The army marched through a hilly country, and the hills had been secretly occupied by the Persians. Julian led the van with the skill and attention of a consummate general. He was alarmed by the intelligence that his rear was suddenly attacked. The heat of the weather had tempted him to lay aside his cuirass, but he snatched a shield from one of his attendants, and hastened, with a sufficient reinforcement, to the relief of the rearguard. A similar danger recalled the intrepid prince to the defense of the front. As he galloped between the columns, the center of the left was attacked, and almost overpowered, by a furious charge of the Persian cavalry and elephants. The huge body was soon defeated by the well-timed evolution of the light infantry, who aimed their weapons, with dexterity and effect, against the backs of the horsemen and the legs of the elephants. The Persians fled, and Julian, who was foremost in every danger, animated the pursuit with his voice and gestures. His trembling guards, scattered and oppressed by the disorderly throng of friends and enemies, reminded their fearless sovereign that he was without armor, and conjured him to decline the fall of the impending ruin. As they exclaimed, a cloud of darts and arrows was discharged from the flying squadrons. And a javelin, after razing the skin of his arm, transpierced the ribs, and fixed in the inferior part of his liver. Julian attempted to draw the deadly weapon from his side, but his fingers were cut by the sharpness of the steel, and he fell senseless from his horse. His guards flew to his relief. The wounded emperor was gently raised from the ground and conveyed out of the tumult of the battle into an adjacent tent. The report of the melancholy event passed from rank to rank, but the grief of the Romans inspired them with invincible valor and the desire of revenge.

From Edward Gibbon’s The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, London: Wordsworth, 1998 (first published from 1776 to 1788), pp. 530-531.