Then again the trumpets called out their signal.

Busy hands tore up the tent pegs, other hands were folding the coverings, gathering up the poles and impedimenta, and loading them on the baggage animals.
The soldiers were grumbling as soldiers will.

Drusus, who emerged from his own tent just as it was about to be pulled down about his ears, heard one private growl to another: "Look at the sun rising! What a hot day we shall have! _AEdepol!_ will there never be an end to this marching and countermarching, skirmishing and intrenching,--water to drink, _puls_ to eat,--I didn't take the oath[179] for that.

No plunder here, and the sack of Gomphi, the last town stormed, amounted to nothing." [179] The military oath of obedience.
Drusus would have rebuked the man for breeding discontent in the army, but at that moment he and every other around him for once relaxed that stringent discipline that held them in bands of iron.

A third trumpet call cut the air, quick, shrill, penetrating.
"To arms!" Every centurion was shouting it to his men.