We left Rubrae
an excited horde, for the veterans were keyed up to a tense pitch of
expectancy by their anticipation of they knew not what culmination to
their insane adventure and their accidental recruits were aquiver with
uneasiness and apprehension.
The Mulvian Bridge over the Tiber is not more than four miles from Rubrae
along the winding Flaminian Highway and we were crossing it before the
third hour of the day was past. Marching with the first of the three
centuries formed at Placentia I had about five-sixths of our column ahead
of me. So I did not see, did not even glimpse, did not, from far towards
the rear, so much as guess what was happening. I knew only that, as I was
more than half way across the Mulvian Bridge, a wave of cheers started far
forward in our column and ran back to my century and all the way to the
rearmost men. What had occurred we did not know, but we broke ranks and
flowed out of the road to left and right, as did the men ahead of us,
becoming almost a mob, despite the remonstrances and orders of our
disgusted sergeants. They restrained us to some extent, but we were kept
back more by the fact that the foremost men blocked the highway, the men
who had been marching next them blocked the fields to right and left of
the highway and the rest of us were checked behind them, like water above
a dam.
Pages:
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517