Scipio Africanus Read Free Page B

ædile, I am old enough ”—an appeal over the heads of the tribunes which was instantly successful, but which by its triumphant defiance of tradition and rule was likely to add resentment to the jealousy which inevitably accompanies the precocious success of youth.

CHAPTER II.
    DAWN.
    THESE three episodes form the prologue to the real drama of Scipio’s career. On this the curtain rises in 210 B.C., which, if not Rome’s blackest hour in her life and death struggle with Carthage, was at least the greyest. That conflict, which she had entered upon originally in 264 B.C., was the inevitable sequel to the supremacy of the Italian peninsula won by her combination of political genius and military vigour, for this supremacy could never be secure so long as an alien sea power—Carthage—commanded the waters of the peninsula, a continual menace to its seaboard and commerce. But when, after many hazards, the close of the First Punic War in 241 B.C. yielded Rome this maritime security, the vision and ambition of Hamilcar Barca not merely revived, but widened the scope of the struggle between Rome and Carthage into one with world power or downfall
as the stakes. During the long interval of outward peace this Carthaginian Bismarck prepared the mental and material means for a stroke at the heart of the Roman power, educating his sons and followers to conceive the conquest of Rome as their goal, and using Spain as the training ground for the Barcine school of war, as well as the base of their forthcoming military effort. In 218 B.C., Hannibal, crossing the Alps, began his invasion of Italy to reap the harvest for which his father had sown the seeds. His victories on the Ticinus, the Trebia, at the Trasimene Lake, grew in scale until they reached their apex on the battlefield of Cannæ. If Roman fortitude, the loyalty of most of the Italian allies, and Hannibal’s strategic caution then gained for Rome a reprieve, the passage of five years’ unceasing warfare so drained her resources and exhausted her allies that by 211 B.C. Roman power, internally if not superficially, was perhaps nearer than ever before to a breakdown. A machine that is new and in good condition can withstand repeated severe shocks, but when badly worn a jar may suffice to cause its collapse. Such a jar came, for while Hannibal was campaigning in Southern Italy, destroying Roman armies if apparently drawing no nearer his object—the destruction of the Roman power,—the Carthaginian arms in Spain had been crowned
with a victory that threatened Rome’s footing on the peninsula.
    For several years Scipio’s father and uncle, Publius the elder and Gnæus, had been in command of the Roman forces there, winning repeated successes until, caught divided, the two brothers were defeated in turn, both falling on the battlefield. The shattered remnants of the Roman forces were driven north of the Ebro, and only a gallant rally by Marcius prevented the Romans being driven out of Spain. Even so their situation was precarious, for many of the Spanish tribes had forsaken the Romans in their hour of adversity. Though the determination of Rome itself, as before, was unbroken, and the disaster only spurred her to retrieve it, the choice of a successor proved difficult. Finally, it was decided to call an assembly of the people to elect a pro-consul for Spain. But no candidates offered themselves for the dangerous honour. “ The people, at their wits’ end, came down to the Campus Martius on the day of the election, where, turning towards the magistrate, they looked round at the countenances of their most eminent men, who were earnestly gazing at each other, and murmured bitterly that their affairs were in so ruinous a state, and the condition of the commonwealth so desperate, that no one dared undertake
the command in Spain. When suddenly Publius Cornelius, son of Publius who had fallen in Spain, who was about twenty-four years