TALES OF THE ROMANS
Presently the Romans wheeled to the right. They had reached a ford. The foremost man, carrying an eagle, splashed into the river; and the rest followed in order.
“Are these men coming against us?” exclaimed Tigranes; and he hastily arranged his troops to meet the onset.
As Lucullus was about to enter the river, one of his officers said:
“Sir, this is a black day in Roman story. It was on this day—the sixth of October—that the Cimbri from the north once defeated our countrymen in Italy.”
“I will make this day a happier one for the Romans,” replied Lucullus.
The armies met in the shock of war. Lucullus, with a division of troops, climbed a hill, and called to his men:
“The victory is ours, my fellow-soldiers! The victory is ours!”
It was indeed. An awful mass of dead was left in the valleys; and yet (so it is said) the Romans only had five killed and one hundred wounded. Such was the defeat of the vain king who despised the fewness of the enemy.
Far among the Armenian mountains Lucullus pushed his way. Never had Romans been so far from home. They were toiling up rocky passes, slipping over snow-drifts, tramping through great
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