The Lion's Brood Part 4

To the mind of the dictator himself, however, came no such change. He alone knew the danger, he alone knew the value of the force with which he must meet it--soldiers in whose minds, despite all their present spirit, lingered the tradition of defeat; raw levies not yet truly confident of their officers or themselves, however much the sight of their numbers and their brave show might blind them to the fact that there was another side to the war.

And now rumours began to reach them of the enemy. He was at Praetutia, at Hadriana, at Marrucina, at Frentana! He had set out toward Iapygia!

he had reached Luceria! and everywhere the country was a garden before him and a desert behind. Only one gleam of light shone through the darkness,--the Apulians submitted to ravage, but they refused to save their lands by joining fortunes with the invaders.

At last came the day of trial. "The enemy was at hand." Scouts poured in with news of foraging parties, of ma.s.ses of troops on the march; and at Aecae the dictator ordered the camp to be pitched and fortified in the order that Roman discipline prescribed, with rampart and ditch and stakes--a city in embryo.

Now it was that the boasters must stand by their boasts.

Scarcely had the morning broke, when the distant mist of the plain seemed to sparkle with myriads of glittering points--seemed to thicken and become dense with clouds of dust. Mingled noises came to the ears of the waking legions,--the neighing of horses, the inarticulate murmur of a mult.i.tude, the dull rumble of marching men, the ring of arms and accoutrements.

Then came the order from the praetorium,--not to advance the standards, but to man the rampart and to repel. Such was not the custom of Rome--to refuse battle amid the ravaged lands of her allies. Had the heart of the dictator grown cold? Forthwith the pale cheeks of the boasters flushed again; lips that had been compressed, before the terrors they had so rashly invoked, parted in wonder and complaint; the mist rose, and the sun pierced through the settling dust. There stood the enemy, drawn up in order of battle across the plain, and waiting; too far away for the Romans to make out their form or equipment--just a long, dense array that seemed dark or light in spots. Now and again a trumpet rang out its distant note of defiance; now and again some portion of the line seemed to manoeuvre or change front, as if to tempt attack, while from time to time a flurry of hors.e.m.e.n--dark-skinned riders, bending low upon the necks of wiry little steeds and urging them with shrill, barbarous cries--swept almost up to the ditch, and brandished their darts, making obscene gestures and shouting words that brought the blood to the faces of the garrison, though they understood not the tongue that uttered them.

A circle of officers surrounded the dictator's tent. Some were silent and shamefaced; some were vociferous of their desire to be allowed to go forth and fight, or, at least, to lead out the cavalry to chastise the insolence of slaves and barbarians; all were wondering and dissatisfied. Few, however, ventured to express their full thoughts.

There was a something in the very mildness of the general that discouraged too direct criticism. Only Minucius, presuming, perhaps on his position of second in command, perhaps on his contempt for the great houses, sought the dictator's presence and spoke as if half to him, half to the company of officers. Even his first words but thinly veiled his feelings.

"The enemy await us in line of battle, my master, but I do not see the red flag above your tent. Is it your will that the standards be advanced?"

"No, Marcus, it is not my will, or the signal would have been displayed," said Fabius, calmly.

"The troops are eager to be led out; the enemy insult us up to the very ditch. Italy is wasted," went on Minucius; but, as if slightly cowed by the deep, gray eyes, his tone seemed less aggressive.

Fabius paused a moment, before answering, and glanced around upon the lowering faces of legates and tribunes. Then he said:--

"It is proper, Quirites, that I should say something to you of my plans. Our men are new--untried. Those that have seen service have seen defeat. The enemy are flushed with victory, full of confidence in themselves and their general, well seasoned in battle. Has the Republic a new army if this be lost? But happily there is another side to the picture. We are in our own lands. Our supplies are inexhaustible; _we_ receive; _they_ must take. We shall wear them out in skirmishes, cut off their foragers--men whom they cannot replace, while we replace our losses daily and season ourselves in battle and grow to see that even Carthaginians are not immortal."

There was a moment of silence. Then Minucius spoke again.

"And, while we pursue this prudent policy, what becomes of the spirit of our men who see that their general dares not face the enemy? What becomes of the allies who see their fields wasted and cities burned, while Rome lies silent in her camps and offers no succour?"

Fabius' brow clouded, but he spoke even more mildly than before.

"There is much of truth in what you say Marcus; but I am convinced that there is less danger in such risks than in tempting the fate of Flaminius; and there are many compensations, together with certain victory in the end."

And then the master-of-the-horse lost control of his temper; his voice rose, and he cried out:--

"You are general and you command, but you shall hear me when I say that I had rather have perished bravely with a Flaminius than live to conquer in such cowardly fas.h.i.+on with a Fabius."

A murmur of half-uttered applause ran around the circle, but Fabius did not seem to hear it. He eyed his lieutenant calmly for an instant.

Then he said:--

"You speak truth, Marcus, when you say that I am general;" and, turning his back upon Minucius, he pa.s.sed through the line of officers, as they fell aside to give him way, and proceeded slowly toward the praetorian gate.

Here, among the soldiers, discontent with the dictator's policy was as strong as it had been in the praetorium, while its expression was less governed by the amenities of rank. Roman discipline, however severe as to the acts of the legionary, put very few restrictions upon his speech; and the general, as he watched from the rampart the lines and movements of the enemy, heard many comments no less uncomplimentary than those of his master-of-the-horse, and couched in language almost as coa.r.s.e as that of the Numidians themselves. It seemed as if the foul words of the barbarians were pa.s.sed on thus to the man held responsible for Romans being compelled to listen to such insults.

Curiously enough, the centurions and under officers appeared to be the only ones not hostile to Fabius' policy. These were silent or even made some efforts to restrain the ribaldry of their men.

As for the general himself, no one could have appeared less conscious of the storm his orders had provoked. His eyes were still fixed upon the distant array, and when, as the sun almost touched the meridian, Lucius Sergius approached with despatches just arrived from Rome, he was compelled to speak twice before the other was aware of his presence. Then the dictator turned quickly, and, pointing to the Carthaginians, exclaimed:--

"See! they are withdrawing. Do you not note how thin the centre grows?

Ah! I shall teach them new lessons of war--new lessons. They will find in me no Flaminius, to let my enemy choose the day and field of battle."

Leaving the ramparts, they walked back toward the praetorium, Fabius breaking the seals and reading the letters as he walked. When they reached the tent, he stood still for a moment and seemed to study the face of the young tribune who had followed, a half pace behind, to receive any answer or order that might be forthcoming.

"What is your opinion of my refusing battle?" he asked suddenly, after a short silence.

Sergius turned crimson, but he answered quickly:--

"I have learned to trust in my general until such time as I know him to be unworthy of trust."

Fabius smiled.

"Some of your colleagues appear to have already arrived at the latter conclusion," he said. Then, after a pause, he went on: "After all, it is the judgment of the centurions that counts for most. Our legates and tribunes feel disgraced by our refusing a challenge; they may be sneered at for _that_, but who would blame _them_ for the defeat that might follow its acceptance. The common soldier knows only his rage against the enemy, sees his comrades about him furious for battle, and comprehends nothing of its dangers. It is the centurions, our veterans, who realize the truth: the worth of their own men as measured against those of the enemy; nor are they puffed up with foolish pride of rank. You observe, sir, that the centurions are with me."

Sergius bowed.

"Now mark well what will happen," pursued Fabius. "Hannibal will retreat to his camp; he will break camp and march off during the night.

He must have forage, and he cannot scatter his forces while I am near.

He will escape, and I shall let him, rather than risk the army in a night battle; but I shall hang close as the father-wolf to the stag's haunch, keeping nevertheless to the high ground, where his cavalry cannot trouble me. There will be need of good hors.e.m.e.n who shall cling yet closer and advise me of his movements."

Sergius' eyes flashed with eagerness, but he said nothing.

"You will attend to this service," continued Fabius, not seeming to regard the young officer's exultation. "Take the other five turmae of your legion--not those of the escort. You must have light cavalry to cope with the Numidians, and your Greek hors.e.m.e.n are too heavily equipped. a.s.semble your men, watch the enemy, follow him when he marches tonight, cut off his stragglers, and send such words to me as you consider necessary. This shall be your reward for trusting greater things to your general."

Turning, he entered the tent, before the tribune could express his thanks.

Deeply impressed by the favour and confidence of the dictator, Sergius hurried away to his quarters, and, sending for Marcus Decius, the decurion who had told the news of Trasimenus to the crowd of the Forum, he directed him to see that the horses were fed and the men in readiness for a night march. Then he resigned himself to sleep and dreams of a certain pictured peristyle on the Palatine Hill,--a peristyle wherein a maid sat spinning by a fountain and thinking--of what? Perhaps of him--for he was only dreaming, and maidens do not always think as men dream.

V.

TEMPTATION.

The night was already far spent, and the Roman camp slept on, secure in all its grim array; silent, but for the tread of the patrols, as they paced the streets and exchanged the watchword, post with post, or but for the clang of sword upon greave, or s.h.i.+eld against cuira.s.s, as some sentry at gate, rampart or praetorium s.h.i.+fted his arms in weary waiting for the day.

Far up in the heavens the moon shone silvery and serene, while here and there upon the plain below swaying points of light seemed to move, flicker, go out, and rekindle again. No Roman watcher but knew well that play of moonlight upon the heads of the reedlike spears with which the ancient cavalry of the legion were equipped--weapons which, together with their ox-hide bucklers, were being gradually superseded by the heavier Greek accoutrements. Yes, and had not the word pa.s.sed from the guard at the praetorian gate, how a tribune and five turmae of the fourth legion had ridden out on the service of the dictator?

Earlier in the night, those who listened closely had heard a low hum that seemed to pervade the air, rising and falling like the dull glow in the west that told of the fluctuant watch-fires of the hostile camp.

Now the noises had died away, as in the distance, and the light that had flashed up a few hours since hardly tinted the clouds. It is only the old soldier who can read the signs of a decamping foe, who knows how the f.a.gots must be heaped at the moment of departure, so that the deserted fires may burn until the morning, whose quick ear catches and recognizes the indefinite noises of a host moving in secret. All these things were, and old campaigners among the legionaries at the gate had read them aright. Messenger after messenger hurried to the praetorium, and returned with word that the dictator slept, "having taken all needed measures," and how the master-of-the-horse paced up and down before his tent, grinding his teeth, clenching his hands, and muttering curses upon patrician cowardice and imbecility.

Meanwhile, Lucius Sergius rode on through the night, with Marcus Decius at his side, and the troop of horse trailing out across the plain behind them.

"It is silent, master," said the decurion, but his att.i.tude, as he leaned forward over his horse's neck, was rather of one trying to smell than to listen. "The pulse-eaters sleep deeply." He watched Sergius from under half-closed lids, waiting to be contradicted, that he might measure his officer's warcraft.

Sergius smiled. "Perhaps they are even wider awake than ourselves," he said, drawing rein. Then, as the other nodded several times in satisfied acquiescence, he brought his horse to his haunches a stride beyond, and added: "It was the dictator who said we should find their lair empty, and, though I do not question his judgment, it will be well to send on a few who shall spy out the fact, and see whether there be not Numidians lurking among the huts."

So, slowly and cautiously, they pushed forward again, with riders in advance, until a shout gave notice that the way was indeed clear, and they rode through the open gate of the rampart and along the silent street of the deserted camp.