and to visit this realm where those who enter must dwell for ever?” Scipio spoke thus in answer: “O mighty captain, how long did all Rome mourn your death! How nearly you carried down the Roman city in your fall to Stygian darkness! Also the Carthaginian, our foe, built a tomb for your dead body and sought to gain glory by honouring you.” While Paulus shed tears to hear of his burial by the enemy, Flaminius came in sight, and Gracchus, and the sad face of Servilius who fell at Cannae. Scipio was eager to call them by name and converse with them; but his strong desire to look on the heroes of the past carried him away.
He saw Brutus who gained eternal fame by the merciless axe, and then Camillus, peer of the gods in glory, and Curius next who never welcomed gold. The Sibyl revealed to him their faces and names as they came up. “This blind man drove Pyrrhus from his door and spurned the king’s dishonest overtures for peace; that other withstood the king who attacked the Tiber banks, and, when the bridge was broken down behind him, kept out the returning tyrants by his valour, single-handed. If you desire to sec the man who concluded the peace after the first war with Carthage, here Lutatius stands, the famous conqueror whose fleet won the great sea-battle. If you wish to look also on the ghost of fierce Hamilcar, yonder he moves — you can see him in the distance — and his frown is not relaxed even by death but still retains its fierce resentment. If you would fain converse with him, suffer him to taste the blood and speak.” When leave was given and the thirsty ghost had drunk his fill, Scipio thus began to reproach him, frowning upon him: “Is this the way, O father of lies, that Carthage keeps her treaties? Is this the compact you made when a prisoner in Sicily? Your son, breaking all covenants, is waging war all over Italy; he has burst all barriers and fought his way over the Alps, and is upon us; all the land is ablaze with barbarous warfare, and our rivers run backwards, choked with corpses.” The Carthaginian answered: “Hannibal had hardly completed his tenth year when he vowed at my bidding to make war against Rome; and he may not deceive the gods by whom his father swore. But if he is now laying Italy waste with fire and striving to destroy her power, then I hail him as my true son, dutiful to me and faithful to his oath; and I pray that he may regain the glory that we lost.” Then, with head held high, Hamilcar departed in haste; and his ghost seemed taller as it went away.
Next the priestess pointed out the men who held the sword and, in answer to their demand, gave laws to the people; they were the first to borrow statutes from the shore of the Piraeus and blend them with the laws of Italy. Scipio saw the decemvirs with gladness and could not gaze long enough at them; he would have addressed them all, but the great priestess reminded him that the number of ghosts was infinite. “How many thousands, my son, do you suppose have come down to Erebus from all the world, while you look at this and that? Every moment an overflowing torrent of the dead is driven hither, and Charon ferries the host across in the roomy bark that cannot hold them all, despite its size.” Then the priestess pointed to a young man and spoke thus: “That is he, who ranged in arms over every land, who found a way through Bactra and the Dahae, and drank of the Ganges — the Macedonian who threw a bridge over the Niphates, and whose city, named after himself, stands on the sacred Nile.” The Roman addressed him thus: “O true-born son of Libyan Ammon, since your undisputed fame eclipses that of all other commanders, and my heart is fired with the same thirst for glory, tell me the path by which you rose to your proud eminence and the topmost pinnacle of achievement.” Alexander made answer: “Cunning and caution disgrace a general. Boldness is the way to win a war. Valour without speed has never risen triumphant over danger. When there is great work to be done, do it instantly; dark death hovers over your head while you are acting.” Thus he spoke, and departed. Next the ghost of Croesus flitted up; in the upper world he was rich, but death had set him on a level with beggars.
And now Scipio saw a figure moving along the Elysian path, whose hair rippled over his shining shoulders and was duly confined by a purple fillet. “Say who is this, Maiden,” he asked; “for his sacred brow shines with a light beyond compare, and many souls follow him and escort him with cries of wonder and delight. What a countenance is his! Were he not in the darkness of Hades, I should have said confidently that he was a god.”
“You are right,” answered the wise handmaid of Trivia; “he deserved to seem divine; a great genius dwelt in his mighty mind. His poetry embraced earth and sea, the sky and the nether world; he rivalled the Muses in song and Apollo in glory. All this region also, before he ever saw it, he revealed to mortals; and he raised the fame of Troy to heaven — Troy the mother of Rome.” Scipio gazed with joyful eyes at the ghost of Homer and said: “If Fate would suffer this poet now to sing of Roman achievements, for all the world to hear, how much deeper an impression the s
ame deeds would make upon posterity, if Homer testified to them! How fortunate was Achilles, when such a poet displayed him to the world! The hero was made greater by the poet’s verse.”
When Scipio asked who pressed forward in such crowded ranks, he was told that they were the spirits of heroes and the mighty among the dead. He marvelled at Achilles the invincible and gigantic Hector; the vast stride of Ajax and the reverend face of Nestor moved his wonder; he looked with delight at the two Atridae and the Ithacan, as great in counsel as Achilles in battle. And next he saw the shade of Castor, Leda’s son; he would soon return to life; and Pollux now was spending his turn of life in the upper world.
But suddenly Lavinia was pointed out to him and attracted his gaze. For the Sibyl warned him that it was time to review the ghosts of women; for, if he delayed, dawn might summon him to depart.
“She was happy as the daughter-in-law of Venus, and the offspring of her marriage bound Trojans and Latins together for all time to come. Would you see also the consort of Quirinus, the son of Mars? Yonder is Hersilia. When the neighbour nation despised such unkempt suitors in days gone by, she was carried off by a shepherd-bridegroom and entered his hut, and lay well pleased upon his bed of straw, and forced her kinsmen to throw down their arms. See where Carmentis moves; she was the mother of Evander, and her prophecies hinted at this present war. Would you look also on the face of Tanaquil? Chaste of heart, she too had the gift of prophecy, and foretold the kingly rule of her husband, recognizing the favour of heaven in the flight of a bird. Next see Lucretia, famous for her death, the glory of Roman chastity; her face and eyes are fixed upon the ground. Not long, alas, was Rome permitted to enjoy this boast which ought to be preferred to any other. Beside her see Virginia; her bleeding breast still shows the wound — the sad record of maidenhood defended by the sword — and she still approves of her father’s hand that struck the piteous blow. Yonder is Cloelia, the maiden who stemmed the Tiber and stopped the Etruscan army, triumphing over her sex; ancient Rome prayed to have sons as brave as she.” Then a sudden sight appalled Scipio, and he asked who was the guilty shade and why she was punished. The priestess answered: “This is Tullia; she crushed her father’s body beneath her chariot-wheels, and pulled the reins till she halted above his quivering features; therefore she floats on the burning stream of Phlegethon and will never come to an end of her suffering: the water rushes madly forth from dark furnaces, bringing up calcined rocks to the surface and lashing her face with burning stones. That other, whose heart-strings are gnawed by an eagle’s beak, — hark to the sound of flapping wings with which the armour-bearer of Jove returns to its meal, — is Tarpeia, a maiden guilty of a monstrous crime. She loved gold, and for its sake betrayed the citadel to the enemy, and opened the gates to the Sabines who had promised to reward her. Near her — do you not see? no venial crimes are punished here — Orthrus, who once guarded the cattle of the Spanish monster, is barking at a victim with famished throat, biting and tearing out her inward parts with his filthy claws. Yet her punishment is not equal to her crime: a priestess of Vesta, she profaned the shrine by losing her maidenhood. But enough, enough, of all these sights.”
Soon she added: “I purpose now to end by pointing out to your view a few of the spirits who are drinking forgetfulness here, and then I shall go back to the darkness. Here is Marius, soon to ascend to the upper world; from small beginnings he will rise to hold power for long as consul. Nor can Sulla put off compliance with the summons, or drink long of the river of oblivion. Life calls for him, and the destiny which no god may alter. He will be the first to seize supreme power; but, criminal as he is, he can boast that he alone will surrender it; and no man who rises to such greatness will ever be willing to follow the example of Sulla. That comely head which the world loved is the head of Magnus, with its fleece of hair rising from the forehead; the other, whose high head is crowned with a star, is Caesar, the offspring of gods and the descendant of Trojan lulus. When these two at last break forth from their seclusion in Hades, what fearful disorder they will stir up on land and sea! Alas, unhappy men, how often will you wage war over the whole earth! And the victor will pay no less dearly for his crimes than the vanquished.”
Scipio answered weeping: “I grieve at the harsh destiny in store for the Roman state. But, if there is no forgiveness in the land of darkness and death itself is justly punished, how shall Hannibal suffer enough for his treachery? Will the waters of Phlegethon serve to burn away his sin, or will some bird tear with its beak for ever his body for ever renewed?”
“Fear not,” cried the priestess: “no life of untroubled prosperity shall be his; his bones shall not rest in his native land. For all his strength will be broken in a great battle; he will suffer defeat and stoop to beg for his life; and then he will try to wage a fresh war with the armies of Macedon. Condemned as a traitor, he will leave his faithful wife and darling son behind him, abandon Carthage, and flee across the sea with a single ship. Next he will visit the rocky heights of Mount Taurus in Cilicia. Ah, how much easier men find it to bear cold and heat and hunger, bitter slavery and exile, and the perils of the sea, rather than face death! After the war in Italy he will serve a Syrian king, and, cheated of his hope to make war against Rome, he will put to sea with no certain destination, and at last drift idly to the land of Prusias, where, too old to fight any more, he will suffer a second slavery and find a hiding-place by the king’s favour. At last, when Rome persists in demanding the surrender of her foe, in hasty stealth he will swallow a draught of poison, and free the world at last from a long-enduring dread.”
Thus the priestess spake, and returned to her dark cavern in Erebus; and Scipio went back joyfully to his comrades in the harbour.
BOOK XIV
ARGUMENT
THE CAMPAIGN OF MARCELLUS IN SICILY: A DESCRIPTION OF THE ISLAND (1-78). CAUSES OF THE WAR. DEATH OF HIERO, KING OF SYRACUSE: SUCCESSION OF HIERONYMUS (79-95). HIERONYMUS IS MURDERED, AND GENERAL CONFUSION FOLLOWS (96-109). MARCELLUS PREPARES FOR ACTION (110-124). HE TAKES LEONTINI BY STORM (125-177). HE BLOCKADES SYRACUSE BY LAND AND SEA (178-191). ALLIES OF SYRACUSE (192-247). ALLIES OF ROME (248-257). SICILIAN ALLIES OF CARTHAGE (258-276). CONFIDENCE OF THE SYRACUSANS (277-291). THE GENIUS OF ARCHIMEDES FOILS ALL THE ATTEMPTS OF THE ROMANS (292-352). A SEA-FIGHT (353-579). AN OUTBREAK OF PLAGUE DELAYS OPERATIONS (580-617). AT LAST THE CITY IS TAKEN (618-684).
TURN your song now, ye goddesses of Helicon, to the sea of Ortygia and the cities of the Sicilian coast. Such is your toilsome task — to visit now the Daunian realm of the Aeneadae and now the harbours of Sicily, or to traverse the land of the Macedonians and the country of Greece, or to dip your wandering feet in the sea of Sardinia, and to behold either the reed-huts once ruled by Carthage, or the World’s End where the sun goes down. War waged in many separate lands requires this of us. Come, then, let us follow whither the trumpets and the wars summon us!
The Isle of Three Capes is a large fragment of Italy. It has lain there ever since, battered by the fury of winds and waves, and pushed forth by Neptune’s trident, it let in the sea. For long ago the main, with the invisible force of a tornado, dashed itself unseen against the bowels of the land and tore it apart; then rushing over the fields in full flood, it uprooted whole cities with their inhabitants and carried them to a distance. From that time the fast-running tide maintains the separation, and its fierceness forbids those thus parted to come together again. But the space between the severed lands is so small that, as the story goes, the barking of dogs and early crowing of cocks can be heard across the water; so narrow is the strait. The soil of the island has many virtues. Here it gives a rich return to the plough, and there the hills are shady with olive-trees; its vines are famous, and it breeds swift horses, fit to endure the sound of the war-trumpet; nor is the nectar of Hybla inferior to the honeycombs of Athens. Here you will admire healing springs, whose sulphur waters have secret virtue; and here you will marvel at the utterance of mighty poets, bards worthy of Apollo and th
e Muses, who make the sacred groves re-echo with song and Helicon resound with the Muse of Syracuse. The Sicilians are ready of tongue; but also, when they made war, they often adorned their harbours with trophies won by victories at sea.
The first rulers of the island were the Cyclopes and cruel Antiphates; and next the virgin soil was ploughed by the Sicani, who came from the Pyrenees and named the uninhabited country after a river of their native land. Then Siculus led a band of Ligurians into the island, and conquered it, and once more changed its name. Nor was the land disgraced by settlers from Crete, whom Minos, when he sought to punish Daedalus, brought forth from his hundred cities to suffer defeat. For, when Minos, slain by the horrid treachery of the daughters of Cocalus, went down to everlasting darkness to sit in judgement there, his war-wearied army settled in Sicily. Then two Trojans, Acestes and Helymus, brought in a Phrygian stock; they had followers with them and gave their own names to the cities they built — names that were to last for ages. The walls of Zancle too are not unknown to fame; for Saturn made it famous when he laid down his sickle there. But the land of Henna can boast nothing more beautiful than the city which has built herself a name from the Isthmus of Sisyphus, and outshines all the other cities by reason of its Corinthian inhabitants. Here Arethusa welcomes her loved Alpheus to her waters abounding in fish, when he comes bearing trophies from the sacred games.
Complete Works of Silius Italicus Page 30