"It is the head to plan, not the hand to execute, that makes the great captain. Caius, or Marcus, Titus or Tullus, can any one of them strike home as far, perhaps farther, than your Syllas or your Catilines."
"By Mars! I much doubt it!" cried another. "I would[pg 211] back Catiline with sword and buckler against the stoutest and the deftest gladiator that ever wielded blade. He is as active and as strong as a Libyan tiger."
"Aye! and as merciless."
"May the foe find him so to-morrow!"
"To-morrow, by the Gods! I wish it were to-morrow. It is cold work this, whereas, to-morrow night, I promise you, we shall be ransacking Antonius' camp, with store of choice wines, and rare viands."
"But who shall live to share them is another question."
"One which concerns not those who win."
"And by the God of Battles! we will do that to-morrow, let who may fall asleep, and who may keep awake to tell of it."
"A sound sleep to the slumberers, a merry rouse to the quick boys, who shall keep waking!" shouted another, and the cups were brimmed, and quaffed amid a storm of loud tumultuous cheering.
Under cover of this tumult, Catiline withdrew from the neighborhood, into which he had intruded with the stealthy pace of the beast to which the soldiers had compared him; and as he retired, he muttered to himself—"They are in the right frame of mind—of the right stuff to win—and yet—and yet—" he paused, and shook his head gloomily, as if he dared not trust his own lips to complete the sentence he had thus begun.