The flowers had been twined over the arbours under which the victory was to be celebrated; the plate was on the tables; choice viands and wines were ready; the floors of the tents were covered with fresh sods; over the pavilion of Lentulus Crus was a great shade of ivy.

The victors rode out from the arbours toward the newly taken ramparts.

There lay the dead, heaps upon heaps, the patrician dress proclaiming the proud lineage of the fallen; Claudii, Fabii, AEmilii, Furii, Cornelii, Sempronii, and a dozen more great _gentes_ were represented--scions of the most magnificent oligarchy the world has ever seen.

And this was their end! Caesar passed his hand over his forehead and pressed his fingers upon his eyes.
"They would have it so," he said, in quiet sadness, to the little knot of officers around him.

"After all that I had done for my country, I, Caius Caesar, would have been condemned by them like a criminal, if I had not appealed to my army." And so ended that day and that battle.