to the din of preparation going on on every side, and
watched the crimson signal of battle that now flapped lazily in the
wind and again hung limp against its staff.

"The butcher has his way at last," remarked a youth who had scarce
offered up his first beard; but the man he addressed, Marcus Decius,
growled in reply:--

"Wait, only wait, my little master, and we shall see who is the butcher
and who is the fat steer."

"But," put in another of the company, "have you not heard that our camp
beyond the stream had no water yesterday? that the Numidians cut them
off from it? Doubtless we are to cross over to its relief."

Decius rose from his buckler, upon which he had been resting, and swept
his arm out across the country.

"All one," he said; "water or blood; this bank or that! Look! No room
for our infantry to spread out; level ground for their horse to sweep
clean. You have never been close to the Numidians, my master?" and he
pointed to the scar across his forehead. "They ride fast and strike
hard--when the country pleases them."

The boy laughed carelessly, but said nothing, while he who had spoken
third hesitated a moment and frowned. Then he said in a lower voice:--

"You are an old soldier, Marcus,--a head decurion once,--and you would
do better than try to terrify men of less experience."

Decius ground his teeth, and his eyes flashed, but he lowered his voice
when he replied:--

"I thank you, Caius Manlius, for the reminder; and I also may recall to
you that I am neither the only nor the highest officer who is serving
as volunteer to-day, because Varro must have legions commanded by
butchers and bakers and money-lenders. I, too, am a plebeian, and I
cast my pebble for my order (whereat the infernal gods are doubtless
now rejoicing); but I am also, as you say, an old soldier, and hold the
camp to be no place for the tricks of the Forum. As for frightening
recruits, if words and the sight of old scars will frighten them, they
had best ride north to-day hard and fast."

Manlius' face flushed at the reminder of his own lost command, and, as
if by consent, both men glanced over at another who stood near them,
leaning on his spear. Drawn by the centred attention of the two,
Lucius Sergius turned from his inspection of the rising mists, beyond
which lay the Carthaginian forces, and looked silently and sadly at his
friends: Manlius, the brother of his mistress, parted from him for a
while by petty e