roar
like distant thunder which rose and rolled and reverberated from the
rocks around, as the Gauls in one vast mass flashed forward to meet them
and sweep the van of the Roman army away.

The deep thunderous sound as of a storm was awe-inspiring enough to
daunt the stoutest, but it had no effect upon the Roman warriors who
steadily advanced close to the heels of their leaders' horses; and once
more with his heart beating fast the while, it all seemed to Marcus like
some grand pageant in which he was honoured by being allowed to play his
little part.

Fate had placed his rank almost within touch of their general, who rode
calmly, probably anticipating that the wild charge of Gauls as they came
tearing on would never be carried home, and that the enemy would melt
away to right and left before the steady pressure of that rank upon rank
of unbroken shields bristling with sword and spear.

But the general was deceived. The wild barbarian charge of
undisciplined Gallic warriors was carried home. Borne on by their own
impetuosity, and pressed forward by the crowd behind, the enemy came on
with a wild rush, and then came the clashing arms, the roar of the
fierce multitude. Then as the steady stride of the line of Roman
veterans was checked in the awful shock, Marcus was conscious of the
struggles of a charger which reared up, fighting fiercely with its hoofs
against the enemy which hemmed him in, and then of its sidewise fall, to
lie upon its flank, plunging feebly in its efforts to rise, before lying
prone and motionless with half a dozen spear thrusts in its breast and
throat.

Marcus was conscious of striking out fiercely with his keen, short
sword, and of the pressure on both sides amidst the roar and rush of the
fight in which he was taking part. But all seemed wild and confused, as
he stood with one foot planted on the fallen horse's side, the other on
the rock, holding his shield the while in front of the fallen rider, who
was striving vainly to free himself from the weight of the charger which
pinned him down.

It seemed to be some long space of time, all horror and death, during
which men fought and heaved and swayed, sometimes beaten back a few
feet, then recovering themselves, regaining the lost ground, and
pressing on, till in regular rhythmic pulsation rank after rank of
warriors tramped on, opening out as they reached the group of dead and
wounded men whose core was the spear-slain horse. But in fact