ch. 251.25On the conclusion of the treaty the six combatants armed themselves. They
were greeted with shouts of encouragement from their comrades, who reminded them that
their fathers' gods, their fatherland, their fathers, every fellow-citizen, every fellowsoldier, were now watching their weapons and the hands that wielded them. Eager for the
contest and inspired by the voices round them, they advanced into the open space between
the opposing lines. The two armies were sitting in front of their respective camps, relieved
from personal danger but not from anxiety, since upon the fortunes and courage of this
little group hung the issue of dominion. Watchful and nervous, they gaze with feverish
intensity on a spectacle by no means entertaining. The signal was given, and with uplifted
swords the six youths charged like a battle-line with the courage of a mighty host. Not one
of them thought of his own danger; their sole thought was for their country, whether it
would be supreme or subject, their one anxiety that they were deciding its future fortunes.
When, at the first encounter, the flashing swords rang on their opponents shields a deep
shudder ran through the spectators, then a breathless silence followed as neither side
seemed to be gaining any advantage. Soon, however, they saw something more than the
swift movements of limbs and the rapid play of sword and shield: blood became visible
flowing from open wounds. Two of the Romans fell one on the other, breathing out their
life, whilst all the three Albans were wounded. The fall of the Romans was welcomed with
a burst of exultation from the Alban army; whilst the Roman legions, who had lost all
hope, but not all anxiety, trembled for their solitary champion surrounded by the three
Curiatii. It chanced that he was untouched, and though not a match for the three together,
he was confident of victory against each separately. So, that he might encounter each
singly, he took to flight, assuming that they would follow as well as their wounds would
allow. He had run some distance from the spot where the combat began, when, on looking
back, he saw them following at long intervals from each other, the foremost not
far from him. He turned and made a desperate attack upon him, and whilst the Alban
army were shouting to the other Curiatii to come to their brother's assistance, Horatius had
already slain his foe and, flushed with victory, was awaiting the second encounter. Then
the Romans cheered their champion with a shout such as men raise when hope succeeds to
despair, and he hastened to bring the fight to a close. Before the third, who was not far
away, could come up, he despatched the second Curiatius. The survivors were now equal
in point of numbers, but far from equal in either confidence or strength. The one,
unscathed after his double victory, was eager for the third contest; the other, dragging
himself wearily along, exhausted by his wounds and by his running, vanquished already
by the previous slaughter of his brothers, was an easy conquest to his victorious foe. There
was, in fact, no fighting. The Roman cried exultingly: Two have I sacrificed to appease
my brothers' shades; the third I will offer for the issue of this fight, that the Roman may
rule the Alban. He thrust his sword downward into the neck of his opponent, who could
no longer lift his shield, and then despoiled him as he lay. Horatius was welcomed by the
Romans with shouts of triumph, all the more joyous for the fears they had felt. Both sides
turned their attention to burying their dead champions, but with very different feelings, the
one rejoicing in wider dominion, the other deprived of their liberty and under alien rule.
The tombs stand on the spots where each fell; those of the Romans close together, in the
direction of Alba; the three Alban tombs, at intervals, in the direction of Rome.
