Then a trumpet-call, a flash of blue vexilla and silver eagles in the air, and, a moment later, some eighty hoofs were drumming in the Appian Way.
For a little the horsemen heard them that were left behind, wailing.
"It is like a sticking of pigs to leave a lot of plebeian women," said Manius, when the sound was far out of hearing.
"An arrow in the heart of the soldier, but I think it good," said Vergilius.

"For a time, at least, Rome will be dear to him." There were forty men riding in the troop, all lancers, saving a few slingers and bowmen.

They rattled over the hard Way at a pace of fifteen miles an hour.

It was an immense, rock-paved road--this Appian Way--straight, wide, and level, flinging its arches over fen, river, and valley, and breaking through hill and mountain to the distant sea.
No citizen might bring his horse upon it unless a diploma had been granted him--it was, indeed, for the larger purposes of the government.
After two hours they drew up at a posting-house and changed horses.
They rode this mount some forty miles, halting at a large inn, its doors flush with the road.

A transport and postal train bound for Rome was expected shortly, and, before eating, Vergilius wrote a letter and had it ready when the wagons came rattling in a deep-worn rut, behind teams of horses moving at a swift gallop.