had set out from Carthage, and, for the purpose of placing themselves
under the protection of something formidable, had taken from

Hamilcar's palace the only elephant that the Republic now possessed,--
that one, namely, whose trunk had been cut off.

Then it seemed to the Carthaginians that their country, forsaking its
walls, was coming to command them to die for her. They were seized

with increased fury, and the Numidians carried away all the rest.
The Barbarians had set themselves with their backs to a hillock in the

centre of the plain. They had no chance of conquering, or even of
surviving; but they were the best, the most intrepid, and the

strongest.
The people from Carthage began to throw spits, larding-pins and

hammers, over the heads of the Numidians; those whom consuls had
feared died beneath sticks hurled by women; the Punic populace was

exterminating the Mercenaries.
The latter had taken refuge on the top of the hill. Their circle

closed up after every fresh breach; twice it descended to be
immediately repulsed with a shock; and the Carthaginians stretched

forth their arms pell-mell, thrusting their pikes between the legs of
their companions, and raking at random before them. They slipped in

the blood; the steep slope of the ground made the corpses roll to the
bottom. The elephant, which was trying to climb the hillock, was up to

its belly; it seemed to be crawling over them with delight; and its
shortened trunk, which was broad at the extremity, rose from time to

time like an enormous leech.
Then all paused. The Carthaginians ground their teeth as they gazed at

the hill, where the Barbarians were standing.
At last they dashed at them abruptly, and the fight began again. The

Mercenaries would often let them approach, shouting to them that they
wished to surrender; then, with frightful sneers, they would kill

themselves at a blow, and as the dead fell, the rest would mount upon
them to defend themselves. It was a kind of pyramid, which grew larger

by degrees.
Soon there were only fifty, then only twenty, only three, and lastly

only two--a Samnite armed with an axe, and Matho who still had his
sword.

The Samnite with bent hams swept his axe alternately to the right and
left, at the same time warning Matho of the blows that were being

aimed at him. "Master, this way! that way! stoop down!"
Matho had lost his shoulder-pieces, his helmet, his cuirass; he was

completely naked, and more livid than the dead, with his hair quite
erect, and two patches of foam at the corners of his lips,--and his

sword whirled so rapidly that it formed an aureola around him. A stone
broke it near the guard; the Samnite was killed and the flood of

Carthaginians closed in, they touched Matho. Then he raised both his
empty hands towards heaven, closed his eyes, and, opening out his arms

like a man throwing himself from the summit of a promontory into the
sea, hurled himself among the pikes.

They moved away before him. Several times he ran against the
Carthaginians. But they always drew back and turned their weapons

aside.
His foot struck against a sword. Matho tried to seize it. He felt

himself tied by the wrists and knees, and fell.
Narr' Havas had been following him for some time, step by step, with

one of the large nets used for capturing wild beasts, and, taking
advantage of the moment when he stooped down, had involved him in it.

Then he was fastened on the elephants with his four limbs forming a
cross; and all those who were not wounded escorted him, and rushed

with great tumult towards Carthage.
The news of the victory had arrived in some inexplicable way at the

third hour of the night; the clepsydra of Khamon had just completed
the fifth as they reached Malqua; then Matho opened his eyes. There

were so many lights in the houses that the town appeared to be all in
flames.

An immense clamour reached him dimly; and lying on his back he looked
at the stars.

Then a door closed and he was wrapped in darkness.
On the morrow, at the same hour, the last of the men left in the Pass

of the Hatchet expired.
On the day that their companions had set out, some Zuaeces who were

returning had tumbled the rocks down, and had fed them for some time.
The Barbarians constantly expected to see Matho appear,--and from

discouragement, from languor, and from the obstinacy of sick men who
object to change their situation, they would not leave the mountain;

at last the provisions were exhausted and the Zuaeces went away. It
was known that they numbered scarcely more than thirteen hundred men,

and there was no need to employ soldiers to put an end to them.
Wild beasts, especially lions, had multiplied during the three years

that the war had lasted. Narr' Havas had held a great battue, and--
after tying goats at intervals--had run upon them and so driven them

towards the Pass of the Hatchet;--and they were now all living in it
when a man arrived who had been sent by the Ancients to find out what

there was left of the Barbarians.
Lions and corpses were lying over the tract of the plain, and the dead

were mingled with clothes and armour. Nearly all had the face or an
arm wanting; some appeared to be still intact; others were completely

dried up, and their helmets were filled with powdery skulls; feet
which had lost their flesh stood out straight from the knemides;

skeletons still wore their cloaks; and bones, cleaned by the sun, made
gleaming spots in the midst of the sand.

The lions were resting with their breasts against the ground and both
paws stretched out, winking their eyelids in the bright daylight,

which was heightened by the reflection from the white rocks. Others
were seated on their hind-quarters and staring before them, or else

were sleeping, rolled into a ball and half hidden by their great
manes; they all looked well fed, tired, and dull. They were as

motionless as the mountain and the dead. Night was falling; the sky
was striped with broad red bands in the west.

In one of the heaps, which in an irregular fashion embossed the plain,
something rose up vaguer than a spectre. Then one of the lions set

himself in motion, his monstrous form cutting a black shadow on the
background of the purple sky, and when he was quite close to the man,

he knocked him down with a single blow of his paw.
Then, stretching himself flat upon him, he slowly drew out the

entrails with the edge of his teeth.
Afterwards he opened his huge jaws, and for some minutes uttered a

lengthened roar which was repeated by the echoes in the mountain, and
was finally lost in the solitude.

Suddenly some small gravel rolled down from above. The rustling of
rapid steps was heard, and in the direction of the portcullis and of

the gorge there appeared pointed muzzles and straight ears, with
gleaming, tawny eyes. These were the jackals coming to eat what was

left.
The Carthaginian, who was leaning over the top of the precipice to

look, went back again.
CHAPTER XV

MATHO
There were rejoicings at Carthage,--rejoicings deep, universal,

extravagant, frantic; the holes of the ruins had been stopped up, the
statues of the gods had been repainted, the streets were strewn with

myrtle branches, incense smoked at the corners of the crossways, and
the throng on the terraces looked, in their variegated garments, like

heaps of flowers blooming in the air.
The shouts of the water-carriers watering the pavement rose above the

continual screaming of voices; slaves belonging to Hamilcar offered in
his name roasted barley and pieces of raw meat; people accosted one

another, and embraced one another with tears; the Tyrian towns were
taken, the nomads dispersed, and all the Barbarians annihilated. The

Acropolis was hidden beneath coloured velaria; the beaks of the
triremes, drawn up in line outside the mole, shone like a dyke of

diamonds; everywhere there was a sense of the restoration of order,
the beginning of a new existence, and the diffusion of vast happiness: