The Three Brothers, Chapters IX-X [pp. 134-138]

134 APPLETONS' JO U1?NAL OF POPULAR [SEPTEMBER 18,
For an instant, the conqueror of Gaul smiled, and waved his
hand in response to the shouting of the legionaries. Then he gave
the signal to march; the tribune in command uttered the word,
"Forward!" the flags of the cohorts inclined with a sharp motion to
the front; the solid machine of veterans moved with one impulse;
and so Marcus Vaconius strode proudly past Cesar.
Arrived upon the western slope of the hill, he could see how the
battle was passing on the left wing. All was well there, and had evidently been going well for some minutes; for the Gaulish cavalry had
already driven the German horse into the morass; and the German infantry was recoiling before the opposing cohorts. He guessed what
had happened and how; the barbarians, seeing the defeat of their left
wing, had attempted to make good their retreat before it should be
cut off; they had charged with no vigor, or perhaps had not charged
at all, and the legionaries had easily overthrown them.
In ten minutes more the first three cohorts had refurnished
themselves with javelins, and were advancing upon the disordered
barbarians, who already crowded the road between the hill and the
morass, vainly seeking to open for themselves a path back to the Rhine
and their own country. From this time until the battle ended, Marcus
was simply a murderer. All that he and his comrades had to do
was to slaughter fugitives without way of escape, without organization,
and often without arms, whose perplexity was such as nearly to disable them from resistance, and who in many cases offered their throats
to their pursuers or attempted to take their own lives. The fields
were dotted, and the military road was literally piled with the corpses
of tall, long-haired, blonde-bearded men, their large limbs scantily
covered with the hides of beasts, their sunburned skins turning to an
ashy yellow. All over the plain fugitives were being speared by the
Gaulish horse and the Numidian darters. The business-like coolness, dexterity, and rapidity, with which captors cut the throats
of their prisoners, and the stolid or despairing calmness with which
the latter submitted to the atrocity as to a right, produced spectacles
which we could not parallel at this day amid any portion of the European race, nor higher in the scale of civilization than China or
Japan. No quarter; scarcely any asking for quarter; mercy was
never the order of the day in ancient battles; and the Romans necessarily had little pity for men who would have granted none. It was
not until the victors were physically worn out with killing, that a miserable remnant of two thousand or so were encouraged to surrender, and
were herded together under guards for the purpose of being sold as
slaves, or recruited into Caesar's German cavalry.
About noon, the day's tragedy being ended, the legion was ordered
to collect on the hill, and reestablish its encampment. During this
brief march, Marcus was able to gather from his comrades what had
happened during his absence. The Germans having passed the
Rhine, the tribune in command had sent notice of the fact to
Caesar, and then, fearing lest he should be surrounded, and reduced
by hunger, had decided to retreat, and, levelling the fortifications so
that they might not furnish the barbarians with a stronghold, had
set out in the night and accomplished a march of fifteen hours.
Caesar had met the legion, galloping to its aid with a guard of Roman knights, and followed at a distance by his iduan cavalry.
After giving the soldiers a few hours of repose, he had pushed them
once more toward the enemy; and, immediately on seeing the field, he
had devised his plan of battle and carried it into effect without a halt.
Scarcely was the tale finished, ere the great commander rode up to
the flank of the cohort and halted it. Signalling to the legionaries to
suppress their shouting, he demanded, "Where is the soldier who
shouldered the Sicambrian chieftain, and saved the body of Cassius
Calvus?"
Friendly hands touched Marcus on the shoulders. Trembling with
excitement and expectation, he stepped to the front, saluted, and
gave his name, "Marcus Voconius."
"Centurion of the fifth century of the tenth cohort!" said the ringing voice of Csesar.
Marcus sprang forward, seized the edge of his commander's robe,
and kissed it with devotion. Caesar smiled, uttered a few words of
praise and rode on to the next cohort, there to eulogize or reward the
deserving.
Marcus was now free to leave the ranks. He remembered his
girlish captive, and resolved to go in search of her. Shield on
shoulder, and pilum in hand, he rapidly climbed the hill and
reached the oak, to find his imitation thicket trampled down, the
door of bark removed, and the hollow untenanted. He looked
up; she was not on the ladder; he glanced about him and saw
the vine with which he had bound her; it seemed clear that she
had broken it and fled; he rushed out in search of her.
The natural supposition was, that she had directed her steps down
the eastern slope of the hill, with the hope of reaching her own country.
In that direction he ran, looking eagerly through the scattered trees
which dotted the declivity, and forgetful for the moment of the tremendous fatigues of the day.
He was determined to have her? Why? A wife? No. No
Roman married a barbarian. A slave? Yes. A beautiful slave.
That was all. That must be all. A beautiful slave, to be kept for a
while, and then to be sold. We can hardly wish him success in his
chase.
Of a sudden, a furlong to the right of him, he discovered her, a
prisoner again, firmly bound to a sapling, her flaxen head fallen on
one shoulder, her attitude mere despair. Two half-naked and darkskinned men, whom Marcus recognized as Numidian darters, stood
near her, apparently in violent altercation. The newly-appointed centurion was still a dozen rods from them when they ceased their quarrel, and faced simultaneously toward the girl with darts raised in act
to throw. It seemed as if, unable to decide which was the captor,
they had compromised the dispute by agreeing to murder the captive.
Marcus called loudly; he ordered them in Latin and Gallic to begone; he raised his pilum and shook it threateningly. The savages
stared at him, stared at each other, exchanged a few guttural words,
then launched their missiles. In the next breath, turning their backs
upon the legionary, they fled with a swiftness which rapidly distanced
his pursuit, and disappeared among the scattered trees and thickets
of the hill-side.
For hours Marcus had been slaughtering with delight; now for
the first time his heart sickened at the sight of blood. Almost ready
to weep with rage and grief, he came up to the girl, and gazed in her
whitening face, beautiful still in the agonies of death, an exquisite
statue of pain falling into unconsciousness. One dart had pierced her
breast, and the other her throat; each had transfixed her and fastened itself firmly in the sapling; her drooping form was upheld by
her bonds and by the weapons.
Promising himself that he would come back and bury her if his
duties gave him time, he walked slowly away to find his cohort and
take command of his century.
THE THREE BROTHERS.
A NO VEL.
BY MRS. OLIPHANT, AUTHOR OF " THE CHRONICLES OF CARLINGFORD,"
" THE BROWNINGS," ETC.
CHAPTER IX.-Continued.
Next morning, however, Ben was desperate. The day went on
till past its height, and no further notice was taken of him-perhaps
intentionally, perhaps only because the ladies were packing, and had
no time for visitors. When he could stand it no longer he went
boldly up-stairs, and knocked at their door. To tell the truth, they
had forgotten him-even Millicent had forgotten him, having given
him but too much of her thoughts the night before, and exhausted
the subject. They were in full discussion of the black grenadine when
he went to the door, and bade him "Come in," calmly, expecting
the maid, or the landlady, or some other unimportant visitor. "I
must have something decent for evenings," Millicent was saying, with
quiet decision, absorbed in her subject, and not thinking it worth
while to raise her eyes; and then, suddenly feeling a presence of
some sort in the room, she started and looked up, and gave a little
scream. "Oh! it is Mr. Renton, mamma!"t she said, with sudden
bewilderment. She had thought he could be kept off-kept at
arm's-length —and she had forgotten the important part he played in
all this preparation, and the new start which was coming. She
dropped her work, and her hands trembled a little. "Mr. Renton!"
There was dissatisfaction, annoyance, surprise, in every inflection of
her tone.
"How glad I am to see you so early!" said Mrs. Tracy, with the
"tact" which distinguished her, rising and coming up to him witl
AlPP-LETO_?VS' JO U_R-YA-L OF POPUrLA-R
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[SEPTEMBER 1 8,