Ab urbe condita

chose L. Furius. Why, even the people themselves, who hold in their hands the sovereign power, have never allowed their feelings to carry them beyond the imposition of a fine even where armies have been lost through the foolhardiness or ignorance

of their generals. Never up to this day has a commander-inchief been tried for his life because he was defeated. But now generals who have won victories and earned the most splendid triumphs are threatened with the rods and axes, a treatment which the laws of war forbid even

to the vanquished. What, he asked, would his son have suffered if he had met with defeat, been routed and stripped of his camp? Could that man's rage and violence go beyond

scourging and killing? It was owing to Q. Fabius that the State was offering up joyous and grateful thanksgivings for victory; it was on his account that the sacred fanes stood open and prayers and libations were being offered at the altars, and the smoke of

sacrifice was ascending. How fitting it was that this very man should be stripped and torn with rods before the eyes of the Roman people, in sight of the Capitol and the Citadel, in sight of the gods whom he invoked in two battles nor

invoked in vain! What would be the feelings of the army who had won their victories under his auspices and generalship? What grief would there be in the Roman camp, what exultation among the enemy!

The old man wept bitterly as he uttered these protests and expostulations, ever and anon throwing his arms round his son and appealing for help to gods and men.

He had on his side the support of the august and venerable senate, the sympathy of the people, the protection of the tribunes, and the remembrance of the absent army.