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.
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