"The gods!" exclaimed Asbyte with a throb of terror. "Do you not fear that they will punish you?"
A peal of laughter, sarcastic, tinged with deep scorn, answered the Amazon.
"The gods!" exclaimed Hannibal. "I live among warriors of all nations. Each one adores his own gods, and I know so many, so many, that I do not believe in any of them, and I jest at them all. In Carthage I adored Moloch; here you have often seen me dedicate sacrifices to the Iberian divinities, to attract the people to me. If some day I enter as a conqueror that city where my thought continually dwells, the populace shall acclaim me, seeing me climb to the Capitol to offer thanks to their gods. I believe only in force and strategy. I have but one tutelary god--war, who makes giants of men, giving them the omnipotence of divinity. If on becoming lord of the earth, I find no one with whom to fight, I shall die, thinking the world empty!"
The Amazon bowed her head, overcome with sadness.
"I realize now that you will never be mine, Hannibal! You love war above all things else, and will be faithful to it as long as you live. You are indeed a bird of prey; the momentary love of a slave woman satisfies you; the wounded and weeping woman who falls into the power of your soldiers as they enter a city through a breach in its walls satiates you. You will never understand love and its sweetness."
Hannibal shrugged his shoulders scornfully.
"I love victory, success! The laurel which Greek heroes bound upon their brows in the triumph has for me a more penetrating perfume than the roses of the poets. Cease your laments, Asbyte; be a warrior, and forget that you are a woman; I will love you more. You shall be my brother in arms. Why think of those nights of love when I was still in misfortune and lacking in soldiers, now that all Iberia follows me and I see my dreams of world-power beginning to be realized? Look over this camp, where infinite tongues are spoken, and where each tribe dresses in a different costume. They flow in like streams which swell the torrent. Each day new warriors appear. How many are they? No one knows. Maherbal said yesterday that there were a hundred and twenty thousand; I believe that soon there will be a hundred and eighty thousand. Blind faith in Hannibal draws them on; they feel that with me they march to victory; perhaps their gods have told them that this is but the beginning of a series of achievements which will astound the world. Ponder over it, Asbyte! These peoples have spent their lives fighting among themselves; they hated each other, and yet the sword of Hannibal is a shepherd's crook which guides them like a common flock; and after this miracle would you have me waste my time loving you, staying in my tent lying at your feet, my head upon your knees, listening to you while you sing the dreamy songs of the oasis? No! Lightning of Baal! The city stands before us, mocking at the greatest army ever gathered together on the fields of Iberia, and this must stop. The hempen tent must crush the tower of stone. Sharpen well your lance, daughter of Iarbas; prepare your faithful steed, my beloved! That mysterious breeze which I always perceive on the eve of a victory blows around me. This very day we shall enter Saguntum."