conciliatory measures; of the arrival of
the legates off Saguntum; of their extraordinary reception by Hannibal,
and of the departure of the ambassadors for Carthage to demand the
punishment of the chieftain and desistance from the siege of Saguntum.

As the sad tale proceeded the calmness of the Elders gradually
dissipated. Some, more violent, arose to their feet and rent their
garments, crying aloud with grief; others, in their excitement, beat
their foreheads with clenched fists, raging with fury on hearing that
Rome had not sent her legions; and the eldest among them, without
sacrificing their dignity, wept unashamed, allowing their tears to
stream down their fleshless cheeks into their snowy beards.

"They have forsaken us!"

"It will be too late when help arrives!"

"Saguntum will perish before the Romans can reach Carthage!"

The assemblage remained long in a state of desperation. Some, motionless
in their seats from weakness, implored the gods to let them die ere they
should behold the downfall of their people.

It seemed as if the hordes of Hannibal were already clamoring at the
temple doors.

"Restrain yourselves, Elders!" admonished Alcon. "Remember that the
citizens of Saguntum stand waiting outside these walls. If they suspect
your despair, discouragement will spread abroad, and this very night we
will become the slaves of Hannibal!"

Slowly the Elders recovered their composure, and silence reigned. All
awaited the counsel of Alcon the Prudent. He spoke.

"You do not entertain the thought of immediate surrender of the city, do
you?"

A roar of indignation from the Senate answered him.

"Never, never!"

"Then, in order to keep hearts beating with hope, to prolong the defense
a few more days, you must lie; you must inspire in the Saguntines a
deceptive confidence. Provisions are exhausted; those who man the walls,
weapons in hand, have eaten the flesh of the last horses that remained
in the city. The plebs are perishing of hunger. Every night hundreds of
corpses are gathered and burned on the Acropolis for fear of their being
devoured by wandering dogs pressed by hunger, which have turned into
veritable wild beasts that attack even the living. There is a complaint
that some of the foreigners sheltered in the city, in company with
slaves and mercenaries, lie in wait by night near the walls to eat
whatever bodies they find. The cisterns of the city are almost dry;
there is but little water left,