Rome -- History -- Republic, 265-30 B.C. -- Fiction
Scarcely had the door closed behind Catiline, who rushed forth torch in
hand, as if goaded by the furies of Orestes, when half a dozen stout men,
sheathed in the full armor of Roman legionaries, sprang out of the
brushwood on the gorge’s brink, and seizing the ropes which had hung idle
during that critical hour, hauled on them with such energetical and
zealous power, that the ladder was drawn across the chasm with almost
lightning speed.
The hooks, with which its outer end was garnished, caught in the crevices
of the ruined wall, and a slender communication was established, although
the slight structure which bridged the abyss was scarcely capable of
supporting the weight of a human being.
The soldiers, accustomed, as all Roman soldiers were, to all the
expediences and resources of warfare, had prepared planks which were to be
run forward on the ladder, in order to construct a firm bridge. For the
plan of the besiegers, until interrupted by Catiline’s arrival, had been
to take the stronghold in reverse, while a false attack in front should be
in progress, and throwing ten or twelve stout soldiers into the heart of
the place, to make themselves masters of it by a coup-de-main.
This well-devised scheme being rendered unfeasible by the sudden charge of
Catiline’s horse, and the rout of the legionaries, the small subaltern’s
detachment which had been sent round under Lucia’s guidance—for it was
she, who had discerned the means of passing the chasm, while lying in wait
to assist Julia, and disclosed it to the centurion commanding—had been
left alone, and isolated, its line of retreat cut off, and itself without
a leader.
The singular scenes, however, which they had witnessed, the interest which
almost involuntarily they had been led to take in the fate of the fair
girl, her calm and dauntless fortitude, and above all the atrocious
villainy of Catiline, had inspired every individual of that little band
with an heroic resolution to set their lives upon a cast, in order to
rescue one who to all of them was personally unknown.
In addition to this, the discovery of Lucia’s sex—for they had believed
her to be what she appeared, a boy—which followed immediately on the loss
of her Phrygian bonnet, and the story of her bitter wrongs, which had
taken wind, acted as a powerful incentive to men naturally bold and
enterprising.
For it is needless to add, that with the revelation of her sex, that of
her character as the arch-traitor’s child and victim went, as it were,
hand in hand.
They had resolved, therefore, on rescuing the one, and revenging the other
of these women, at any risk to themselves whatsoever; and now having
waited their opportunity with the accustomed patience of Roman veterans,
they acted upon it with their habitual skill and celerity.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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