They formed numerous straight lines resting against the wall, and the
Mercenaries mounted them in files, holding their weapons in their hands.
Not a Carthaginian showed himself; already two thirds of the rampart
had been covered. Then the battlements opened, vomiting flames and smoke
like dragon jaws; the sand scattered and entered the joints of their
armour; the petroleum fastened on their garments; the liquid lead
hopped on their helmets and made holes in their flesh; a rain of sparks
splashed against their faces, and eyeless orbits seemed to weep tears as
big as almonds. There were men all yellow with oil, with their hair
in flames. They began to run and set fire to the rest. They were
extinguished in mantles steeped in blood, which were thrown from a
distance over their faces. Some who had no wounds remained motionless,
stiffer than stakes, their mouths open and their arms outspread.
The assault was renewed for several days in succession, the Mercenaries
hoping to triumph by extraordinary energy and audacity.
Sometimes a man raised on the shoulders of another would drive a
pin between the stones, and then making use of it as a step to reach
further, would place a second and a third; and, protected by the edge
of the battlements, which stood out from the wall, they would gradually
raise themselves in this way; but on reaching a certain height they
always fell back again.
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