It was then that Sergius first realized that Caius Manlius, his friend, the brother of Marcia, was indeed dead; but the time for such thoughts ivas short. Clenching his teeth in a paroxysm of anger, he again turned to follow Paullus and Decius, who had passed into the ranks of the legions and joined themselves to the personal volunteers of the pro-consul, Servilius.
The great column was moving now, steadily gathering impetus, and there was little speech between the generals. Servilius gazed with gloomy brows at the consul and the half dozen men that remained to him, and no question as to the fate of the right wing was asked or answered.
"How fight they on the left?" asked Paullus, after a moment's pause.
"The allies skirmish with the Numidians," replied Servilius.
"You mean that the Numidians skirmish with them," said Paullus.
That was all, and the two soldiers turned to their task.
The slingers' bullets fell no longer, or only scattering ones, dropping from above, told that these hornets had fallen back and sought refuge behind their lines; but the roar of battle rolled furiously from the front.
"It is the standards that oppose at last," commented Paullus. "The ranks are not too close—yet. Let us go forward."
Servilius protested, but the other waved him back.
"Here is your place who command, my Servilius," said the consul; and a smile, sad rather than bitter, lit up the harsh lines of his face. "It is I, having no command, who can justly ply the sword."