Meanwhile, some of 31
the legionaries began to advance in 'tortoise' formation,[81] while
others kept up a steady fire of javelins and stones.
Gradually the spirit of the Vitellians ebbed. The higher their rank,
the more easily they gave way to misfortune. For they were afraid that
if Cremona too[82] was demolished, there would be no hope of pardon;
the victors' fury would fall not on the common poor but on the
tribunes and centurions, whom it would pay to kill. The common
soldiers felt safe in their obscurity, and, careless of the future,
continued to offer resistance. They roamed the streets or hid
themselves in houses, and though they had given up the war, refused
even so to sue for peace. Meanwhile the tribunes and centurions did
away with the name and portraits of Vitellius.[83] They released
Caecina, who was still in irons,[84] and begged his help in pleading
their cause. When he turned from them in haughty contempt they
besought him with tears. It was, indeed, the last of evils that all
these brave men should invoke a traitor's aid. They then hung veils
and fillets[85] out on the walls, and when Antonius had given the
order to cease firing, they carried out their standards and eagles,
followed by a miserable column of disarmed soldiers, dejectedly
hanging their heads. The victors had at first crowded round, heaping
insults on them and threatening violence, but when they found that the
vanquished had lost all their proud spirit, and turned their cheeks
with servile endurance to every indignity, they gradually began to
recollect that these were the men who had made such a moderate use of
their victory at Bedriacum.
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