CHAPTER XVI.
BAAL HAMMON.
For some time after the events related in the last chapter the siegewent on without any noticeable incidents. The fighting was nearlycontinuous, but there was nothing like a pitched battle. The besiegersdid not again attempt an assault, nor did the besieged make a sally inforce. Scipio's plan was to complete the blockade of the city, and thento await events, reserving his attack till famine and disease hadexhausted the strength of the enemy.
The first step was to cut off all communication on the land side.Carthage stood on a peninsula, and Scipio's superiority in the fieldmade him master of the isthmus by which this peninsula was joined to themainland. This he covered from sea to sea by a huge fortification, whichserved at the same time for a camp. It had a ditch and a rampart both onthe side that looked towards the city, from which it was distant littlemore than a bow-shot, and on that which faced the mainland. It wasnecessary, indeed, that it should be defensible both in the front and inthe rear. It was one of the most formidable possibilities of the warthat the Roman army might be attacked from behind by the native alliesof Carthage. Scipio knew--it was a mark of his genius that he kneweverything--that the emissaries of the city were unceasing in theirefforts to raise an army of auxiliaries among the native tribes ofNorthern Africa. The wall had, as usual, towers at intervals over itswhole length. One of these towers, built in the most solid fashion ofstone, was carried up to such a height that it commanded a view of allthat was being done within the city walls.
Of course the besieged did not allow this work, threatening as it was tothe very existence of their city, to be carried on without interruption.Catapults, posted on the city walls, kept up a continuous discharge ofmissiles; unceasing showers of stones came from the archers andslingers, while bodies of infantry were kept in readiness to sally forthwhenever and wherever they saw an opportunity of doing damage. TheRomans had, so to speak, to build and dig with a workman's tool in theone hand and a weapon in the other, but they stuck to their task withindefatigable zeal and inexhaustible courage. The officers shared allthe toils and dangers of their men, and the work progressed, not indeedwithout loss, but without interruption.
Meanwhile the city was in a state of constantly increasing excitementfrom another cause, not unconnected, however, with the war. The festivalof Baal Hammon--otherwise Moloch--was approaching, and it was to bekept with unusual splendour, even, it was said, with rites of worshipthat had fallen into disuse for many years. For Carthage, though it hadmuch of the unchanging temper of the East, was not wholly untouched bythe spirit of progress, and some of the darker and more savage practicesof her religion were no longer practised. But now again the fiercerinstincts of the race were waking. It was a common topic of talk in thestreets that the desperate fortunes of the state called for moreeffectual methods of propitiating the anger of heaven. Meetings of theSenate were held daily with closed doors, and it was known, thoughinstant death was the appointed penalty of any indiscreet revelation bya senator, that the chief subject of debate was settling the details ofthe great Moloch feast.
Cleanor, in common with the other Greeks in the population, whethercivil or military, heard but little of the matter. It was, in a way,kept from them by their companions and comrades, who knew that theyregarded such proceedings without sympathy, not to say, with disgust. Inthe ordinary course the great day would have come and passed without hisknowing anything about it beyond the fact that it was the chief festivalof the Carthaginian year. But this was not to be.
He was returning to his quarters somewhat late in the evening, two daysbefore the appointed time, when he felt a hand laid on the sleeve of histunic, and heard himself called by his name in a voice which somehowseemed familiar, though he could not immediately connect it with anyfriend or acquaintance. He halted, and turned to the speaker.
It was a woman, poorly clad as far as he could see in the dim light, andof middle age, to judge from what appeared of her veiled and cloakedfigure.
"Help, noble Cleanor!"
That strange faculty of remembering voices that most of us have, strangebecause it is a sheer effort of memory, unhelped by any accessories ofshape and colour, did not fail him.
"What! is it you, Theoxena?" he cried.
Theoxena was his foster-mother, the wife of a poor schoolmaster atChelys, who had been persuaded by her own need and the liberal offers ofCleanor's father to undertake the nurture of one of his twin-children.She had been resident for some years at Carthage, to which city herhusband had migrated, tempted by the prospect of more liberalremuneration than he could hope for in his native place.
"Yes, sir, it is I," said the poor woman in a voice broken with tears."And oh, in such trouble! If you could help me--but come in here. 'Tisbut a poor place; but I cannot tell you my story in the street."
Her home was close at hand, and Cleanor followed her in. A poor place itwas, but clean and neatly kept, and even with some little marks of tasteand culture. In one corner of the room stood a _capsa_, a cylindricalcase for holding manuscript rolls, and above it, on a bracket fastenedinto the wall, a statuette of Hermes. The chairs were of elegantpattern, though of common wood, and the mats on the floor, though wornand shabby, were of artistic pattern.
"Well, Theoxena," he said, "what is the matter? What can I do for you?"
"Oh, sir!" she answered, commanding her voice with an effort, "they havestolen from me my little Cephalus, the dearest, brightest little boythat ever was, and are going to offer him for a sacrifice to theirdreadful Hammon."
"But how do you know? How did it happen?"
"You shall hear the story from Daphne, who was with him when he wasstolen."
"And who is Daphne?" asked Cleanor.
Daphne, who had been sitting in a small chamber leading out of the mainroom, came forward on hearing her name, holding in her hands a piece oftapestry at which she had been working. She was a girl of fourteen orthereabouts, not actually beautiful, perhaps, but with a rare promiseof beauty; her figure had something of the awkwardness of the time whichcomes between childhood and womanhood; her features still wanted thatsubtle moulding which the last critical years of girlhood seem able togive. But her eyes, blue as a southern sea with a noonday sun above it,were marvellously clear and full of light; her complexion was dazzlinglybright, and all the more striking from its contrast to the generallyswarthy hue of the inhabitants of Carthage. Her hair was of a rich redgold colour, and would have been of extraordinary beauty if it had hadits natural length. As it was, it was cropped almost close, though hereand there a little curl of a new growth had begun to show itself.
"This, sir, is my Daphne," said the woman, laying her hand upon thegirl's head. "We are good patriots, I am sure, for the dear girl gave upher beautiful hair--if you will believe me, it used to come down nearlyto her ankles--to be made into a string for a bow. The bow-maker said itwas the very finest he had had, though all the great ladies in Carthagedid the same, I am told. Daphne," she went on, "tell the noble Cleanorabout our darling little Cephalus."
"Remember," said the young man, who saw that the girl was tremblingexcessively, "remember that the noble Cleanor is your brother, even asTheoxena is his mother," and he lifted his foster-mothers hand to hislips and respectfully kissed it.
The girl began her story: "I took my little brother to walk in thegarden--the garden, I mean, of Mago the senator, who kindly lets us useit, because the streets are so noisy and crowded, and the people are sorude." Cleanor did not wonder that she attracted more notice than sheliked. "There is seldom anybody there; but that day there was an old manwho began to pet dear little Cephalus, and give him sweetmeats andcakes. He seemed very kind, and I never dreamt of any harm; and besides,I was there, for I never leave Cephalus alone. Ah! but I did leave himalone that morning, wicked girl that I am." And she burst into a floodof tears. "But then what could I do? Hylax--that is the puppy thatCephalus is so fond of--began to fight with another dog, and Cephaluswas frightened, and said, 'He'll be killed! he'll be kille
d! Do savehim, Daphne.' He would himself have run to help, but I was afraid hewould be bitten, though that would have been better than what didhappen. So I told him to sit still where he was, and I ran to helpHylax. It took me a long time to get hold of him, for he was very angry,and would go on fighting though the other dog was much bigger. And whenI looked round, the dear little boy was gone. I hunted all over thegarden, and called him a hundred times, but it was no use. Motherhasn't blamed me once, but I can't help feeling that it was my fault."
"But what," asked Cleanor, speaking to Theoxena, "has put this dreadfulidea of Hammon into your head?"
"Oh! I know from what my neighbours have told me that there is going tobe a sacrifice such as there has not been for years and years, and thata number of children are to be put into the fire. The priests say thatthere must be a hundred, not one less. Some parents offered their ownchildren--to think that anybody could be so wicked!--and these quiterich and noble people, I am told; but still there were not enough, soothers had to be taken by force. Besides, the priests said that theremust be children of every race that was in Carthage; and no Greekchildren could be got except by kidnapping them. And there wassomething, too, which Daphne did not tell you. She picked up a buttonwhere the old man had been sitting, and I have been told by someone whoknows that it is of a kind that only the temple servants of Hammon use."
"I see," said Cleanor; "there seems very little doubt that it is so. Butdon't trouble; you shall have your son again. I have a hundred things toask you, but that must be for another day; there is no time to be lostnow. Farewell!"
The young man had spoken confidently enough to the agonized mother, butwhen he came to reflect on what he had to do he did not feel by anymeans confident. All night he was busy with the problem, but seemed,when the morning came, as far off a solution as ever. He could not eventhink where to go for counsel and help. His Greek comrades would feelwith him, but they probably knew no more about the matter than he did.As to his Carthaginian fellow-officers, though he was on the best ofterms with them, it was quite useless, and indeed impossible, toapproach them. At last an idea occurred to him. The Greek physician whohad attended him when he was in Hasdrubal's house might possibly be notonly willing, but able to help him. Willing he would certainly be, forhe was a Greek; able, possibly, seeing that his practice lay largelyamong Carthaginians of the highest class.
He lost no time in looking for his friend, and was luckily soonsuccessful in his search.
"I am not surprised," said the physician when he had heard the story. "Iknew that something of the kind was going on, though the priests keep itas quiet as they can. I was called in yesterday to see the wife of asenator. She was in a state of prostration, for which I could see nophysical cause. Of course I diagnosed mental trouble, and put somequestions in that direction. I got nothing but the vaguest answers. Justwhen I was going away I asked some question about her children. She saidnothing, but the next moment she fell into the very worst fit ofhysterics I have ever seen. I put two and two together, for I haven'tbeen a doctor for forty years for nothing, and guessed the truth. Andafterwards, when I was giving the maid in attendance some directions, Iheard it for certain. The poor woman had given up her eldest boy, abeautiful little creature of six, to Moloch. And now about this Greekchild. Well, we must not be seen on the street talking together. Come tomy house about noon to-morrow, and we will talk it over."
Cleanor was punctual at the appointed time.
"I have been thinking it over," said the physician when he had satisfiedhimself that he could not be overheard. "And I don't see any chance ofsuccess except by bribery. I know where the child is--in thehigh-priest's house. I was called in two or three days ago to see achild who was ill there. I thought it strange, for the priests have nofamilies. Still, it might be a child of a relative. But it was strangerstill when, after I had prescribed for the little fellow and was goingaway, I heard the voices of other children. Then it was all explained bywhat I told you this morning. They keep the poor little creatures, whenthey have got them by persuasion or force, in the high-priest's house.That is one step, then. We know where the boy is. And the next, by greatgood luck, is made easy for us. The little fellow that I have beenattending will certainly die. I feel almost sure that I shall not findhim alive when I go this afternoon. Well, I shall have to report hisdeath to the high-priest, who will have to find a substitute for him,and will, I suppose, kidnap another child. That is a horrible thing; butwe can't help it. Now for my plan. You must bribe the attendant who willhave to remove the child and see to its burial. That will be easyenough. He is a fellow of the lowest class, and will do anything for ascore of gold pieces. And you must also bribe the priest who has thebusiness of actually offering the children. That will be a more seriousmatter. The practice is for the high-priest to offer the first, and tohand over the rest to a subordinate. This is the man you will have todeal with. It isn't that it will be a matter of faith with him.Generally, in my experience--not always, mark that--but generally thenearer the altar the less the faith; and this man I know. But it is adangerous affair, and, besides, the man can make his own terms. I shouldsay that a hundred gold pieces will be wanted. Now, can you manage that?It isn't every young officer that has a hundred gold pieces to spare. Ican help you a little, but a physician's fees are small and hard to comeby."
"A thousand thanks!" said Cleanor, "but I have as much as will bewanted."
"Come again after dark," the physician went on. "You will have to settlewith the men, for I must not appear in the matter, but I will arrange away for you to see them."
"Everything is going as well as possible," said the physician when thetwo met again. "As I expected, the child was dead. And here I have madea little change in our plans. I thought that it might make complicationsif two were engaged in the affair. And the priest might object if hefound his secret shared by an attendant of far inferior rank. It mightmean, he would say, endless blackmailing. What I did, then, was to tellthe man that there was something very strange about the child's illness,that I wanted to discover the real cause, and that I would give him acouple of gold pieces--to offer him more would have been suspicious--ifhe would let me have the body. That is disposed of, then. Now for thepriest. He comes here to-night; he has long been a patient of mine, andhe wants to see me. The fellow, who is one of the hardest drinkers inCarthage, would have been dead long ago but for me. You will see him,and tell him what he is to do, which, in a word, is to put a dead childfor a living one, and what you will give him for doing it. That is thenaked truth, but you will wrap it up as you think best."
"But will not that be an impossible thing--a dead child for a living?"asked Cleanor.
"Not at all," replied the physician, "and not by any means so hard asyou think. You don't know, I daresay, that the children are drugged asheavily as possible without making them actually insensible. All thecreatures that are brought to be sacrificed have to be drugged. You knowthat it is thought to be the very worst omen if a bull or a ram breaksaway from the attendants as they are bringing it to the altar. You don'tsuppose that there is a miracle perpetually worked so that what happensevery day in the slaughter-house never happens in a temple? And thismakes the affair comparatively easy. There is not much differencebetween a drugged child and a dead child."
The priest came in due course. The physician with some cautious hintsexcited his curiosity and greed, and Cleanor found his task neither sodifficult nor so costly as he had anticipated. It is needless to relatethe negotiations. As the physician had anticipated, the priest's faithwas not a difficulty. He had not a vestige of belief. He had been aparty to too many impostures to have anything of the kind left.Fraudulent miracles were a part almost, it might be said, of his dailybusiness. But he made the most of the risk of the proceeding, and thiswas undoubtedly great. Not only was the dead child to be substituted forthe living, but the living was to be smuggled away. The physician hadprovided a temporary refuge for it; it was to be received into thefamily of the couple which kept his
house. The thing probably appearedto be more difficult than it really was, chiefly because no one wouldhave any idea that it would be attempted. A bargain was ultimately madefor a somewhat smaller sum than the physician had named. The priest wasto receive five-and-twenty gold pieces down, and fifty pieces more whenCleanor was satisfied of the safety of the child.
Cleanor was long in doubt whether or not he should be present at thehideous ceremony of the coming day. All the instincts of his own natureand his race revolted against such doings. The Greek temper was notparticularly merciful, and certainly never shrank from taking life whenoccasions of policy or promptings of revenge seemed to suggest it, butit had no liking for spectacles of blood. Even in its degradation itrevolted from the savage amusements which fascinated the Romans. AndCleanor had the best feelings of his race in high development. On theother hand, he reflected that if any chance suspicion should arise hispresence might help to disarm it. Above all, his interest in the fate ofhis little foster-brother was so overpowering that he felt it impossibleto keep away.
The solemnities of the day began with a great procession, in which theinferior deities of the Carthaginian faith were carried to pay theirhomage, as it was said, to Baal Hammon their chief. Each had his owncompany of priests and temple attendants; both the deity and hissatellites were decked out for the occasion with all the splendourswhich the temple treasuries--most of them rich with the accumulation ofcenturies--could furnish.
First,--for it was right that the most dignified visitor should be thefirst to arrive,--came Melcart, Hammon's vicegerent, as he might becalled, who had under his special protection the daughter cities of thePhoenician race, as he had the great mother-city of Tyre. The god wasnot represented by any human figure, but a great sun, with gilded rays,was borne under a canopy of rich purple curtains. Next to Melcart cameTanit or Astarte, symbolized by a similar image of the moon, butsmaller, and with silver rays; and after Tanit again, Dagon, thefish-god, the special protector of the fleets of Carthage, held in lessreverence since the eldest daughter of Tyre had lost the hereditarysupremacy of the seas. These were the three great dignitaries of theprocession; after them followed a crowd of inferior powers with figuresof man or brute, always heavy with gold or sparkling with gems, butgrotesque or even hideous in shape, for the Phoenician craftsman madeno effort to emulate the grace of his Greek rival.
Hammon's temple was thronged, and indeed had been thronged from the hourof dawn, when its gates were thrown open, with an excited multitude. Alane, however, was kept clear in the middle by two ranks of stalwartguards, native Carthaginians, all of them splendid in gilded helmets,with nodding plumes of the African ostrich, and armour of shining steel,with short purple cloaks over their shoulders. This lane was left forthe approach of the divine visitors. As the first of these drew near,the great doors, themselves covered with a scarlet curtain, thatseparated the sanctuary from the body of the temple, were thrown back,and the holy place became visible, to most of those present that day forthe first time in their lives.
In the centre of a semicircular recess at the further end, on a throneof gold, approached by twelve steps, each flanked by the image of alion, sat the colossal statue of Hammon. The canopy above it was formedby the meeting wings of two stooping figures. The image was made of someblack stone, probably basalt, carved into a rude similitude of the humanfigure, with arms of steel which extended forwards. In front, so closeto the image as to be partly under the arms, was an opening six feetwide, from which, now and then, a slender tongue of coloured flame mightbe seen to shoot forth.
When the opened doors revealed the image, an instantaneous silence fellupon the assembled multitude, in striking contrast to the babel ofsounds which had filled the temple a minute before. The awful moment hadcome, and the multitude waited with mingled wonder and terror for whatwas to follow.
The silence was first broken by the voice of the high-priest as he beganto chant the litany of supplication. It was heard plainly enough, butfew understood it, for the form had not been changed from the earliesttimes, and the language was mostly obsolete. At certain intervals thevoices of the inferior priests might be heard coming in with therefrain. The ancient formula ended, the high-priest added specialsupplications for the day. He invoked blessings on Carthage, on herarmies, her fleets, her priests, and her people. He cursed her enemies,Rome first of all, with special mention of the name of Scipio. Thesupplications ended, the high-priest turned to the people, crying, "Sonsof Carthage, offer with a willing heart, and of your best, to your Lordand Saviour Hammon!"
There was a momentary pause. Then the Shophetim descended from theseats on which they had been sitting, and, coming forward, cast gold andspices into the opening. No one imitated, or was expected to imitatethem. They represented the people, and their gifts symbolized theoffering of the people's wealth. The more solemn part of the sacrificeremained to be performed, and this part, for evident reasons, thepriests retained in their own hands.
The high-priest began again:
"O Baal Hammon, we have given thee the most precious of things withoutlife; now we give thee flesh of our flesh, and life of our life."
So saying, he took from the hands of a subordinate priestsomething--what it was no one could discern--wrapped in white linen, andplaced it on the outstretched arms of the colossus. The image, worked byconcealed machinery from behind, bowed its head, and at the same timelowered its arms, dropping the burden that had been placed upon theminto the chasm underneath. Something between a roar and a shriek went upfrom the multitude that filled the temple. There was the joy of seeingthat the great Hammon accepted their offering; there was the horror--foreven the Carthaginians were human--of knowing what the offering was. Thenext instant a loud crash of sound came from the cymbal-players, who hadbeen stationed in a recess out of sight of the multitude. Every timeanother burden was placed on the arms and dropped into the chasm therewas the same outburst of wild music.
"THE HIGH PRIEST PLACED THE SACRIFICE ON THE OUTSTRETCHEDARMS OF THE GOD."]
Cleanor watched the horrible ceremony with intense attention. Now andthen he fancied--he had found a place, it should be said, not far fromthe sanctuary--that he saw a movement, and even heard a cry. But hecould not feel certain. He recognized the priest who handed the firstchild to the high-priest, and who placed the others on the arms of theimage, as the man with whom he had negotiated, and he felt sure that onone occasion he made a slight gesture, which no one else would notice,in his direction. It was a great relief when the horrible rite wasfinished. As to the fate of the child he could not immediately satisfyhimself. It would have been imprudent to make any inquiries. He had,however, the satisfaction of receiving, during the course of the nextday, a message from his friend the physician that the boy was safe. Thesame comforting intelligence was conveyed to the mother. She, of course,had to be content with an occasional sight of her child, and the hope ofregaining him at some happier time.
Lords of the World: A story of the fall of Carthage and Corinth Page 18
