He waved his hand toward the trumpeters, and nodded his high crested helmet; and instant there pealed forth that thrilling brazen clangor, "that bids the Romans close."

Nor less sonorously did the war music of the rebels make reply, ringing among the hills their bold defiance.

Then onward rolled that bright array, with a long steady sweep, like that of an unbroken line of billows rushing in grand and majestical upon some sandy cape.

In vain did the sinuosities of the broken ground, in vain did crag and thicket, ravine and torrents' bed impede their pa.s.sage; closing their files or serrying them, as the nature of the ascent required, now wheeling into solid column, deploying now into extended line, still they rolled onward, unchecked, irresistible-

A long array of helmets bright, A long array of spears.

The glorious eagles glittered above them in the unclouded sunshine, the proud initials, which had gleamed from their crimson banners over one half the world, shone out conspicuous, SPQR, as the broad folds streamed to their length upon the frosty air.

A solitary trumpet spoke at times, to order their slow terrible advance; there was no hum of voices, no shout, no confusion; only the solemn and continuous tramp of their majestic march, shaking the earth like an incessant roll of thunder-only the clang of their brazen harness, as buckler clashed with buckler.

All the stern discipline, all the composed and orderly manuvres, all the cold steadiness of modern war was there, combined with all the gorgeousness and glitter of the chivalric ages.

Contrary to all expectation, no opposition met them as they scaled that abrupt hill side. Fearful of exposing his flanks, Catiline wisely held his men back, collecting all their energies for the dread onset.

In superb order, regular and even, Petreius' infantry advanced upon the plateau, their solid front filling the whole s.p.a.ce with a ma.s.s of brazen bucklers, ten deep, and thrice ten hundred wide, without an interval, or break, or bend in that vast line.

Behind these came the cavalry, about a thousand strong, and the Praetorian cohort, with the general in person, forming a powerful reserve, whereby he proposed to decide the day, so soon as the traitors should be shaken by his first onset.

Once more the line was halted; once more Petreius gallopped to the van; and pa.s.sed from left to right across the front, reconnoitering the dispositions of the enemy. Then taking post, at the right, he unsheathed his broadsword, and waved it slowly in the air, pointing to the impa.s.sive ranks of Catiline.

Then the shrill trumpets flourished once again, and the dense ma.s.s bore onward, steady and slow, the enemy still motionless and silent, until scarce sixty yards intervened between the steadfast ranks, and every man might distinguish the features and expression of his personal antagonist.

There was a pause. No word was given. No halt ordered. But intuitively, as if by instinct, every man stopped, and drew a deep breath, unconscious that he did so, collecting himself for the dread struggle.

The point was reached, from which it was customary to hurl the tremendous volley of ponderous steel-headed pila, which invariably preceded the sword charge of the legions, and for the most part threw the first rank of the enemy into confusion, and left them an easy conquest to the short stabbing sword, and st.u.r.dy buckler.

But now not a javelin was raised on either side-the long stern swell of the trumpets, ordering the charge, was drowned by a deep solemn shout, which pealed wilder and higher yet into a terrible soul-stirring cheer; and casting down their heavy missiles, both fronts rushed forward simultaneously, with their stout shields advanced, and their short broadswords levelled to the charge.

From flank to flank, they met simultaneous, with a roar louder than that of the most deafening thunder, a shock that made the earth tremble, the banners flap upon their staves, the streams stand still, as if an earthquake had reeled under them.

Then rose the clang of blades on helm and buckler, clear, keen, incessant; and charging shouts and dying cries, and patriotic acclamations, and mad blasphemies; and ever and anon the piercing clangor of the screaming bra.s.s, lending fresh frenzy to the frantic tumult.

From right to left, the plain was one vast arena full of single combats-the whole first ranks on both sides had gone down at the first shock; the second and the third had come successively to hand to hand encounter; and still, as each man fell, stabbed to death by the pitiless sword, another leaped into his place; and still the lines, though bent on each side and waving like a bow, were steadfast and unbroken; and still the clang of brazen bucklers and steel blades rang to the skies, rendering all commands, all words, inaudible.

Officers fought like privates; skirmishers, hand to hand, like legionaries. Blood flowed like water; and so fierce was the hatred of the combatants, so deadly the nature of the tremendous stabbing broadswords of the Romans, that few wounds were inflicted, and few men went down 'till they were slain outright.

The dust stood in a solid ma.s.s over the reeling lines; nor could the wind, though it blew freshly, disperse the dense wreaths, so constantly did they surge upward from the trampling feet of those inveterate gladiators. At times, the waving of a banner would be seen, at times a gleamy brazen radiance, as some rank wheeled forward, or was forced back in some desperate charge; but, for the most part, all was dim and dark, and the battle still hung balanced.

Wherever the fight was the fiercest, there rang the warshout "Catiline!

Catiline!" to the darkened skies; and there ever would the Roman army waver, so furiously did he set on with his best soldiers, still bringing up reserves to the weakest points of his army, still stabbing down the fiercest of the consular host, fearless, unwearied, and unwounded.

But his reserves were now all engaged, and not one point of the Roman line was broken; Manlius had fallen in the front rank, playing a captain's and a soldier's part. The Florentine had fallen in the front rank, battling with gallantry worthy a better cause. All the most valiant officers, all the best veterans had fallen, in the first rank, all with their faces to the foe, all with their wounds in front, all lying on the spot which they had held living, grim-visaged, and still terrible in death.

"Paullus Arvina!" exclaimed Petreius, at this juncture, after having observed the equal strife long and intently, and having discerned with the eagle eye of a general's instinct what had escaped all those around him, that Catiline's last reserves were engaged. "The time is come; ride to the tribune of the horse, and bid him dismount his men. Horse cannot charge here! command the tribune of the Praetorian cohort to advance! We will strike full at the centre!"

"I go, Petreius!" and bowing his head, till his crimson crest mingled with his charger's mane, he spurred furiously to the rear, and had delivered his message and returned, while the shouts, with which the reserve had greeted the command to charge, were yet ringing in the air.

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 shield 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.