Chapter 11

The dark was lifting as Vergilius entered the Field of Mars. There
were lanterns about his litter, and far and near, in lines and
clusters, he could see lights on the plain, some moving, some standing
still. Hard by the Tiber he joined a small troop of horse, and
vaulting on the shaft of his lance, mounted a white charger. Manius
wheeled into place beside him at the head of the column. A quaestor
called the roll.

"Ready?" Vergilius inquired, turning to Manius.

"All ready," the other answered.

Then a trumpet sounded and those many feet had begun the long journey
to Jerusalem. They made their way to the Forum. Scores of women and
children of the families of those departing had gathered by the golden
mile-stone. The troop halted. Those who had been waiting in the dank,
chill air sought to press in among the horses. It was hard to keep
them back. Vergilius, full of his own sorrow, felt for them and gave
them good time. A little group, in gray paenula and veils, were
watching from without the crowd. He moved aside, beckoning to them.

"Make your farewells," said he, as they came near. "We shall be off in
a moment."

A beautiful white hand was extended to him. He took it in his, and
then quickly pressed it to his lips.

"Farewell, dear love!" he whispered.

A quick pressure answered him, and the veiled figure turned away. Then
a trumpet-call, a flash of blue vexilla and silver eagles in the air,
and, a moment later, some eighty hoofs were drumming in the Appian Way.
For a little the horsemen heard them that were left behind, wailing.

"It is like a sticking of pigs to leave a lot of plebeian women," said
Manius, when the sound was far out of hearing.

"An arrow in the heart of the soldier, but I think it good," said
Vergilius. "For a time, at least, Rome will be dear to him."

There were forty men riding in the troop, all lancers, saving a few
slingers and bowmen. They rattled over the hard Way at a pace of
fifteen miles an hour. It was an immense, rock-paved road--this Appian
Way--straight, wide, and level, flinging its arches over fen, river,
and valley, and breaking through hill and mountain to the distant sea.
No citizen might bring his horse upon it unless a diploma had been
granted him--it was, indeed, for the larger purposes of the government.
After two hours they drew up at a posting-house and changed horses.
They rode this mount some forty miles, halting at a large inn, its
doors flush with the road. A transport and postal train bound for Rome
was expected shortly, and, before eating, Vergilius wrote a letter and
had it ready when the wagons came rattling in a deep-worn rut,