Volume Ii Part 38 (2/2)

When he returned, the general had dismounted, and one of his freedmen was unbuckling the spurs from his steel greaves. His sword was out, and it was evident that he was about to lead the last onset in person.

”A boon, n.o.ble Petreius!” cried the youth, leaping from his horse-”By all the G.o.ds! By all your hopes of glory! grant me one boon, Petreius.”

”Ha! what?” returned the general quickly-”Speak out, be brief-what boon?”

”Be it mine to head the charge!”

”Art thou so greedy of fame, boy; or so athirst to die!”

”So greedy of Revenge, Petreius. I have a vow in Heaven, and in h.e.l.l, to slay that parricide. If he should die by any hand but mine, I am forsworn and infamous!”

”Thou, boy, and to slay Catiline!”

”Even I, Petreius.”

”Thou art mad to say it.”

”Not mad, not mad, indeed, Petreius-.”

”He _will_ slay him, Petreius,” cried an old veteran of Arvina's troop.

”The G.o.ds thundered when he swore it. We all heard it. Grant his prayer, General; we will back him to the death. But be sure, he will slay him.”

”Be it so,” said Petreius, struck despite himself by the confidence of the youth, and the conviction of the veterans. ”Be it so, if ye will. But, remember, when we have broken through the centre, wheel to the right with the dismounted horse-the Praetorians must charge to the left. Ho! we are all in line. Forward! Ho! Victory, and Rome!”-

And with the word, he rushed forward, himself a spear's length in front of his best men, who, with a long triumphant shout, dashed after him.

Pa.s.sing right through the wearied troops, who had sustained the shock and brunt of the whole day, and who now opened their ranks gladly to admit the reinforcement, these fresh and splendid soldiers fell like a thunderbolt upon the centre of Catiline's army, weakened already by the loss of its best men; and clove their way clean through it, solid and unbroken, trampling the dead and dying under foot, and hurling a small body of the rebels, still combating in desperation, into the trenches of their camp, wherein they perished to a man refusing to surrender, and undaunted.

Then, wheeling to the left and right, they fell on the naked flanks of the reeling and disordered ma.s.s, while the troops whom they had relieved, re-forming themselves rapidly, pressed forward with tremendous shouts of victory, eager to share the triumph which their invincible steadiness had done so much to win.

It was a battle no longer; but a route; but a carnage. Yet still not one of the rebels turned to fly; not one laid down his arms, or cried for quarter.

Broken, pierced through, surrounded, overwhelmed by numbers, they fought in single lines, in scattered groups, in twos or threes, back to back, intrepid to the last, and giving mortal wounds in their extreme agony.

More of the consular troops fell, after the field was won, than during all the previous combat. No lances, no long weapons, no missiles were at hand, wherewith to overwhelm the desperadoes; no horse wherewith to tread them under foot; hand to hand, man to man, it was fought out, with those short stabbing blades, against which the stoutest corslet was but as parchment, the hardest s.h.i.+eld of bra.s.s-bound bull's hide, but as a stripling's wicker target.

Still in the front, abreast still with the bravest veterans shouting himself hoa.r.s.e with cries of ”To me! to me, Catiline, to me, Paul Arvina!”

The young man had gone through the whole of that dreadful melee; striking down a man at every blow, and filling the soldiers' mouths with wonder at the boy's exploits-he had gone through it all, without a scratch, unwounded.

More than once had his mortal enemy been almost within arm's length of him; their eyes had glared mutual hatred on each other, their blades had crossed once, but still the throng and rush of combatants and flyers had forced them asunder; and now the strife was almost ended, the tide of slaughter had receded toward the rebel camp, the ramparts of which the legionaries were already storming.

Weary and out of breath and disappointed, Paullus Arvina halted alone, among piles of the dying and the dead, with groans and imprecations in his ears, and bitterness and vexation at his heart.

His comrades had rushed away on the track of the retreating rebels; and their shouts, as they stormed the palisades, reached him, but failed to awake any respondent note of triumph in his spirit.

He had no share in the vulgar victory, he cared not to strike down and slaughter the commoners of the rebellion. Catiline was the quarry at which he flew, and with no game less n.o.ble could he rest contented. Catiline, it would seem, had escaped him for the moment; and he stood leaning on his red sword, doubtful.

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