The besieged killed all the dogs, all the mules, all the asses, and then the fifteen elephants which the Suffet had brought back.  The lions of the temple of Moloch had become ferocious, and the hierodules no longer durst approach them.  They were fed at first with the wounded Barbarians; then they were thrown corpses that were still warm; they refused them, and they all died.  People wandered in the twilight along the old enclosures, and gathered grass and flowers among the stones to boil them in wine, wine being cheaper than water.  Others crept as far as the enemy’s outposts, and entered the tents to steal food, and the stupefied Barbarians sometimes allowed them to return.  At last a day arrived when the Ancients resolved to slaughter the horses of Eschmoun privately.  They were holy animals whose manes were plaited by the pontiffs with gold ribbons, and whose existence denoted the motion of the sun—­the idea of fire in its most exalted form.  Their flesh was cut into equal portions and buried behind the altar.  Then every evening the Ancients, alleging some act of devotion, would go up to the temple and regale themselves in secret, and each would take away a piece beneath his tunic for his children.  In the deserted quarters remote from the walls, the inhabitants, whose misery was not so great, had barricaded themselves through fear of the rest.

The stones from the catapults, and the demolitions commanded for purposes of defence, had accumulated heaps of ruins in the middle of the streets.  At the quietest times masses of people would suddenly rush along with shouts; and from the top of the Acropolis the conflagrations were like purple rags scattered upon the terraces and twisted by the wind.

The three great catapults did not stop in spite of all these works.  Their ravages were extraordinary:  thus a man’s head rebounded from the pediment of the Syssitia; a woman who was being confined in the street of Kinisdo was crushed by a block of marble, and her child was carried with the bed as far as the crossways of Cinasyn, where the coverlet was found.

The most annoying were the bullets of the slingers.  They fell upon the roofs, and in the gardens, and in the middle of the courts, while people were at table before a slender meal with their hearts big with sighs.  These cruel projectiles bore engraved letters which stamped themselves upon the flesh;—­and insults might be read on corpses such as “pig,” “jackal,” “vermin,” and sometimes jests:  “Catch it!” or “I have well deserved it!”

The portion of the rampart which extended from the corner of the harbours to the height of the cisterns was broken down.  Then the people of Malqua found themselves caught between the old enclosure of Byrsa behind, and the Barbarians in front.  But there was enough to be done in thickening the wall and making it as high as possible without troubling about them; they were abandoned; all perished; and although they were generally hated, Hamilcar came to be greatly abhorred.