ed. A line of spearmen marched on either side of the captives, and
a strong guard brought up the rear to prevent the crowd from pressing
in there. Malchus walked at the head of the prisoners, followed by his
officers, after whom came the soldiers walking two and two.

There was no air of dejection in the bearing of the captives, and they
faced the regards of the hostile crowd with the air rather of conquerors
than of prisoners. They remembered that it was but by accident that they
had fallen into the hands of the Romans, that in the battlefield they
had proved themselves over and over again more than a match for the
soldiers of Rome, and that it was the walls of the city alone which had
prevented their marching through her streets as triumphant conquerors.

It was no novel sight in Rome for Carthaginian prisoners to march
through the streets, for in the previous campaigns large numbers of
Carthaginians had been captured; but since Hannibal crossed the Alps and
carried his victorious army through Italy, scarce a prisoner had been
brought to Rome, while tens of thousands of Romans had fallen into the
hands of Hannibal. The lower class of the population of Rome were at all
times rough and brutal, and the captives were assailed with shouts of
exultation, with groans and menaces, and with bitter curses by those
whose friends and relatives had fallen in the wars.

The better classes at the windows and from the housetops abstained
from any demonstration, but watched the captives as they passed with
a critical eye, and with expressions of admiration at their fearless
bearing and haughty mien.

"Truly, that youth who marches at their head might pose for a
Carthaginian Apollo, Sempronius," a Roman matron said as she sat at the
balcony of a large mansion at the entrance to the Forum. "I have seldom
seen a finer face. See what strength his limbs show, although he walks
as lightly as a girl. I have a fancy to have him as a slave; he would
look well to walk behind me and carry my mantle when I go abroad. See to
it, Sempronius; as your father is the military praetor, you can manage
this for me without trouble."

"I will do my best, Lady Flavia," the young Roman said; "but there may
be difficulties."

"What difficulties?" Flavia demanded imperiously. "I suppose the
Carthaginians will as usual be handed over as slaves; and who should
have a better right to choose one among them than I, whose husband,
Tiberius Gracchus, is Consul o