Camillus

Against this onset of the Barbarians the military tribunes led the Romans forth to battle. They were not inferior in numbers, being no fewer than forty thousand men-at-arms, but most of them were untrained, and had never handled weapons before. Besides, they had neglected all religious rites, having neither sacrificed with good omens, nor consulted the prophets as was meet before the perils of battle.

But what most of all confounded their undertakings was the number of their commanders. And yet before this, and on the brink of lesser struggles, they had often chosen a single commander, with the title of Dictator, not unaware how great an advantage it is, when confronting a dangerous crisis, to be of one mind in paying obedience to an authority which is absolute, and holds the scales of justice in its own hands.

Moreover, their unfair treatment of Camillus was in no slight degree fatal to discipline, since it was now dangerous to hold command without paying regard to the pleasure and caprice of the people. They advanced from the city about eleven miles, and encamped along the river Allia, not far from its confluence with the Tiber. There the Barbarians came suddenly upon them, and after a disorderly and shameful struggle, they were routed.

Their left wing was at once driven into the river by the Gauls and destroyed; their right wing was less cut up, because it withdrew before the enemy’s onset from the plain to the hills, from which most of them made their way back to the city. The rest, as many as escaped the enemy’s hands, which were weary with slaughter, fled by night to Veii. They thought that Rome was lost and all her people slain.

The battle[*](390 B.C.) took place just after the summer solstice when the moon was near the full, on the very day of a former great disaster, when three hundred men of the Fabian gens had been cut to pieces by the Tuscans. But the second defeat was so much the worse that the day on which it fell is called down to the present time dies Alliensis, from the river. Now concerning dies nefasti, or unlucky days, whether we must regard some as such, or whether Heracleitus was right in rebuking Hesiod for calling some days good and some bad, in his ignorance that the nature of every day is one and the same,—this question has been fully discussed elsewhere.

Still, even in what I am now writing, the mention of a few examples may not be amiss. To begin with, then, it was on the fifth day of the month of Hippodromius (which the Athenians call Hecatombaeon) that the Boeotians won two illustrious victories which set the Greeks free: that at Leuctra, and that at Ceressus more than two hundred years earlier, when they conquered Lattamyas and the Thessalians.