"Cæsar, I have had a bad dream; tempt not fate; wear armour!"
Julian silently waved his hand in negation. The old man fell on his knees—
"Put it on! Have pity on your slave!... This battle will be perilous...."
Julian took a shield, flung the light purple of his chlamys over his shoulder, and vaulting on horseback said—
"Let me be, old friend! I need nothing."
He vanished, his golden-crested helm glittering for a while in the sun, while Victor anxiously followed him with his eyes.
Julian disposed his army in a peculiar form, like a crescent. The enormous half-circle was to bury its two points in the Persian mass and squeeze it inwards from two sides. The right wing was commanded by Dagalaïf, the left by Hormizdas, Julian and Victor leading the centre. The trumpets sounded. The earth trembled under the soft and heavy tread of the Persian elephants, wearing huge plumes of ostrich-feathers on their foreheads. Turrets of hide were lashed on the back of the beasts by thick thongs; and each turret held four archers, who shot flaming arrows of tow and pitch.
The Roman horse did not stand the first shock. With deafening roars and raised trunks the elephants opened their huge moist gullets. The legionaries felt in their faces the hot wind of the monsters, maddened before battle by a special drink made of wine, pepper, and spices. With foot spikes painted in vermilion and tipped with steel, the elephants disembowelled horses, and their trunks whirled horsemen from the saddle and dashed them against the ground. The torrid heat of the afternoon raised from the trumpeting beasts a rank odour of sweat which made the horses wince, rear, and tremble violently.
One cohort had already taken flight. It happened to be a body of Christians. Julian pursued them, and striking the chief decurion full in the face, cried furiously—
"Cowards! I suppose praying is the only thing you are good for?"