All of this, of
course, we learnt later in the year; for, inside our prison, we knew
nothing of what went on in Placentia, let alone of what went on in Italy
and in Rome itself.
We had been cooking for more than three months, when, about the middle of
June, our attention in the cellars was distracted from doling out food, as
that of the wretches we served was distracted from eating their scanty
rations, by an unusual uproar in the street outside of our windows. We
could descry, in the morning sunlight, military trappings, tattered
cloaks, ragged tunics, dingy kilt-straps, sheenless helmets, unkempt
beards, and brawny arms in the crowds which packed the narrow streets. The
mob seemed made up of rough frontier soldiery, and we marvelled at the
presence of such men in Italy.
The uproar increased and we heard it not only from the streets but from
the courtyards; we could not make out any words, but the tone of the
tumultuous growls was menacing and imperative. After no long interval the
doors at the foot of the one stair burst open and there entered to us
three centurions, indubitably from distant frontier garrisons, accompanied
by six or seven _optiones_ [Footnote: See Note F.] and a dozen or more
legionaries.
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