The Lion's Brood

by Duffield Osborne

  XIII.

  THE RED FLAG.

  The red flag fluttered in the breeze above the tent of Varro.

  Months had come and gone since the plebeians had triumphed in the Fieldof Mars; months of weary lying in camp, months of anxious watching,months of marches and countermarches. Contrary to the expectations ofSergius, neither of the new consuls had gone straight to the legions,and the pro-consuls, Servilius and Regulus, remained in command.Paullus had busied himself in preparing for the coming spring, levyingnew men and new legions, and directing from the city a policy notunlike that of Fabius; while Varro, on the other hand, as if maddenedby his sudden elevation, rushed from Senate House to Forum and fromForum to every corner where a mob could congregate; everywhere rollinghis eyes and waving his hands, now shrieking frantic denunciationsagainst the selfish, the criminal, the traitorous nobles who hadbrought the war to Italy and sustained it there by their wickedmachinations and contemptible cowardice; now congratulating his hearersthat the people had at last taken the conspirators by the throat andhad elected a fearless consul, an incorruptible consul, an able consul,one who would soon show the world that there were men outside of thethree tribes. Then he would fall to mapping out his campaign--adifferent plan for each cluster of gaping listeners, but each ending insuch a slaughter of invaders as Italy had never seen, and a picture ofthe long triumph winding up the Sacred Way, of Hannibal disappearingforever within the yawning jaws of the Tullianum. At times, when hisimagination ran riot most, he went so far as to depict with whatluxuriance the corn would grow on the farm of that happy man whose landshould be selected by the great consul, the plebeian consul, the consulVarro, for his slaughter of the enemies of the Roman people.

  To these harangues Paullus and the nobles listened in wonder anddisgust--even in terror; and when, at length, the consuls set out totake command of the greatest army Rome had ever put into the field, thestory was passed from mouth to mouth of how Fabius had spoken withPaullus and warned him that he must now do battle against twocommanders: Hannibal and his own colleague; and of how Paullus hadanswered in words that told more of foreboding than of hope.

  Even the Senate seemed to have fallen under the coarse spell of thismouthing ranter. News had come that Hannibal was at Cannae, had seizedupon the Roman stores in the citadel there; that, strongly posted, hewas scouring the country in all directions; that the allies could notbe expected to stand another season of ravage; and so, when the consulsset out to take command of the legions, it was with the expressdirection of the fathers to give battle on the first favourableopportunity.

  Still, there was room left them for some discretion, and when Paullushad viewed the country along the banks of the Aufidus, level as it layand open to the sweep of cavalry, his soldier eye told him that theopportunity was not here, and that, with a short delay, the enemy must,in the lack of safe forage, retire to more favourable ground.

  Then followed quarrels and denunciations and furious mouthings; butVarro did not neglect to use one day of his command to lead the armyforward to a point between the Carthaginians and the sea, whence itwould be impossible for Paullus to hope to withdraw them safely in theface of the foe.

  It was on the first of Sextilis that Hannibal offered battle; but thiswas Paullus' day, and he had lain quiet in camp, "Sulking," as hiscolleague exultantly put it, "because a plebeian's generalship had keptanother do-nothing patrician commander from running away." Then thenext morning broke--Varro's day--and the red flag fluttered from thespear above Varro's tent.

  A group of men were gathered before the quarters occupied by certain ofthe special cavalry: mounted volunteers, for the most part of rank, whoserved out of respect to the consul, Paullus. Fully armed, with horsesheld near by, they were already prepared to ride out at the word, andthey listened to the din of preparation going on on every side, andwatched the crimson signal of battle that now flapped lazily in thewind and again hung limp against its staff.

  "The butcher has his way at last," remarked a youth who had scarceoffered up his first beard; but the man he addressed, Marcus Decius,growled in reply:--

  "Wait, only wait, my little master, and we shall see who is the butcherand who is the fat steer."

  "But," put in another of the company, "have you not heard that our campbeyond the stream had no water yesterday? that the Numidians cut themoff from it? Doubtless we are to cross over to its relief."

  Decius rose from his buckler, upon which he had been resting, and swepthis arm out across the country.

  "All one," he said; "water or blood; this bank or that! Look! No roomfor our infantry to spread out; level ground for their horse to sweepclean. You have never been close to the Numidians, my master?" and hepointed to the scar across his forehead. "They ride fast and strikehard--when the country pleases them."

  The boy laughed carelessly, but said nothing, while he who had spokenthird hesitated a moment and frowned. Then he said in a lower voice:--

  "You are an old soldier, Marcus,--a head decurion once,--and you woulddo better than try to terrify men of less experience."

  Decius ground his teeth, and his eyes flashed, but he lowered his voicewhen he replied:--

  "I thank you, Caius Manlius, for the reminder; and I also may recall toyou that I am neither the only nor the highest officer who is servingas volunteer to-day, because Varro must have legions commanded bybutchers and bakers and money-lenders. I, too, am a plebeian, and Icast my pebble for my order (whereat the infernal gods are doubtlessnow rejoicing); but I am also, as you say, an old soldier, and hold thecamp to be no place for the tricks of the Forum. As for frighteningrecruits, if words and the sight of old scars will frighten them, theyhad best ride north to-day hard and fast."

  Manlius' face flushed at the reminder of his own lost command, and, asif by consent, both men glanced over at another who stood near them,leaning on his spear. Drawn by the centred attention of the two,Lucius Sergius turned from his inspection of the rising mists, beyondwhich lay the Carthaginian forces, and looked silently and sadly at hisfriends: Manlius, the brother of his mistress, parted from him for awhile by petty embarrassments and diverse duties, but, for the lastdays, closer than ever in kindred service and fellowship; and Decius,the sturdy comrade of the Campanian raid, the man who talked, now likeUlysses, now like Thersites, but who always fought like Diomed; thevery Nisus who had saved his life. It seemed, too, as if the othersunderstood the import of his glance, for Decius turned awayostentatiously, and sought to arrange the leathern straps of hiscorselet skirt, while Manlius strode over and grasped Sergius' hand.

  "The butcher showed us better favour than he intended, when he putothers in our commands," he said gayly. "We shall fight side by side,and perhaps my sister may be pleased to play the siren no longer.Besides, I am well satisfied to be free from any of theresponsibilities of this day."

  "Marcia is no songstress of the rock, my Caius," said Sergius, halfsadly, half playfully; "unless her heart be the rock from which shesings--a rock to me; but the gods have given men other things, whenwomen do not choose to love:--things that will serve to stir us today.Afterward we shall be still." Then, noting that the young man who hadfirst addressed Decius was now watching their talk with troubled face,he raised his voice cheerfully. "Tribune or volunteer, it is all oneto me. Do we not serve under Aemilius Paullus and his Illyrianauspices? After this day, friends, we shall see no more pulse-eatersin Italy."

  Suddenly, a blast of trumpets rang clear, above the noise ofpreparation; lieutenants dashed hither and thither, their legs bentalong their horses' sides; several cohorts marched past, to man therampart nearest the foe, while from behind came the louder rattle ofarms, and the earth shook under the tread of the legions, pressing onthrough the porta dextra, and spreading out in three great columns thatplunged down the slope into the Aufidus, and rose again, and pushed outinto the plain on its southern bank. Hastati, principes, triarii--theymarched in order of battle, ready to face about at the moment ofattack, while, as they deployed, t
he famished Romans across the riverswarmed down, under shelter of the protecting lines, and, lying thickin the turbid water below, drank as if their parched tongues and lipswould never soften.

  The morning mists were clearing. Strange sounds and rumblings camealso from the south and west, and the red flag hung limp upon the spear.

  Still the legions streamed on, but no orders had come to the specialvolunteers, and Sergius began to wonder whether they were to be left toguard the camp, as an added indignity to their rank. He ascended therampart, with Manlius and Decius, and strove to pierce the distance inthe west. Now and then a broad flash of light seemed to shine beforehis eyes, and ever there came to his ears the rumble of trampingthousands; the dust, too, was thickening, to take the place of thescattered mists, and the wind blew it up in blinding clouds into theface of Rome's battle.

  "Gods! what is Terrentius Varro doing!" cried Decius suddenly, and thethree turned at his voice. A nodding forest of crests, red and black,rising a cubit above the uncovered helmets of the legionaries, seemedto fill the eastern plain and extend almost to where the Adriatic beatupon the shingle. "Look at his front! Look at how closely themaniples are crushed together! Gods! they are almost 'within therails' already."

  Sergius looked, and the frown upon his brow deepened.

  "Eighty thousand men," he muttered; "and we shall scarce outflank theirforty thousand. Does Varro wish to cast aside every advantage! Gods!what gain is there in such depth? and he might--"

  "Evidently you do not understand the strategy of great commanders whohave studied war."

  The voice that interrupted was cynical and scornful, to a degree thatmen hated the speaker even before they saw him; and, when the threewheeled quickly, his face gave nothing to dispel the bad impression. Atall, gaunt man, in plain and somewhat battered armour; a facesharp-featured, very dark, and deeply lined wherever the wrinkles laythat expressed pride and contempt and violent passions; lowering browsfrom beneath which shone little beady, cunning eyes that opponentsfeared and distrusted: this was Lucius Aemilius Paullus, the conquerorof Illyria, the man who had barely escaped conviction for hispeculations, the colleague of Varro the butcher, a patrician of thebluest blood in Rome, a knave in pecuniary matters, selfish andungoverned, but a brave and wary soldier from cothurni to crest.

  "You seem to be criticising a Roman consul: even my brother, Varro;" hesaid again, for the three had only bowed in reply to his former speech."Are you not presumptuous?--you, Lucius Sergius; and you, CaiusManlius--boys in war--and you, Decius, or whoever you may be--a man ofVarro's order, if I mistake not?"

  "Yes, my father, I criticise," replied Sergius, at last, for the otherssaid nothing.

  "Perhaps you were thinking that he has extended his front too far?"said the consul, and there was infinite sarcasm in his tones.

  Sergius grew crimson under the taunting voice and the little, shiftyeyes.

  "I have ventured to say," he replied haughtily, "that the consul,Varro, is not using our numbers as he might. As you have noted, thefront _is_ contracted, where we might easily lash around their flanklike the thongs of a scourge. Nevertheless had I known that the noblecolleague of the general was near me, I would have restrained my words."

  "Ah! then you have doubtless grown more respectful of commanders sinceyou disobeyed your dictator in Campania;" but now the anger in Sergius'face told the speaker that the limit of endurance had been reached, andhis tone became less offensive. "That is in the old days, though, andyou _did_ run twelve miles with a broken shoulder: you see I knowall--only I am sure that you are not realizing how deeply your generalhas studied the Punic wars, or perhaps you do not know how necessary isdepth to the battle that would stand against the great war-beasts. Itis possible, barely possible, that our most scientific commander hasforgotten that the enemy has no elephants here; but what is that to agreat genius? He has learned that Carthage wars with elephants, thatthese are best met by deepening the files, and that we are about tofight Carthage; therefore he deepens the files, though the lastelephant in Italy died two years ago in the northern marshes. If youare beaten, you will at least have the satisfaction of being beatenwhile fighting most learnedly."

  As Sergius noted the bitterness and agony in the voice that spoke, hefound his resentment giving place to pity for the hard, grim man who,powerless to avert, yet saw clearly every cord of the snare into whichhe was being driven.

  "Do we guard the camp, my father?" he asked, gently, when Paullus hadfinished.

  The latter started from the gloomy stare with which he was regardingthe fast-forming lines.

  "I have been offered the command of the camp," he said, almostfiercely. "I have refused it. Escape to the north would be tooeasy--and I do not wish to escape. What do you think the centurieswould do if I came home beaten? I who escaped so narrowly before?" Heleered cunningly at his listeners; then his face grew set, and hisvoice cold and even. "I have solicited command of the Roman cavalry.We shall fight on the right wing, beside the river, and I do not thinkmany of us will ride from the battle. Varro commands the cavalry ofthe allies on the left, and the pro-consuls"--he hesitated amoment--"the pro-consuls market their beeves in the centre. You willcross with me now. My volunteers ride about my body. It is time. Itis time."

  The breeze from the southward freshened every minute, and the red flaglashed out angrily toward the sea.