By the Legions' Road to Rimini,
She vowed her heart was mine to take
With me and my shield to Rimini--
(Till the Eagles flew from Rimini!)
And I've tramped Britain, and I've tramped Gaul,
And the Pontic shore where the snow-flakes fall
As white as the neck of Lalage--
(As cold as the heart of Lalage!)
And I've lost Britain, and I've lost Gaul,'

(the voice seemed very cheerful about it),

'And I've lost Rome, and, worst of all,
I've lost Lalage!'

They were standing by the gate to Far Wood when they heard this song.
Without a word they hurried to their private gap and wriggled through
the hedge almost atop of a jay that was feeding from Puck's hand.
'Gently!' said Puck. 'What are you looking for?'

'Parnesius, of course,' Dan answered. 'We've only just remembered
yesterday. It isn't fair.'

Puck chuckled as he rose. 'I'm sorry, but children who spend the
afternoon with me and a Roman Centurion need a little settling dose of
Magic before they go to tea with their governess. Ohe, Parnesius!' he
called.

'Here, Faun!' came the answer from Volaterrae. They could see the
shimmer of bronze armour in the beech-crotch, and the friendly flash of
the great shield uplifted.

'I have driven out the Britons.' Parnesius laughed like a boy. 'I
occupy their high forts. But Rome is merciful! You may come up.'And
up they three all scrambled.

'What was the song you were singing just now?' said Una, as soon as she
had settled herself.

'That? Oh, Rimini. It's one of the tunes that are always being born
somewhere in the Empire. They run like a pestilence for six months or
a year, till another one pleases the Legions, and then they march to
that.'

'Tell them about the marching, Parnesius. Few people nowadays walk
from end to end of this country,' said Puck.

'The greater their loss. I know nothing better than the Long March
when your feet are hardened. You begin after the mists have risen, and
you end, perhaps, an hour after sundown.'

'And what do you have to eat?' Dan asked promptly.

'Fat bacon, beans, and bread, and whatever wine happens to be in the
rest-houses. But soldiers are born grumblers. Their very first day
out, my men complained of our water-ground British corn. They said it
wasn't so filling as the rough stuff that is ground in the Roman
ox-mills. However, they had to fetch and eat it.'

'Fetch it? Where from?' said Una.

'From that newly invented water-mill