“What’s the use?” said Scipio. “You may just as well--the battle’s won, and it’s no use your fighting.” “Where’s Pompey?” asked Val Crassus. “Run away,” said Mark promptly. “Then where’s Bevis?” “After him of course,” said Mark. “I don’t believe it; did any one see Pompey run? Phil, did you?”--to the prisoner. “Don’t know,” said Varro, sullenly. “Don’t care. If he had done as I said he would have won. Yes, I saw him leave the fight.” “Now will you give in?” said Mark. “Or must we chop you till you do.” “Chop away,” said Val defiantly. “Don’t hit him,” said Scipio. “Val, really it’s no good, you’ve lost the battle.” “I suppose we have,” said Val. “Well, let some one take Varro on the hill, and let him tell me if he can see Pompey anywhere.” They did so. Cecil and three others as guards took Varro on the rising ground; Varro was obliged to own that Pompey was not in sight. “Take it then,” said Crassus, hurling his sword at them. “Well, I never thought Ted would have run. If he had not, I would not have given in for fifty of you.” “But he did run,” said Mark, unable to suppress his joy. “You won’t tie me,” said Crassus, as they let him out. Mark did not tie him, and then as they were now ten to one they loosened Varro too. Mark led them up on the higher ground towards the sycamores, fully expecting to see Bevis every moment. When he got there, and could not see him anywhere, he could not understand it. Then Crassus told him of the search he had made. Mark went to the quarry and looked down--no one was there. He halted while two of his men ran through the firs shouting, but of course came back unsuccessful. “I know,” said Scipio, “he’s gone to the camp.” “Of course,” said Mark. “How stupid of us--of course he’s at the camp. Let him see us come properly. Two and two, now--prisoners two and two half-way down, that’s it. Eagles in front. Right. March.” He marched, with Scipio beside him, the four eagles behind, and the prisoners in the centre. Never was there a prouder general than Mark at that moment. He had captured both the enemy’s eagles, recovered his own, and taken Pompey’s lieutenants captive. Pompey himself and all his soldiers had fled: looking round the Plain there was not one in sight. Mark Antony was in sole possession of the battlefield. Proudly he marched, passing every now and then broken swords on the ground, and noticing the trampled grass where fierce combats had occurred. How delighted Bevis would be to see him! How he looked forward to Bevis’s triumph! All his heart was full of Bevis, it was not his own success, it was Bevis’s victory that he rejoiced in. “Bevis! Bevis!” he shouted, as they came near the camp, but there was no answer. When they entered the camp, and found the fire still smouldering, but no Bevis, Mark’s face became troubled. The triumph faded away, he grew anxious.