"Do you not see it is Lucius Sergius Fidenas?" he whispered.
The result of the warning was still doubtful, when a sudden commotion in the crowd about them drew the attention of all to a short, thick-set man of middle age, in the light panoply of a mounted legionary. Cries went up from all about:—
"It is Marcus Decius." "He is from the army." "Tell us! what news?"
For answer the newcomer turned from one to the other of his questioners, with a dazed expression on his pale, drawn face.
"What shall I say, neighbours?" he muttered at last. "My horse fell just out there on the Flaminian road, and I came here on foot. I have eaten nothing for a day."
But they paid no attention to his wants, thronging around with almost threatening gestures and crying:—
"What news? What news—not of yourself—of the army?—of the battle?"
"There was no battle, and there is no army," said the man, dully.
Sergius forced his way to the front and threw one arm about the soldier. Then, turning to the crowd:—
"Stand back!" he cried, "and give him air. Do you not see the fellow is fainting?"