Helmet and spear : $b stories from the wars of the Greeks and RomansChurch, Alfred John
History
Helmet and spear : $b stories from the wars of the Greeks and Romans
Church, Alfred John
Greece -- History, Military; Rome -- History, Military
The danger that threatened civilisation must have seemed great at the
time, though it was probably less than had been the case when the fate
of the world, so to speak, had been in suspense on the day of Salamis.
But the fears of Sicily, felt also, we may believe, in mainland
Greece, were suddenly relieved. Hannibal had accomplished his object.
He had exacted a never-to-be-forgotten vengeance for the death of his
grandfather, and he wanted no more. Half Sicily was now in the hands of
Carthage, and the Greek name was more humbled than it had been within
the memory of man. He disbanded his army, and returned, laden with the
spoils of war, to Carthage, where he was received with enthusiasm.
But the danger was only postponed. If Hannibal had been satisfied
with the results of his campaign, Carthage was not. Its old ambition
of dominating Sicily was revived, and for the next four years it made
costly and incessant preparations for another invasion of the eastern
or Greek portion of the island. Unfortunately the Sicilian Greeks spent
the time, not in consolidating their strength, but in intestine strife.
The most eminent citizen of Syracuse had made repeated attempts to
establish a despotism. He had met with failure and death, but he left
behind him a legacy of political hatred that might well have proved
fatal to the State.
In 407 the hostile intention of Carthage became known to the Sicilian
Greeks. They sent envoys to make a remonstrance, and to suggest a
treaty of peace. No answer was given, and the preparations went on with
unabated zeal.
In the following year the expedition sailed. Hannibal was again in
command, but he shared his power with a young kinsman, Himilco by name.
His force, on the most moderate computation, amounted to 120,000 men,
with a fleet of 120 ships of war. It was in Agrigentum, to which the
frontier of Greek Sicily had now been pushed back, that the storm was
first to fall.
Agrigentum was a splendid city, second only to Syracuse in population,
and not yielding even to it in magnificence and wealth. No city in the
island or even in mainland Greece, Athens only excepted, could boast
more stately temples and public buildings. Surrounded by a large and
fertile territory, it carried on a profitable trade with the African
coast. It could boast of one kind of wealth in which few Greek cities
could vie with it--a noble breed of horses, which were seen at least
as often in the front at the chariot-races of Olympia as the teams
sent from Syracuse or Argos. Only two years before the time of which
I am speaking an Agrigentine citizen had won the prize for four-horse
chariots, and on his return home had been escorted from the frontier by
three hundred private chariots each drawn by two white horses.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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