The Caesarian horse, outnumbered seven to one, had fought valiantly, but been borne back by sheer weight of numbers.

With not a man in sight to oppose them, the whole mass of the splendid Pompeian cavalry was sweeping around to crush the unprotected flank of the tenth legion.

The sight of the on-rushing squadrons was beyond words magnificent.

The tossing mass of their panoplies was a sea of scarlet, purple, brass, and flashing steel; the roar of the hoof-beats of seven thousand blooded coursers swept on like the approaching of the wind leading the clouds in whose breast are thunder and lightning unfettered.

Behind them rose the dun vapour of the dust, drifting up toward heaven,--the whirling vortex of the storm.