While he had been thus engaged, Antony and Scipio followed close in the rear of the fugitives across two meadows, Mark forgetting Bevis in his eagerness to recover his standard. As they ran, presently Phil Varro stopped, sat down on the grass, and was instantly taken prisoner. He was short and stout and so overcome with his exertions that he could make no resistance, as they tied his hands behind him. Antony still continued to pursue, shouting to the soldier with the eagle to surrender. He did not do so, but, looking back and seeing Varro taken, threw it down, the better to escape. So Antony recovered it, and at last, pausing, found himself alone, having outstripped all the rest. He now returned to where Varro was prisoner, and Scipio Cecil came up with another eagle, which he had taken, and which had been carried before Phil Varro. “Hurrah!” shouted Mark, sitting down to recover breath; and they all rested a minute or two. “Wreaths!” said Cecil, panting. “Wreaths for the victors!” “How many did you have made?” “Two or three. Hurrah! we’ll put them on presently.” “Where’s Bevis?” said Mark, as he got over his running. “I haven’t seen him,” said Cecil. “Nor I!” “It’s curious.” “Have you seen him?”--to the others. “Not for a long time.” “No--nor Pompey.” Every one remarked on the singular absence of the two leaders. “Crassus,” said Mark. “Bevis is hunting Crassus and Pompey: that’s it. Come on. Let’s help. March.” He marched along the winding hedge-row towards the Plain, and, turning round a corner, presently came to the gate in the nut tree mound just as Crassus, who had been searching it, opened the gate. “Charge!” shouted Mark, and they dashed on the Pompeians. Crassus drew back, but before he could get quite through, Mark jammed him with the gate, between the gate and the post. “Fred! Bill!” For Crassus struggled, and was very strong. Bill rushed to Mark’s assistance: together they squeezed Val tight. “O! My side! You dogs!” Crassus hit at them with his sword: they pressed him harder. “Give in,” said Bill. “You’re caught--give in.” “I shan’t,” gasped Val. “If I could only reach you,”--he hit viciously, but they were just an inch or two beyond his arm. “Charge, Cecil!--Scipio, charge!” shouted Mark. Scipio had charged already, and the Pompeians, being divided into three parties, one on each side of the mound, and the third up in it, were easily scattered. Scipio himself found their eagle in the brambles, where the bearer had left it, as he jumped out of the hedge to run. “Yield,” said Bill. “Give in--we’ve got your eagle.” “All the eagles,” said Scipio, returning. “Every one--our two and Pompey’s two.” “And Varro’s a prisoner--there he is,” said Mark. “Give in, Val.” “I won’t. Let me out. Come near and hit then. If I could get at you!” “But you can’t!” “O!”--as they pressed him. “Give in!” “No! Not if I’m squashed:--no, that I won’t,” said Val, frantically struggling.