The traitor was a schoolmaster. He thought that it would be an easy matter to betray the city to the Romans by the aid, unknown to themselves, of his pupils.
Before the siege began he had been used to take the children outside the city walls for their daily walks and exercises.
He continued to do so after the Romans had laid siege to the city, but at first he did not venture far from the gates, lest the children should be afraid.
But, little by little, as they became careless of the enemy, the schoolmaster took them nearer and nearer to the Roman camp. Then one day, before the boys were aware, their master had led them close to the enemy’s lines and had asked to be taken before Camillus.
He was admitted to the presence of the tribune, and pointing to his pupils the traitor said: ‘I have brought you the children of Falerii. With them in your power, you will soon be able to make what terms you please with the citizens. They will give up their city without a struggle to secure the safe return of their children.’
But Camillus was not the man that the traitor had dreamed. He looked with scorn upon the treacherous schoolmaster, then, turning to those who stood near, he said: ‘War indeed is of necessity attended with much injustice and violence. Certain laws, however, all good men observe, even in war itself, nor is victory so great an object as to induce us to incur for its sake obligations for base and impious acts. A great general should rely on his own valour and not on other men’s vice.’
Camillus then bade his officers strip off the schoolmaster’s clothes and tie his hands behind him. The children were then given rods and told to beat their master back to the city.
Meanwhile, the Falerians had missed the children. Fathers and mothers, distraught with grief, rushed to the walls, to the gates, but nowhere was there any trace of their boys. Cries and lamentations filled the city.
Suddenly the cries were hushed. Hark! that was a joyful shout! And then another and yet another rent the air.
The children were there, in sight, running back, merrily as it seemed, from the direction of the enemy’s camp.