The camp was like a town, so full of people and of movement was it.  The two distinct crowds mingled without blending, one dressed in linen or wool, with felt caps like fir-cones, and the other clad in iron and wearing helmets.  Amid serving men and itinerant vendors there moved women of all nations, as brown as ripe dates, as greenish as olives, as yellow as oranges, sold by sailors, picked out of dens, stolen from caravans, taken in the sacking of towns, women that were jaded with love so long as they were young, and plied with blows when they were old, and that died in routs on the roadsides among the baggage and the abandoned beasts of burden.  The wives of the nomads had square, tawny robes of dromedary’s hair swinging at their heels; musicians from Cyrenaica, wrapped in violet gauze and with painted eyebrows, sang, squatting on mats; old Negresses with hanging breasts gathered the animals’ dung that was drying in the sun to light their fires; the Syracusan women had golden plates in their hair; the Lusitanians had necklaces of shells; the Gauls wore wolf skins upon their white bosoms; and sturdy children, vermin-covered, naked and uncircumcised, butted with their heads against passers-by, or came behind them like young tigers to bite their hands.

The Carthaginians walked through the camp, surprised at the quantities of things with which it was running over.  The most miserable were melancholy, and the rest dissembled their anxiety.

The soldiers struck them on the shoulder, and exhorted them to be gay.  As soon as they saw any one, they invited him to their amusements.  If they were playing at discus, they would manage to crush his feet, or if at boxing to fracture his jaw with the very first blow.  The slingers terrified the Carthaginians with their slings, the Psylli with their vipers, and the horsemen with their horses, while their victims, addicted as they were to peaceful occupations, bent their heads and tried to smile at all these outrages.  Some, in order to show themselves brave, made signs that they should like to become soldiers.  They were set to split wood and to curry mules.  They were buckled up in armour, and rolled like casks through the streets of the camp.  Then, when they were about to leave, the Mercenaries plucked out their hair with grotesque contortions.

But many, from foolishness or prejudice, innocently believed that all the Carthaginians were very rich, and they walked behind them entreating them to grant them something.  They requested everything that they thought fine:  a ring, a girdle, sandals, the fringe of a robe, and when the despoiled Carthaginian cried—­“But I have nothing left.  What do you want?” they would reply, “Your wife!” Others even said, “Your life!”

The military accounts were handed to the captains, read to the soldiers, and definitively approved.  Then they claimed tents; they received them.  Next the polemarchs of the Greeks demanded some of the handsome suits of armour that were manufactured at Carthage; the Great Council voted sums of money for their purchase.  But it was only fair, so the horsemen pretended, that the Republic should indemnify them for their horses; one had lost three at such a siege, another, five during such a march, another, fourteen in the precipices.  Stallions from Hecatompylos were offered to them, but they preferred money.