mbarrassments and diverse duties, but, for the last
days, closer than ever in kindred service and fellowship; and Decius,
the sturdy comrade of the Campanian raid, the man who talked, now like
Ulysses, now like Thersites, but who always fought like Diomed; the
very Nisus who had saved his life. It seemed, too, as if the others
understood the import of his glance, for Decius turned away
ostentatiously, and sought to arrange the leathern straps of his
corselet skirt, while Manlius strode over and grasped Sergius' hand.

"The butcher showed us better favour than he intended, when he put
others in our commands," he said gayly. "We shall fight side by side,
and perhaps my sister may be pleased to play the siren no longer.
Besides, I am well satisfied to be free from any of the
responsibilities of this day."

"Marcia is no songstress of the rock, my Caius," said Sergius, half
sadly, half playfully; "unless her heart be the rock from which she
sings--a rock to me; but the gods have given men other things, when
women do not choose to love:--things that will serve to stir us today.
Afterward we shall be still." Then, noting that the young man who had
first addressed Decius was now watching their talk with troubled face,
he raised his voice cheerfully. "Tribune or volunteer, it is all one
to me. Do we not serve under Aemilius Paullus and his Illyrian
auspices? After this day, friends, we shall see no more pulse-eaters
in Italy."

Suddenly, a blast of trumpets rang clear, above the noise of
preparation; lieutenants dashed hither and thither, their legs bent
along their horses' sides; several cohorts marched past, to man the
rampart nearest the foe, while from behind came the louder rattle of
arms, and the earth shook under the tread of the legions, pressing on
through the porta dextra, and spreading out in three great columns that
plunged down the slope into the Aufidus, and rose again, and pushed out
into the plain on its southern bank. Hastati, principes, triarii--they
marched in order of battle, ready to face about at the moment of
attack, while, as they deployed, the famished Romans across the river
swarmed down, under shelter of the protecting lines, and, lying thick
in the turbid water below, drank as if their parched tongues and lips
would never soften.

The morning mists were clearing. Strange sounds and rumblings came
also from the south and west, and the red flag hung limp upon the spear.

Still the legions