It would be enough for them to see the
rebel town in smoking ruins; that would be some compensation for the
destruction of so many camps.' Cerialis was afraid of soiling his
reputation if it was said that he gave his men a taste for cruelty and
riot, so he suppressed their indignation. They obeyed him, too, for
now that civil war was done with, there was less insubordination on
foreign service. Their thoughts were now distracted by the pitiful
plight of the legions who had been summoned from the country of the
Mediomatrici.[434] Miserably conscious of their guilt, they stood with
eyes rooted to the ground. When the armies met, they raised no cheer:
they had no answer for those who offered comfort and encouragement:
they skulked in their tents, shunning the light of day. It was not
fear of punishment so much as the shame of their disgrace which thus
overwhelmed them. Even the victorious army showed their bewilderment:
hardly venturing to make an audible petition, they craved pardon for
them with silent tears. At length Cerialis soothed their alarm. He
insisted that all disasters due to dissension between officers and
men, or to the enemy's guile, were to be regarded as 'acts of
destiny'. They were to count this as their first day of service and
sworn allegiance.[435] Neither he nor the emperor would remember past
misdeeds. He then gave them quarters in his own camp, and sent round
orders that no one in the heat of any quarrel should taunt a fellow
soldier with mutiny or defeat.
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