ther on its errand of murder and rapine. Even to Sergius
the plans of the dictator began to seem but "coined lead," as Marcus
Decius roughly put it. Of what avail was it that the pass at Tarracina
was blocked, that he had garrisoned Casilinum in the enemies' rear and
Cales upon the Latin Way, and that the sea and the Volturnus and the
steep hills with their guarded passes seemed to complete the line of
circumvallation? Could such bonds hold one so wise as Hannibal from
the rich cities of the plain? Unless Rome would advance her standards,
were not Sinuessa and Cumae, Puteoli and Neapolis, Nuceria and Teanum,
and, above all, Capua, left to fight their own battle against barbarian
insolence and barbarian power? What hope to starve out an enemy
established in such a region and amid such affluence!

Then, too, there was less work now for Sergius, even such as it was.
The enemy, wheresoever he marched, was well in view from a dozen points
held by the dictator, and at last word came to the tribune that he
should join the camp near Casilinum. There, at least, he would have
companionship in shame, instead of seeming to command men and being
unwilling to lead them to fight for lands which the gods themselves had
deemed worthy of their contention.

They were near Cales when the orders were brought. Could it be the
dictator's intention to give battle and avenge what he had failed to
save? By midday they were mounted and threading the forest paths that
led to their comrades--paths whence, from time to time, some vista in
the woods disclosed the plain below, with here and there a column of
smoke that made Sergius grind his teeth and clench his hands in
impotent rage. Suddenly he drew rein, for a man, dressed in the
coarse, gray tunic of a slave, had half run, half stumbled across his
way. An instant more, and the fellow was struggling in the grasp of
Decius, who had sprung to the ground.

"What now, forkbearer! what now, delight of the scourges!" cried the
decurion. "Will you delay the march of a tribune of the Republic?"

"Pity me, master, pity me and let me go!" cried the man, still striving
vainly to escape. "Surely they are close behind me--"

"Who are behind you?" asked Sergius, sternly. "Speak and lie not, food
for Acheron!"

"They who are burning the farm."

Sergius' eyes glittered, and he leaned forward to catch the words, as
he began to gather their import.

"Speak quickly, and you shall be safe," he s