emerged from the
shadows of the huts and began to mount the rising ground beyond. The
moon, too, had grown faint, and the gray mists of the morning were
lying along the lower levels. Sounds, mingled and far ahead, told of
the presence of a marching host, and Sergius led his troop on a more
oblique course to gain the flank of the foe and lessen the chances of
detection and ambuscade.

It was not stirring work for a soldier--the days that followed; never
attacking, always guarding against discovery and surprise, viewing
slaughter and devastation that duty and weakness alike made him
powerless to prevent or punish, sending courier after courier to his
general to tell of the enemies' march or of stragglers and foragers to
be crushed in the jaws of the army that enveloped the invader's rear.
Thus the war passed through Apulia, over the Apennines, down into the
old Samnite lands, past Beneventum that closed its gates and mourned
over its devastated fields, on across the Volturnus, descending at last
into the Falernian plain, the glory of Campania, the Paradise of
Italian wealth and luxury.

During all these days Sergius had grown thinner and browner. Little
furrows had been ploughed between the eyes that must pierce every ridge
and thicket for the glint of javelins and the wild faces of the
bridleless riders of the desert. From time to time news of devastators
cut to pieces brought a fierce joy to his heart; from time to time he
dreamt he saw the eagles of the Republic hovering upon the heights
above, ready to stoop and strike and save the allied lands from trials
greater than they could bear; but of Marcia, scarce a waking thought.
Surely the man he now was had never reclined in peaceful halls where
women plied the distaff and talked about love, and of how Rabuleius,
the perfume-maker of the Suburra, had just received a new essence from
Arabia! That old life was all a dream, perhaps the memory of a former
existence, as the sage of Croton had taught. There was nothing real in
the world, in these days, but fear and suffering and humiliation and
revenge. Even duty had become a mere habit that should minister to
greater influences.

And now it was worst of all. Campania was a conflagration from which
rose supplications and shrieks and groans, mingled with curses against
the cowardly ally that had left her to her fate. Still the legions
held to the high ground, and still the black pest of Numidia swept
hither and thi