'What sort of a
march would this be? Whom would they have to lead them? Everything
would be decided by the will of those into whose hands they had put
their lives.' Others, again, were quite indifferent to the disgrace,
and simply stowed all their money and most cherished possessions about
their persons, while many got their armour ready and buckled on their
swords, as if for battle. While they were still busy with these
preparations the hour struck for their departure, and it proved more
bitter than they had expected. Inside the trenches their disgrace was
not so noticeable. The open country and the light of day revealed
their depth of shame. The emperors' medallions had been torn down[403]
and their standards desecrated, while Gallic ensigns glittered all
around them. They marched in silence, like a long funeral procession,
led by Claudius Sanctus,[404] a man whose sinister appearance--he had
lost one eye--was only surpassed by his weakness of intellect. Their
disgrace was doubled when they were joined by the First legion, who
had left their camp at Bonn. The famous news of their capture had
spread, and all the people who shortly before had trembled at the very
name of Rome, now came flocking out from fields and houses, and
scattered far and wide in transports of joy at this unwonted sight.
Their insulting glee was too much for 'The Picenum Horse'.[405]
Defying all Sanctus' threats and promises, they turned off to Mainz,
and coming by chance upon Longinus, the man who killed Vocula, they
slew him with a shower of javelins and thus made a beginning of future
amends.
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