Lords of the World Part 12

"That is easily explained," replied the Carthaginian. "When it was all over he turned to one of the senators, who is supposed to favour peace--he had compelled the man to come with him--and said: 'We have heard the last of capitulation, I fancy, for some time. What terms do you think your dear Scipio will be disposed to give you after this?' And now about your prisoner. I have come straight to warn you. We must think what is to be done. One thing, of course, is certain--you can't keep him here. Some bird of the air would carry the matter. Hasdrubal, too, has his spies everywhere, and knows everything, and you would hardly like to give him up. He seemed a nice young fellow."

"Give him up!" cried Cleanor--"certainly not. I should deserve to be crucified myself if I did."

"You might tell him what has happened, and put him in the way of taking the matter into his own hands. The Romans seem never to trouble much about killing themselves."

"That seems but a mean way of getting out of the difficulty. The man is my guest. I have eaten and drunk with him. He sha'n't be harmed, if I can help it. I don't love the Romans, but I could not behave so to the very worst of them, and least of all to a Scipio."

"But you'll get into very serious trouble yourself."

"Well, trouble or no trouble, I am determined to save him somehow.

Meanwhile, many thanks to you for warning me. But there's no good in your mixing yourself up in the matter."

"Good! but mind this, the sooner he is out of the way the better for him, if not for you. Farewell!"

"Well," said the young Roman, when his captor returned, "this is a very pleasant way of being a prisoner, but I suppose it can't last. You must do your duty; pray, don't get yourself into trouble on my account."

Cleanor was in a state of extreme perplexity. To hand over a gallant young soldier to a merciless savage such as Hasdrubal was impossible.

Yet it seemed scarcely dutiful to Carthage to let a valuable prisoner escape; and, again, if he could make up his mind to this, how was such an escape to be managed?

"Doing my duty," he said, after a few minutes of silent reflection, "happens to be more than usually difficult."

After another pause he went on, "After all, there is nothing for it but to tell you the simple truth. Hasdrubal has put all the prisoners to death, and to a horribly cruel death."

The prisoner grew pale. He was young, and life was dear to him. As a Roman, too, he knew the hideous traditions of Carthaginian cruelty. In a few moments he had recovered himself and his voice was firm.

"I can bear," he said, "what my countrymen have borne. Or, if you would make me feel that I have been more fortunate than they, give me back my sword for a moment."

"Hasdrubal's deed is a crime," replied the young Greek, "and I will not make myself an accomplice in it. Your sword I will certainly give you if I can see no other way."

Again he reflected, then his face lighted up. He had thought of a way of escape out of part at least of his difficulty.

"There is another way, and I will ask you to follow it without any questioning. I will certainly not give you up to Hasdrubal, nor will I suffer you to give up your life for mine. Your sacrifice, too, would be useless. Hasdrubal will say, if he should come to know about you, that he wanted you alive, not dead, and will be as furious with me for letting you kill yourself as for letting you escape. So put that thought out of your mind. Now about escape; I have had half a hundred plans in my mind during the last half-hour, but the best, I might say the only one, seems to be this. All Carthage is hard at work on some ramparts of earth that are being made in the rear of the south wall, just where the ground dips a little. Men of all ranks are working at them, and even women and children. All are volunteers, no wages are given, and no questions are asked. You can't miss the place, for there is a steady stream of people going backwards and forwards to it. Most of the men wear a rough sort of workman's tunic. I can give you one, and I can furnish you with a spade. Work on there till it is dark. No one will think it strange, for people who are employed in the day often give two or three hours to work at the ramparts in the night. Then you must take your chance. Bide your time, and drop quietly down from the wall. One thing remember: don't on any account open your mouth. If anyone speaks to you, pretend to be dumb or that you don't understand. And there is one thing more which I ask, not because I think it necessary, but because I shall be able to answer for you better: swear by the oath that in your country you think most binding, that you will give to the besiegers no information as to what you have seen in the city."

The young man swore by Jupiter and the household G.o.ds of his own family that he would be absolutely silent on all that he had seen or heard.

Shortly afterwards, equipped as Cleanor had described, he took his way to the earthworks. It is needless to say anything more than that, after nightfall, he easily made his escape.

When the day came to an end without any inquiry being made for the prisoner, Cleanor began to hope that the whole affair might escape notice. Just before midnight, however, he received a visit from his Carthaginian friend. "I have only a few moments," said the young man.

"First, as to the prisoner--what have you done with him? where is he?"

"In the Roman camp by this time, I hope," replied Cleanor; and proceeded briefly to describe what he had done.

"Well," said the other, "as nothing has been seen or heard of him, he has probably made his escape; and a very lucky thing for him! But now about yourself. Hasdrubal knows, or will know to-morrow morning. One of the soldiers who was with us gave information. I will be even with him some day, the mercenary scoundrel! Happily, the chief was too tipsy to understand what was being told him. But he will be sober to-morrow morning, and then look out for yourself. But what do you mean to do?"

"Do?" replied Cleanor, "nothing, except tell him the truth."

"Well, you don't want for courage. But remember, he is the most merciless brute on earth. Don't flatter yourself that you will find him anything else."

"I have made up my mind. Let him do his worst. But a thousand thanks to you!"

"I wish we had a thousand men such as he in Carthage," muttered the young officer to himself as he went away--"as gentle as he is brave, whereas our people's fancy is to be cruel and cowardly."

Early on the following morning an orderly made his appearance at Cleanor's quarters. "The general understands," he said, "that you have a prisoner in your hands. You are to deliver him up."

Cleanor did not feel himself bound to make any explanation to an orderly, and simply replied that he had no prisoner in his hands.

"Then," said the man, "I am instructed to search your quarters."

"Search, but you will find nothing."

The man searched and went away. An hour or so afterwards he reappeared, this time with a guard of four soldiers. He had instructions, he said, to arrest Cleanor, son of Lysis, an officer of the guards of the south-west wall.

Cleanor surrendered himself without a word, and was at once marched to head-quarters. On his arrival he was handcuffed. Hasdrubal, who had never possessed much personal courage, was accustomed to take this precaution when any prisoner was brought into his presence.

"I have it on good authority," said the general, when Cleanor stood before him, "that you had a Roman prisoner in your hands on the night of the day before last. Why did you not deliver him up at once to the proper authorities?"

"Because he was ill. If this was irregular, I acknowledge my fault."

"Let that pa.s.s, then. Where is he now? How was it you suffered him to escape?"

"I did not suffer him to escape; I took care that he should escape."

"What!" cried the general in a furious voice--so far he had succeeded in keeping calm--"what! you deliberately let him go! This is sheer treason!

What have you to say?"

"I could not let him be dealt with as the others were dealt with. To have given him up after that would have been a crime."

"What audacity! Who are you, paltry Greek that you are, to make yourself a ruler and a judge in Carthage? That is enough. It is your life for his life. Take him away!" he roared to the guards who had the prisoner in their charge.

Cleanor was taken back to the guard-room, and shortly afterwards transferred from that to a cell in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the house, a squalid, stifling, ill-smelling place, dimly lighted by a strongly-barred aperture in the roof. Here he spent five days. Every morning his jailer opened the door just long enough to put within it a loaf of coa.r.s.e rye-bread and a flagon of doubtful-looking water. He saw and heard nothing more during the day.

On the sixth day he was again brought before Hasdrubal. The general was, or seemed to be, in a different mood. He affected to be much disturbed at the prisoners squalid appearance, inquired how he had been treated, and when he heard the details declared that his orders had been entirely misunderstood. Cleanor knew exactly how much value was to be attached to these protestations, but prudently kept his counsel and thanked the general for his kind intentions.

"I have been wis.h.i.+ng," Hasdrubal continued, "to have some conversation about a matter in which you might be very useful to Carthage, but you are really not fit for it. Let me at all events do what I can to repair this deplorable mistake."

He whispered some instructions to an attendant, and Cleanor was ushered out of the room, being treated with a politeness which was in strong contrast to the rude handling which he had received on the former occasion. He was provided with a bath and a change of clothes, and afterwards sat down to an excellent meal.

Later on in the day he was again summoned into the general's presence.

"I cannot but think," said Hasdrubal, "that you were wrong in the matter of the prisoner, but you meant well; yes, you meant well, and it may turn out for the best after all. The prisoner who escaped was a Scipio, was he not?"

"Yes," replied the Greek, "he was a Scipio."

"The Scipios will feel that they owe you something for what you have done.... Does not that seem to give you an opening?"

"I don't understand," replied Cleanor, though he had little doubt, as a matter of fact, what it was that the general wanted.

"There are some things," continued Hasdrubal after a pause, "which I should much like to know, and I would gladly give ten talents to the man who would find them out for me."

"To put it plainly," said Cleanor, "you want me to go as a spy?"