ess, and to all, madness? He
looked around at his companions. Some were gaping at him vacantly,
some were laughing. Cluvia tried to grasp his arm, and he shook her
off and saw her stumble and roll down the steps that led up to the
portico; then a new commotion arose in the direction of the Senate
House, and the attention of the bystanders was diverted. More
Carthaginian soldiers were forming and marching through the mob that
now opened to give passage of double width; and, as the escort came
nearer, Perolla saw Hannibal, clad in the gown of a Capuan senator,
moving calmly in their midst.

A new frenzy came to his brain to take the place of the fumes of wine:
perhaps it was one compounded of that and of shame and horror and
revenge. He groped under his torn tunic and found his dagger; then,
brandishing it, he burst down through the crowd, uttering incoherent
words, and threw himself, like a wild beast, upon the guards.

He had stabbed one through the throat and another in the shoulder,
before he was beaten down by a blow from the staff of a javelin. A
moment later, the first soldier to recover from the surprise of the
incident bent over him with drawn sword.

A sharp exclamation from behind checked the descending thrust, and the
soldier turned quickly. Hannibal stood beside him, with a thoughtful
smile upon his lips.

"Would you kill a citizen of Capua? a man of our allies?" he said
quietly.

The African looked around stupidly. That he should not crush the
Italian vermin forthwith was beyond his comprehension, but evidently
such was not the schalischim's wish. Grumbling, he slipped his sword
slowly back into its sheath, and, at that moment, several of the Capuan
senators in Hannibal's train gathered round him with protestations and
expressions of regret. The general looked at them and frowned.

"I have been with you scarcely two days," he said, "and now you try to
murder me."

The senators fell upon their knees, kissing his gown and hands, in a
frenzy of horror at the thought.

"Who is this fellow?" asked Hannibal, turning Perolla over with his
foot. Then, recognizing the son of Pacuvius Calavius, he went on:
"Some one of no consequence, doubtless; dust of the street that stings
when the wind drives it," and he glared around at the prostrate
senators.

They glanced at the senseless figure, as if hardly daring so much.
Some knew him, more did not; but all united in protesting their
ignorance.

Ha