Slowly and in disorder they found themselves being pushed back toward the plain.
At length they were once more on level ground, and immediately they attempted to form their front ranks anew, meaning again to attack the enemy.
Suddenly those in front heard behind them wild cries of despair. Swords flashed in the air, javelins seemed to fall among their ranks as thickly as a storm of hail.
Marcellus, with his three thousand men, had dashed out of his ambush, and had fallen upon the rear of the Teutones.
This was more than the barbarians could bear. With the terrible enemy before and behind, they yielded to panic, broke their ranks, and fled.
The Romans followed, determined that the enemy should not escape, and cut down more than one hundred thousand men.
For long months the bones of the barbarians were left in the field, until at length, bleached clean, they were used by the neighbouring folk to fence their vineyards.
After this great victory, Marius chose the most splendid treasures from the spoil and laid them aside, to grace his triumph when he returned to Rome.
He then ordered the rest to be gathered into one great heap, to be sacrificed to the gods.
Around the huge pile the soldiers were presently gathered, their arms in their hands, their clothes decked with garlands. In their midst stood Marius, wearing a robe with the purple border, and holding aloft a lighted torch with which to set fire to the sacrifice.
But at that moment horsemen were seen in the distance spurring their horses toward the assembled army.
What tidings did they bear? No one in the great gathering stirred until the horsemen rode up, and crying that Marius had been elected Consul for the fifth time, handed him letters from the Senate to tell him of this new honour.
