twinges of the old heart-pain
would rack him, but he obstinately attributed all depression and
melancholy to the inferior quality, both physically and socially, of
many of the new levies, and to his misgivings as to the account they
would render of themselves when confronted by the veterans of Hannibal.

At last the day of marching arrived, and with it the greatest struggle
of all. Suddenly a suspicion awoke within him, whispering that the
task he had set for himself was but poorly done; that the image of
Marcia still smiled unbanished above the altar of his heart; and, with
all his pride and strength, this suspicion of his weakness was, oddly
enough, a source of positive exultation. Caius had been with him
through much of his work, for Caius served in the same legion. It was
evident, however, that the young man had received strict orders on one
subject; for, in all their talks, the name of Marcia never passed his
lips. This was unlike Caius, who was thought by many to be given to
overmuch speaking, and, for that reason, it irritated Sergius the more,
who would sooner have cut away his hand than questioned his friend
concerning his sister. Thus the two men, illogically but humanly
enough, continued to grow apart, until, with never a thought but of
friendliness, their intercourse became limited, through sheer
embarrassment, to the commonplaces of fellow-soldiers who held light
acquaintance with each other's names and faces.

As the hour drew near, the city bubbled with excitement, and the altars
of the gods reeked with unnumbered victims. Especially invoked were
Castor, Fortune, Liberty, and Hope, but, above all, the mighty trinity
of the Capitol. Lest the pang of so great a parting with men who were
about to encounter such grave dangers might sap the courage of those
remaining, and thence that of the new levies, the dictator had wisely
decreed that the army should assemble at Tibur. So it happened that
there was none to go now save himself and a small escort of cavalry,
five turmae, at the head of which was Sergius. With these went Rome's
last hope: the cast behind which lay only ruin, but for the averting
favour of the gods.

At midday the fasces would be carried forth, and it lacked but an hour
of the time. Sergius had prepared everything; his men were ready to
mount at the blast of the trumpet, and his household was set in order
against the absence of its master. He was standing within the Viminal
Gate,