Dawn was clearing away the dark clouds from the sky and had hardly tinged with red the faces of Atlas’s daughters, when Masinissa made his way to the camp of the Romans, still his foes. When he had passed the rampart and was received by the Roman general with friendly looks, the king thus began: “The warning of the gods and the prophecy of my revered mother, together with your great deeds so blest of Heaven, have torn me away from the Carthaginians and brought me hither unreluctant to you, the leader of the Roman army. If you saw me many a time resisting your thunderbolts, then, O son of the Thunder-god, I offer you an arm worthy your acceptance. I have not acted thus from foolish fickleness of mind or instability of purpose, nor is my heart set on the rewards of victorious warfare; but treachery I cannot bear and a nation that has ever been false. Your campaign as far as the Pillars of Hercules is completed; let us now together attack the mother of war herself. With fire and sword you must force back to Libya the man who for twice five years has been the master of Italy and is now planting his ladders against the walls of Rome.”
Thus spoke the king of Numidia. Then Scipio grasped his hand and said: “If our nation seems to you noble in war, she is nobler still in keeping of her word. Banish from your mind those double-tongued allies. We offer you splendid rewards, Masinissa, for noble service; and Scipio will sooner be overcome in battle than in gratitude for benefits received. Further, you bid me carry fire-brands to Libya. Time will clear the way. For I have not failed to ponder such matters, and the thought of Carthage gives me no rest.” Then he gave presents to the prince — a richly embroidered mantle and a steed with purple housings which Scipio himself had taken when he unhorsed Mago, and had approved for its mettle; also a golden bowl from which Hasdrubal was wont to pour libation to the gods, and a crested helmet. When the treaty of alliance with Masinissa was concluded, forthwith Scipio laid his plans for overthrowing at once the towers of Carthage.
In the Massylian country Syphax was the richest prince; nor was he lacking in noble qualities. His sway was owned by countless tribes, and his power extended as far as the Ocean. He was rich in territory and in horses, and in those huge beasts that spread terror on the battle-field; he had also an army of picked soldiers. Nor was there any man richer than he in ivory and solid gold, and none who dyed more fleeces in vats of Gaetulia. Scipio, eager to annex these resources and conscious of the danger if the king were to side with Carthage, ordered ships to put to sea and, in fancy, was already making war in Africa. But when the voyage was over and the ships made the harbour, Hasdrubal, who was sailing in hasty retreat along the neighbouring coast, made his appearance, seeking new allies for his distressed country, and tried to gain the Massylian army for Carthage.
When Syphax heard that the generals of two great nations had come at the same time to his capital — nations which were at war and striving with might and main to decide which of them should rule the world — his heart was lifted up. He ordered that the strangers should be welcomed to his palace; and the respect shown to his power made him swell with pride. Then with cheerful looks he scanned the faces before him, and thus addressed the Roman general before Scipio could speak: “Goodliest of the sons of Rome, I welcome you with unclouded brow and rejoice to look upon you. I recall with pleasure the face of Scipio, your father; you remind me of him. For I remember that, when I visited Gades, the city of Hercules, and the shore of Erythia, attracted by the Ocean and desirous to observe its tides, I was strangely moved when I beheld the great Roman generals, encamped hard by on the river Baetis. Then they gave me presents chosen from the spoil, and weapons also, and bridles for horses, which my realm had never known till then, and bows, not inferior to our javelins; and they gave me veteran soldiers to train my irregular hordes in the Roman manner of warfare. But when I offered in return such things as my country is rich in — gifts of gold or snow-white ivory — my entreaties were of no avail. Each of the generals accepted one thing only — a sword enclosed in a scabbard of carved ivory. Up then with joy and be glad to come under my roof! Further, since fortune has brought the Punic general hither across the sea, hear with indulgent ear what I shall say. Ye also who rule the city of Tyrian Carthage, I pray you, Hasdrubal, to turn your ears and thoughts to my words. None can help knowing what a storm of furious warfare rages through Italy and threatens Rome with destruction; and how, for twice five years, first the cruel soil of Sicily and then the coasts of Spain have drunk Punic blood. Why should not the horrors of war cease at last? Why should you not agree to lay down your arms? Let each of you, Roman and African, be content to remain within his own country. If you incline to peace, Syphax will not disgrace you as peacemaker and mediator.” But Scipio suffered him to say no more; he explained the temper of his people and the supreme power of the Senate, and bade the king abandon his fruitless design: the Senate alone had power to discuss such matters. This hint was enough; and the remaining part of the day was given up to feasting and wine. Then, when the feast was over, they laid them down to sleep, and were free, for the night, from the galling fetters of state affairs.
And now Dawn came forth from her threshold, bringing a new day for mortal men; and the coursers of the Sun left their stables for the yoke. The Sun himself had not yet mounted his car, but the sea was ruddy with flame that would soon burst forth. Scipio rose from his bed and went with unclouded brow to the king’s palace. After the fashion of his country, Syphax used to keep lion-cubs and tame their ferocity by kindness; and now he was stroking their tawny necks and manes while they played, and handling their dreadful muzzles without fear. When he heard that Scipio had come, he put on his mantle, and his left hand bore the sceptre of his ancient kingdom; his temples were bound with a white fillet, and his sword was duly fastened by his side. Then he summoned Scipio to enter, and the pair — the sceptred king and his guest — took their seats, equally honoured, in an inner chamber.
Then the conqueror of Spain spoke first in these words: “Syphax, august sovereign, when I had conquered the tribes of the Pyrenees, my first and most important business was to hasten to your kingdom; nor was I kept back by the dangers of the sea between us. I ask nought difficult or dishonourable to your realm: unite heart and soul with the Romans, and take a share in their success. The Massylian tribes, your territory that stretches to the Syrtes, your hereditary sway over broad lands — none of these things can bring you more glory than Roman valour faithfully allied to you, and honours paid you by the Roman people. Need I say more? None of the gods, be sure, looks with favour on any man who injures the armies of Rome.”
The king heard him and consented with joyful countenance. He embraced Scipio and said: “Let us confirm this favourable beginning and call upon the gods — Jupiter with the horned head and Jupiter of the Capitol — to be present at our common supplication.” At once an altar of turf was reared high, and a bull was standing beneath the descending axe, when suddenly the victim burst its bonds and sprang away in flight from the altar, filling all the startled palace with its bellowing, and spreading terror among the dismayed attendants by its constant panting and hoarse roaring. The fillet also, his ancestral ornament, fell of itself from the king’s forehead and left his temples bare. Such were the evil omens sent by the gods to the doomed monarch, and the menacing portents of disaster were present. A time was coming when he who now sued humbly for a treaty of alliance would utterly defeat this king and hurl him from his throne, and then go before him in procession to the temple of the Thunder-god. When these things were done, Scipio, going back to the harbour, launched his ships before a favourable wind and returned to a familiar land.
The natives came flocking eagerly to meet him; and the conquered Pyrenees sent their manifold tribes. All had the same purpose: with one accord they called Scipio king and hailed him as king; for they know no higher tribute to a great man than this. But when with friendly mien he had declined their offers as unfitting for a Roman, and explained on his side the custom of his country and the hatred felt by Rome for the name of king, then he tu
rned to his one remaining object, now that all enemies were disposed of. He summoned the Romans and also the peoples of the Baetis and the Tagus, and then made this speech to the assembled meeting: “Since the favour of heaven has granted us to expel the Libyans from this Worlds End, and they either lie dead on these plains or, banished from the West, tread as exiles the sands of their native country, I purpose now to do honour to the tombs of my kinsmen who fell in your land, and to give to their shades the rest which they demand. Be of one mind with me, and lend a favouring ear. When the sun shall renew his course through the sky for the seventh time, then let all come hither — those who are mighty in the use of arms or skilled in driving a four-horsed chariot, and those who hope to win the prize for speed or delight to hurl a javelin through the air of heaven. Let them all come and compete together for the glory of a victor’s crown. I shall give fitting prizes — glorious spoils from the Carthaginian booty, nor shall any man depart without a gift from me.” Thus he fired the minds of all by his generosity and their ambition to excel.
Now the appointed day came, and the plain was filled with the noise of a crowd past numbering; and Scipio, with tears in his eyes, led the semblance of a funeral procession with due rites of burial. Every Spaniard and every soldier of the Roman army brought gifts to throw upon the blazing pyres. Scipio himself held goblets, filled either with milk or with sacred wine, and sprinkled fragrant flowers over the altars. Then he summoned the ghosts to rise up, and rehearsed with tears the glories of the dead, and did honour to their noble deeds. Thence he went back to the race-course and started the first contest — that which was to test the speed of horses. Even before the starting-gate was unbarred, the excited crowd surged to and fro with a noise like the sound of the sea, and, with a fury of partisanship, fixed their eyes on the doors behind which the racers were standing.
And now the signal was given, and the bolts flew back with a noise. Scarcely had the first hoof flashed into full view, when a wild storm of shouting rose up to heaven. Bending forward like the drivers, each man gazed at the chariot he favoured, and at the same time shouted to the flying horses. The course was shaken by the enthusiasm of the spectators, and excitement robbed every man of his senses. They lean forward and direct the horses by their shouting. A cloud of yellow dust rose up from the sandy soil, concealing with its darkness the running of the horses and the exertions of the drivers. One man backs with fury the mettled steed, another the charioteer. Some are zealous for horses of their own country, others for the fame of some ancient stud. One man is filled with joyful hope for an animal that is racing for the first time, while another prefers the green old age of a well-tried veteran. At the start, Lampon, bred in Gallicia, left the rest behind; he rushed through the air with the flying car, galloping over the course with huge strides and leaving the winds behind him. The crowd roared with applause, thinking that with such a start their favourite had as god as won. But those who looked deeper and had more experience of the race-course, blamed the driver for putting forth all his strength at the beginning: from a distance they uttered vain protests, that he was tiring out his team with his efforts and keeping no reserve of power. “Whither are you careering too eagerly, Cyrnus?” — Cyrnus was the charioteer—” Be prudent! Put down your whip and tighten your reins!” But alas, his ears were deaf: on he sped, unsparing of his horses, and forgetting how much ground had still to be covered.
Next came Panchates, a chariot-length and no more behind the leader. Bred in Asturia, he was conspicuous for the white forehead and four white feet of his sires. Though high-mettled, he was low of stature and lacked comeliness; but now his fiery spirit lent him wings, and he sped over the plain, impatient of the reins; he seemed to grow in stature and size as he ran. His driver, Hiberus, was gay with scarlet of Cinyphian dye.
Third in order, neck and neck with Pelorus, ran Caucasus, a fractious animal that loved not the caressing hand that patted his neck, but rejoiced to bite and champ the iron in his mouth till blood came with the foam. Pelorus, on the other hand, was more tractable and obedient to the rein; never did he swerve aside and drive the car in crooked lines, but kept to the inside and grazed the turning-post with his near wheel. He was conspicuous for the size of his neck and the thick mane that rippled over it. Strange to say, he had no sire: his dam, Harpe, had conceived him from the Zephyr of spring and foaled him in the plains of the Vettones. This chariot was driven along the course by the noble Durius, while Caucasus relied upon ancient Atlas as his driver. Caucasus came from Aetolian Tyde, the city founded by the wandering hero, Diomede; and legend traced his descent to the Trojan horses which the son of Tydeus, successful in his bold attempt, stole from Aeneas by the river Simois. Atlas came last, but Durius was last also and moved no faster: one might have thought the pair were running peaceably side by side and keeping level.
And now, when near half the distance was completed, they quickened over the course; and spirited Panchates, struggling to catch up the team ahead, seemed to rise higher and at each moment to mount upon the chariot in front, and the hoofs of his prancing forefeet struck and rattled on the car of the Gallician horse. When Hiberus, who came second, saw that the Gallician team of Cyrnus was tiring, that the chariot was no longer bounding ahead, and that the smoking horses were driven on by severe and repeated flogging, then, as when a sudden storm rushes down from a mountain-top, he leaned forward quickly as far as the necks of his coursers and hung above their crests, and stirred up Panchates, who was chafing at being second in the race, and plied his whip, even while he called to the horse: “Steed of Asturia, shall any other get in front and win the prize when you are competing? Rise up and fly and glide over the plain with all your wonted speed, as if on wings! Lampon is panting hard; his strength is gone and he grows smaller; he has no breath left to carry to the goal.” At these words, Panchates rose higher, as if he were just starting in the race; and Cyrnus, though he strove to block his rival by swerving, or to keep up with him, was soon left behind. The sky and the race-course resounded, smitten by the shouts of the spectators. Victorious Panchates raised his triumphant crest still higher as he ran on; and he drew after him his three partners in the yoke.
The two last drivers were Atlas and Durius; and now they swerved aside and resorted to tricks. First, one tried to pass his rival on the left; and then the other came up on the right and strove to get in front; but both failed in their attempted strategy. At last Durius, young and confident, leaning forward and jerking at his reins, placed his chariot athwart his rival’s course and struck the other car and upset it. Atlas, no match for the other’s youth and strength, protested with justice: “Whither are you careering? or what mad fashion is this of racing? You seek to kill me and my horses together.” As he cried out thus, he fell head first from the broken chariot; and the horses too, a sorry sight, fell down and sprawled in disorder on the ground, while the conqueror shook his reins on the open course, and Pelorus flew up the middle of the track, leaving Atlas struggling to rise. It did not take him long to catch up the weary team of Cyrnus: he flew past with speedy car, though Cyrnus was learning too late the wisdom of controlling his pace. A shout of applause from his supporters drove the chariot on. And now Pelorus thrust his head over the back and shoulders of terrified Hiberus, till the charioteer felt the horse’s hot breath and foam upon his neck. Durius pressed on along the plain, and increased the pace of his team by the whip. Nor was the effort vain: coming up on the right, he seemed to be, or even was, running neck and neck with his rival. Then, amazed by the prospect of such glory, he cried out: “Now, Pelorus, now is the time to show that the West-wind was your sire! Let steeds that spring from the loins of mere animals learn how far superior is the issue of an immortal parent. When victorious, you shall offer gifts to your sire and rear an altar in his honour.” And indeed, had he not, even while he spoke, been beguiled, by too great success and by his fearful joy, into dropping his whip, Durius would perhaps have consecrated to the West-wind the altars he had vowed. But now, as
wretched as if the victor’s wreath had fallen from his head, he turned his rage against himself, tearing the gold-embroidered garment from his breast, and weeping, and pouring out complaints to heaven. When the lash was gone, the team no longer obeyed the driver: in vain he flogged their backs with the reins for a whip.
Meanwhile Panchates, sure now of victory, sped on to the goal, and claimed the first prize with head held high. A light breeze fanned the mane that rippled over his neck and shoulders; then with proud step he raised his nimble limbs, and a great shout greeted his victory. Each competitor received alike a battle-axe of solid silver with carven work; but the other prizes differed from one another and were of unequal value. To the winner was given a flying steed, a desirable present from the Massylian king; the second in merit next received two cups overlaid with gold of the Tagus, taken from the great heap of Carthaginian spoil; the third prize was the shaggy hide of a fierce lion and a Carthaginian helmet with bristling plumes; and lastly Scipio summoned Atlas and gave him a prize also in pity for his age and ill-fortune, though the old man had fallen down when his chariot was wrecked. To him was given a beautiful youth, to attend on him, together with a skin cap of Spanish fashion.
When this was over, Scipio summoned competitors for the gladsome foot-race, and offered prizes to heighten their zeal. “The winner,” he said, “shall receive this helmet in which Hasdrubal terrified the armies of Spain; and the second in the race shall carry off this sword which my father took from the dead body of Hyempsa; and lastly a bull shall console the runner who comes in third. The other bold competitors shall each receive a pair of the javelins that the Spanish mines supply, and shall depart content.”
Complete Works of Silius Italicus Page 36