"Twenty soldiers have been beaten to death!" "What? Twenty! Why, it was a hundred!" "They're going to cudgel every man in turn; it's the order!" Suddenly a legionary with torn clothes and terrified demeanour rushed into the crowd shouting-- "Comrades! quick, to the palace!... quick! Julian's just been beheaded!" These words fell like a spark on tinder. The long-smouldering flame burst into destructiveness. The faces of the soldiers took on an expression of animal ferocity. No one understood nor wished to hear, but all shouted-- "Where are the rascals? Kill the hounds!" "Who?" "The envoys from the Emperor Constantius!" "Down with the Emperor!" "Ah, the idiots!--to think they've killed such a leader!" Two innocent centurions who were passing were seized, thrown to earth, trampled upon and almost rent in pieces. At the sight of the gushing blood the mutineers became yet more ferocious. Another mob coming over the bridge swept up to the barracks, and there rose a deafening cry-- "Glory to the Emperor Julian! Glory to Augustus Julian!" "He is slain! He is slain!" "Hold your peace, fools; Augustus is alive! We've just seen him!" "The Cæsar's alive!" "He's no longer Cæsar, but Emperor!" "Who said he was killed?" "Where is the blackguard?" "They tried to kill him!" "Who?" "Constantius!" "Down with Constantius! Down with all cursed eunuchs!" Someone on horseback rode by so quickly as almost to escape recognition-- "Decensius! Decensius! Catch the ruffian!" Still with pen behind his ear and ink-flask dangling from his girdle, accompanied by insults and laughter, he disappeared from sight. The crowd grew thicker and thicker, and the mutinous army was like a raging flood; but their anger was turned into glee when the Herulian and Petulant legions, who had marched the evening before, and also mutinied, were seen in the distance on their way back. They, their wives, and their children were kissed with emotion, as after a long separation. Some shed tears of joy, others struck their shields; and great bonfires were kindled. The fountains of oratory were unloosed. Strombix, who in his youth had been a buffoon at Antioch, felt himself inspired, and, hoisted with wild gesticulations on the shoulders of his comrades, began-- "_Nos quidem ad orbis terrarum extrema ut noxii pellimur et damnati...._" "They're sending us to the other end of the world like criminals; and our families, whom we bought back from slavery with the price of our blood, will fall back into the hands of the Alemanni----" He was unable to finish; the barracks were ringing with piercing cries, and the noise, familiar to soldiers, of scourges scoring the back. The legionaries were lashing the detested centurion Cedo Alteram, and the soldier who was administering the lashes to his superior flung away the bloody rod, and to the general amusement, imitating the cheery voice of the centurion, called out-- "_Cedo Alteram!_ Give me another!"