(1917)

_Regulus, a Roman general, defeated the Carthaginians 256 B.C., but was next year defeated and taken prisoner by the Carthaginians, who sent him to Rome with an emba.s.sy to ask for peace or an exchange of prisoners.

Regulus strongly advised the Roman Senate to make no terms with the enemy. He then returned to Carthage and was put to death._

The Fifth Form had been dragged several times in its collective life, from one end of the school Horace to the other. Those were the years when Army examiners gave thousands of marks for Latin, and it was Mr.

King's hated business to defeat them.

Hear him, then, on a raw November morning at second lesson.

'Aha!' he began, rubbing his hands. '_Cras ingens iterabimus aequor._ Our portion to-day is the Fifth Ode of the Third Book, I believe--concerning one Regulus, a gentleman. And how often have we been through it?'

'Twice, sir,' said Malpa.s.s, head of the Form.

Mr. King shuddered. 'Yes, twice, quite literally,' he said. 'To-day, with an eye to your Army _viva-voce_ examinations--ugh!--I shall exact somewhat freer and more florid renditions. With feeling and comprehension if that be possible. I except'--here his eye swept the back benches--'our friend and companion Beetle, from whom, now as always, I demand an absolutely literal translation.' The form laughed subserviently.

'Spare his blushes! Beetle charms us first.'

Beetle stood up, confident in the possession of a guaranteed construe, left behind by M'Turk, who had that day gone into the sick-house with a cold. Yet he was too wary a hand to show confidence.

'_Credidimus_, we--believe--we have believed,' he opened in hesitating slow time, '_tonantem Joven_, thundering Jove--_regnare_, to reign--_caelo_, in heaven. _Augustus_, Augustus--_habebitur_, will be held or considered--_praesens divus_, a present G.o.d--_adjectis Britannis_, the Britons being added--_imperio_, to the Empire--_gravibusque Persis_, with the heavy--er, stern Persians.'

'What?'

'The grave or stern Persians.' Beetle pulled up with the 'Thank-G.o.d-I-have-done-my-duty' air of Nelson in the c.o.c.kpit.

'I am quite aware,' said King, 'that the first stanza is about the extent of your knowledge, but continue, sweet one, continue. _Gravibus_, by the way, is usually translated as "troublesome."'

Beetle drew a long and tortured breath. The second stanza (which carries over to the third) of that Ode is what is technically called a 'stinker.' But M'Turk had done him handsomely.

'_Milesne Cra.s.si_, had--has the soldier of Cra.s.sus--_vixit_, lived--_turpis maritus_, a disgraceful husband--'

'You slurred the quant.i.ty of the word after _turpis_,' said King. 'Let's hear it.'

Beetle guessed again, and for a wonder hit the correct quant.i.ty. 'Er--a disgraceful husband--_conjuge barbara_, with a barbarous spouse.'

'Why do you select _that_ disgustful equivalent out of all the dictionary?' King snapped. 'Isn't "wife" good enough for you?'

'Yes, sir. But what do I do about this bracket, sir? Shall I take it now?'

'Confine yourself at present to the soldier of Cra.s.sus.'

'Yes, sir. _Et_, and--_consenuit_, has he grown old--_in armis_, in the--er--arms--_hositum socerorum_, of his father-in-law's enemies.'

'Who? How? Which?'

'Arms of his enemies' fathers-in-law, sir.'

'Tha-anks. By the way, what meaning might you attach to _in armis_?'

'Oh, weapons--weapons of war, sir.' There was a virginal note in Beetle's voice as though he had been falsely accused of uttering indecencies. 'Shall I take the bracket now, sir?'

'Since it seems to be troubling you.'

'_Pro Curia_, O for the Senate House--_inversique mores_, and manners upset--upside down.'

'Ve-ry like your translation. Meantime, the soldier of Cra.s.sus?'

'_Sub rege Medo_, under a Median King--_Marsus et Apulus_, he being a Marsian and an Apulian.'

'Who? The Median King?'

'No, sir. The soldier of Cra.s.sus. _Oblittus_ agrees with _milesne Cra.s.si_, sir,' volunteered too-hasty Beetle.

'Does it? It doesn't with _me_.'

'_Oh-blight-us_,' Beetle corrected hastily, 'forgetful--_anciliorum_, of the shields, or trophies--_et nominis_, and the--his name--_et togae_, and the toga--_eternaeque Vestae_, and eternal Vesta--_incolumi Jove_, Jove being safe--_et urbe Roma_, and the Roman city.' With an air of hardly restrained zeal--'Shall I go on, sir?'

Mr. King winced. 'No, thank you. You have indeed given us a translation!

May I ask if it conveys any meaning whatever to your so-called mind?'

'Oh, I think so, sir.' This with gentle toleration for Horace and all his works.

'We envy you. Sit down.'

Beetle sat down relieved, well knowing that a reef of uncharted genitives stretched ahead of him, on which in spite of M'Turk's sailing-directions he would infallibly have been wrecked.

Rattray, who took up the task, steered neatly through them and came unscathed to port.

'Here we require drama,' said King. 'Regulus himself is speaking now.

Who shall represent the provident-minded Regulus? Winton, will you kindly oblige?'

Winton of King's House, a long, heavy, tow-headed Second Fifteen forward, overdue for his First Fifteen colours, and in aspect like an earnest, elderly horse, rose up, and announced, among other things, that he had seen 'signs affixed to Punic deluges.' Half the Form shouted for joy, and the other half for joy that there was something to shout about.

Mr. King opened and shut his eyes with great swiftness. '_Signa adfixa delubris_,' he gasped. 'So _delubris_ is "deluges" is it? Winton, in all our dealings, have I ever suspected you of a jest?'

'No, sir,' said the rigid and angular Winton, while the Form rocked about him.

'And yet you a.s.sert _delubris_ means "deluges." Whether I am a fit subject for such a j.a.pe is, of course, a matter of opinion, but....

Winton, you are normally conscientious. May we a.s.sume you looked out _delubris_?'

'No, sir.' Winton was privileged to speak that truth dangerous to all who stand before Kings.

''Made a shot at it then?'

Every line of Winton's body showed he had done nothing of the sort.

Indeed, the very idea that 'Pater' Winton (and a boy is not called 'Pater' by companions for his frivolity) would make a shot at anything was beyond belief. But he replied, 'Yes,' and all the while worked with his right heel as though he were heeling a ball at punt-about.

Though none dared to boast of being a favourite with King, the taciturn, three-cornered Winton stood high in his House-Master's opinion. It seemed to save him neither rebuke nor punishment, but the two were in some fashion sympathetic.