Ab urbe condita

In whichever army the commander should have devoted the legions of his enemies and himself as well to those deities, that army, that people would have the victory. When the consuls compared these visions of the night together, they decided that victims should be slain to avert the wrath of the gods, and further, that if, on inspection, they should portend the same as the vision had announced, one of the two consuls should fulfill his destiny. When the answers of the soothsayers, after they had inspected the victims, proved to correspond with their own secret belief in the vision, they called up the superior officers and told them to explain publicly to the soldiers what the gods had decreed, in order that the voluntary death of a consul might not create a panic in the army.

They arranged with each other that when either division began to give way, the consul in command of it should devote himself “on behalf of the Roman people and the Quirites.” The council of war also decided that if ever any war had been conducted with the strict enforcement of orders, on this occasion certainly, military discipline should be brought back to the ancient standard.

Their anxiety was increased by the fact that it was against the Latins that they had to fight, a people resembling them in language, manners, arms, and especially in their military organisation. They had been colleagues and comrades, as soldiers, centurions, and tribunes, often stationed together in the same posts and side by side in the same maniples. That this might not prove a source of error and confusion, orders were given that no one was to leave his post to fight with the enemy.

Amongst[*](Titus Manlius.) the troop commanders, who had been sent out everywhere to reconnoitre, there happened to be T. Manlius, the consul's son. He had ridden out with his men by the enemy's camp and was hardly a stone's-throw from their nearest post, where the

Tusculan cavalry were stationed, when Geminus Maecius, who was in command, a man of high reputation amongst his own people, recognised the Roman cavalry and the consul's son at their head, for they were all —

especially the men of distinction —known to each other.

Accosting Manlius he said: “Are you going to conduct the war against the Latins and their allies with that single troop of yours? What will the consuls, what will their two armies be doing in the meantime?” “They

will be here in good time,” Manlius replied, “and so will Jupiter, the Great and Powerful, the witness of your breach of faith. If we fought at Lake Regillus till you had quite enough, certainly we

shall succeed here also in preventing you from finding too much pleasure in meeting us in battle.”

In reply, Geminus rode forward a short distance and said: “Are you willing, before the day comes when you are to set your armies in motion for so great an effort, to have a meeting with me that the result of our single combat may show how much a Latin horseman is superior to a Roman?”

Either urged on by anger or feeling ashamed to decline the contest, or dragged on by the irresistible power of destiny, the high-spirited youth forgot the consul's edict and the obedience due to a father and rushed headlong into a contest in which victory or defeat were alike fatal. The rest of the cavalry retired to remain spectators of the fray; the two combatants selected a clear space over which they charged each other at full gallop with levelled spears.

Manlius' lance passed above his adversary's helmet, Maecius' across the neck of the other's horse. They wheeled their horses round, and Manlius standing in his stirrups was the first to get in a second stroke ; he thrust his lance between the horse's ears.