and they formed ranks in phalanxes, in a single battle line at first and then in two or even three lines, as new combatants arrived; they drew up in a curved front to prevent any access to the breach. Then, at a signal from their commanders, they surged forward, holding their spears high in clenched fists, as the men and women remaining inside the city rushed to repair the damage, bringing all sorts of material that could be used to close up the breach.
The impetus of the Himerans was so forceful that the assailants wavered and began to retreat. At that point Hannibal, who had remained with his crack troops on the hills, gave orders for reinforcements to be sent in, and the reserves who were already waiting on the plain entered the fray. The battle continued for hours, with neither of the two sides giving up a span of ground. Only the onset of darkness put an end to the combat. Hannibal’s mercenaries dug themselves trenches in the plain and the Himeran warriors returned to the breach where they joined their families. The oldest soldiers, who had been held back as reserves, guarded the bastions in fear that the barbarians might attempt a surprise attack under the cover of night.
The women gave ample proof of their mettle as well. The young and old alike, who had worked all day bringing arms to the defenders and stones to close the breach, without pausing a moment to eat or drink, rushed now to their men returning from the battlefield, blood-spattered and grimy. They helped them to remove their armour and they tended to their wounds and their wearied spirits. They brought hot water, clean clothing, food and wine to refresh and restore.
Wives, mothers, daughters and sweethearts gave a show of strength even greater than that of the warriors. They showed their men they were not afraid, did not fear death, actually preferred death to slavery and disgrace. They praised their bravery, stirred their pride, never wavered in their faith in the favour of the gods and in the trust that the warriors’ courage and abnegation would bring them victory. They held the valour of their husbands and sons up as an example to their younger children not yet of fighting age, and taught them that no sacrifice was too great to defend their freedom.
The evening breeze from the sea brought a little relief from the oppressive heat. The darkness and silence that followed the blinding light of that day and the screams of battle led many of the men to seek a little rest.
The old men, too feeble to carry out any other task and too anguished to sleep, stood vigil. Joined under the porticoes of the agora, they reminisced about the wars they had fought in their youth and the risks that they had run. They sought any pretext to take heart, found the words to console those among them whose sons had not returned from the battlefield. They told stories of episodes of the past where men given up for dead had miraculously reappeared, knowing full well that bad luck is much more frequent than the good kind. And yet they encouraged each other with the promise that reinforcements were on the way; they wouldn’t be long now.
The low murmur of their conversation was interrupted by a clanging of arms, by loud voices in the dark, by sudden and unexpected commotion. They instinctively huddled together against the wall, already prepared for the worst, when a voice rang out: ‘It’s the reinforcements! We’re saved!’
The veterans ran towards the point where the voice had come from and thronged around a lad of about fifteen, firing questions at him:
‘Reinforcements? Are you sure?’
‘Who are they?’
‘Where did you see them?’
‘How many of them are there?’
‘Who’s leading them?’
‘What direction are they coming from?’
The boy raised his hands to quiet them down. ‘It’s just twenty men for now . . .’
‘Twenty men? Are you joking?’
‘About twenty,’ confirmed the boy. ‘They’re being led by a Syracusan officer who has passed
The impetus of the Himerans was so forceful that the assailants wavered and began to retreat. At that point Hannibal, who had remained with his crack troops on the hills, gave orders for reinforcements to be sent in, and the reserves who were already waiting on the plain entered the fray. The battle continued for hours, with neither of the two sides giving up a span of ground. Only the onset of darkness put an end to the combat. Hannibal’s mercenaries dug themselves trenches in the plain and the Himeran warriors returned to the breach where they joined their families. The oldest soldiers, who had been held back as reserves, guarded the bastions in fear that the barbarians might attempt a surprise attack under the cover of night.
The women gave ample proof of their mettle as well. The young and old alike, who had worked all day bringing arms to the defenders and stones to close the breach, without pausing a moment to eat or drink, rushed now to their men returning from the battlefield, blood-spattered and grimy. They helped them to remove their armour and they tended to their wounds and their wearied spirits. They brought hot water, clean clothing, food and wine to refresh and restore.
Wives, mothers, daughters and sweethearts gave a show of strength even greater than that of the warriors. They showed their men they were not afraid, did not fear death, actually preferred death to slavery and disgrace. They praised their bravery, stirred their pride, never wavered in their faith in the favour of the gods and in the trust that the warriors’ courage and abnegation would bring them victory. They held the valour of their husbands and sons up as an example to their younger children not yet of fighting age, and taught them that no sacrifice was too great to defend their freedom.
The evening breeze from the sea brought a little relief from the oppressive heat. The darkness and silence that followed the blinding light of that day and the screams of battle led many of the men to seek a little rest.
The old men, too feeble to carry out any other task and too anguished to sleep, stood vigil. Joined under the porticoes of the agora, they reminisced about the wars they had fought in their youth and the risks that they had run. They sought any pretext to take heart, found the words to console those among them whose sons had not returned from the battlefield. They told stories of episodes of the past where men given up for dead had miraculously reappeared, knowing full well that bad luck is much more frequent than the good kind. And yet they encouraged each other with the promise that reinforcements were on the way; they wouldn’t be long now.
The low murmur of their conversation was interrupted by a clanging of arms, by loud voices in the dark, by sudden and unexpected commotion. They instinctively huddled together against the wall, already prepared for the worst, when a voice rang out: ‘It’s the reinforcements! We’re saved!’
The veterans ran towards the point where the voice had come from and thronged around a lad of about fifteen, firing questions at him:
‘Reinforcements? Are you sure?’
‘Who are they?’
‘Where did you see them?’
‘How many of them are there?’
‘Who’s leading them?’
‘What direction are they coming from?’
The boy raised his hands to quiet them down. ‘It’s just twenty men for now . . .’
‘Twenty men? Are you joking?’
‘About twenty,’ confirmed the boy. ‘They’re being led by a Syracusan officer who has passed
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