Northward, towards the Mulvian
Bridge, we sneaked out into the tomb-lined meadows. Through or above the
dense fog we could spy the pinnacles of several vast and ambitious
mausoleums glittering in the moon-rays.
We were not a hundred yards from the camp when I dimly perceived ahead of
us through the fog something like a wall or stockade about two yards high.
A step or two further, at the same moment at which I made out that it was
a serried rank of helmetted men, a challenge rang out, sharp and
peremptory.
Instantaneously we dropped on our hands and knees and crawled back to
camp.
"I told you I had a suspicion that this was a dangerous locality,"
Agathemer whispered when we had stood up and gotten our breath. "Those
were regular infantry of some sort. We can only hope that they are on that
side only. Let's try towards Rome."
There, at about the same distance we were similarly challenged.
In camp again Agathemer said:
"Those were Praetorian infantrymen, and they were standing shoulder to
shoulder. This looks bad. But I believe in taking every possible chance.
Let's try towards the road."
Eastwards also we encountered the like obstacle.
Back we crawled unpursued. As we skurried through the snoring camp,
unperceived by the sodden sleepers, Agathemer said, aloud:
"This looks increasingly bad.
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