3.1 Apostrophe and Other Emotional Forms of Address⁶

Regulus is the focal point of the embedded narrative. This is already prepared for by the primary narrator at an early stage. When he introduces Regulus’ son Serranus into the main narrative, he does so by emphasising the fame of his father:

Serranus, clarum nomen, tua, Regule, proles,

qui longum semper fama gliscente per aeuum

infidis seruasse fidem memorabere Poenis,

flore nitens primo patriis heu Punica bella

auspiciis ingressus erat miseramque parentem

et dulces tristi repetebat sorte penates

saucius. (6.62–68)

Serranus, a famous name, is your son, Regulus, you whose fame ever increases with the passage of time, and of whom it will never be forgotten that you kept faith with the faithless Carthaginians. Serranus was in the flower of his youth: but, alas, he had begun the Punic war with his father’s ill-fortune, and now, sore-wounded, he sought in sad plight to return to his unhappy mother and the home he loved.

Serranus is called ‘a famous name’ (clarum nomen). The default interpretation is that he comes from a famous family, due to his father’s renown. At the same time, Serranus is an otherwise unknown son of Regulus. Clarum nomen is therefore self-referential: it is the Punica that will make Serranus famous.⁷ The narrator then turns away from his default addressees and apostrophizes Regulus (Regule; memorabere), before explaining Serranus’ situation. When he turns back to Serranus, he stresses the similarity of fate between son and father: Serranus entered the Battle of Lake Trasimene under the bad omen of his father’s example (patriis … auspiciis).⁸

Since Homer apostrophe is an epic convention.⁹ By this device, as De Jong explains, the narrator “adds to the authenticity of the story and the admiration for the semi-divine heroes.”¹⁰ At the same time it can highlight emotional or crucial events. These three aspects all apply to our example: the apostrophe of Regulus is a first suggestion that Regulus, like Homeric heroes, is a person with a semi-divine status, an idea that is developed later in the narrative as I will explain shortly. Secondly, it highlights the emotional involvement of the narrator at this point in the narrative: Regulus’ son Serranus is heavily wounded. Finally, the apostrophe underlines the importance of the Roman defeat at Trasimene. It is remarkable, however, that the primary narrator does not apostrophize the character of his narrative (Serranus), but rather his father. So, the narrator anticipates Regulus’ status as main character in the ensuing embedded narrative by apostrophizing him here.

When Serranus reaches the humble abode of Marus, a similar apostrophe occurs. Marus instantly recognizes the wounded soldier that knocks at his door as the son of Regulus. Without addressing Serranus, he apostrophizes his former general:

quod scelus, o nimius uitae nimiumque ferendis

aduersis genitus cerno? te, maxime, uidi,

ductorum, cum captiuo Carthaginis arcem

terreres uultu (6.81–84)

What horror is this I see!—I who have lived too long and was born to suffer too much adversity. I have seen you, greatest of generals, when your aspect terrified the citadel of Carthage, though you were a prisoner.

Here, too, the apostrophe anticipates Marus’ narrative about Regulus that will follow, a first hint that Marus is a mise en abyme of the primary narrator, who had also apostrophized Regulus. Marus continues his monologue blaming Jupiter for what has happened to Regulus in the past and wondering whether the gods are concerned about the Romans at all now that his son, too, has been suffering from the Carthaginians: estis ubi en iterum, superi? (‘ah, where are you again now, o gods?’, 6.87). The gods are conspicuously absent in the ensuing narrative. This makes this episode of the Punica recall the absence of the gods in Lucan’s Bellum Civile.

The next morning, Serranus invokes the gods as well. His prayer shows many correspondences with the one of Marus.¹¹ Like the old man, he shows strong emotions, laments his own situation and holds the gods, especially Jupiter, responsible for the sufferings of the Romans.¹² Finally, Serranus, too, apostrophizes his father Regulus:

testor, mea numina, manes

dignam me poenae tum nobilitate paternae

strage hostis quaesisse necem, ni tristia letum

ut quondam patri nobis quoque fata negassent. (6.113–116)

I swear by your soul, my deity, that I sought death in striking the enemy—a death befitting the famous sufferings of my father; but cruel fate denied me death, as it had once done to my father.

With mea numina Serranus addresses the manes of Regulus, stressing the godlike status of his father.¹³ Once more we are prepared for the ensuing narrative about Regulus that stresses his almost supernatural abilities to endure hardship, like Lucan’s Cato.

After this lament Marus speaks for the first time directly to Serranus with the vocative fortissime (‘bravest’, 6.118) before starting his narrative on Regulus. Serranus, on the other hand, does not address Marus until 6.425 (Mare). In the meantime, Serranus apostrophizes two other entities: Lake Trasimene (6.296–298) and again his father:

‘magne parens’ inquit ‘quo maius numine nobis

Tarpeia nec in arce sedet, si iura querelis

sunt concessa piis, cur hoc matrique mihique

solamen, uel cur decus hoc, o dure, negasti,

tangere sacratos uultus atque oscula ab ore

libauisse tuo? dextram mihi prendere dextra

non licitum? leuiora forent haec uulnera quantum,

si ferre ad manes infixos mente daretur

amplexus, uenerande, tuos.’ (6.416–424)

‘Great father,’ he said, ‘not less divine to me than even the deity who dwells on the Tarpeian rock, if love has a right to complain, why did you so sternly deny my mother and me this consolation and this glory—to touch your sacred face and take kisses from your lips? Was I forbidden to clasp your hand in mine? How much lighter my present wounds would be, had I been allowed to carry to the grave the undying memory of your embrace, o worshipful father.’

This apostrophe is even more daring than the one in Serranus’ first prayer. There he addressed Jupiter (genitor, 6.105), before invoking his father (mea numina, 6.113). This prayer starts with an apostrophe of Regulus as ‘great father’ (magne parens, 6.416), a grandiloquent form of address that is usually reserved for Jupiter.¹⁴ It therefore prepares for what Serranus goes on to say, that his father is as mighty or even mightier than the supreme god himself, as Marus had suggested before in 6.123–124. This recalls two identical apostrophes of Domitian in Statius’ Silvae, in which the emperor is put on a par with or even surpassing the father of the gods.¹⁵ The assimilation between Regulus and Jupiter is so hyperbolic that it is hard to read as a mere compliment. In fact, Serranus continues to accuse his father of having been too harsh for his family (o dure, 6.419). When he came back to Rome as a prisoner, he did not comfort his wife or allow his family to touch him.¹⁶ Nonetheless, Serranus addresses him as a godlike figure (uenerande, 6.424). His father is someone who should be honoured as a god, but this superhuman status makes the distance on a personal level only greater. The apostrophes, thus, stress the unbridgeable gap between father and son.

Marcia is the third person to address Regulus. She stands on the threshold of their house when Regulus passes by as captive of the Carthaginian envoys. She implores him to stay in his own house instead of the lodgings of the Carthaginians: ‘Where are you going, Regulus? This is no Carthaginian prison that you should shun’ (quo fers gressus? non Punicus hic est, | Regule, quem fugias, carcer, 6.437–438). She does so again when Regulus sails off to Carthage. First, she addresses him as husband (coniunx, 6.501), and begs to be taken with him to Carthage. As Regulus does not react, the tone of her words becomes hostile, and she accuses him of faithlessness—infidelity being probably the worst insult she can voice: data foedera nobis | ac promissa fides thalamis ubi, perfide, nunc est? (‘but where is now the compact made with me, and the fidelity you promised at our marriage, unfaithful one?’, 6.517–518).¹⁷ From coniunx Regulus now becomes perfidus, an adjective with a strong Virgilian ring. Dido famously called Aeneas perfide twice (Virg. A. 4.305, 4.366) and once more referred to him as perfidus to her sister Anna (A. 4.421).¹⁸ Whereas Aeneas had at least tried to comfort Dido, Regulus does not answer at all, as if he has not heard the words of his wife. Although in these cases the general is addressed when physically present, he seems as unapproachable as in the earlier apostrophes in Book 6. Regulus does, however, hear the words of his wife: ultima uox duras haec tunc penetrauit ad aures (‘these were the last words that penetrated his harsh ears’, 6.519). Augoustakis suggests that Regulus Is perhaps not so Stoic after all and points to the use of the strong verb penetrare (‘to penetrate’).¹⁹ Marcia has managed to get through to the seemingly impenetrable mind of her husband. Nonetheless, his ears are still ‘harsh’ (duras). This is an echo of Serranus’ apostrophe, who had called him dure before in 6.419, but also of Marcia’s own words shortly before. When she implored Regulus to accompany him, she argued that she could ‘perhaps soften the harsh anger of Carthage with tears’ (forsan duras Carthaginis iras | flectemus lacrimis, 6.507–508). If the hostile city ‘shuts its ears’ (praecluserit aures | … suas, 6.508–509) and shows no mercy, Marcia would at least die together with him. The fact that Regulus does not react to her at all makes him as harsh as Marcia had imagined Carthage to be. So, from her point of view nothing changes. She remains in Rome, alone, without her husband.

Marcia reappears as a character in the main narrative when Marus and Serranus have arrived in Rome. She addresses Marus, whom she immediately recognizes as Regulus’ former companion: fidei comes inclite magnae (‘famous companion of great loyalty’, 6.579).²⁰ Delz prints Fidei with a capital, understanding Fides as a personified goddess and Fröhlich accordingly translates “der großen Gottheit Treue”.²¹ I rather follow Ruperti in understanding fidei … magnae as a metonymic reference to Regulus, followed by Duff (“of the most faithful”) and the Budé (“d’un héros si féal”).²² Fides is of course Regulus’ most famous character trait. In addition, the adjective magnus corresponds with earlier apostrophes of Regulus (maxime, 6.82; magne parens, 6.416). Marcia’s words again stress the equation of Regulus and the concept of fides, but in irony.

After invoking the gods, she speaks directly to her son (nate, 6.584). She urges him not to follow his father’s example. She considers her life as a long-term punishment and ends her speech by begging the gods to spare her from further distress: quaeso, iam parcite, si qua | numina pugnastis nobis (‘please, spare us now, gods, if ever you have fought against us’, 6.588–589). The numina, which are invoked here, are usually taken to be the same as the superi she apostrophized earlier in her speech (6.584).²³ Marcia, however, does not specify who these numina are. Is it possible that she implicitly refers to the numina of Regulus? There is good reason to think so. As Fröhlich points out, Marcia’s speech closely follows topics of Marus’ narrative: she discusses Regulus’ fides (or the lack thereof), complaints of the harshness of life, and invokes the gods.²⁴ When we pursue this line of thought, it is not implausible that numina echoes the same word that Serranus and Marus have already used three times when referring to Regulus.²⁵ Except for this reader-oriented intratextuality, Marcia has her own reasons for referring to Regulus as numina. Her husband has been affecting all of her life and made things difficult for her and her family (pugnastis nobis). She has constantly been suffering since his death, as the primary narrator made clear before:

olim post fata mariti

non egressa domum uitato Marcia coetu

et lucem causa natorum passa ruebat

in luctum similem antiquo. (6.575–577)

After her husband’s death she never left the house, shunned any contact, and endured to be alive only because of her children; now she rushed out to mourn as she mourned long ago.

This is the first time since his demise that Marcia appears in public, and she feels the same grief all over again now that she sees that her son has become victim of the Carthaginians too. She reproaches Serranus for having followed in the footsteps of his father, against her advice:

quotiens heu, nate, petebam,

ne patrias iras animosque in proelia ferres

neu te belligeri stimularet in arma parentis

triste decus. (6.584–587)

Ah, my son, how often did I ask you not to carry into battle the anger and spirit of your father, and not to be urged to arms by the sad glory of your belligerent parent.

As Regulus is apparently so on her mind, it is plausible that Marcia now implores her husband’s numina, which have vexed her up until the present day, to save her and her family this time (iam parcite … nobis): she practically begs that the curse of his fides is not to be transferred to their son; this fides cost him his life and will be fatal for Serranus as well. This means that Regulus is referred to at the beginning and end of Marcia’s speech (fidei … magnae ~ numina), which symbolizes his permanent influence over his relatives.

After this emotional scene, Marus, Serranus, and Marcia disappear from the epic. Regulus, however, pops up one more time at the end of Book 6. When Hannibal visits the town of Liternum, the narrator gives a description of the paintings of the temple which depict scenes from the First Punic War.²⁶ Hannibal is the one looking at these paintings, as the narrator makes clear in the introduction of the ecphrasis: ‘he views the illustrious monument with various depictions of the previous war, which was brought to an end by their fathers’ (uaria splendentia cernit | pictura belli patribus monumenta prioris | exhausti, 6.654–656); during the ecphrasis proper, we are repeatedly reminded that we are looking at the monument through Hannibal’s eyes (cernit, 6.670; uidet, 6.672), suggesting that he is the focalizer, but as we will see his focalization is only intermittent.²⁷

The ecphrasis (6.658–697) describes some events that Marus had already recounted in his narrative of the First Punic War, such as Regulus pursuing Carthaginian troops and fighting the snake at the Bagrada (6.674–679). The paintings also give new information: one panel shows Xanthippus being drowned by the Carthaginians. He was the Spartan mercenary leading the Punic army who had ambushed Regulus, as we already heard from Marus (6.327).²⁸ In the description of this panel, the narrator takes over the focalization from Hannibal:

necnon proiectum puppi frustraque uocantem

numina Amyclaeum mergebat perfida ponto

rectorem manus, et seras tibi, Regule, poenas

Xanthippus digni pendebat in aequore leti. (6.680–683)

Elsewhere, the Spartan general, hurled from the stern and in vain calling upon the gods was drowned in the sea by a treacherous crew and Xanthippus at last paid the penalty to you, Regulus, by a death at sea as he deserved.

The Spartan who tricked Regulus is now tricked by the Carthaginians, who are described as a ‘treacherous crew’ (perfida … manus, 6.681–682). The use of the adjective perfida signals that the narrator has taken over the focalization of Hannibal.²⁹ His focalization also colours the way in which Xanthippus’ death is presented: the Roman hero Regulus is sympathetically apostrophized, while the adjective digni frames the Spartan’s death as atonement of what he did to Regulus. It is as if the narrator is reacting to the indignant question of Marus earlier in Book 6: quae poena sequetur | digna satis tali pollutos Marte Laconas? (‘what fitting punishment shall attend the Spartans for their foul manner of warfare?’, 6.344–345).³⁰ Death by drowning is the answer that the narrator gives here.

Xanthippus’ death ironically mirrors Regulus’ own death: the Spartan ‘paid the penalty’ (poenas … pendebat) for his treacherous imprisonment of Regulus. This phrase corresponds with the description of Regulus’ punishment in an earlier ecphrasis. Hannibal’s shield depicts the Roman hero hanging on a cross: iuxta, triste decus, pendet sub imagine poenae | Regulus (‘next to him [i.e. Xanthippus] hangs Regulus, grim glory, [on a cross] in a representation of his punishment’, 2.435–436).³¹ Neither Marus nor the paintings at Liternum explicitly mention that Regulus was crucified, but this intratextual allusion recalls the version of his death as presented on Hannibal’s shield. The shield had depicted Xanthippus as triumphant (uictor, 2.435), whereas the painting on the temple of Liternum shows his defeat. By apostrophizing Regulus at the moment of Xanthippus’ drowning, the narrator signals the correlation between their deaths.³² At the same time, he adds pathos to the scene by showing sympathy for Regulus. This invites the primary narratees to engage in the description of Xanthippus’ death, which they should view as justified.

The address of Regulus is a bold example of apostrophe, as the narrator addresses a character not actually depicted in the painting. Apostrophe itself is not uncommon in ancient ecphrases, but in such cases the narrator usually addresses characters depicted.³³ Virgil, for example, addresses Catiline, who is depicted on Aeneas’ shield: et scelerum poenas, et te, Catilina, minaci | pendentem scopulo (‘and [Vulcan had added] the penalties of crimes and you, Catiline, hanging on a menacing cliff’, A. 8.668–669). This passage probably inspired the Silian apostrophe, as both authors describe a villain who is being punished for his crimes (note the verbal correspondences).³⁴ A difference is that Silius does not address the villain, Xanthippus, but rather his victim Regulus.³⁵

This absence of the person apostrophized evokes Icarus in Virgil’s description of the temple doors in Cumae: tu quoque magnam | partem opere in tanto, sineret dolor, Icare, haberes (‘you, too, Icarus, would have a large share in such a work, did grief permit’, A. 6.30–31). Due to his grief, Daedalus was unable to depict his son’s death, but the narrator turns to Icarus, as if he were part of the painting. Austin calls it a “pathetic apostrophe (which vividly suggests the viewers’ sad imaginings).”³⁶ In other words, the apostrophe in the Virgilian passage reflects the emotions of Aeneas and others viewing the temple doors in Cumae, which in this case coincide with those of the primary narrator and the narratees. Silius’ apostrophe of Regulus is clearly modelled on this Virgilian example: here, too, the narrator is emotionally involved and addresses a character not depicted on the actual work of art; another similarity is the theme of drowning.³⁷ There is also a significant inversion: the address of Regulus can be labelled ‘pathetic’ from the viewpoint of the primary narrator (and his narratees), expressing a strong sympathy for the retribution of Regulus’ death. This focalization is, however, certainly not that of the secondary focalizer Hannibal, who as a Carthaginian would not have felt any sympathy for Regulus. The intervention of the narrator contributes to the pro-Roman message that the paintings in Liternum emanate. They give a one-sided view of the previous war. Although the narratees are mainly looking at the paintings through Hannibal’s eyes, they actually see a Roman monument with the narrator as its ultimate focalizer.³⁸ Although Hannibal cannot agree less with this perspective on the First Punic War, he has minutely studied the paintings and does understand its overall message, as we can deduct from his emotional reaction:

quae postquam infesto percensuit omnia uultu

arridens Poenus, lenta proclamat ab ira: … (6.698–699)

After the Carthaginian had surveyed all these pictures with a face of anger and contempt, he cried out with rising anger: …

Hannibal has been looking at the paintings with inimical and derogatory eyes and then unleashes the anger that he has built up during the viewing of the temple (lenta … ab ira).³⁹ In the ensuing speech he imagines a monument to be built in Carthage commemorating his own deeds. As if reacting to the apostrophe of Regulus by the narrator, he apostrophizes his city. Realizing that the construction of this Punic monument lies in the future, Hannibal orders his men to destroy at least the Roman monument: ‘give this monument to ashes and envelop it in flames!’ (in cineres monumenta date atque inuoluite flammis, 6.716). With this destruction in the last sentence of Book 6, Hannibal attempts to destroy the Roman memory of the First Punic War. Of course, the narratees know that this destruction will be in vain: the temple, which the narrator described as a ‘monument of the previous war’ (belli … monumenta prioris, 6.655) is immortalized by the ecphrasis they have just heard. They may also remember the way that Regulus has reacted to ‘monuments’. The Roman hero remained unmoved by the sight of his own spoils of war (magni monumenta triumphi, 6.435) when passing his house in Rome as a captive of the Carthaginians, so Marus told in his narrative. Like a true Stoic, he bears his fate without yielding to emotions.⁴⁰ By contrast, Hannibal at the end of Book 6 reacts in anger, the worst of emotions according to Stoicism.

The apostrophe of Regulus also works on a macro-structural level, because it picks up the narrator’s apostrophe at the beginning of Book 6: tua, Regule, proles (6.62). Points of identity are the metrical sedes of the vocative, a preceding pronoun of the second person (tua ~ tibi), and similar sounds of the final words (proles ~ poenas). The two apostrophes thus form a ring composition between the beginning and end of Book 6, which starts and ends with Regulus.⁴¹ The repetition of these apostrophes is therefore not only a structural device, but also marks the all-embracing presence of Regulus in Book 6: the general is not only a figure from the heroic past: Marus’ narrative and his appearance on the temple of Liternum make him almost come alive in the main narrative as well. The apostrophes bring Regulus therefore closer to the world of the primary narratees, as the primary narrator speaks directly to him. He addresses Regulus as if he were still alive, much in the way that Homer apostrophizes his heroes.⁴²

In addition, the apostrophe suggests a hymnic style and adds to the idea that Regulus should be considered a deity.⁴³ This confirms Marus’ earlier qualification of Regulus as a god. In his narrative, the old veteran had called Regulus ‘that sacred figure, not inferior to any deity’ (sacer ille et numine nullo | inferior, 6.123–124). Finally, the apostrophe in 6.682 marks Regulus’ departure from the epic. The apostrophe is a last, forceful farewell of the narrator to the character that has dominated almost all of Book 6.⁴⁴

3.2 Marus Mirroring Maro

Marus enters the epic stage when the wounded Serranus, Regulus’ son, knocks on his door. The narrator introduces him in a parenthetical sentence: uetus ille parentis | miles et haud surda tractarat proelia fama (‘he served long ago under his father [i.e. Regulus] and fame did not turn a deaf ear to the battles he fought’, 6.74–75). This is a self-referential remark of Silius, as the fame of his martial achievements is nowhere else attested than in the narrative that Marus is about to tell himself;⁴⁵ Punica 6 is the only source for his renown.⁴⁶

In this section I will focus on the role of Marus as narrator in the Punica. Marus, relating a traumatic story from the First Punic War, first of all evokes Naevius—the first Latin epic poet. Marus resembles the writer of the Bellum Poenicum in three aspects. Both are eyewitnesses of the same war, both have served in the Roman army as ordinary soldiers, and both are narrators of events that took place in the First Punic War. Although we cannot be sure, it is not improbable that Naevius even included the story of Regulus in his epic. Due to the scanty textual evidence of the Bellum Poenicum, I leave the comparison with the Punica at that.⁴⁷ Besides Naevius, Marus is a representation of a number of Virgilian narrators, as I will argue.

Scholars have passed over Marus’ name almost in silence.⁴⁸ It is my contention that this name is of great significance, as it resembles Virgil’s cognomen Maro.⁴⁹ This is the name with which other writers in antiquity regularly refer to Virgil.⁵⁰ In the Georgics, Virgil himself puts his cognomen in first position in the syllabic acrostic MA VE PU (i.e. MAro VErgilius PUblius).⁵¹ The similarity of their names invites a comparison between Marus and Virgilian narrators, first and foremost Virgil himself, but also Aeneas; the latter is the most important secondary narrator in the Aeneid and extensively narrates his own traumatic experiences in Book 2 and 3. In both respects, Marus can be seen as his counterpart in the Punica.⁵² But there is more. One of the first things Marus says is that he has witnessed Regulus from nearby: te, maxime, uidi (‘I have seen you, greatest of men’, 6.82). Marus refers to his role as eyewitness yet again, when he reflects on his role of narrator in the final section of his narrative:

infelix uidi patriamque remissus in urbem

narrator poenae dura mercede reuerti. (6.529–530)

I, unlucky one, was a witness and was sent back to my hometown and I returned at a hard price as a narrator of his punishment.

Marus presents himself both as witness and narrator of Regulus’ death; by returning from Carthage to Rome he became the narrator of the latter’s horrible demise. The verb reuerti does, however, not only refer to his physical return to Rome (as remissus already does). By telling his story, Marus re-experiences the traumatic sight of his general being tortured to death. The repetition of the suffix re- in remissus and reuerti suggests that Marus had to tell the story more than once. This is the ‘hard price’ he had to pay for returning to Rome alive. And re-telling this story once more to Serranus is exactly what he is doing right now.⁵³

Marus’ self-consciousness as narrator is a subtle echo of Aeneas’ words to Dido in the beginning of Aeneid 2. When the queen asks him to narrate his adventures, the Trojan hero, too, mentions the traumatic consequences of retelling horrible events:

infandum, regina, iubes renouare dolorem,

Troianas ut opes et lamentabile regnum

eruerint Danai, quaeque ipse miserrima uidi

et quorum pars magna fui. (Virg. A. 2.3–6)

Too deep for words, o queen, is the grief you bid me to renew, how the Greeks overthrew Troy’s wealth and woeful realm—the sights most piteous that I saw myself and in which I played no small role.

Reluctance to narrate terrible events is an epic topos since the Odyssey, but the allusion suggests a specific connection between Marus and Aeneas on this point.⁵⁴ The Trojan hero is reluctant to start his story as it brings back (renouare) his ‘unspeakable pain’ (infandum … dolorem).⁵⁵ Aeneas underscores the fact that he has witnessed the terrible events with his own eyes right from the start of his narrative (ipse … uidi), and will recall his status as witness six times more with uidi.⁵⁶ That Marus, too, stresses his role as eyewitness should be seen as an intertextual allusion to Aeneas. In spite of their reluctance, both Aeneas and Marus narrate what they have experienced. One of Aeneas’ harsh experiences is the loss of his wife Creusa: quid in euersa uidi crudelius urbe? (‘what crueller sight did I see in the overthrown city?’, A. 2.746). Looking for her, Aeneas returns to the city and has to experience the fall of Troy all over again:

ipse urbem repeto et cingor fulgentibus armis.

stat casus renouare omnis omnemque reuerti

per Troiam et rursus caput obiectare periclis. (Virg. A. 2.749–751)

I myself seek again the city, and gird on my glittering arms. I am resolved to renew every risk, to retrace my way through all Troy and once more expose my life to every peril.

Marus returns (reuerti) to his fatherland, Rome. Of course, this city is not burning like Troy and Marus does not have to face the same perils as Aeneas. Nevertheless, returning to his city means that he has to retell and relive his traumatic experience. This is of course also the case with Aeneas; his arrival at Carthage and his retelling of his past means for him a re-enactment of what has happened.

In addition, the rare Latin noun narrator, with which Marus refers to himself, brings to mind another passage in the Aeneid. Although the word itself is not found in Virgil, or in any Latin poet for that matter, it echoes a reference to Aeneas as a repetitive narrator in Aeneid 4:⁵⁷

Iliacosque iterum demens audire labores

exposcit pendetque iterum narrantis ab ore. (Virg. A. 4.78–79)

Again, in her madness she craves to hear the sorrows of Ilium and again hangs on the narrator’s lips.

Dido wishes to hear the story of Aeneas again and again (iterum … iterum) and apparently Aeneas obliges. The repetition of the suffix re- in the Punica therefore also functions as a marker of this allusion: it invites the primary narratees to ‘return’, so to speak, to the Aeneid and make a comparison between Marus and Aeneas as narrators.⁵⁸ Marus does not only return physically to Rome or mentally to Carthage, he also makes the narratees ‘return’ to the epic of his namesake Maro.⁵⁹

3.3 Marus as Mise en Abyme of Silius

Aeneas has been viewed as a mise en abyme of the primary narrator of the Aeneid. For example, the reaction of Dido to the story of Aeneas just quoted might be taken as self-referential: just as the queen was enchanted by the Trojan hero, we as primary narratees should be similarly impressed by Virgil who has voiced Aeneas’ words.⁶⁰ When we accept that Aeneas is in certain aspects a double of the primary narrator, this in turn might also be said of Marus. In what ways does he reflect the primary narrator of the Punica? And when we accept that Marus mirrors the primary narrator, can his narrative be seen a mise en abyme of the main narrative of the Punica?

We have already seen that the primary narrator and Marus make use of the same narrative devices. They both apostrophize Regulus in an emotional way and structure their account of Regulus as a ring composition. Apart from these more general similarities, the subject of Marus’ narrative is an even stronger argument for the parallel. For the Punica as a whole, Tipping has convincingly argued that “Silius’ heroes are exactly the maiores (‘ancestors’) to whom the Romans looked for moral example.”⁶¹ Marus, on a smaller scale, narrates an exemplary tale of a hero from the past. In the last part of his narrative Marus makes the exemplarity of his story explicit:

nec tibi nunc ritus imitantem irasque ferarum

Pygmalioneam temptarem expromere gentem,

si maius quicquam toto uidisset in orbe

gens hominum, quam quod uestri ueneranda parentis

edidit exemplum uirtus. pudet addere questus

suppliciis, quae spectaui placido ore ferentem.

tu quoque, care puer, dignum te sanguine tanto

fingere ne cessa atque orientes comprime fletus. (6.531–538)

And I would not have made an attempt to disclose to you how the people of Pygmalion imitated the manners and cruelty of wild beasts, if mankind had ever seen in any part of the world a nobler example than was set by the splendid courage of your father. I am ashamed to complain of the tortures which I saw him endure with a calm expression. You too, dear boy, must not cease to image yourself worthy of such noble blood and check those starting tears.

Marus would rather have remained silent about the cruelty that the Carthaginians inflicted on Regulus. The reason for him to disclose it all the same is the exemplarity of Regulus’ courage (edidit exemplum uirtus). This echoes the prooemium of the Punica, in which the primary narrator had stated that he is allowed to disclose (aperire, 1.19) the reasons of the Carthaginian cruelty towards the Romans (tantarum causas irarum, 1.17). Marus does exactly the same, revealing the cruelty of the Carthaginians to Regulus (irasque … temptarem expromere).⁶² Marus calls the torturers ‘the people of Pygmalion’ (Pygmalioneam … gentem), referring to the cruel brother of Dido, who had murdered her husband Sychaeus. Significantly, the only other attestation of the neologism Pygmalioneus is the very first word of the epic narrative after the prooemium, when the primary narrator refers to Phoenicia as the ‘lands of Pygmalion’ (Pygmalioneis … terris, 1.21) from which Dido had escaped.

After his account of the tortures that Regulus had to endure, Marus again stresses the qualities of Serranus’ father, who not only possessed uirtus, but also patientia and fides:

absiste, o iuuenis, lacrimis. patientia cunctos

haec superat currus. longo reuirescet in aeuo

gloria; dum caeli sedem terrasque tenebit

casta Fides, dum uirtutis uenerabile nomen,

uiuet; eritque dies, tua quo, inclite dux, fata

audire horrebunt a te calcata minores. (6.545–550)

Weep no more, young man. That endurance is greater than all triumphs. His laurels will be green throughout the ages. As long as unstained Loyalty keeps her seat in heaven and on earth, as long as virtue’s name is worshipped, they will last. A day will come, on which posterity will shiver when hearing your fate, famous general, that you trampled upon.

It is clear from these quotations that Regulus should be seen as an exemplary figure, first of all for Serranus, who should curb his emotions in imitation of his father’s Stoic attitude (placido ore ferentem, 6.536). This exemplary function applies no less to future generations (longo … in aeuo; minores), and by extension to the primary narratees, who will hear this story (audire). The durability of Regulus’ fame touches, again, upon a major theme of the Punica, as stated in the prooemium. Just as Marus records the everlasting gloria of a general from the First Punic War, the primary narrator wishes to immortalize the fame of the Roman leaders from the Second (quibus caelo se gloria tollit, 1.1). Marus’ exemplary account of Regulus can therefore be seen as foreshadowing the feats of Fabius and Scipio which the primary narrator will tell in full detail in the ensuing books of the epic. This exemplarity is by no means uncomplicated, as I will explain below.

4.1 Marus and Euander

A young man getting information from an old comrade-in-arms of his father finds its ultimate model in Telemachus’ visits to Nestor in Book 3 of the Odyssey.⁶⁴ But a much stronger intertext is Aeneas’ visit to Pallanteum, where the old Euander, a Nestor-like figure himself, receives the Trojan in his humble palace:⁶⁵

ut te, fortissime Teucrum,

accipio agnoscoque libens! (Virg. A. 8.154–155)

Bravest of Teucrians, how gladly I receive and recognize you!

In both scenes the older man uses a similar form of address (fortissime, 6.118) and immediately recognizes the younger person, because he looks like his father (ora agnouit, 6.77).⁶⁶

The way in which Euander recounts his first encounter with Anchises also resonates in Marus’ words, as we will see. The Arcadian king tells that he saw Anchises at a young age, when he was beginning to show the first signs of a beard: tum mihi prima genas uestibat flore iuuentas (‘at that time first youth dressed my cheeks with bloom’, A. 8.160). Anchises had once visited his hometown in Arcadia as member of a Trojan delegation. Euander commemorates how impressed he was by the Trojan’s physical appearance and how much he wanted to be with him:

mihi mens iuuenali ardebat amore

compellare uirum et dextrae coniungere dextram;

accessi et cupidus Phenei sub moenia duxi. (Virg. A. 8.163–165)

My mind burned with youthful love to address that man and to hold hands with him; I went up to him and led him eagerly into the walls of Pheneus.

As has been observed, these lines suggest a sexual desire for Anchises on Euander’s part.⁶⁷ He portrays himself as a typical Greek eromenos, not yet having a full beard.⁶⁸ Many words also have erotic connotations (iuuenali … amore, ardebat, cupidus), and there is a play with verbs that are also regularly used of marriage (coniungere, duxi).⁶⁹ The way Marus describes his first acquaintance with Regulus shows analogies with Euander’s description:

uix puerile mihi tempus confecerat aetas,

cum primo malas signabat Regulus aeuo.

accessi comes, atque omnes sociauimus annos (6.127–129)

I had hardly outgrown the years of boyhood, when Regulus’ cheeks were indicating his first youth. I went to him as his comrade and we have spent all years together.

The clearest verbal echo is the repetition of accessi in the first position of the hexameter. In both cases, the initiative of the meeting comes from the younger person. There is a similar age difference between Marus and Regulus, but both are an age group younger than Euander and Anchises: Marus is merely a boy (puerile … aetas), and it is Regulus who has the first signs of down on his cheeks.⁷⁰ Although the language of Marus is in general less suggestive than that of Euander, the word sociauimus also bears connotations of marriage and sexual intercourse.⁷¹ Unlike the short encounter between Euander and Anchises, Marus stresses the long duration of their relation (omnes … annos, ‘all years’), which only ended by Regulus’ death. The repetition of the phrase accessi comes in 6.371, when Marus accompanied Regulus as a prisoner of war to Rome, again underlines their long-lasting relationship. Of course, one can read Marus’ words as describing a purely military partnership, but the Virgilian intertext suggests that, at least from Marus’ point of view, their long-lasting relationship might have been more than meets the eye.⁷²

A further correspondence is the bestowing of gifts. Euander receives arrows, a military cloak and horse bits from Anchises:

ille mihi insignem pharetram Lyciasque sagittas

discedens chlamydemque auro dedit intertextam,

frenaque bina meus quae nunc habet aurea Pallas. (Virg. A. 8.166–168)

He gave me, when he left, a glorious quiver with Lycian arrows, a cloak woven with gold, and a pair of golden bits that now my Pallas possesses.

Marus also lists the honourable gifts that Regulus had bestowed upon him:

ille ensem nobis magnorum hunc instar honorum

uirtutisque ergo dedit et, sordentia fumo

quae cernis nunc, frena; sed est argenteus ollis

fulgor. (6.133–136)

So he gave me this sword, matching great honour and on account of my virtue, and the bits, which you see now blackened with smoke; but they possess a silver splendour.

In both cases, all of the gifts have a military nature. The only gift that is similar is the bit—in Marus’ case made of silver instead of gold. In both texts, the men make mention of the current status (nunc) of the bits. Euander has passed them on to his son Pallas, whereas those of Marus are not in use anymore and are blackened by the smoke of the hearth (sordentia fumo). Marus uses strikingly solemn language when referring to Regulus’ gifts, as is shown from the rare postposition ergo for propter and the archaic pronoun ollis for illis.⁷³ The spear he got from Regulus for slaying the giant snake even receives worship from Marus. He is making a libation of wine when talking to Serranus: ‘It is worthwhile to know the reason why you see me pour the liquids of Lyaeus in its honour’ (cui me libare Lyaei | quod cernis latices, dignum cognoscere causam, 6.138–139). This leads Marus to narrate the story of the snake of the Bagrada, which explains why Regulus gave his spear to him (6.291–293). This brings us back to Euander, who explained his worship of Hercules by narrating the story of the hero’s killing of the monster Cacus.⁷⁴ Apart from the obvious parallel of the slaying of monsters, Marus’ narrative of the snake echoes Euander’s story several times, suggesting also a link between Regulus and Hercules.⁷⁵

4.2 Marus and Amyclas

The arrival of Serranus at Marus’ dwelling also contains references to a hospitality scene in Lucan, wherein Caesar pays a visit to the humble abode of the Greek fisherman Amyclas. The general has secretly left his camp in the middle of the night to seek a boat for crossing over to Italy:

Caesar sollicito per uasta silentia gressu

uix famulis audenda parat, cunctisque relictis

sola placet Fortuna comes. tentoria postquam

egressus uigilum somno cedentia membra

transiluit, questus tacite quod fallere posset,

litora curua legit, … (Luc. 5.508–513)

Caesar with troubled step through desolate silence tries a venture too bold even for a slave and, leaving all else behind, chooses Fortune as his sole companion. After passing by the tents he jumped over the sentries’ limbs, which were yielding to sleep, silently complaining that he could elude them, picks his way along the curving shore, …

Compare this to Serranus leaving the battlefields of Lake Trasimene:

haud illi comitum super ullus et atris

uulneribus qui ferret opem. per deuia fractae

innitens hastae furtoque ereptus opacae

noctis iter tacitum Perusina ferebat in arua. (6.68–71)

Not one of his comrades was left or anyone to cure his black wounds. Using bypaths, leaning on his broken spear and having escaped in secret he made in silence his journey in the dark night to the fields of Perusia.

The verbal echoes are perhaps not very strong when considered in isolation, but between them they reinforce the general similarity between the two scenes. Serranus, too, leaves the battlefield alone and in secret and travels through the countryside in silence. Just as Caesar puts himself in the hands of Fortune, Serranus relies on Fate when he starts knocking on Marus’ door:

hic fessus parui, quaecumque ibi fata darentur,

limina pulsabat tecti, cum membra cubili

euoluens non tarda Marus

(…)

procedit renouata focis et paupere Vesta

lumina praetendens. (6.72–74 and 76–77)

Here, the tired man knocked on the door of the small house, whatever fate might be given him there. Marus did not slowly roll his limbs from his bed (…) and came forward, holding a torch in front of him, which he had rekindled from the poor hearth, dedicated to Vesta.

Serranus’ knocking is a somewhat less aggressive version of the impatient banging of Caesar on Amyclas’ house:

haec Caesar bis terque manu quassantia tectum

limina commouit. molli consurgit Amyclas

quem dabat alga toro. (Luc. 5.519–521)

Twice and three times with his hand Caesar struck this threshold, shaking the roof. From his soft bed provided by seaweed Amyclas rises.

The similar words in first position (hic ~ haec and limina), and the identical metonymies of ‘threshold’ for ‘door’ and ‘roof’ for ‘house’ make a strong case for an allusion to Caesar in the Bellum Civile.⁷⁶ Marus’ reaction, too, copies that of Amyclas. He rises immediately from his bed, rekindles a fire (cf. Lucan 5.524–525) and proceeds to the door to let the nightly visitor in.⁷⁷ The fact that the torch of Marus is ‘renewed’ (renouata) can be read as an intertextual marker to Lucan’s scene, inviting to read the two passages next to each other.⁷⁸

A comparison of the two arrival scenes shows important differences. Serranus did not choose to travel alone and to trust in Fate as Caesar did, but left the battlefield of Lake Trasimene on his own because all of his comrades had died. Marus, on the other hand, is not the opposite of Serranus in the same way that Amyclas is Caesar’s antithesis.⁷⁹ The Lucanian fisherman is unaffected by the war raging around him, because he knows that his humble belongings are not interesting enough for the parties in this civil war (Luc. 5.526–527). In this way, the lifestyle of the Greek fisherman contrasts starkly with the military interests of his Roman visitor.⁸⁰ Only when Caesar asked to help him to cross over to Italy, Amyclas is unable to stick to his seclusion and is forced to take part in the war. Marus, on the other hand, is quite similar to his guest Serranus, in the sense that he is a Roman and a former soldier. The spear he worships in his little house evokes his own glorious deeds in the past. This heroic spear corresponds with the broken spear on which Serranus is leaning when travelling through the countryside (6.69–70). While Serranus tries to escape from the battlefield, he cannot really escape the war. Even small and simple dwellings in the Punica do not offer a world that can stay unaffected by warfare. And despite all differences between Amyclas and Marus, this conclusion is in fact not so different from the situation in the Bellum Civile: Amyclas, living in a secluded world and ignorant of the civil wars raging around him, becomes a puppet in the power game between Caesar and Pompey.

5.1 Marus as an Atypical Epic Healer

Doctors in epic have a long pedigree. The archetype of the epic healer is Homer’s Machaon, who removes an arrow from Menelaus’ body (Il. 4.210–219). The most prominent intertext for Marus as a healer is, however, a scene in Aeneid 12, where Iapyx treats the wounded Aeneas (A. 12.383–440).⁸⁴ A comparison with that scene will lead me to argue that Marus is a rather atypical kind of epic healer.

The trigger for the intertextual connection with Iapyx is the way Serranus arrives at Marus’ hut, ‘supporting his faltering steps with a broken spear’ (lapsantes fultum truncata cuspide gressus, 6.79). This recalls the spear that Aeneas uses for supporting his steps when he returns from the battlefield: alternos longa nitentem cuspide gressus (A. 12.386).⁸⁵ Silius closely follows the metre and phrasing of the Virgilian line. The identical verse endings are clear enough: nitentem has been rendered by fultum, both construed with a slightly odd accusative (gressus).⁸⁶ The surrounding hyperbaton alternos … gressus (‘every other step’) is changed into lapsantes … gressus (‘faltering steps’). This makes Serranus even less steady on his legs than Aeneas.⁸⁷ There are some other differences: Aeneas holds a long spear (longa), Serranus a broken one (truncata); Serranus comes to Marus all by himself with ‘not one of his comrades left’ (haud illi comitum super ullus, 6.68), while Aeneas is set down in the camp by ‘Mnestheus, loyal Achates and Ascanius at his side’ (Mnestheus et fidus Achates | Ascaniusque comes, A. 12.384–385). Mentally, too, their situation is different. Serranus flees from the battlefield in despair, heavily affected by the disastrous outcome of the battle, whereas Aeneas orders his men to treat his wound immediately, so that he can return to the war. In short, Serranus’ situation is both physically and mentally worse than that of Aeneas.

When Iapyx appears on stage, he is introduced as the favourite of Apollo, from whom he had received the gift of medicine. The narrator stresses this relation with Apollo when Iapyx is dealing with Aeneas’ wounds:

ille retorto

Paeonium in morem senior succinctus amictu

multa manu medica Phoebique potentibus herbis

nequiquam trepidat, nequiquam spicula dextra

sollicitat (Virg. A. 12.400–404)

The aged man, with robe rolled back and girt in the fashion of Paean, with healing hand and Phoebus’ potent herbs works anxiously, but in vain; in vain with his hand he pulls the arrow.

The narratees will expect this almost divine doctor to be successful in treating Aeneas, but line 403 dashes this expectation: the repetition of nequiquam stresses that his appliance of medicine has no effect.⁸⁸ No god comes to his aid, until finally Venus, unobserved, adds medical power to the water he uses:

inficit occulte medicans, spargitque salubris

ambrosiae sucos et odoriferam panaceam.

fouit ea uulnus lympha longaeuus Iapyx

ignorans (Virg. A. 12.418–421)

She steeps [an herb] with secret healing and sprinkles potions of healing ambrosia and fragrant panacea. With this water the aged Iapyx treated the wound, unwitting.

This treatment causes the spear to drop out of the wound spontaneously and the pain to disappear immediately, after which Aeneas regains his former strength. Iapyx attributes his recovery to an unknown god and exhorts Aeneas to resume fighting.

Certain aspects of the Silian healer are reminiscent of his Virgilian predecessor. Marus is like Iapyx a senior (in 6.94, 6.118 and 6.299), and the description of his treatment of Serranus contains echoes from the scene in the Aeneid:

inde aegra reponit

membra toro nec ferre rudis medicamina (quippe

callebat bellis) nunc purgat uulnera lympha,

nunc mulcet sucis. (6.89–92)

Next he lays the sick man on the bed and with the skill of applying medicines (which he had learned in war) now cleanses the wounds with water, and now soothes it with a potion.

The treatment with water and a medical potion (lympha, sucis) recalls Iapyx’s method, but there are significant differences that should be noted. Marus’ medical skill is not a divine gift, but gained from practical knowledge during the war. The gemination nunc … nunc can be taken as a contrastive echo of nequiquam … nequiquam (A. 12.403): Silius stresses that Marus is swiftly applying the right actions in treating Serranus, whereas Virgil stresses that Iapyx’s bustling about is all in vain.⁸⁹ The same contrast is observable, when Marus treats Serranus the next morning for a second time:

Marus instat uulneris aestus

expertis medicare modis gratumque teporem

exutus senium trepida pietate ministrat. (6.98–100)

Marus made haste to treat the inflamed wounds with tried remedies and, forgetful of his old age, applies a pleasant coolness with trembling piety.

Again, the narrator stresses Marus’ expertise (expertis … modis), which contrasts with Iapyx’s ignorance of the divine intervention in healing his patient (ignorans, A. 12.421). It is telling that the verb medicare in the Aeneid is said of Venus (A. 12.418), whereas Silius applies it to Marus. This, again, stresses the fact that it is really Marus who is curing the wound of Serranus, whereas in the case of Iapyx it is actually Venus who is the healer.⁹⁰ The phrase trepida pietate ministrat recalls the unsuccessful attempts of Iapyx to treat Aeneas’ wound: nequiquam trepidat (A. 12.403).⁹¹ But whereas Iapyx was bustling in vain, the ‘trembling piety’ of Marus does bring relieve for the patient.

On an intratextual level, Marus echoes another healer in the Punica, the African Synhalus. This doctor, also an old man, had successfully treated his patient, Hannibal’s brother Mago. Saliently he, too, got wounded in the Battle of Lake Trasimene (5.344–375). The strongest verbal connection to this earlier scene can be found in 6.90–92, cited above. These lines clearly correspond with the way that Synhalus treats Mago:

tum proauita ferens leni medicamina dextra

ocius intortos de more adstrictus amictus

mulcebat lympha purgatum sanguine uulnus. (5.366–368)

Then he applied the medicines of his ancestors with his soothing hand and with his twisted garment he quickly soothed the wound with water, having cleansed it from blood.

Both men apply medicine and clean the wounds with water.⁹² Does this mean, then, that Marus is similar to this Carthaginian doctor? The words intortos de more astrictus amictus (5.367), which has no equivalent in our episode, suggests rather the opposite. Like other epic healers Synhalus is dressed in a girded cloak. In fact, these words strongly echo the way that Iapyx’s dress is described: ille retorto | Paeonium in morem senior succinctus amictu (‘the aged man, with robe rolled back and girded in the fashion of Paean’, Virg. A. 12.400–401).⁹³ This indicates that Synhalus is, like Iapyx, a traditional epic doctor, who got his medical knowledge from the gods. Before the actual treatment of Mago, the narrator stresses that Synhalus’ ancestor, who went by the same name, was a son of the god Hammon. After him, the ‘heavenly gift’ of medicine (caelestia dona, 5.360) was handed down from generation to generation. In addition, Synhalus is a practitioner of magic, which involves herbs, incantations, and snakes:

unguere uulnus

herbarum hic sucis ferrumque e corpore cantu

exigere et somnum tacto misisse chelydro

anteibat cunctos (5.352–355)

Synhalus exceeded all in applying herbal potions to a wound, driving a weapon from a body by incantations and in putting asleep snakes by merely touching them.

This also recalls Iapyx who in vain used ‘potent herbs’ (potentibus herbis, A. 12.402), and who could remove the arrow from Aeneas’ body in a miraculous way: iamque secuta manum nullo cogente sagitta | excidit (‘now the arrow, following his hand, without force applied, dropped out [of the wound]’, A. 12.423–424).⁹⁴

Conversely, Marus, as we have seen, has no divine knowledge, but learned medicine from practicing it on the battlefield. Moreover, his treatment includes bandaging Serranus’ wounds, serving small amounts of food, and letting him rest. These steps are in line with medical knowledge of the imperial age, such as Celsus’ prescriptions for treating a patient.⁹⁵ This makes Marus more similar to an actual doctor of the first century than his divinely inspired epic counterparts such as Iapyx or Synhalus. Marus does not rely on gods or magic, but rather on his practical and rational abilities in healing Serranus. This rational approach of his patient also shows in his attempt to comfort Serranus on a psychological level. Marus tries to assuage the traumatic experiences of Serranus by his exemplary narrative.

5.2 Marus as a Stoic Healer

Marus tries to be more than a physician. Equally if not more important is his role as a Stoic healer for the soul.⁹⁶ He has the intention of lifting the young man’s spirits by telling a story about his father; the exemplary narrative itself is the medicine he applies to the wounded soul of Serranus. That the latter is heavily traumatized is clear from his emotional outburst when Marus is curing his wounds. The narrator emphasizes the emotions of the young man: he has a ‘sad face’ (maestos … uultus, 6.101) and starts talking ‘with groans and tears’ (cum gemitu lacrimisque simul, 6.102). Before summing up all defeats the Romans have suffered so far, which culminated in the death of consul Flaminius, he states that there is yet ‘no limit to our adversities’ (nec deinde aduersis modus, 6.107). Finally, he mentions his survivor’s guilt: he wished he would have died fighting.

It is interesting to compare Serranus to Mago, the patient that is treated by Synhalus earlier in the Punica. Although he is seriously injured, he could comfort himself by thinking back to his killing of Appius, the enemy that had wounded him. Mago even tries to comfort his brother Hannibal:

parce metu, germane. meis medicamina nulla

aduersis maiora feres. iacet Appius hasta

ad manes pulsus nostra. si uita relinquat,

sat nobis actum est. sequar hostem laetus ad umbras. (5.372–375)

Check your fear, brother. You could bring me no greater medicine for my adversities than this. Appius is slain, driven to the dead by my spear. If life should abandon me, I have done enough. I will happily follow my enemy to the shades.

In other words: his mind-set is his medicine. Unlike Serranus, Mago does not want to die out of guilt or shame, but would accept his fate happily (laetus).

Of course, Serranus cannot seek comfort in heroism like Mago does, because the Roman army has been defeated. Nevertheless, Marus ‘works hard to calm him down, as he makes other matters more bitter by his complaining’ (cetera acerbantem questu lenire laborans, 6.117). Marus wants to sooth (lenire) the young man’s mental pain, which is intensified by his emotions (questu).⁹⁷ He does so by giving philosophical advice for dealing with adversity and presenting his father Regulus as an example of this attitude towards life:

patrio, fortissime, ritu

quicquid adest duri et rerum inclinata feramus.

talis lege deum cliuoso tramite uitae

per uarios praeceps casus rota uoluitur aeui. (6.118–121)

Bravest of men, in your father’s fashion we have to endure all hardships and troubles. According to the laws of the gods the wheel of time rolls in headlong movement along the steep path of life through various misfortunes of that kind.

These lines are an amalgam of Stoic ideas, as commentators have noted.⁹⁸ Especially the phrasing of the last two lines is quite complex, with various concepts being intertwined.⁹⁹ Although the Stoic ideas that Marus paraphrases are familiar enough, they do evoke specific texts. One can think of Nautes, who gives Aeneas similar Stoic advice:¹⁰⁰

nate dea, quo fata trahunt retrahuntque sequamur;

quidquid erit, superanda omnis fortuna ferendo est.

(Virg. A. 5.709–710)

Son of a goddess, we have to follow where Fate brings us to and fro. Whatever may be, every fortune can be overcome by endurance.

The metaphor of time as a wheel seems to be borrowed from Anchises’ words to Aeneas in the underworld. Anchises explains that souls can return to earth ‘when they have rolled the wheel through a thousand years’ (ubi mille rotam uoluere per annos, A. 6.748).¹⁰¹ The combination of the wheel of time and the shortness of human life is also found in the first choral song of Seneca’s Hercules Furens, which also rings through in Marus’ words:¹⁰²

properat cursu uita citato,

uolucrique die

rota praecipitis uertitur anni. (Herc. F. 179–181)

Life hurries apace, and with each winged day the wheel of the headlong year turns forward.

So even if Marus is not a philosopher, he does use Stoic language. As an example of this attitude, Serranus has to remember his father. His fame should be enough to curtail his emotions:

sat tibi, sat magna et totum uulgata per orbem

stant documenta domus: sacer ille et numine nullo

inferior tuus ille parens decora alta parauit

restando aduersis (6.122–125)

Enough for you, great enough are the examples of your house, famous over the entire world: that father of yours, sacred and inferior to no god prepared for this high glory by defying adversity.

It is as if Marus is repeating the words of Mago, who deems his actions in the past good enough: sat nobis actum est (5.375). When even this Carthaginian can cope with adversity, such a noble father should provide Serranus with enough ammunition to fight his own troubles.

At the same time, Marus foreshadows the advice that the ghost of Scipio the Elder gives to his son in Book 13:¹⁰³

per nostri, fortissime, leti

obtestor causas, Martis moderare furori.

sat tibi sint documenta domus! (13.669–671)

By the cause of our death, bravest one, I beseech you: temper your fury in war. Your house gives you sufficient examples!

Scipio the Elder addresses his son with the same vocative (fortissime) and reminds him of his own unfortunate death: the younger Scipio should temper his reckless behaviour on the battlefield and show more caution than his father and uncle did.¹⁰⁴ The difference is that Serranus should follow in the divine footsteps of his father, whereas Scipio the Younger is advised to avoid the same mistakes as his father.¹⁰⁵

Marus repeats a word from Serranus’ complaint (aduersis, 6.107) in the same metrical sedes, when explaining that his father received his fame ‘by defying adversity’ (restando aduersis, 6.125).¹⁰⁶ His father is a famous example of a sapiens, equal to the gods, according to Marus. Similar words are repeated later in the narrative, when Marus states that according to Regulus ‘fleeing away from adversity by precaution is not as honourable as taming it by endurance’ (nec tam fugisse cauendo | aduersa egregium, quam perdomuisse ferendo, 6.375–376).¹⁰⁷ Serranus therefore should follow his father’s example and endure his fate.

The ‘high honour’ (decora alta, 6.124) of Regulus suggests a link with Hannibal in Book 3. He is speaking there to his Spanish wife Imilce, whom he sends off to Carthage. In his farewell speech, he tries ‘in haste to calm her fears and to console her mind which suffers from astonished cares’ (lenire metus properans aegramque leuare | attonitis mentem curis, 3.131–132). This is similar to the goal of Marus, who aims to comfort (lenire laborans, 6.117) a suffering Serranus (aegrum, 6.77). Hannibal’s speech, however, is rather an explanation of his own motives and apparently also an admonition to himself. After a short contemplation of the brevity of life, he indicates how the ghost of his father Hamilcar urges him to fulfil the oath he swore to fight against the Romans: stant arae atque horrida sacra | ante oculos (‘the altars and the horrible sacrifices stand before my sight’, 3.140–141). He then explains that he wants to be famous not only in Italy, but all over the world: letique metu decora alta relinquam? (‘should I abandon high honour from fear of death?’, 3.144).¹⁰⁸ Both Hannibal and Serranus have to live up to the bar set by their deceased fathers. In the end, Hannibal, not Serranus, will get the decora alta of worldwide renown he is looking for, just as Regulus did before.

The story that Marus tells about Regulus has the goal of comforting Serranus. The old man sees Serranus as someone who now experiences what he himself has suffered in the past. Marus narrates how he himself had experienced a narrow escape, when a giant snake had already devoured two of his companions:

sic dirum nobis et lamentabile monstrum

effugisse datur. quantum mens aegra sinebat,

appropero gressum (6.204–206)

So only I was given the chance to flee away from the horrible and deplorable monster. As much as my suffering mind would let me, I hastened my pace.

These words make an implicit analogy with Serranus’ current situation. His arrival was phrased in a similar way:

utque ora agnouit et aegrum

uulneribus diris¹⁰⁹ ac, lamentabile uisu,

lapsantes fultum truncata cuspide gressus … (6.77–79)

As soon as [Marus] recognized the face of the man suffering from horrible wounds, and, deplorable to behold, supporting his faltering steps with a broken spear, …

Serranus’ deplorable appearance is focalized by Marus (agnouit).¹¹⁰ In retrospect, we can understand that the old man at this moment does not only recognize Serranus, but also recognizes a younger version of himself. The situation of Serranus is ‘deplorable to behold’ (lamentabile uisu) and it is exactly with the same adjective that he describes the snake: lamentabile monstrum.¹¹¹ After the giant snake had devoured his two comrades he ran back to Regulus ‘as much as my suffering mind would let me’ (quantum mens aegra sinebat, 6.205). He had no physical, but psychological wounds, whereas Serranus suffers from both. Somewhat later in his story, Marus quotes Regulus, who reproaches his men for having no courage: si … | … uiso mens aegra effluxit hiatu (‘if your weak spirit has oozed away at the sight of his open mouth …’, 6.244–245). If they do not have enough guts to face the monster, he will kill it singlehanded. Marus then decides to join Regulus in the final fight against the snake; the speech of Regulus ‘cured’ his feeble mind. The message to Serranus is that he, too, can do something about his mens aegra.¹¹²

The question is how successful Marus is in being a Stoic healer of the soul. It is significant that a still highly emotional Serranus interrupts Marus in the middle of his story (medioque … sermone, 6.295). He must have been weeping all along: ‘already a long time his face was wet with tears’ (iamdudum uultus lacrimis atque ora rigabat, 6.294). In 6.415 he interrupts Marus yet again ‘with deep sighing and surging tears’ (alto … gemitu lacrimisque coortis). Marus continues his narrative, as he thinks that Serranus is making his wounds (physical, mental, or both?) worse by his complaints (inhibens conuellere uulnera questu, 6.431). Right after he has narrated his father’s death, Marus exhorts Serranus to stop crying, which implies that he still does: absiste, o iuuenis, lacrimis (6.545). One may ask whether the narrative of Regulus has been a good way of assuaging Serranus’ emotions; it is safe to say that it did not have the desired effect of curbing Serranus’ emotions during the narration itself. This unfulfilled goal also has implications for the Punica at large. As we have seen, Marus can be seen as a mise en abyme for the primary narrator. The epic, a return to the Roman past, can be seen as a solace for the civil war of AD 68–69 that Silius and many of his narratees have experienced themselves. As Schaffenrath argues, Serranus should be seen as a figure with which the primary narratees can identify themselves.¹¹³ But if Serranus cannot be comforted by a narrative about the Roman past, how can Silius’ narratees? The exemplary past does not give solace for the present.

7.1 The Bagrada as a Generic Marker

The location of the fight marks a transition to ‘essential epic’. The broad, slow and muddy waters of the Bagrada¹³⁵ recall the famous closing lines of Callimachus’ Hymn to Apollo, in which epic poetry is compared to the vast sea (πόντος) and the ‘Assyrian river’: Ἀσσυρίου ποταμοῖο μέγας ῥόος, ἀλλὰ τὰ πολλά | λύματα γῆς καὶ πολλὸν ἐφ’ ὕδατι συρφετὸν ἕλκει (‘the flow of the Assyrian river is vast, but it draws along much refuse from the land and much garbage on its waters’, Call. Ap. 108–109).¹³⁶ The muddiness and the boundlessness of the Bagrada are clear echoes of this Assyrian river:

turbidus arentes lento pede sulcat harenas

Bagrada, non ullo Libycis in finibus amne

uictus limosas extendere latius undas

et stagnante uado patulos inuoluere campos.

hic studio laticum, quorum est haud prodiga tellus,

per ripas laeti saeuis consedimus aruis. (6.140–145)

Turbidly it furrows with a slow pace the dry sands—the Bagrada, superseded by no river in Libyan lands in spreading its muddy waves more widely and covering wide plains with its stagnant pool. Here, longing for water, which is not abundant in this country, we were glad to encamp upon the banks in those savage fields.

This is the place where the army of Regulus pitches a camp; although the Bagrada with its muddy stream is not the best river to drink from, the soldiers are glad to have found a site where there is any water at all.

The description of the Bagrada also alludes to the description of the same river in Lucan; Caesar’s legate Curio pitches his camp ‘where slowly the Bagrada proceeds, the furrower of the dry sand’ (qua se | Bagrada lentus agit siccae sulcator harenae, Luc. 4.587–588).¹³⁷ As Asso notes, Lucan renders an image of the river as a snake, which furrows the sand with its body, probably inspired by an Ovidian snake: litoream tractu squamae crepitantis harenam | sulcat (‘it furrows the coastal sand with a trail of its chafing scales’, Ov. Met. 15.725–726).¹³⁸ Asso argues that Lucan’s snaky river is also an echo of the snake that Regulus killed on the same spot according to the legendary tradition.¹³⁹ Silius’ allusion to Lucan signals that he ‘reads’ the story of Regulus, known from many sources, through a Lucanian lens. He also acknowledges the Ovidian heritage by changing Lucan’s sulcator back into sulcat. Marus’ image of the river Bagrada as a winding snake foreshadows the appearance of the snake later in his narrative, like the ‘savage fields’, too, are a foreboding of the savage monster (saeuis … aruis ~ saeui serpentis, 6.266).¹⁴⁰

As Antoniadis has shown for Lucan, Statius, and Valerius Flaccus, rivers can often be read as generic markers: “the appropriation of Callimachus’ Assyrian river is used as a ‘generic tag’ which, typically for the genre, anticipates or points toward some piece of martial action or, by contrast, to its postponement.”¹⁴¹ That the Bagrada can be read as a generic marker is confirmed not only by the echo of Callimachus, but also by a reference to the same river by Statius in Silvae 4.3, the eulogy on the Via Domitiana. The river Vulturnus in Campania thanks the emperor for having tamed his course; he feels ashamed about his former state, in which he had no fixed banks (ripas habitare nescientem, Silv. 4.3.74) and he was still turbid (turbidus, 4.3.76). Now he can flow with a wide and clear stream (puro gurgite, 4.3.94) into the Tyrrhenian Sea, free of muddy soil. As scholars have noted, these words of Vulturnus can be read as a metapoetical manifesto, strongly reminiscent of Callimachean and neoteric notions of poetry.¹⁴² The Vulturnus contrasts himself with muddy rivers and explicitly mentions the Bagrada:

… qualis Cinyphius tacente ripa

Poenos Bagrada serpit inter agros (Stat. Silv. 4.3.90–91)

… like the Cinyphian Bagrada snakes by his silent banks amid Punic fields

The fact that the Bagrada ‘snakes’ through Punic fields has been viewed as a veiled allusion to the narrative in Punica 6, in which a snake is killed.¹⁴³ The Bagrada in Silius is still turbidus and flows across the surrounding fields without fixed banks like the Vulturnus did in its former state. Statius’ reference to the Silian Bagrada is even read as a metapoetical challenge to the Punica: the Vulturnus, synecdochically representing the Silvae, is not a winding epic filled with mud like Silius’ epic, but rather a clear, fast-flowing type of poetry.¹⁴⁴ This Statian allusion retrospectively confirms a play on Callimachean poetics in Silius.

The swiftness of the Vulturnus is the opposite of the sluggishness of the Bagrada (tacente ripa, Silv. 4.3.90, and lento pede, 6.140). Paradoxically, the Libyan river is also twice referred to as having a rapid stream. The first time is when Marus narrates how the snake was used to quench its thirst with water:

isque ubi feruenti concepta incendia pastu¹⁴⁵

gurgite mulcebat rapido et spumantibus undis,

nondum etiam toto demersus corpore in amnem

iam caput aduersae ponebat margine ripae. (6.162–165)

When it tried to soothe the heat that was engendered by its fiery food in the rapid stream and foaming waves, before it had plunged its whole body in the river, his head was already resting on the edge of the opposite bank.

Rapido and spumantibus could be understood proleptically, referring to the rapid movement and foaming of the water caused by the snake itself. It seems more natural, however, to understand these adjectives as being descriptive of the river. This is certainly the case when Marus relates how one of his comrades tried to escape from the snake that had suddenly appeared:

infelix fluuio sese et torrentibus undis

crediderat celerique fuga iam nabat Aquinus. (6.200–201)

The unfortunate Aquinus had entrusted himself to the rushing waves and already tried to swim away with a swift flight.

Spaltenstein signals this paradox, but contends that ‘rapid’ and ‘foaming’ are traditional adjectives for a river and that Silius did not care about the divergence with 6.140.¹⁴⁶ Haselmann gives a more convincing explanation of the paradox, arguing that it indicates the untrustworthiness of the river: one moment it has a slow current, the next it foams and rushes forth. This twofold nature corresponds with the character of the neighbouring Carthaginians: they are untrustworthy as well.¹⁴⁷ We probably should think of the Nile, too, as this is the other large river on the same continent that flows through the desert and floods its surrounding fields. In a long narrative at Cleopatra’s palace (Luc. 10.172–331), the Egyptian priest Acoreus informs Caesar about the nature of the Nile. The river that is known for its gentle stream also has a wilder nature:

quis te tam lene fluentem

moturum totas uiolenti gurgitis iras,

Nile, putet? (Luc. 10.315–317)

Who would think, to see you flow so quietly, that you, Nile, can arouse the wholesale anger of your violent flood?

When we understand the Nile as pars pro toto for Egypt, it is possible to connect its ‘hidden’ aggressive nature to the perfidy of its people. Caesar is dining with Cleopatra in the royal palace, unconcerned ‘as if in safety of peace’ (uelut in tuta … pace, Luc. 10.332), but in the meantime Pothius, a eunuch and minister of king Ptolemy, plots Caesar’s assassination. Similarly, Marus and his comrades will be surprised by the sudden appearance of the snake, and Regulus will be ambushed by the Carthaginians under the command of Xanthippus.

I would add that these contrastive descriptions of the Bagrada also draw attention to the double status of Marus’ narrative on a metapoetical level. On the one hand the longest narrative of the epic causes a temporary pausing of the Hannibalic war after the defeat of Lake Trasimene. The ‘slow pace’ (lento pede, 6.140) of the meandering Bagrada can be read in terms of mora: the narrative is delaying the main narrative. On the other hand, the Bagrada foreshadows two martial episodes, first the battle against the snake, and next the fight between Regulus and Xanthippus.

This double metapoetic significance of the Bagrada can be demonstrated by looking at rivers from other imperial epics. A first example is Lucan, where the slow Bagrada anticipates the aetiological story of an anonymous farmer about the fight between Hercules and the giant Antaeus (Luc. 4.593–660). Curio is ‘eager to learn the origin’ (cupientem noscere causas, Luc. 4.590) of the place, which is echoed in Marus’ introductory phrase cognoscere causam (6.139). Here, too, we see the paradox of a delaying episode that contains a stereotypical martial story. Another Lucanian river that temporarily brings the martial exploits of the main narrative to a halt is the digression on the river Nile, whose origins Caesar wants to know (tibi noscendi Nilum, Romane, cupido est, Luc. 10.268); the Roman general diverts his attention from the war to the didactic explanations of Acoreus. Only after this long digression does the plotting of his enemies end the seemingly peaceful situation at Cleopatra’s palace and brings the war back on track.¹⁴⁸

Another complex example is the Nemean episode in Statius Thebaid 4–6, which covers 1900 lines. Here the Argive army comes to a halt and this interruption of the campaign against Thebes has been viewed in Callimachean terms.¹⁴⁹ The Nemean interlude and story of Regulus are interconnected, as Soerink has convincingly shown for the description of the snakes in both episodes.¹⁵⁰ In the Statian episode, water, too, plays an important role. Apollo causes a drought to bring the Argives to a standstill and Statius remarks that the situation is such ‘as if they scour yellow Libya and the deserts of African dust and Syene that no cloud ever shades’ (ceu flauam Libyen desertaque pulueris Afri | conlustrent nullaque umbratam nube Syenen, Stat. Theb. 4.744–745). Then the army encounters Hypsipyle, whom they ask for help. King Adrastus hopes she can provide them with water, even when it is unclean: da fessis in rebus opem, seu turbidus amnis, | seu tibi foeda palus (‘help us in our tired state, whether you have a turbid river or a foul swamp’, Theb. 4.763–764). The soldiers of Regulus, too, camped near turbidus … Bagrada, because they longed for water. Hypsipyle, however, shows the Argives the clear waters of the Langia. The soldiers rush into the river to quench their thirst:

modo lene uirens et gurgite puro

perspicuus, nunc sordet aquis egestus ab imis

alueus; inde tori riparum et proruta turbant

gramina; iam crassus caenoque et puluere torrens,

quamquam expleta sitis, bibitur tamen. agmina bello

decertare putes iustumque in gurgite Martem

perfurere aut captam tolli uictoribus urbem. (Stat. Theb. 4.824–830)

The riverbed, which was at one time gently green and

transparent with pure water, is now dirty, disturbed from its

watery depths. Then the ridged grassy banks are thrust forward

and disturb the stream. Now, although their thirst is slaked, the

torrent thick with mud and dust is yet drunk. One would think

that armies were fighting it out in battle and that a regular war

raged in the waters or that a captured city was being destroyed

by conquerors.¹⁵¹

The avalanche of soldiers causes the clear river to become muddy and sordid. Its pure stream ironically turns into the turbid river that Adrastus asked for. The poet explicitly compares the action of the soldiers with a naval battle or a siege. Scholars have consequently read the churning up of the clear water in metapoetical terms: the soldiers change the clear water into a muddy river that conjures up martial action.¹⁵²

The muddiness of the Bagrada already signals, as I have argued, epic themes. The same metapoetical symbol can be found in Ovid’s Amores 3.6, where the poet is prevented from reaching his mistress by a large river. When he stands on its muddy banks (limosas … ripas, Am. 3.6.1), he addresses the river, complaining that it, once a small stream, has now become a rushing stream:

nunc ruis adposito niuibus de monte solutis

et turpi crassas gurgite uoluis aquas. (Ov. Am. 3.6.7–8)

Now the snows have melted from the near-by mountain and you are rushing on, rolling gross waters in muddy, whirling streams.

In the poem this prevents him from reaching his mistress, but on a generic level it prevents the poet from writing love poetry; the muddy and whirling ‘epic’ river is the opposite of neoteric poetic principles.¹⁵³

The opposite happens at the banks of the Rubicon, whose little stream seems unfit for grand epic warfare when Caesar arrives ‘at the waves of the small Rubicon’ (parui Rubiconis ad undas, Luc. 1.185). Patria, a personification of Rome, appears in an attempt to prevent the general from crossing the stream, but this only results in a short delay:

inde moras soluit belli tumidumque per amnem

signa tulit propere: sicut squalentibus aruis

aestiferae Libyes uiso leo comminus hoste

subsedit dubius, totam dum colligit iram (Luc. 1.204–207)

Then he [i.e. Caesar] broke the pause of war and through the swollen river quickly took his standards. Just so in torrid Libya’s barren fields a lion, on seeing his enemy at hand, crouches in hesitation till he has concentrated all his anger.

Lucan compares Caesar with a Libyan lion, which casts him in the position of hated Carthage and Numidia, Rome’s foreign enemies.¹⁵⁴ As soon as Caesar decides to commence his war in Italy, the Rubicon seems to adapt itself to its new epic status: it starts as a small stream in the mountains that ‘snakes through the valley’s depths’ (perque imas serpit uallis, Luc. 1.215), but now it has changed into a large ‘swollen river’ (tumidumque … amnem, Luc. 1.204) which the army will cross.¹⁵⁵

This change of the Rubicon from a small stream into a swollen river may also underlie the sudden transformation of the sluggish Bagrada into a fast and churning stream. The rapidness and the foaming of the waters in 6.163 (gurgite … rapido et spumantibus undis) coincide with Marus’ description of the snake and foreshadow the fight that will follow. Like the lion in the Lucanian simile it is a creature from Libyan soil, ‘a deadly monster, born due to the anger of the Earth’ (monstrum exitiabile et ira | Telluris genitum, 6.151–152). This monster, however, outclasses the raging lion with which Caesar is compared, as the snake has lions as its meal: aluum deprensi satiabant fonte leones (‘lions, caught at the fountain, saturated its belly’, 6.156).

The two aspects that mark Bagrada as an anticipation of martial action, rapidness and foaming, are probably an allusion to the river Phasis in Valerius Flaccus. Although the adjectives rapidus and spumans are of course regularly applied to any river, it seems no coincidence that exactly these two words are connected with the Phasis in the lead-up of the battle that Jason is to fight in Colchis. Only in two places in the Argonautica is the rapidity and foaming of the Phasis mentioned. The first time is in Book 4, when Phineus predicts that this river is the destination of the Argonauts’ quest: sic demum rapidi uenies ad Phasidis amnem (‘so finally you will reach the river of the rapid Phasis’, V. Fl. 4.616); the second in Book 5, when the Argonauts have finally arrived in Colchis, ‘where the great Phasis with its foaming mouth rushes into the opposite sea’ (magnus ubi aduersum spumanti Phasis in aequor | ore ruit, V. Fl. 5.179–180). The description of the Phasis anticipates the battle that will follow.¹⁵⁶ Valerius has modelled his description of the Phasis on Ovid, who speaks of ‘the rapid waves of the muddy Phasis’ (rapidas limosi Phasidos undas, Ov. Met. 7.6). The Bagrada with its ‘muddy waves’ (limosas … undas, 6.142) and rapid currents shows that Silius combines the two descriptions of the Phasis and ‘restores’ the muddy aspect of the river that Valerius excluded.

The combination of muddiness and rapidness is also a feature that Bagrada shares with the Tiber, as seen by Aeneas in Aeneid 7:

hunc inter fluuio Tiberinus amoeno

uerticibus rapidis et multa flauus harena

in mare prorumpit (Virg. A. 7.30–32)

Through its [i.e. the forest’s] midst the Tiber’s lovely stream leaps forth to sea in rapid eddies, blond because of its many sands.

This description of the Tiber and its surrounding forest as a locus amoenus comes right before the ‘second proem’ of the epic, in which the poet announces ‘to sing of horrible wars’ (dicam horrida bella, A. 7.41).¹⁵⁷

In conclusion, the Bagrada in the introduction of Marus’ narrative at the same time signals a delay of the main narrative (lento pede), and foreshadows an embedded narrative full of martial action. The intertexts of the Bagrada cast Regulus as an amalgam of earlier epic protagonists arriving at rivers at turning points in their epic exploits; in the case of Aeneas one could argue that this is a positive comparison, but when it comes to Caesar at the Rubicon and his delegate Curio at the Bagrada, Regulus’ literary heritage is harder to assess in a favourable light.

7.2 A Hellish Snake

Regulus and his men have arrived at a locus horridus, as they will soon discover.¹⁵⁸ They are at first not aware of the threats that this place poses to them and are happy (laeti, 6.145) to have found a spot with access to water. Ironically, Marus and his two companions set out to explore ‘the peace of the place’ (pacemque loci, 6.168),¹⁵⁹ when they feel an indeterminable anxiety and pray to appease the nymphs and deity of the place: Nymphas numenque precamur | gurgitis ignoti (‘we pray to the nymphs and the deity of the unknown stream’, 6.170–172). This, again, echoes Aeneas’ arrival in Latium, who is laetus (A. 7.36) when he sails up the Tiber and somewhat later prays to many deities, including the nymphs and the river god: geniumque loci primamque deorum | Tellurem Nymphasque et adhuc ignota precatur | flumina (‘he prays to the genius of the place, and Earth, first of gods, and to the nymphs and the river yet unknown’, Virg. A. 7.136–138).¹⁶⁰

Right after their prayers Marus and his friends perceive that a ‘Tartarean whirlwind’ (Tartareus turbo, 6.175) comes out of the nearby cave, followed by ‘the baying of Cerberus’ (stridore … Cerbereo, 6.177–178). Finally, the hellish snake itself appears, who can be considered as the unknown genius of the Bagrada.¹⁶¹ This chthonic monster is explicitly compared to the serpentine Giants: quantis armati caelum petiere Gigantes | anguibus (‘armed with such huge snakes the Giants stormed heaven’, 6.181). This signals that the Romans have to prepare for a battle that recalls a gigantomachy—an epic theme par excellence.¹⁶² The Bagrada and its snake represent chthonic powers. Earth conceived the snake out of anger (ira | Telluris¹⁶³ genitum, 6.152), as she once gave birth to the Giants while being angry about the imprisonment of the Titans.¹⁶⁴ The monster at the Bagrada unleashes this inherited chthonic anger on Regulus and his men: furit ilicet ira | terrigena (‘the earthborn monster raged with anger’, 6.253–254). The gigantic heritage resonates in these words: the noun terrigena can be considered as a figura etymologica of the Greek Γίγας,¹⁶⁵ and furit might refer to the Giant’s sisters, the Erinyes or Furies, who according to Hesiod were born right before the Giants.¹⁶⁶ In addition, this aligns the snake, again, with the giant Antaeus, who is also a child of Earth and born right after she had given birth to the Giants (post genitos … Gigantas, Luc. 4.593).¹⁶⁷

The characteristics of the Libyan river—slow, muddy, sandy, but also foaming and rapid—will in retrospect turn out to be infernal, too. When the Sybil in Book 13 gives a description of the rivers in the underworld, the Bagrada rings through:

tum iacet in spatium sine corpore pigra uorago

limosique lacus. large exundantibus urit

ripas saeuus aquis Phlegethon et turbine anhelo

flammarum resonans saxosa incendia torquet.

parte alia torrens Cocytos sanguinis atri

uerticibus furit et spumanti gurgite fertur.

at magnis semper diuis regique deorum

iurari dignata palus picis horrida riuo

fumiferum uoluit Styx inter sulphura limum.

tristior his Acheron sanie crassoque ueneno

aestuat et calidam¹⁶⁸ eructans cum murmure harenam

descendit nigra lentus per stagna palude. (13.562–574)

Then there lies stretching far and wide a sluggish pool without substance and muddy lakes. Savage Phlegethon burns its banks with abundantly overflowing waters and rolls along rocky fires resounding with a roaring blast of flames. Elsewhere the rushing Cocytus rages with whirls of black blood and goes along with a foaming stream. Next the Styx, by which the great deities and the king of the gods deign to swear, a swamp dreadful with its stream of pitch carries down smoking mud and sulphur together. Acheron, more fearful than these, burns with venom and clotted poison and spouting up hot sand with a rumbling noise descends slowly with its black swamp through the stagnant pools.

The Bagrada shares many characteristics with these infernal rivers. The basin into which all subterranean rivers discharge has no clear boundaries and is circumscribed as ‘a muddy lake’ (limosique lacus, 13.563 ~ 6.142),¹⁶⁹ a characteristic that it shares with the Styx, which carries mud (limum, 13.570). The Cocytos is a wild river (torrens, 13.566 ~ 6.200) ‘with a foaming stream’ (spumanti gurgite, 13.567 ~ 6.163), and the poisonous Acheron carries hot sand (calidam … harenam, 13.572 ~ 6.140) while descending slowly through stagnant pools (lentus per stagna palude, 13.573 ~ 6.140 and 6.143). The Bagrada appears to be an amalgam of all those infernal waters.¹⁷⁰ When we accept this intratextual reference, these rivers are also in some aspects reminiscent of the snake of the Bagrada. The snake was, like the Phlegethon, described as ‘savage’ (saeuus … Phlegethon, 13.564 ~ saeui serpentis, 6.266) and ‘rages’ as the Cocytos does (furit, 13.567 ~ 6.253). The smoking Styx echoes the foaming mouth of the beast: serpens euoluitur antro | et Stygios aestus fumanti exsibilat ore (‘the snake glided forth from the cave and hissed forth Stygian heat from its smoking mouth’, 6.218–219). The Acheron, finally, ‘burns with venom and clotted poison’ (sanie crassoque ueneno | aestuat, 13.572–573); the words sanies and uenenum are repeatedly used for the poison that the snake exhales in Punica 6.¹⁷¹ This intratext from Book 13 adds to the idea that the Bagrada and its snake are associated with infernal and chthonic powers, and are the opposite of the Olympian order of Jupiter.¹⁷²

7.3 The Snake as a Mirror of Hannibal

In the main narrative, Juno uses chthonic powers in promoting the cause of the Carthaginians. A primary example is Tisiphone, who helps Hannibal to conquer Saguntum in Book 2. Therefore, Regulus fighting the snake can be seen as a mise en abyme for the fight of Rome against Carthage. In the Punica, Africa is portrayed as breeding place of poisonous snakes (e.g. 1.211–212 and 3.312–313) and its inhabitants are associated with wild beasts, primarily snakes and lions.¹⁷³ Regulus explicitly contrasts the Romans and Italy with the Libyan snake they are fighting:

serpentine Itala pubes

terga damus Libycisque parem non esse fatemur

anguibus Ausoniam? (6.242–244)

Shall we, men of Italy, retreat before a snake, and admit that Ausonia is no match for Libyan snakes?

This exhortation should primarily encourage his soldiers to fight the snake at the Bagrada, but seems to have wider connotations for the primary narratees of the Punica, as Hannibal and his men are frequently compared with snakes.¹⁷⁴ In Book 3, the Carthaginian general has a dream in which he sees a huge snake (3.183–213). Mercury explains that the destruction which the snake causes is a foreshadowing of the wars that he himself will wage in Italy (3.208–213).¹⁷⁵ In Book 12, Hannibal and his army leaving Capua are compared to a snake leaving its winter lair (12.6–10), whereas Naples defending itself with missiles against the Carthaginians is equated with an eagle defending its kids from being attacked by a snake (12.55–59). Especially interesting for our case is a scene from the last book of the epic. Hannibal reproaches the Bruttians, who were fighting for the Carthaginians, as they are fleeing from the battlefield: nudantes conspexit Hamilcare cretus | terga fuga (‘the son of Hamilcar saw them baring their backs in flight’, 17.444–445). His words have no effect and he returns to the fighting. At this point, the narrator compares Hannibal with an African snake:

qualis in aestiferis Garamantum feta ueneno

attollit campis feruenti pastus harena

colla Paraetonius serpens lateque per auras

undantem torquet perfundens nubila tabem. (17.447–450)

Even so, on the parching planes of the Garamantes, a Paraetonian snake that has fed on the burning sands lifts its neck, pregnant with venom, up high and hurls far through the air liquid poison while drenching the clouds.

Spaltenstein deems this simile traditional and denies that it recalls a particular passage.¹⁷⁶ I would like to argue, however, that it specifically alludes to the snake of the Bagrada. The fact that the Paraetonian snake is ‘pregnant with venom’ (feta ueneno) is a calque of grauidamque uenenis (6.155).¹⁷⁷ His nourishment in the desert recalls the other’s ‘heat that was engendered by its fiery food’ (feruenti … incendia pastu, 6.162). The hyperbolic image of the snake drenching the clouds with its venom, suggesting an enormous monster, finds two close parallels in the Bagrada episode:

tractae foeda grauitate per auras

ac tabe afflatus uolucres. (6.158–159)

Birds were dragged down through the air by the foul stench and the corruption of the [snake’s] breath.

extulit adsurgens caput atque in nubila primam

dispersit saniem et caelum foedauit hiatu. (6.186–187)

Rising up he lifted his head and first scattered its venom unto the clouds and defiled heaven with its gaping mouth.

As Spaltenstein rightly notes, caelum in 6.187 means more than just ‘air’: the snake here recalls the Giants storming heaven.¹⁷⁸ The Paraetonian snake poisoning the clouds can therefore also be considered gigantesque, an association that also extends to Hannibal.¹⁷⁹

The theme of Gigantomachy returns in the last scene of the epic, where the defeated Carthaginians are compared to Giants:

aut cum Phlegraeis confecta mole Gigantum

incessit campis tangens Tirynthius astra. (17.649–650)

and so marched the Tirynthian, when he had slain the mass of the Giants, in the fields of Phlegra, [with his head] touching the stars.

Scipio is here presented as a slayer of Giants, following in Hercules’ footsteps; ironically, the ‘Giant’ Hannibal, although defeated by the Roman, managed to escape the battlefield alive.

The fact that the snake is described as Paraetonius adds to the image of Hannibal as a gigantic general. The adjective of Paraetonium, a border-town between Egypt and Cyrene, is sometimes loosely used in poetry for ‘Egyptian’ and has been understood as ‘African’ in this specific passage.¹⁸⁰ I think that the choice of this adjective is less arbitrary than hitherto acknowledged. The town of Paraetonium can be connected with two other ‘gigantic’ generals: Alexander the Great and Mark Antony.¹⁸¹ The former visited Paraetonium before he set out to visit the oracle of Hammon in the Siwa Oasis, usually located in the area of the Garamantes, who are also mentioned in the simile.¹⁸² Lucan seems to refer to this same event when he refers to Alexandria as Paraetoniam … urbem (Luc. 10.9). At the same time, Lucan and Silius might refer to Mark Antony, who harboured at Paraetonium after Actium to set up a defence for Egypt.¹⁸³ Ovid refers to this episode when he describes the ships of Mark Antony depicted on the temple of Palatine Apollo as Paraetonias … rates (Ov. Ars 3.390). Hannibal should then be understood as a double of both Alexander and Mark Antony.

As O’Hara has shown, the meaning of Gigantomachy in the Aeneid is not so black-and-white as one would perhaps expect; Aeneas, for example, is compared in a simile to the Hundred-hander Aegaeon fighting against Jupiter (Virg. A. 10.565–569).¹⁸⁴ This can also be said, mutatis mutandis, of the snake imagery in the Punica. Scipio is the other figure in the epic that is most closely linked to snakes. When Scipio is accepted as Rome’s new leader, a meteor appears in the sky (15.138–145), which is described as a snake (anguis, 15.141). The people interpret this as a favourable sign, sent by Jupiter. They connect the snaky star to Scipio’s descent from the supreme god, as the ghost of his mother Pomponia had revealed in 13.632–633: Jupiter visited her in the disguise of a snake—a conception that aligns him with Alexander.¹⁸⁵ Arguably, we can consider the snake as a positive symbol in the case of Scipio, like the Romans did in 15.146–148. Van der Keur, for example, states that “Scipio’s serpentine parentage makes him a worthy opponent of Hannibal.” It opposes the negative, destructive snakes of Hannibal’s dream and the Bagrada.¹⁸⁶ Others are more careful: “Jupiter’s fathering of Scipio in the form of a snake must certainly inform our positive reading of the sign of the snake in Punica 15, but like that sign may also remind the reader of the snakes earlier in the epic.”¹⁸⁷

7.4 Regulus as Ambiguous Monster Slayer

Regulus, as a killer of a gigantic snake and a kind of Hercules, can therefore be viewed as a predecessor of Scipio. However, Marus’ narrative also shows sides of Regulus that do not fit the image of the Stoic exemplar that he is supposed to represent. In this respect, he is a model of what Tipping calls complex and controversial exemplarity in the Punica.¹⁸⁸ It is especially his passion for war and his anger that attract attention. When Marus reports that his two companions were killed by the snake, Regulus, ‘eager as he was for fights and Mars and battles and enemies, burned with desire to dare great things’ (utque erat in pugnas et Martem et proelia et hostem | igneus et magna audendi flagrabat amore, 6.208–209). His desire for battle, emphasized by tautology, seems to be more important than military strategy. His incautiousness almost cost him his own life, when he meets the snake in single combat: had it not been for his horsemanship and the intervention of his soldiers, the snake would have killed him, as Marus stresses twice (6.256–260; 6.263–264).¹⁸⁹ When the Romans combine their strength—Marus is keen to stress his own heroism in 6.261–263—they finally manage to slay the snake. The moment that the snake breathes its last venomous gasp, one would have expected a cheerful reaction, like the premature cheering when Regulus hit the monster for the first time: clamor ad astra datur, uocesque repente profusae | aetherias adiere domos (‘their shouting rises to the stars and their suddenly produced shouts reached the heavenly abodes’, 6.252–253).¹⁹⁰ By contrast, a loud wailing arises when the snake dies:

erupit tristi fluuio mugitus et imis

murmura fusa uadis, subitoque et lucus et antrum

et resonae siluis ulularunt flebile ripae. (6.283–285)

A bellowing escaped from the sad river and a murmuring spread from the depths of its waters, and suddenly the grove, the cave and the banks echoing the forests wailed in sorrow.

The river and its surroundings mourn the snake’s death. This pathetic fallacy is not surprising when we take into account the close connection between the snake and its environment.¹⁹¹ A close parallel is the death of the Nemean snake in Thebaid 5.579–582, whose death is bewailed by the Lernaean swamp, the nymphs, Nemean fields, and Fauns. As Soerink rightly argues, these lines “raise questions about the nature of the snake, both epic and pastoral, both monstrous and pitiful.”¹⁹² This is mutatis mutandis also the case with the snake at the Bagrada. Should we consider its death as something positive or negative?

The reaction of nature is reminiscent of the slaughtering of yet another monster. Valerius Flaccus relates in Book 2 of the Argonautica how Hercules kills the sea monster that was sent against Hesione by Neptune:¹⁹³

fluctus defertur belua in imos

iam totis resoluta uadis. Idaeaque mater

et chorus et summis ulularunt collibus amnes. (V. Fl. 2.535–537)¹⁹⁴

The beast is carried off into the deep waves already

enfeebled by all the waters. The Idaean mother and her

chorus and the rivers from the hilltops raise cries.

In this case, however, the environment is probably raising shouts of joy, as it has been freed of an alien monster. The sympathy of nature lies therefore with the monster-slaying Hercules.¹⁹⁵ In Marus’ narrative, this joyous reaction of Mount Ida is changed into lament: the adjectives tristi and flebile make clear that the natural surroundings of the Bagrada bemoan the death of their autochthonous snake. This casts the Herculean feat of Regulus and his men into a darker light; he cannot really live up to his mythic example, who in Valerius Flaccus was praised by nature for having killed a monster.

Regulus also mirrors Hasdrubal, the brother-in-law of Hannibal. In the first battle scene of the entire epic, this cruel general executes the Spanish king Tagus by crucifixion—the punishment that Regulus himself will suffer too.¹⁹⁶ The nymphs bewail Tagus, who is closely associated with their river that goes by the same name:¹⁹⁷

auriferi Tagus adscito cognomine fontis

perque antra et ripas nymphis ululatus Hiberis (1.155–156)

Tagus, who had taken his name from the gold-bearing river, was mourned by the nymphs of Hiberia through the caves and banks.

Hasdrubal has to pay dearly for his misstep of killing Tagus, just as Regulus will suffer from killing the snake: a servant of Tagus avenges his death by killing the savage general with his master’s sword. In turn, the Carthaginians torture this man to death. The Stoic attitude of the servant deserves attention: mens intacta manet. superat ridetque dolores | spectanti similis (‘His mind remains untouched. He overcomes his pain and laughs at it as if he were a mere onlooker’, 1.179–180). This corresponds with the mindset of Regulus, when he is tortured by savage Carthaginians, as Marus relates to Serranus: suppliciis, quae spectaui placido ore ferentem (‘the tortures, which I saw him endure with a calm expression’, 6.536). Bereaved of its general, the Carthaginian army chooses a new leader: Hannibal. Therefore, the story of Tagus does not only provide the official start of Hannibal’s generalship, but also points to the cyclic nature of wars; the death of one enemy causes the rise of yet another.¹⁹⁸ The correspondences with the story of Regulus underline the theme of perpetual wars, an example of what the prooemium calls ‘the arms that are commissioned to descendants’ (mandata nepotibus arma, 1.18). The fact that Regulus’ behaviour in Book 6 echoes both the aggression of Hasdrubal and the suffering of Tagus and his servant complicates his exemplarity.

Marus leaves no doubt that in retrospect the killing of the snake has been a violation for which the Romans (note the plural of ‘we’) have to pay the prize:

heu quantis luimus mox tristia proelia damnis,

quantaque supplicia et quales exhausimus iras!

nec tacuere pii uates famulumque sororum

Naiadum, tepida quas Bagrada nutrit in unda,

nos uiolasse manu seris monuere periclis. (6.286–290)

Alas, how great were the losses by which we soon payed for this unhappy fight, how great the punishments and what rage we had to endure! The pious soothsayers were not silent and warned us about future dangers now that we had violated with our hand the servant of the Naiads, the sisters who are fostered by the tepid waves of the Bagrada.

Marus implies that the ensuing defeat, captivity, and death of Regulus should be seen as divine retribution for the death of the snake. These are the ‘future dangers’ (seris … periclis) that the pii uates warned about. Haüßler suggests that this part of the Regulus story has been inspired by Ovid’s episode of Cadmus, who, too, had to suffer personally for killing a sacer serpens.¹⁹⁹ Regulus, however, was warned about imminent danger, but supposedly ignored the words of the soothsayers. The speaking up of these anonymous uates recalls Hecuba’s words in the prologue of Seneca’s tragedy Troades. She, too, had informed her husband about the future: prior Hecuba uidi grauida nec tacui metus | et uana uates ante Cassandram fui (‘I, Hecuba, saw first while pregnant, and I was not silent about my fears; I was a futile prophetess before Cassandra’, Sen. Tro. 36–37). Just as the Trojans did not pay heed to the words of these women, Regulus seems to have ignored the pii uates of his own day, to his own doom.

Marus, however, also seems to imply that the Romans are still paying the prize for this mistake. Whereas the perfect tense and prefix of the verb exhausimus point to the fulfilment and completion of the penalties at the moment of speaking, the first verb luimus is either perfect or present tense. This ambiguity leaves the possibility open of interpreting the ‘we’ in two ways: it either refers to Regulus and his men or it may include the Romans in the Second Punic War. They are then still bearing the consequences of the snake’s death, now fighting against the embodiment of a second snake, Hannibal.²⁰⁰ Earlier, Marus compared the snake with three other monsters: the snakes of the Giants (quantis… anguibus, 6.181–182), the Hydra of Lerna (quantus … serpens, 6.182–183), and Ladon in the Garden of the Hesperides (qualisque … anguis, 6.183–184). These comparisons stress the enormous size and danger that the snake poses to Regulus and his men.²⁰¹ The tricolon in Marus’ exclamation cited above seems to repeat this earlier comparison: quantis … damnis, quantaque supplicia, quales … iras. It is as if the punishment of the Romans equals the monstrosity of the snake. That the defeats, punishments, and furies (all plural!) are not only those of the First Punic War, but also those of the Second becomes plausible when we reconsider the anonymous pii uates. As has been recognized, the phrase originates in Aeneid 6.662, where such prophets are situated in the Elysian Fields: quique pii uates et Phoebo digna locuti (‘the pious prophets that speak words worthy of Phoebus’).²⁰² As Austin remarks, uates can refer either to prophets or poets, or, I would add, to both.²⁰³ An example of the second meaning can be found in Valerius Flaccus, who calls Orpheus a pius … uates (V. Fl. 4.348) right before the latter commences his song of Io. So, the primary narratees of the Punica, too, can understand the pii uates as poets, and specifically as a mise en abyme of Silius himself.

The plural of the pii uates calls for attention: is it possible that Silius not only refers to himself, but also to other poets? But to whom and which are the punishments the Romans pay? A clue may lie in another Virgilian intertext. In Aeneid 5, Acestes’ arrow catches fire and flies off to heaven like a meteor. The narrator adds a cryptic sentence about the prophetic value of this event: docuit post exitus ingens | seraque terrifici cecinerunt omina uates (‘later a momentous event taught [its meaning] and fear-inspiring seers sang about its future import’, Virg. A. 5.523–524). Aeneas interprets it as a prosperous omen for the Sicilian king and gives him a prize. The text suggests, however, that the real meaning of the omen will only reveal itself later (post). Many proposals have been brought forward to explain the exitus ingens and sera … omina, both positive and negative, both within and beyond the scope of the epic itself. Although it is impossible to pin down which ‘momentous event’ is meant exactly, the passage at least calls to mind the sidus Iulium, the comet that appeared during the funeral games in honour of Julius Caesar. For our passage, it is important that the seris … periclis that the uates predict can allude to later events, which fall outside the boundaries of the story.²⁰⁴ A probable candidate for such an external prolepsis is the civil war between Pompey and Caesar. In his Bellum Civile, the uates Lucan had put the African campaign of the Caesarian Curio in the perspective of the Second Punic War.²⁰⁵ The old farmer finishes his narrative of Antaeus, the earthborn monster that Hercules had slain, with a reference to Scipio’s victory over Hasdrubal Gisco at the Bagrada in 203 BC. The outcome of this battle made it necessary for Hannibal to return from Rome to Africa and was therefore essential for the course of the war:

sed maiora dedit cognomina collibus istis

Poenum qui Latiis reuocauit ab arcibus hostem,

Scipio; nam sedes Libyca tellure potito

haec fuit. en, ueteris cernis uestigia ualli.

Romana hos primum tenuit uictoria campos. (Luc. 4.656–660)

But a greater name was given these hills by Scipio, who recalled the Carthaginian enemy from the citadels of Latium; for this was his position when he reached the Libyan land. Look, you can see traces of the ancient rampart. These are the fields first held by Roman victory.

Curio interprets this as a good omen for his own campaign, but the narrator makes clear that he is mistaken and hints at Curio’s imminent defeat:

Curio laetatus, tamquam fortuna locorum

bella gerat seruetque ducum sibi fata priorum,

felici non fausta loco tentoria ponens

inclusit castris et collibus abstulit omen

sollicitatque feros non aequis uiribus hostis. (Luc. 4.661–665)

Curio was delighted, as if the fortune of the place would wage his wars and maintain for him the destiny of former leaders, and pitching his unlucky tents on lucky ground, he spread wide his camp and robbed the hills of their good omen and with unequal strength provokes a fierce enemy.

After the successful feats of Hercules against Antaeus and of Scipio against Hasdrubal, Curio will not be able to repeat their success and will suffer defeat on this same site; in a way, he recalls the defeat of Regulus at the same spot against the Carthaginians. The big difference is of course that Curio is fighting in a civil war. This civil war is paradoxically an indirect consequence of Scipio’s victory over Hannibal; when Scipio has defeated the ‘snake’ Hannibal, this means the ruin of Carthage, but also the disappearance of the metus Punicus. Without an external enemy, the Romans will start fighting each other. The narrator of the Punica expresses this idea most explicitly after the defeat at Cannae, where the Romans showed their moral superiority:

haec tum Roma fuit. post te cui uertere mores

si stabat fatis, potius, Carthago, maneres. (10.657–658)

This was how Rome was back then. If afterwards her morals were fated to change, it would be better, Carthage, that you were still standing.

The fall of Carthage was the reason for the decline of Roman morality, which eventually resulted in the civil wars of the first century BC.²⁰⁶ So, just as the killing of the snake at the Bagrada resulted in negative consequences for the Romans, the defeat of Carthage will also cost the Romans dearly, as the pius uates of the Punica, too late we might say, predicts.