Ab urbe condita

The consul, wearing his “ paludamentum,” [*](paludamentum —An ample and graceful cloak, the characteristic dress of the commander-in-chief. When a Roman magistrate quitted the City to take charge of an army or a province he put off the toga —the civilian dress —and assumed the paludamentum.) went out into the vestibule and saw the whole of his house drawn up in order of march. Taking his place in the centre, he gave the word of advance. Never has an army marched through the City smaller in numbers or with a more brilliant reputation or

more universally admired. Three hundred and six soldiers, all patricians, all members of one house, not a single man of whom the senate even in its palmiest days would deem unfitted for high command, went forth, threatening ruin to the Veientines through the strength of

a single family. They were followed by a crowd; made up partly of their own relatives and friends, whose minds were not occupied with ordinary hope and anxiety, but filled with the loftiest anticipations; partly of those who shared the public anxiety, and could not find words to express their

affection and admiration. “Go on,” they cried, “you gallant band, go on, and may you be fortunate; bring back results equal to this beginning, then look to us for consulships and triumphs and

every possible reward.” As they passed the Citadel and the Capitol and other temples, their friends prayed to each deity, whose statue or whose shrine they saw, that they would send that band