“Bah! You don’t understand,” cried Serge. “Those are our horsemen.”
Another trumpet brayed out and the cavalry in front of the chariots swung round to right and left, making an opening through which they passed, slackening their speed, but careering on till Marcus made out a solid body of infantry on his right front.
A minute later the chariots had wheeled round again in the infantry’s rear, and in the distance there was, dying away, the sound of hoofs.
“Well, boy, what do you think of that?” said a voice in Marcus’ ear.
“I—I don’t know,” panted Marcus, as short of breath as if he had been running hard. “I don’t think I understand.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed Serge, hoarsely. “I don’t suppose you do. I don’t quite myself, but I should think that was a big body of the Gallic horse who came down thinking to surprise us and to snuff us out. But they found out their mistake.”
“And where are they now?” panted Marcus.
“Oh, far away. You can just hear them in the distance. They have gone off beaten, with their tails between their legs. Couldn’t you feel how we cut them up?”
“Cut them up!” said Marcus.
“Yes. Don’t you remember how we tore through them, crash into their midst, after they were broken from their charge upon our infantry, which stood together like a rock? It was splendid, boy, though it was almost too dark to see.”