He had kept on his strong waist-belt, wherein gleamed a two-edged axe,
and with his great sword in both hands he had dashed impetuously through
the breach. Like a pruner cutting willow-branches and trying to strike
off as much as possible so as to make the more money, he marched along
mowing down the Carthaginians around him. Those who tried to seize him
in flank he knocked down with blows of the pommel; when they attacked
him in front he ran them through; if they fled he clove them. Two men
leaped together upon his back; he bounded backwards against a gate and
crushed them. His sword fell and rose. It shivered on the angle of a
wall. Then he took his heavy axe, and front and rear he ripped up the
Carthaginians like a flock of sheep. They scattered more and more, and
he was quite alone when he reached the second enclosure at the foot
of the Acropolis. The materials which had been flung from the summit
cumbered the steps and were heaped up higher than the wall. Matho turned
back amid the ruins to summons his companions.
He perceived their crests scattered over the multitude; they were
sinking and their wearers were about to perish; he dashed towards them;
then the vast wreath of red plumes closed in, and they soon rejoined him
and surrounded him.
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