ir
hopeless plight; the last sparks of fire seemed to die out in him, and
his head drooped upon his chest. Then, slowly, he dismounted, having
ordered his horse to kneel, and the beast, unable to rise again, rolled
over on its side. Paullus watched it with almost an expression of
pity, and then dragged himself to a flat rock and sat down.

Decius had sought to aid him, but the other thrust him rudely back.
"It is only the smaller bone," he said. "One of their accursed
stingers hit me."

At that moment a rider covered with foam and dust and blood dashed up
to the group and, reining his steaming animal to its haunches, leaped
to the ground.

Paullus raised his eyes.

"It is time for you to escape, Cneius Lentulus," he said. "You have a
horse."

"It is for you, my father; that this day be not further darkened by the
death of a consul. My horse is good, and there are still gaps between
their squadrons. Ride to the east--"

"And you?"

"I am but a tribune."

"And a young man, my Cneius. Where is Varro?"

"Fled."

"And the pro-consuls?"

"Both fallen."

"And you would have it said, my Cneius, that the Republic degenerates?
that not one of this year's consuls dares die with his men, while both
of last year's were Romans? Truly, it would be a much darker day
should I escape with Varro than if I die with Regulus and Servilius;
besides, I have no humour for further charges and trials, in order that
the rabble may vindicate their favourite butcher. But do you go,
Cneius, and tell them that you have seen me sitting in my colleague's
shambles."

There were tears in Lentulus' eyes, and he still strove to persuade his
general to accept the horse, but, at that moment, new shoutings and
clashing of arms announced what must prove the final attack.

"They come again, my father," said Decius calmly.

The roar of battle swelled up, all about the doomed column. In front
and flanks, Africans, Gauls, and Spaniards charged in unbroken lines,
and soon forced the deploying but weakened maniples back into their
weltering mass; in the rear, the attack was less continuous, for
Hasdrubal's horsemen were exhausted with slaying, and he hurled them in
alternate squadrons, now on this point, now on that, wherever the Roman
line showed relics of strength or firmness. So the front worked back,
driven by sheer weight in the direction where the pressure was least.

Paullus still sat, with drooping head, faint with fatigue an