ttered fragment of an army hurled itself, wounded and weary and
bleeding, among the ever thickening spears; yes, and forced its way a
quarter, half the remaining distance, until Sergius, whose eyes had
never for a moment forsaken those of the Carthaginian, saw them grow
troubled, saw the black, bushy brows draw together. Then his enemy
turned and spoke a few hurried words to an attendant, gesticulating
freely, until the man whirled his horse about and drove back through
the throng. When Sergius looked into the face of the general again, it
wore a disdainful smile--the smile of a Zeus that watches the sons of
Aloeus pile mountain on mountain in the vain effort to storm Olympus.
Again Hannibal was careless and unconcerned; again he laughed and joked
gayly with his attendants; his soldier's eye had set the limit of
Rome's last paroxysm, and it fell short of the spot where he sat--not
by much, but enough. All that remained was for the arrows of Apollo to
do their work, and now he had set these to the string.

Wearily and yet more wearily the wolves bit and tore their way; then
they came staggering to a stand, three spear lengths from the lost
eagle, and then the pressure behind seemed to slacken, and the serried
spears in front bore them slowly backward.

All was over. Sergius' eyes, dim and bloodshot, wandered, at last,
from the contemptuous smile that had held them, and rested upon the
score of men, for the most part wounded, that remained about him. For
an instant the spears and swords ceased their work, and the dense mass
of lowering faces that surrounded the last of the legions rolled back.
Lanes appeared between the syntagmata; a chorus of wild cries swelled
up--swept nearer, and the furious riders of the desert came galloping
through every interspace. To them had been granted, for a mark of
honour, the ending of the battle. It was only a single rush, a
brandishing and plunging of javelins retained in grasp, a little more
blood spattered upon the horses' necks and bellies. No legionary was
standing when the tempest had gone by, and there, among his men, with
face turned from the red earth to the reddening sky, lay Lucius Sergius
Fidenas, in slumber fitting for a Roman patrician when the black day of
Cannae was done.

PART II.

CHAPTER I.

THE QUEEN OF THE WAYS.

There was much bustle and confusion throughout the little inn at
Sinuessa. August was just closing, and the midday summer sun beat dow