IV.
FABIUS.
Sergius rode back to his men, deeply wounded in love and pride. Hetried to excuse Marcia for her treatment of him, on the score of heryouth and of youth's thoughtlessness; he blamed himself for hisabruptness and his lack of knowledge of women--failings that hadperhaps turned an impending victory into the defeat that now oppressedhim. Worst of all, there was no hope to remedy his or her fault. Adangerous campaign lay before him, and the omens--but pshaw! _he_ wasnot one of the rabble, to tremble at a flight of birds from the west oran ox with a bad liver. He had always admired the spirit of that oldsceptic, Claudius, who had drowned the chickens off Drepana, though headmitted the faulty judgment in failing to realize the effect of such adefiance upon ignorant seamen and marines: the hierarchy was necessaryfor the State; if only to keep fools in order, but for a man of familyand education--well, he smiled. It provoked him, amid all hisdisbelief, that he could not help preferring that those same omens hadbeen more favourable. Pride, pride was his last and truest safeguard.He, a descendant of the companion of Aeneas, to fear the Carthaginiansword! he, a Roman noble, about to face death for his country, to wastehis thoughts upon a silly girl who chose to flout him!
Then the long clarions of the cavalry rang out, and the horsemen ran totheir steeds. Down the slope of the Viminal rode the dictator: beforehim went the twenty-four axes, each in its bundle of staves, theirbearers robed in military cloaks of purple cloth; behind came a smalltroop of illustrious Romans--his legati, his staff, nominated by himand sanctioned by the Senate for their fame and skill in war; also suchsenators as had elected, by way of personal compliment, to ride withthe general and to partake as volunteers in whatever share of the warhe might set for them.
Quintus Fabius Maximus seemed a man just passing the prime of life.His figure, as he sat his horse, was squat rather than tall, thoughthis appearance might be due, in a measure, to the great breadth of hisshoulders; altogether his frame seemed one better adapted to feats ofstrength and endurance than for those of agility. The face, with itsgrizzled hair and beard, both cut short, suited well the figure thatbore it. Dignity, firmness, and kindliness were in its strong andrugged outlines, with less, perhaps, of the pride of race and rank thanmight have been looked for in the head of the great family whose namehe bore--he who was now twice dictator of the destinies of Rome. Fordress, his purple cloak, similar to those of his lictors, hung looselyfrom his shoulders to below his knees, and, opening in front, discloseda corselet of leather overlaid with metal across chest and abdomen, andembossed with bronze designs of ancient pattern and workmanship. Thehem of the white tunic showed below the leathern pendants that hung afoot down from his girdle; the greaves were ornamented at the kneeswith lions' heads; an armour-bearer carried his master's bronze helmetwith its crest of divergent red plumes.
Such was the man upon whom Rome now depended for her saving--"forvictory," dreamed such of the unthinking as had recovered from theirterror; "for time, time, time," reasoned the man with the deep-set,gray eyes upon whom they had pinned their faith.
Hardly a stride behind him rode Marcus Minucius Rufus, tall andwell-built, with bold, coarse features and fierce, roving eyes. Hisred hair bristled from his brow, and he seemed to restrain withdifficulty either his steed or himself from darting forward into thelead.
"Yonder is the sword of the Republic," said one of Sergius' men, as themaster-of-the-horse rode by the escort; but the man to whom he saidit--an old soldier of the Spanish wars--only shrugged his shoulders. Amoment later he grunted in reply:--
"Like enough; but it is a shield that the Republic needs most of all."
Then the clarion summoned them to fall in behind the dictator'scompany, and the troop rode out from the gate--out into the broadplain--away from the protecting walls fluctuant with waving stoles, andfrom which tear-dimmed eyes strove to follow them among the villas,farms, and orchards of the country-side--away from the Forum, from thesacred fig tree and the black stone of Romulus--away from the divinetriad that kept guard over the Capitol. Beyond lay the AlbanMountains, and, beyond these,--no one knew where,--the strange dangersthat awaited them: fierce Spaniards with slender blades as red as thecrimson borders of their white coats; wild Numidian riders that alwaysfell upon the rear of Rome's battle; serried phalanges of Africans,veterans of fifty wars; naked Gauls with swords that lopped off a limbat every stroke; Balearic slingers whose bullets spattered one's brainsover the ground; Cretans whose arrows could dent an aes at a hundredyards; and above all, over all, the great mind, the unswerving,unrelenting purpose that had blended all these elements into oneterrible engine of destruction to move and smite and burn and ravage atthe touch of a man's will.
The cavalry rode two and two, thinking of such things; picked men,equipped in the new Greek fashion with breastplate, stout buckler, andstrong spear pointed at both ends. What thoughts held the mind of thegeneral, none could fathom. With head slightly inclined he seemed tostudy, now the ribbons woven in his horse's mane, now the small,sensitive ears that pricked backward and forward, as the Tiburtine Wayflowed sluggishly beneath. As for Minucius, he alone seemed hopefuland unimpressed by the dangers that menaced. He glided here and there,reining his horse beside this senator or that lieutenant to utter aword of the safety assured to Rome and of the ruin that hung over theinvader, or even calling back to the foremost of the escort some roughbadinage upon their gloomy looks; for Minucius was a man of the people,scorning patrician pride of race, and wishing it known that, howeverhigh his rank, he held himself no whit better than any potter of theAventine or weaver of the Suburra.
So, riding, thinking, talking, they reached Tibur, where the new levieslay encamped.
Thence began the march of the army--a long, weary march to strike theline of the Carthaginian devastators; and, as it rolled onward, thestream of war gathered volume. At Daunia they were joined by thelegions of Servilius that had marched down from Ariminum; and, at everypoint, contingents of the allies poured in, until even the most timidbegan to believe it impossible that disaster could befall, and grewfirst confident, then defiant, then boastful.
To the mind of the dictator himself, however, came no such change. Healone knew the danger, he alone knew the value of the force with whichhe must meet it--soldiers in whose minds, despite all their presentspirit, lingered the tradition of defeat; raw levies not yet trulyconfident of their officers or themselves, however much the sight oftheir numbers and their brave show might blind them to the fact thatthere 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 beforehim and a desert behind. Only one gleam of light shone through thedarkness,--the Apulians submitted to ravage, but they refused to savetheir lands by joining fortunes with the invaders.
At last came the day of trial. "The enemy was at hand." Scouts pouredin with news of foraging parties, of masses of troops on the march; andat Aecae the dictator ordered the camp to be pitched and fortified inthe order that Roman discipline prescribed, with rampart and ditch andstakes--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 plainseemed to sparkle with myriads of glittering points--seemed to thickenand become dense with clouds of dust. Mingled noises came to the earsof the waking legions,--the neighing of horses, the inarticulate murmurof a multitude, the dull rumble of marching men, the ring of arms andaccoutrements.
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 ofRome--to refuse battle amid the ravaged lands of her allies. Had theheart of the dictator grown cold? Forthwith the pale cheeks of theboasters flushed again; lips that had been compressed, before theterrors they had so rashly invoked, parted in wonder and complaint; themist rose, and the sun pierced th
rough the settling dust. There stoodthe 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 along, dense array that seemed dark or light in spots. Now and again atrumpet rang out its distant note of defiance; now and again someportion of the line seemed to manoeuvre or change front, as if to temptattack, while from time to time a flurry of horsemen--dark-skinnedriders, bending low upon the necks of wiry little steeds and urgingthem with shrill, barbarous cries--swept almost up to the ditch, andbrandished their darts, making obscene gestures and shouting words thatbrought the blood to the faces of the garrison, though they understoodnot the tongue that uttered them.
A circle of officers surrounded the dictator's tent. Some were silentand shamefaced; some were vociferous of their desire to be allowed togo forth and fight, or, at least, to lead out the cavalry to chastisethe insolence of slaves and barbarians; all were wondering anddissatisfied. Few, however, ventured to express their full thoughts.There was a something in the very mildness of the general thatdiscouraged too direct criticism. Only Minucius, presuming, perhaps onhis position of second in command, perhaps on his contempt for thegreat houses, sought the dictator's presence and spoke as if half tohim, half to the company of officers. Even his first words but thinlyveiled his feelings.
"The enemy await us in line of battle, my master, but I do not see thered flag above your tent. Is it your will that the standards beadvanced?"
"No, Marcus, it is not my will, or the signal would have beendisplayed," said Fabius, calmly.
"The troops are eager to be led out; the enemy insult us up to the veryditch. Italy is wasted," went on Minucius; but, as if slightly cowedby the deep, gray eyes, his tone seemed less aggressive.
Fabius paused a moment, before answering, and glanced around upon thelowering faces of legates and tribunes. Then he said:--
"It is proper, Quirites, that I should say something to you of myplans. Our men are new--untried. Those that have seen service haveseen defeat. The enemy are flushed with victory, full of confidence inthemselves and their general, well seasoned in battle. Has theRepublic a new army if this be lost? But happily there is another sideto the picture. We are in our own lands. Our supplies areinexhaustible; _we_ receive; _they_ must take. We shall wear them outin skirmishes, cut off their foragers--men whom they cannot replace,while we replace our losses daily and season ourselves in battle andgrow 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 spiritof our men who see that their general dares not face the enemy? Whatbecomes 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 thatthere is less danger in such risks than in tempting the fate ofFlaminius; and there are many compensations, together with certainvictory in the end."
And then the master-of-the-horse lost control of his temper; his voicerose, and he cried out:--
"You are general and you command, but you shall hear me when I say thatI had rather have perished bravely with a Flaminius than live toconquer in such cowardly fashion with a Fabius."
A murmur of half-uttered applause ran around the circle, but Fabius didnot 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, turninghis back upon Minucius, he passed through the line of officers, as theyfell aside to give him way, and proceeded slowly toward the praetoriangate.
Here, among the soldiers, discontent with the dictator's policy was asstrong as it had been in the praetorium, while its expression was lessgoverned by the amenities of rank. Roman discipline, however severe asto the acts of the legionary, put very few restrictions upon hisspeech; and the general, as he watched from the rampart the lines andmovements of the enemy, heard many comments no less uncomplimentarythan those of his master-of-the-horse, and couched in language almostas coarse as that of the Numidians themselves. It seemed as if thefoul words of the barbarians were passed on thus to the man heldresponsible for Romans being compelled to listen to such insults.
Curiously enough, the centurions and under officers appeared to be theonly ones not hostile to Fabius' policy. These were silent or evenmade some efforts to restrain the ribaldry of their men.
As for the general himself, no one could have appeared less consciousof the storm his orders had provoked. His eyes were still fixed uponthe distant array, and when, as the sun almost touched the meridian,Lucius Sergius approached with despatches just arrived from Rome, hewas compelled to speak twice before the other was aware of hispresence. Then the dictator turned quickly, and, pointing to theCarthaginians, 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 findin me no Flaminius, to let my enemy choose the day and field of battle."
Leaving the ramparts, they walked back toward the praetorium, Fabiusbreaking the seals and reading the letters as he walked. When theyreached the tent, he stood still for a moment and seemed to study theface of the young tribune who had followed, a half pace behind, toreceive any answer or order that might be forthcoming.
"What is your opinion of my refusing battle?" he asked suddenly, aftera short silence.
Sergius turned crimson, but he answered quickly:--
"I have learned to trust in my general until such time as I know him tobe unworthy of trust."
Fabius smiled.
"Some of your colleagues appear to have already arrived at the latterconclusion," he said. Then, after a pause, he went on: "After all, itis the judgment of the centurions that counts for most. Our legatesand tribunes feel disgraced by our refusing a challenge; they may besneered at for _that_, but who would blame _them_ for the defeat thatmight follow its acceptance. The common soldier knows only his rageagainst the enemy, sees his comrades about him furious for battle, andcomprehends nothing of its dangers. It is the centurions, ourveterans, who realize the truth: the worth of their own men as measuredagainst those of the enemy; nor are they puffed up with foolish prideof rank. You observe, sir, that the centurions are with me."
Sergius bowed.
"Now mark well what will happen," pursued Fabius. "Hannibal willretreat 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 anight battle; but I shall hang close as the father-wolf to the stag'shaunch, keeping nevertheless to the high ground, where his cavalrycannot trouble me. There will be need of good horsemen who shall clingyet 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 toregard the young officer's exultation. "Take the other five turmae ofyour legion--not those of the escort. You must have light cavalry tocope with the Numidians, and your Greek horsemen are too heavilyequipped. Assemble your men, watch the enemy, follow him when hemarches tonight, cut off his stragglers, and send such words to me asyou consider necessary. This shall be your reward for trusting greaterthings to your general."
Turning, he entered the tent, before the tribune could express histhanks.
Deeply impressed by the favour and confidence of the dictator, Sergiushurried away to his quarters, and, sending for Marcus Decius, thedecurion 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 inreadiness for a night march. Then he resigned himself to sleep anddreams of a certain pictured peristyle on the Palatine Hill,--aperistyle wherein a maid sat spinning by a fountain and thinking--ofwhat? Perhaps of him
--for he was only dreaming, and maidens do notalways think as men dream.
The Lion's Brood Page 5