Sónnica gathered her tunic around her waist in order to run with greater freedom, leaving disclosed the resplendent whiteness of her limbs.
"We are going to die, Euphobias," she said to the philosopher, who stood absorbed in contemplation before this spectacle of destruction.
For the first time the philosopher failed to display his insolent and ironic manner. He was grave and frowning; gazing at the people whom he had so often ridiculed, beholding the heroism of their death.
"Die?" he exclaimed. "Must we die? Do you think so, Sónnica?"
"Yes; he who is not willing to be a slave must die. Get a sword and follow me!"
"No, if I must die I will avoid the fatigue of running and the exertion of striking blows. I will die placidly in the sweet indolence which ever embellished my life."
Slowly, deliberately, he walked over to the fire, covered his face with his patched and mended mantle, and laid himself in the flames as calmly as he used to drop down on the porticos of the Forum in the old days of peace.
On the steps of the temple the Elders were stabbing themselves in their breasts with a dagger. Before breathing his last, each passed the weapon on to his nearest companion, and they died trying to maintain themselves erect in their chairs of state. Groups of women caught up torches lighted at the great fire, and scattered like furious bacchantes throughout Saguntum, setting fire to doors, and flinging burning brands upon the wooden roofs.
Suddenly from the direction of the citadel where the attacks of the besiegers had been concentrated, arose an appalling commotion, as if half a mountain had toppled over. The walls had been abandoned by the defenders who had gathered in the Forum, and a tower which the Carthaginians had undermined some days before had fallen. A cohort of Hannibal's army, seeing the city destitute of the usual outposts and guards, rushed through the breach, and made a signal for Hannibal to enter with his hosts.
"Come on! come on!" shouted Sónnica with a hoarse voice. "This is our last night! I will not die in the fire! I choose to die fighting! I want blood!"
She flew from the Forum like a Fury, followed by Actæon who ran beside her calling her name, trying to gain a look from her. But the beautiful Greek woman was insensible in her rage, as if she had at her side someone she had never seen before. They were followed by a discordant crowd, armed citizens, women brandishing knives and darts, naked youths with no other defense than a spear. They poured out like a stampeded herd, their bronze corselets and their helmets with broken crests shimmering in the firelight, their weapons dyed in blood, and displaying through the tatters of their clothing emaciated limbs which seemed to dance in their loose skin, dried and wrinkled by hunger.