Complete Works of Silius Italicus

  Nero on his side spoke thus: “Soldiers, why hesitate to end the struggle of this tremendous war? You have gained great glory by your march; now complete your enterprise by valour in the field. You left your camp and robbed it of its strength for no sufficient reason, unless victory justifies the deed. Be first to reap the glory; men will always tell how the enemy was defeated by your arrival.”

  At another point Livius addressed his men; he had taken off his helmet, and his white hair made him conspicuous. “Look hither, soldiers,” he said; “look at me as I rush into battle. Fill with your bodies the passage opened up by my sword, and close once for all with the steel the Alps that offer too easy a passage to Punic invaders. If we fail to overthrow their ranks with a speedy victory, and if Hannibal, the thunderbolt of Carthage, comes up suddenly, what god can save a single one of us from the shades below?” Then he put his helmet on, and made good his threats with his sword, and fought amain with his grey head covered. Where the ranks of the foe stood thickest on the field, he slew a man for every javelin he cast; and before him fled in disorder Macae and warlike Autololes and the long-haired warriors from the Rhone.”

  Nabis who came from the prophetic sands of Ammon fought there with foul weapons. He had no fear of death, thinking that his god protected him; and he had vowed, in his pride and folly, to fasten upon the temple of his nation trophies taken from Italy. His blue mantle was bright with Garamantian gems which twinkled like the stars scattered through the sky; his helmet blazed with jewels and his shield with gold. There were horns on his helmet, and from it hung down a fillet that displayed the wrath of heaven and the honour due to the gods. His arms were a bow and quiver and javelins steeped in the venom of asps; for he used poison for his weapon of war. Further, sitting back on his horse in the customary position, he supported on his knee a heavy Sarmatian pike and drove it downwards upon the foes in front. Now too he had driven his weapon with a great shout through the shield and body of Sabellus, and was carrying off his victim in triumph and calling in triumph on the name of Ammon. But the aged consul saw it and resented such fierceness and such arrogance in the heart of the barbarian: hurling his javelin, he robbed Nabis of his victim and his life at one blow, and proved victorious over the victor.

  Hasdrubal heard with grief the cry with which Nabis fell, and hastened up. Standing behind him, he drove a javelin through Arabus, piercing him to the bone, as he was beginning to strip the dead man of his jewelled garments and his armour stiff with gold. The hapless man had clutched the garments with both hands, tearing them off in haste, and had uncovered the quivering limbs. Now he fell over the body of the foe he had robbed, and gave back to the dead man the gold embroidery of his priestly robes. Then Rutilus was slain by Canthus, the lord of the coast to which the unconquered Philaeni gave a famous name. Rutilus was rich in flocks: a thousand sheep bleated in his upland pens; and he himself, living at ease an unlaborious life, was wont now to temper the excessive heat for his flock by dipping them in the coolness of a river, and now, sitting well pleased upon the sward, to shear their shining snow-white fleeces; or, when the ewes came home from pasture, he would watch how the lambs in the pens recognized their dams. The treacherous metal of his shield was pierced through, and he died, lamenting too late that he had ever left his home and his sheep-folds.

  All the more fiercely the Romans assailed the foe and pressed their attack, like a flood or a tempest, like the fire of a flashing thunderbolt, like the sea driven by the North-wind, like the hollow clouds that speed overhead when the East-wind has mingled sea and sky. In the front line under their standards the Gauls were stationed, men of great stature. Their ranks were broken by a sudden and violent attack in wedgelike formation; tired out by their straggling march, breathless after prolonged exertion, and distressed by the heat, they turned and fled with the unsteadiness characteristic of their nation. The Romans speared their backs; and the arrows flew close behind them and cut off their retreat. Thyrmis was slain by a single wound, Rhodanus by more than one; and, when Morinus was struck by an arrow and in the act of falling, a javelin threw him from the saddle. Livius, with reins cast loose, pressed eagerly on the fugitives, and dashed his steed against the retreating squadrons. Then from behind he severed with his sword the swollen neck of Mosa. The head and the helmet fell heavily upon the ground, while his frightened horse carried off the sitting body into the battle. Then Cato, who himself also was rushing to and fro in the centre of the fight, spoke thus: “Would that Livius had stood in Hannibal’s path, when we lost the Alps at the beginning of the war! Alas! how mighty an arm Rome left unused! how many lives have been saved to Carthage by the harsh verdict of a misguided assembly!”

  By now the line was giving way; the cowardice of the Gauls had made cowards of all the army. The Fortune of Carthage was collapsing, and Victory had flown over to the side of Rome. Erect on his horse the consul moved triumphant, and seemed to have renewed his youth and added to his stature. But suddenly Hasdrubal came up, and a squadron white with dust followed him. Brandishing his weapons, he cried to his men: “Cease your flight! Who is the enemy before whom we are retreating? For shame! A feeble old man is putting our army to flight. Has my arm, I ask, waxed feeble for the first time in this battle, and are you discontented with me? Belus is the author of my line, and I am akin to Dido, the Tyrian queen; Hamilcar, most famous among warriors, was my sire; my brother is he whom neither mountains nor lakes, neither plains nor rivers, can withstand; mighty Carthage reckons me as second to Hannibal, and in the country of the Baetis the tribes who have felt my arm in battle put me on a level with my brother.” While speaking thus he rushed into the centre of the enemy, and, when the bright shield of the consul flashed full in his sight, swung his spear and threw it. His too great haste failed of success: passing through the border of the brazen shield and through the breastplate, it grazed the point of the shoulder; but it drew little blood, and the wound was slight. The triumph which it promised to Hasdrubal’s prayer was not granted.

  The Romans were dismayed, and their spirits fell at the fearsome sight. But Livius made light of the assault: “Believe that a woman’s hand, amid the idle din of horns, has scratched my skin, or that a child has struck me with its open palm. On, on, my men! and show what sort of wounds are dealt by a Roman arm.” Immediately a huge cloud of weapons was discharged and veiled the sun with its thick shade. And soon by mutual slaughter the wide-spreading fields were covered with dead men’s bodies, and the corpses that fell into the river were heaped up till they made a bridge across it. So, when Dictynna goes a-hunting in the shady uplands, her mother watches with joy and pride, while she beats the coverts of Cynthus or traverses Mount Maenalus; and all her train of Naiads attend her, speeding on with full quivers and rattling bow-cases. Then the wild creatures, stricken among the rocks and even in their lairs, lie dead in heaps through valleys and streams and caverns green with moss. From a mountain height the daughter of Latona reviews her spoil with pride.

  Nero heard sooner than the rest that the elder consul was wounded, and fiercely burst a passage through the midst of the fight. When he saw that the battle was indecisive, he cried: “What still remains for Italy to suffer? If you cannot conquer Hasdrubal, how will you conquer Hannibal?” Then he rushed with wild speed into the centre of the foe and there saw Hasdrubal raging in their van. So a monster of the angry deep tosses long over the sea and finds no food; but, when the suffering creature sights a fish far off in the waves, in fury he marks his prey as it swims near the surface, and swallows down a wide tract of sea and the fishes within it. Nero was swift to strike and swift to speak: “No longer,” he cried, “shall you slip out of my grasp. The pathless forests of the Pyrenees will not conceal you here, nor shall you cheat me again with empty promises, as you did once, when you were trapped in Spain and escaped my vengeance by the trick of a sham treaty.”

  Thus Nero spoke and hurled his javelin; nor did he miss his mark. For the well-aimed point just lodged in the other’s side, and he
fell. Nero next attacked him fearlessly with his sword drawn, and forced down the trembling limbs with the boss of his shield. “If haply there is any dying message,” he said, “which you wish carried to your brother, I will bear it.” Hasdrubal answered: “No death affrights me. Take what battle gives you: it is enough for me that the avenger of my death will come quickly. If you wish to report my last words to my brother, this is my message: let him burn the conquered Capitol with fire and mingle my bones and ashes with the ashes of Jupiter.” In the fierce anger of death he was fain to say more; but his conqueror’s sword smote him and struck off his traitorous head. When their leader had fallen, his troops, having lost all hope of victory, were mowed down.

  And now dark night stole away the light and ended the sun’s journey. During the night the Roman soldiers refreshed themselves with a frugal meal and brief slumber. Then, before the light returned, they bore their victorious standards back by the same route to the camp which fear kept closed. And Nero, carrying the head of the slain general aloft on a spear-point, spoke thus: “By your brother’s head, Hannibal, we have repaid you in full for Cannae and the Trebia and the shore of Lake Trasimene. I defy you now to fight two treacherous wars at once and summon two armies to your side. Such is the reward that remains for any who desire to cross the Alps and fight by your side.” Hannibal suppressed his tears, and made the disaster less by bearing it bravely. He vowed under his breath that in due time he would yet sacrifice fit victims to his brother’s shade. Meanwhile he concealed his reverse by inaction, removing his camp to a distance, and avoiding the risks of a battle.

  BOOK XVI

  ARGUMENT

  HANNIBAL MOVES ABOUT IN THE BRUTTIAN COUNTRY (1-22). THE CARTHAGINIANS ARE DRIVEN OUT OF SPAIN: MAGO IS DEFEATED AND FLEES TO CARTHAGE (25, 26). HANNO IS TAKEN PRISONER BY SCIPIO (28-77). THE ARMY OF HASDRUBAL, SON OF GISGO, IS DESTROYED (78-114). MASINISSA, A NUMIDIAN PRINCE, JOINS SCIPIO (115-167). SCIPIO AND HASDRUBAL AT THE COURT OF SYPHAX, A NUMIDIAN KING: SYPHAX MAKES A TREATY WITH THE ROMANS; BUT EVIL OMENS FOLLOW (168-274). SCIPIO RETURNS TO SPAIN AND HOLDS GAMES IN HONOUR OF HIS FATHER AND UNCLE (275-591). HE RETURNS TO ROME AND IS ELECTED CONSUL: IN SPITE OF THE OPPOSITION OF FABIUS, HE GETS PERMISSION TO CROSS OVER TO AFRICA (592-700).

  MOURNING over the disaster that had befallen his country and himself, Hannibal retired to the land of the Bruttii. Here, behind his ramparts, he nursed plans for renewing the war which for the time he had abandoned. So a bull, when driven from his stall and deprived of his mastery over the herd, hides in the forest and prepares for conflict in a secret distant glade: his fierce bellowing terrifies the woods; he rushes on over steep hills; he knocks down trees and assaults the rocks with the fury of his angry horns; and every herdsman trembles, when from some high cliff he sees him preparing to renew the strife. Hannibal’s fiery spirit might have destroyed Rome, if the other requirements of war had been forthcoming; but he was thwarted by the perverse jealousy of his own countrymen. Supplies were refused to him, and he was forced to tame his proud spirit and let it rust in idleness. Yet his valour had gained him respect, and the dread inspired by repeated bloody victories in the past kept him safe from all attacks, like a sacred thing. The name of Hannibal was enough: it took the place of all weapons and camp-equipment and fresh recruits. That great army, of men with no common language and divided by so many differences of barbaric custom, stood firm; and respect for their leader kept them loyal in defeat.

  Nor was it only in Italy that the god of war smiled upon the Romans. The Carthaginians were driven at last from the land of gold and departed from Spanish territory; Mago too, deprived of his camp and driven by fear, sailed swiftly across the sea to Libya.

  Now once again Fortune, not content with what she had done for him already, was preparing another triumph for Scipio. For Hanno was hastening up at the head of a horde of barbarians with clashing targets, and was hurrying forward, when it was too late, the native Iberians. He had skill and cunning and valour enough, had his opponent been any other than Scipio. But the Roman general dwarfed all these great qualities by his greater force, as the stars are excelled by the moon and the moon by her brother’s light; as Atlas is the monarch of mountains and the Nile of rivers; as Father Ocean is superior to all the seas. Hanno was fortifying his camp in haste — for evening had begun to throw an unfriendly darkness over him from the dusky heavens — when Scipio attacked him, and with sudden uproar the palisade they had begun to erect was knocked down uncompleted. The heavy sods were heaped on the top of the fallen men, and the turf became a soldier’s sepulchre.

  Scarce one of these men showed courage that deserves to be known by posterity; only one is worthy of record. This was a Cantabrian, Larus by name, who could have inspired fear even unarmed; so gigantic was his frame. After the fashion of his nation he fought with a battle-axe; and, though he saw the ranks around him defeated and overthrown, yet, when all his countrymen were destroyed, he filled single-handed the places of the slain. If his foe stood face to face, Larus rejoiced to glut his rage by smiting him on the forehead; or, if he was forced to meet an enemy on his left hand, he whirled his weapon round and struck a sidelong blow. Or, when a victorious foe attacked him from behind, he was not dismayed but could ply his axe in that direction, a formidable fighter all round. But Scipio, the brother of the invincible general, hurled a spear with mighty force at Larus, which cut off the plume that fluttered on his leathern cap; for the weapon was aimed too high, and the lifted axe diverted it to a distance. Then the Spaniard, made more formidable by his furious anger, sprang up with a loud cry and struck with his barbarous weapon. Both armies trembled, and loud rang the boss of Scipio’s shield when the heavy battle-axe came down upon it. But he paid dear for the blow: his right hand as it recovered from the stroke was lopped off by Scipio’s sword and clung in death to its favourite weapon. When this bulwark had fallen, the ill-fated army turned at once and fled as one man and were scattered over the land. It was less like a battle than a scene of ruthless execution — slayers on one side and slaughtered on the other. Now see Hanno dragged through the midst of the throng, his hands bound behind his back; though a captive in bonds, he begged for life. Ah, how sweet to see the light of heaven! The Roman general answered thus: “These are the men who claim to rule the world, before whom the Roman gown and the sacred nation of warlike Quirinus must bow! If you are so ready to be slaves, why do you make war afresh?”

  Meanwhile a mounted scout brought tidings that Hasdrubal, unaware of the defeat, was coming up in haste to join the other army. Scipio rushed his men to meet him; and when he saw the battle he longed for within his grasp and the foe marching at full speed to death, he looked up to heaven and said: “Ye gods, I ask no more of you to-day. Ye have brought the fugitives forth to battle, and I am content. The rest depends upon your valour, my men: hasten forward, I pray you! My father here, my uncle there, stir your rage. Go ye before me and help me — I follow you, my twin gods of war. Unless my prophetic soul deceives me, ye shall see to-day a slaughter worthy of your fame. Will there ever come an end of fighting on these Spanish plains? Will that day ever dawn on earth, when I shall see Carthage trembling before the clash of my weapons and the near approach of my army?”

  He ended; and the hoarse note and loud blare of the trumpets broke out, and the sky thundered with cries of battle. Then the armies met. Many are the victims claimed by the fury of the sea, when the North-wind and pitiless South-winds whelm fleets with their crews beneath the swollen waves; and many by Sirius, when he kindles his deadly fires and burns up the panting earth with his fierce heat; and no less havoc was wrought by the sword in this battle and by the furious strife of men. No upheaval of the earth could cost as many lives; and no fearful rage of wild beasts could ever work such carnage in their savage haunts. Plains and valleys soon were soaked, and weapons lost their edge. Africans and warlike Spaniards fell alike, Yet, where Hasdrubal brandished his spear, one body of men still held its ground and fought on, though their shields were pier
ced and their resistance was feeble. Nor would that day have ended the struggle, nor that courage have failed, had not an arrow pierced Hasdrubal’s corslet, inflicting a slight surface wound. Thus tempted to flight, he galloped away from the battlefield to a hiding-place, and then under cover of night rode on along the coast to the harbour at Tartessus.

  Masinissa, a Numidian prince, had been Hasdrubal’s right-hand man in the battle; and his name became famous later for his long alliance with Rome and his devotion to her. The darkness of night and the hardships of retreat had made sleep welcome; and he was sleeping, tired out, when suddenly a ruddy tongue of fire was seen to burn bright on the crown of his head; the harmless flame caught his curling locks and spread over his shaggy brow. His servants came round in haste and strove to quench with cold water the flames that were creeping round his temples. But his aged mother recognized a divine omen and said: “Be it so, ye gods! Be propitious and ratify your portent. May the light shine on his head for centuries to come! And you, my son, fear not such a favourable sign from heaven, and let not the sacred flame on your brow alarm you. This fire assures you of an alliance with the Roman people; this fire will bring you a kingdom wider than your fathers ever ruled, and shall add your name to the history of Rome.” Thus spoke the prophetess; and the young man’s heart was moved by a miracle so unmistakable. Also, his valour had received no recognition from Carthage; and even Hannibal bore himself less proudly day by day in the field.