That speaks louder than the trumpets.
[He is very still.]
Calpurnius! (She sits by him, and puts an arm about his shoulder. She speaks his name as if she were afraid.) The Romans flee from Britain.
Calpurnius (with a start of contempt): Madness! It's one legion going home. Another, with its rest still to earn, will take its place.
Gleva: Which legion goes?
Calpurnius: How should I know? (A pause.) The Valeria Victrix.
Gleva: Yours! (She starts away from him.) Calpurnius, yours!
Calpurnius: Yes, mine. My legion goes to Rome. (His voice thrills with eagerness. He has been troubled through the scene how he shall break the news. Now it is out, he cannot conceal his joy.)
Gleva: But you--you stay behind.
Calpurnius (gently): This is our last night together. Let us not waste it. Never was there a night so made for love. (He draws her towards him.)