It was not loud but immensely prevalent. Those wayfarers
who had fled came back to the brink of the hill and those who had
stood their ground walked out into the grass to look back. Around the
curve of a buttress of rock that stood out at the line of the road,
the head of a column of Roman cavalry appeared. The superb
color-bearer bore on his hip the staff supporting the Imperial
standard.
At the forefront rode a young general; on either side a tribune.
Behind came a detachment of six hundred horse.
The sheep huddling in the way were swept like a scurry of leaves out
into the meadow alongside the road, and one of the tribunes and the
general turned in their saddles to look at the confiscated flock. The
second tribune observed their interest in this trivial incident with
disgust. The young general, whose military cloak flaunted a purple
border, called the decurion boyishly:
"Well done, Sergius! A samnos of wine for your company to-night for
this."
The decurion saluted.
"Where did you get them?" the tribune demanded.
The shepherd who had withdrawn to the side of the road on the approach
of the column looked at the questioner with resentful eyes from which
the moisture had not vanished.
"From me!" he said.
Both the purple-wearing young general and his tribune looked at him
amusedly.
"How many killed and wounded, Sergius?" the tribune asked.
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