"But here there are strong men whose hatred is roused! and nothing binds
them to Carthage, neither families, oaths nor gods!"
Matho remained leaning against the wall; Spendius came close, and
continued in a low voice:
"Do you understand me, soldier? We should walk purple-clad like satraps.
We should bathe in perfumes; and I should in turn have slaves! Are you
not weary of sleeping on hard ground, of drinking the vinegar of the
camps, and of continually hearing the trumpet? But you will rest later,
will you not? When they pull off your cuirass to cast your corpse to
the vultures! or perhaps blind, lame, and weak you will go, leaning on
a stick, from door to door to tell of your youth to pickle-sellers and
little children. Remember all the injustice of your chiefs, the campings
in the snow, the marchings in the sun, the tyrannies of discipline, and
the everlasting menace of the cross! And after all this misery they have
given you a necklace of honour, as they hang a girdle of bells round
the breast of an ass to deafen it on its journey, and prevent it from
feeling fatigue. A man like you, braver than Pyrrhus! If only you had
wished it! Ah! how happy will you be in large cool halls, with the sound
of lyres, lying on flowers, with women and buffoons! Do not tell me that
the enterprise is impossible.
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