The Lion's Brood Part 6

Sergius was silent. To make a dash from the heights in defence of allies dying in his sight, was one thing; to deliberately join this insubordinate in turning a reconnaissance into a raid, was another and much more serious matter.

The praefect noted his hesitation, and a slight frown chased the smile from his lips.

"Or perhaps you prefer to obey the old woman's orders," he added, "and keep your couch warm. Well, our men and horses are fed by this time, and I am off. If you are a Roman, I greet you to ride with me; if you fear robbers or the axe that smote t.i.tus Manlius, why, I will bid you farewell and ride alone."

"Where do you set your course?" queried Sergius, with a vague hope of at least seeming to combine inclination with duty.

"Toward the enemy," replied the other, shortly. "Does not the direction please you?" and he turned to his horse.

Sergius' brow clouded. His blood was hot with the conflict just finished. Youth, courage--all combined to turn him from obedience; but obedience bade fair to conquer, when Marcia's laugh rang in his ears, and he could hear her gravely complimenting his prudence and discoursing on the rare value of docility in a husband. Besides, what did it all matter? Had he not said that he sought death? and, surely, the way it came soonest was the best.

Placing his hand upon his horse's withers, he vaulted upon its back, before the animal had time to kneel, and a moment later was beside Hostilius.

"By Hercules!" exclaimed the latter; "I am glad you are here. Even in these days of strange things, I would have found it difficult to imagine that a Sergian could be a coward."

"And now," cried Sergius, "you will only have to imagine him a fool. So be it, and let the cost of his life pay for his folly."

"Jupiter avert the omen!" exclaimed Hostilius, shuddering, and then, turning to his trumpeter, he bade him give the signal for the march.

It was a desolate country--the fair plains of Campania through which they rode. Here and there a cl.u.s.ter of blackened ruins, here and there things that were once men, fruit trees cut down, vines uprooted, corn-fields reaped with the sword; while far away upon the horizon smoky columns curled up to show that the work of devastation still went on.

"May Mavers curse him--curse him forever!" cried Hostilius, grinding his teeth in rage at each new manifestation of the enemy's handiwork. "Could the most disastrous battle be worse than this?"

Sergius was silent. In a way his feelings went out to meet those of his companion; but the dictator had trusted him, and he had disobeyed, and, for all his disobedience, his soldier's instinct told him that the dictator was right.

Hostilius eyed him sharply and suspiciously, as if trying to divine his thoughts.

"If you regret--" he began.

Suddenly a decurion of the allies dashed up beside them.

"Look!" he cried, pointing toward the east. "There is carrion for the wolves."

Both leaders turned at the words.

Far out across the plain was what seemed at first sight like a clump of dark foliage, save that it moved and changed shape too much.

"Numidians!" exclaimed the decurion, following his finger with his speech, while the veins in Hostilius' forehead began to swell and grow dark.

"The signal! Let it be given," he cried to his officer, and, turning, he dug his knees into his horse's sides and galloped toward the distant quarry. A moment later the cavalry wheeled at the trumpet call, and, in some disorder but full of eagerness, began the pursuit of their leader.

As for Sergius, he, too, gave order and rein, though more deliberately, and his troop followed the cavalry of the allies in somewhat better array. By his side galloped Decius with an expression hard to a.n.a.lyze upon his weather-beaten face.

Sergius glanced at the old soldier from time to time with a look of inquiry and concern. At last he ventured to question his grim mentor.

"Is it well or ill, Marcus?"

"Ill for you that command, well for me who obey," growled the other, and Sergius flushed and was silent.

"Shall we catch them?" he asked, a few moments later, for the clump of Numidians, who had sat motionless upon their horses until the Romans covered half the intervening distance, had now wheeled for flight.

"If they be too strong for us, we shall catch them," replied Decius. "It is as they will."

And now it became apparent that the marauders were far inferior in numbers to the a.s.sailants, and that they recognized the fact; for flight and pursuit began in earnest. Horses were urged to higher speed. At one moment the Numidians seemed to be holding their distance; at another, the Romans gained slightly but unmistakably. All order of detachments and turmae was soon lost; Romans and allies, officers and men, were mingled together in a straggling ma.s.s, with naught but the eagerness of the riders and the speed of their animals to marshal them. Only Decius continued to pound along, with his horse's nose at his tribune's elbow.

The thunder of many hundred hoofs rolled across the plain.

"By Hercules! we shall do it!" cried Sergius, in whom ardour of the chase had put to flight all sentiments of regret or doubt. "Do you not see we are gaining?"

"They ride silently yet," said Decius. "It is but knee-speed with them.

Wait till they cry out to their horses, and we shall see."

Suddenly, as if to supplement the words, a single shrill cry, half whistle, half scream, rose up ahead. Had they been closer, they might have noted the p.r.i.c.king ears of the desert steeds; but this much they saw:--one horse and rider darting out of the press, like arrow from bow, and scurrying away over the plain as if their former gait had been but a hand-gallop.

An instant of misgiving came to some few of the Romans, who were not blind to everything but the excitement of the moment, but they, like the rest, only plied knee and thong the harder, and the episode of the single rider was forgotten by all save Marcus Decius and Sergius.

"It is a trap, master," said the former, with an inquiring glance at his leader.

Sergius bowed his head, and his face was troubled, as he replied:--

"I know it, my Marcus, but we cannot turn back now. I have accepted the feast: therefore I must recline until my host gives the signal to rise.

I pray you pardon me."

By a quick movement Decius urged his horse a stride ahead of the tribune's, that he might the better hide his emotion; at the same time growling:--

"I pardon you?--and for the chance of a blow at the sc.u.m? I thank you many times."

And now, from the plain ahead rose a low range of rolling hills over which a light cloud seemed to hover. Was it the ascent that wearied the horses of the Numidians? Surely the s.p.a.ce between pursuers and pursued was lessening rapidly, and Hostilius leaned far forward, shaking his spear and calling upon his men for a renewed effort.

"Now! now!" he cried. "See! they are spent! Up with them ere they top the hill!"

But the Numidians gained the sought-for ridge, if only by a few spear-lengths' lead, and the cloud, now close ahead, hung so dense that there were those who thought it the smoke of another farm. Decius' eyes seemed set in a dazed stare. There was too much red in that cloud, and yet it was not the red of fire, and it was too light and too thin for smoke. He knew it; he had known it all along, but what did it matter?

The last Numidian had disappeared down the opposite slope--no! surely they had turned again, and in a longer line--a thicker one; and the light javelins and naked black bodies had become long, stout spears and glittering corselets, while at their head rode a slender man with forked beard, and his black eyes seemed to burn in his head like coals. So, with one barbaric roar, the whole array poured down over the allied cavalry, and these were like the dust of the trampled field.

VII.

PUNISHMENT.

Sergius hardly knew what was happening. He was conscious that the stride of his horse had been checked by a dense ma.s.s of plunging animals in front--a ma.s.s that grew more dense and more tangled with every instant. Those behind were still endeavouring to press forward, and those in front were hurled back upon them or were striving frantically to break through the rearmost squadrons and escape; while, shrill above the clash of arms and the shouts and screams, rose a name that Sergius found himself listening to with a sort of curious interest.

"Maharbal! Maharbal!" came the cry, nearer and nearer.

At the first moment of the check, Marcus Decius had pushed the st.u.r.dy horse that he rode well to the fore. He saw Hostilius riding back, waving one arm and crying out incoherent words: his spear was gone, and the head of a Spaniard's lance had been thrust through his shoulder and broken off, so that a third of the shaft hung from the wound.

Then what had happened and the hopelessness of it all became apparent.

Like the veriest fools they had ridden into the snare, and Maharbal, the Carthaginian, with at least two thousand Spanish and African hors.e.m.e.n, was thundering on their front and flanks: their front--but in a moment, their rear; for now those who had not been ridden down at the first onset or become inextricably entangled with their fellows broke away over the plain, carrying their officers with them in a mad frenzy of flight; while other Numidians--fresh riders on fresh steeds--urged the pursuit and smote down the hindermost.