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Updated: May 19, 2025
"Since you Campanians have become pulse-eaters, not the wildest Numidian would dare disturb you. The cruel one is very tender of you all now; but wait till Rome shall fall, then you will know what his tenderness is worth when you are all busy grinding corn for Carthage " "By all the gods! speak lower if you must say such words," whispered the innkeeper, white with terror.
Then, noting that the young man who had first addressed Decius was now watching their talk with troubled face, he raised his voice cheerfully. "Tribune or volunteer, it is all one to me. Do we not serve under Aemilius Paullus and his Illyrian auspices? After this day, friends, we shall see no more pulse-eaters in Italy."
Perolla looked at her inquiringly, and she went on: "You have a city that has been false to itself, and is in danger of punishment a father, too, if you will. My city has already suffered every evil but destruction: my brother and he to whom Juno was about to lead me have been killed by these pulse-eaters. Are such things the benefits that go to make friendship and love for the slayers?
Meanwhile, Lucius Sergius rode on through the night, with Marcus Decius at his side, and the troop of horse trailing out across the plain behind them. "It is silent, master," said the decurion, but his attitude, as he leaned forward over his horse's neck, was rather of one trying to smell than to listen. "The pulse-eaters sleep deeply."
"I did not see them. They say they are all dead." "And the consul?" "I do not know." Just then the cripple from the steps was pushed forward. "Flaminius is dead. He died fighting, as a Roman consul should. But you? What are you, to let the pulse-eaters at him. You should have seen how we dealt with them off the Aegusian Islands."
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