SILIUS             Thou hast, Ventidius, that

Without the which a soldier and his sword

Grants scarce distinction. Thou wilt write to Antony?

VENTIDIUS    I’ll humbly signify what in his name,

That magical word of war, we have effected;

How, with his banners and his well-paid ranks,

The ne’er-yet-beaten horse of Parthia

We have jaded out o’th’ field.

SILIUS             Where is he now?

VENTIDIUS    He purposeth to Athens; whither, with what haste

The weight we must convey with’s will permit,

We shall appear before him.—On there; pass along.

Exeunt             (3.1.27-37)

Silius is lost in admiration of this political sophistication and skill being demonstrated by Ventidius: thou hast, Ventidius, that, without the which a soldier and his sword grants scarce distinction. He’s complimenting Ventidius on his discretion, so carefully judged and deployed here, and noting that without discretion, a soldier is reduced merely to his sword; he’s no more than his weapon and indistinguishable from it. Still, he does want Ventidius to get some credit (and the rest of them too, by association): thou wilt write to Antony? Surely you’ll do that, at least? Oh, absolutely, says Ventidius, and there might be a touch of bitterness, even, and certainly of irony when he confirms that he will humbly signify to Antony, inform him with all due humility, what they’ve done—what they’ve performed in his name, his name being that magical word of war. Yes, Antony’s reputation (of all kinds) proceeds him, yes a great general’s name can become a rallying cry, a talisman—but in this particular campaign, Antony’s name is all they’ve had of him. Still, it’s been done with Antony’s banners and his well-paid ranks, his equipment, his (notional) leadership (under his flag, at least) and certainly with his men, the ordinary soldiers who have been recruited in his name and paid by him—it is, when all’s said and done, still Antony’s army which has routed the famous, hitherto-unconquered Parthian cavalry, that never-yet-beaten horse, and run them ragged, jaded them out of the field like so many broken-down nags.

So where is he actually? asks Silius. He purposeth to Athens; apparently that’s where he’s heading, replies Ventidius. And so that’s where we’ll go, with as much haste as we can manage, given the amount of stuff we’ve got with us, the weight we must convey with us. To Athens, then! We shall appear before him. And they’re already moving as the scene ends, as Ventidius exhorts his exhausted officers and troops: on, there! Pass along! Keep up, stay in line, march on.