Hostilius eyed him sharply and suspiciously, as if trying to divine his thoughts.
"If you regret—" he began.
Suddenly a decurion of the allies dashed up beside them.
"Look!" he cried, pointing toward the east. "There is carrion for the wolves."
Both leaders turned at the words.
Far out across the plain was what seemed at first sight like a clump of dark foliage, save that it moved and changed shape too much.
"Numidians!" exclaimed the decurion, following his finger with his speech, while the veins in Hostilius' forehead began to swell and grow dark.
"The signal! Let it be given," he cried to his officer, and, turning, he dug his knees into his horse's sides and galloped toward the distant quarry. A moment later the cavalry wheeled at the trumpet call, and, in some disorder but full of eagerness, began the pursuit of their leader.
As for Sergius, he, too, gave order and rein, though more deliberately, and his troop followed the cavalry of the allies in somewhat better array. By his side galloped Decius with an expression hard to analyze upon his weather-beaten face.
Sergius glanced at the old soldier from time to time with a look of inquiry and concern. At last he ventured to question his grim mentor.