It was said that the meetings which were held by the Tarentines while these proceedings were in progress, were so boisterous and disorderly that, as often happens in democratic assemblies, the voices of those who were in the minority could not be heard; and that at last one of the public men, who was opposed to the plan of sending the invitation to Pyrrhus, resorted to a singular device in order to express his opinion. The name of this personage was Meton. The artifice which he adopted was this: he disguised himself as a strolling mountebank and musician, and then, pretending to be half intoxicated, he came into the assembly with a garland upon his head, a torch in his hand, and with a woman playing on a sort of flute to accompany him. On seeing him enter the assembly, the people all turned their attention toward him. Some laughed, some clapped their hands, and others called out to him to give them a song. Meton prepared to do so; and when, after much difficulty, silence was at length obtained, Meton came forward into the space that had been made for him, and, throwing off his disguise, he called out aloud,
"Men of Tarentum! You do well in calling for a song, and in enjoying the pleasures of mirth and merriment while you may; for I warn you that you will see very little like mirth or merriment in Tarentum after Pyrrhus comes."
The astonishment which this sudden turn in the affair occasioned, was succeeded for a moment by a murmur of assent, which seemed to pass through the assembly; the good sense of many of the spectators being surprised, as it were, into an admission that the sentiment which Meton had so surreptitiously found means to express to them was true. This pause was, however, but momentary. A scene of violent excitement and confusion ensued, and Meton and the woman were expelled from the meeting without any ceremony.
The resolution of sending for Pyrrhus was confirmed, and embassadors were soon afterward dispatched to Epirus. The message which they communicated to Pyrrhus on their arrival was, that the Tarentines, being engaged in a war with the Romans, invited Pyrrhus to come and take command of their armies. They had troops enough, they said, and all necessary provisions and munitions of war. All that they now required was an able and efficient general; and if Pyrrhus would come over to them and assume the command, they would at once put him at the head of an army of twenty thousand horse and three hundred and fifty thousand foot soldiers.
It seems incredible that a state should have attained to such a degree of prosperity and power as to be able to bring such a force as this into the field, while under the government of men who, when convened for the consideration of questions of public policy in a most momentous crisis, were capable of having their attention drawn off entirely from the business before them by the coming in of a party of strolling mountebanks and players. Yet such is the account recorded by one of the greatest historians of ancient times.
Pyrrhus was, of course, very much elated at receiving this communication. The tidings, too, produced great excitement among all the people of Epirus. Great numbers immediately began to offer themselves as volunteers to accompany the expedition. Pyrrhus determined at once to embark in the enterprise, and he commenced making preparations for it on a very magnificent scale; for, notwithstanding the assurance which the Tarentines had given him that they had a very large body of men already assembled, Pyrrhus seems to have thought it best to take with him a force of his own.
As soon as a part of his army was ready, he sent them forward under the command of a distinguished general and minister of state, named Cineas. Cineas occupied a very high position in Pyrrhus's court. He was a Thessalian by birth. He had been educated in Greece, under Demosthenes, and he was a very accomplished scholar and orator as well as statesman. Pyrrhus had employed him in embassies and negotiations of various kinds from time to time, and Cineas had always discharged these trusts in a very able and satisfactory manner. In fact, Pyrrhus, with his customary courtesy in acknowledging his obligations to those whom he employed, used to say that Cineas had gained him more cities by his address than he had ever conquered for himself by his arms.
Cineas, it was said, was, in the outset, not much in favor of this expedition into Italy. The point of view in which he regarded such an enterprise was shown in a remarkable conversation which he held with Pyrrhus while the preparations were going on. He took occasion to introduce the subject one day, when Pyrrhus was for a short period at leisure in the midst of his work, by saying,
"The Romans are famed as excellent soldiers, and they have many warlike nations in alliance with them. But suppose we succeed in our enterprise and conquer them, what use shall we make of our victory?"
"Your question answers itself," replied the king. "The Romans are the predominant power in Italy. If they are once subdued, there will be nothing in Italy that can withstand us; we can go on immediately and make ourselves masters of the whole country."
After a short pause, during which he seemed to be reflecting on the career of victory which Pyrrhus was thus opening to view, Cineas added,
"And after we have conquered Italy, what shall we do next?"
"Why, there is Sicily very near," replied Pyrrhus, "a very fruitful and populous island, and one which we shall then very easily be able to subdue. It is now in a very unsettled state, and could do nothing effectual to resist us."
"I think that is very true," said Cineas; "and after we make ourselves masters of Sicily, what shall we do then?"
"Then," replied Pyrrhus, "we can cross the Mediterranean to Lybia and Carthage. The distance is not very great, and we shall be able to land on the African coast at the head of such a force that we shall easily make ourselves masters of the whole country. We shall then have so extended and established our power, that no enemy can be found in any quarter who will think of opposing us."
"That is very true," said Cineas; "and so you will then be able to put down effectually all your old enemies in Thessaly, Macedon, and Greece, and make yourself master of all those countries. And when all this is accomplished, what shall we do then?"
"Why, then," said Pyrrhus, "we can sit down and take our ease, and eat, drink, and be merry."
"And why," rejoined Cineas, "can not we sit down and take our ease, and enjoy ourselves now, instead of taking all this trouble beforehand? You have already at your command every possible means of enjoyment; why not make yourself happy with them now, instead of entering on a course which will lead to such dreadful toils and dangers, such innumerable calamities, and through such seas of blood, and yet bring you after all, at the end, nothing more than you have at the beginning?"
It may, perhaps, be a matter of doubt whether Cineas intended this as a serious remonstrance against the execution of Pyrrhus's designs, or only as an ingenious and good-humored satire on the folly of ambition, to amuse the mind of his sovereign in some momentary interval of leisure that came in the midst of his cares. However it may have been intended, it made no serious impression on the mind of Pyrrhus, and produced no change in his plans. The work of preparation went vigorously on; and as soon as a portion of the troops were ready to embark, Cineas was put in command of them, and they crossed the Adriatic Sea. After this, Pyrrhus completed the organization of the remaining force. It consisted of twenty elephants, three thousand horse, and twenty thousand foot, with two thousand archers, and twenty thousand slingers. When all was ready, Pyrrhus put these troops on board a large fleet of galleys, transports, and flat-bottomed boats, which had been sent over to him from Tarentum by Cineas for the purpose, and at length set sail. He left Ptolemy, his eldest son, then about fifteen years old, regent of the kingdom, and took two younger sons, Alexander and Helenus, with him. The expedition was destined, it seems, to begin in disaster; for no sooner had Pyrrhus set sail than a terrible storm arose, which, for a time, threatened the total destruction of the fleet, and of all who were on board of it. The ship which conveyed Pyrrhus himself was, of course, larger and better manned than the others, and it succeeded at length, a little after midnight, in reaching the Italian shore, while the rest of the fleet were driven at the mercy of the winds, and dispersed in every direction over the sea, far and wide. But, though Pyrrhus's ship approached the shore, the violence of the winds and waves was so great, that for a long time it was impossible for those on board to land. At length the wind suddenly changed its direction, and began to blow very violently off the shore, so that there seemed to be great probability that the ship would be driven to sea again. In fact, so imminent was the danger, that Pyrrhus determined to throw himself into the sea and attempt to swim to the shore. He accordingly did so, and was immediately followed by his attendants and guards, who leaped into the water after him, and did every thing in their power to assist him in gaining the land. The danger, however, was extreme; for the darkness of the night, the roaring of the winds and waves, and the violence with which the surf regurgitated from the shore, rendered the scene terrific beyond description. At last, however, about daybreak, the shipwrecked company succeeded in gaining the land.