“No doubt of it,” said the Syrian, “if they had some of our cavalry for flanking and foraging.”
“Aye, for anything but fighting, comrade,” said the Roman with a laugh.
“No; you leave out another capital quality,” observed the beggar, “for none can deny that whoever may be first in the advance, the Syrians will be first in the retreat. There are two maneuvers to make a complete soldier—how to get into the battle, and how to get out of it. Now, the Syrians manage the latter in the most undoubted perfection.”
“Silence, villain,” exclaimed the Syrian, “or you have robbed your last hen-roost in this world.”
“He says nothing but the truth for all that,” interrupted the veteran. “But neither of us taxed your cavalry with cowardice. No; it was pure virtue. They had too much modesty to take the way into the field before other troops, and too much humanity not to teach them how to sleep without broken bones.”
The beggar, delighted at the prospect of a quarrel, gave the assent that more embroiled the fray.
“Mark Antony did not say so,” murmured the indignant Syrian.
“Mark Antony!” cried the Roman, starting upon his single leg, “glory to his name! But what could a fellow like you know about Mark Antony?”
“I only served with him,” dryly answered the Syrian.