The morning air of the Seplasia reeked with perfumes, more, even, than

was its wont; for Carthaginian and Capuan revellers had been carousing

there, and several of the shops had been broken open. The gutters

streamed wine with which were mingled all the essences of India and

Asia. Flowers, withered and soaked with coarser odours than their own,

floated on the pools and drifted down the rivulets. Inert bodies,

drunk to repletion, lay scattered about, helpless, unable to drink

consciously, but absorbing the wasted liquor through every pore. A

dead citizen, his head crushed in by a single blow, sprawled hideously

in the middle of the street; while his murderer, a gigantic Gaul, was

embracing the corpse with maudlin affection and whispering in its ear

to arise and guide him back to camp. Those who passed, from time to

time, paused to join the soldier's comrades in laughter and rude jests

and suggestions of new methods of awakening his friend.

And now, down the street, extending from wall to wall, came a line of

young men, their faces flushed, their garments disordered or cast

aside, and their brows crowned with what had once been chaplets of

roses. Three or four courtesans, with gowns and tunics torn from their

white shoulders, were being dragged along, half laughing, half

resisting, and wholly possessed by Bacchic frenzy.

In front of the company marched a slender youth with dark, curling hair

and delicate features. In his hand was a thyrsis, and his eyes blazed

with the madness of the wine.

"Evoe! evoe!" he shouted. "Comrades! Bacchantes! there is no water in

Capua to mix with wine. Equal mixture for poets and fools; undiluted

wine for victors and lovers!"

"Perolla is a good Carthaginian to-day," shouted one of his fellows.

"Behold how Bacchus has answered our prayers! Kiss him, Cluvia, for a

reward."

Pushed forward, the courtesan fell upon the young man's neck, almost

bearing him to the street and overwhelming him with drunken caresses.

A moment later he freed himself from her arms.

"What is Roman beauty to our Capuan?" he hiccoughed.

"Marcia--Cluvia--all are one. All are women, and we are Capuans;

braver than Romans, wiser than Carthaginians. Listen, friends! when my

father rules Italy, you shall all be kings and queens. Evoe! evoe!"

Shouts and shrieks of drunken joy greeted his words. Several sought to

embrace him, and, staggering back, he stumbled over the Gaul and the

dead Capuan where they sprawled in the street. Mingled laughter and

curses rose all around. Blows and kisses were given and received, and

the mad company rolled on through the Seplasia and into the Forum.

Here, too, were intoxication and debauchery, but they were restrained

within some manner of bounds. The fact that grave events were taking

place, seemed to exert a sobering influence on the populace, and they

gathered in a dense throng around the Senate House, whence ominous

rumours pursued each other in quick succession.

"The Senate was in session. Hannibal was before them. Decius Magius

had been arrested at his demand." So ran the talk.

Guards of Carthaginian soldiery were posted at several points, but

especially at all the entrances to the chamber in which the fathers of

the city discussed--or obeyed; and against these lines the waves of the

rabble surged and broke and receded. Men offered the soldiers money

for free passage or news; women offered them kisses for money; and the

soldiers took both and gave nothing but jeers and blows.

Perolla and his drunken company had but just poured out to swell the

tide of this ocean of popular passion, when a commotion of a different

character began at the other end of the Forum. The closed door of the

Senate House swung open, and a man in the garb of a senator, but

chained and shackled, issued forth and stood on the steps, beneath the

porch. Surrounded by a guard of Africans, it was fully a moment,

before the mob recognized Decius Magius, the partisan, of Rome. Then a

chorus of howls and curses rose up. Insults were hurled,--the grossest

that the minds of a licentious rabble could suggest, fists were shaken,

women spat toward the prisoner,--even a few stones were cast, and when

one of these happened to strike an African of the guard, he turned

quietly and cut down the nearest citizen. Then, with their heavy

javelins so held as to be used either as spears or clubs, the soldiers

descended into the Forum, and, with the captive in their midst, began

their progress toward the street and gate that led to the Carthaginian

camp. There was no weak delay in this progress, no requests for

passage; the escort clove through the mass of the people, as a war

galley dashes through the breakers of a turbulent sea. A spray of

human beings that strove to escape but could not, boiled up about the

prow; a wake of bodies, writhing or senseless, fell behind the stern,

while, at either side, the stout javelins rose and fell like the

strokes of oars, splashing up blood for foam.

The taunts and threats that had assailed the prisoner died away amid

shrieks of terror or pain and the deep rumble of the mob. Stupid with

drink, drunk with the exultation of ungoverned power, they wondered

vaguely, as they crushed back, why their new friends should strike,

merely because they,--the Capuan people,--allies of Carthage, strove to

punish a traitor and a common enemy. The prisoner's lips were seen

moving, as his captors hurried him along; but no speech from them could

be heard, until the Forum had been nearly traversed. Then, on the hush

born of surprise and efforts to escape blows, the words of Magius were

audible, at least to those nearest.

He was protesting against this violation of the treaty. He was

speaking of himself; a Capuan, than whom no one was of higher rank,

being dragged in chains to the camp of an ally who had sworn that no

Carthaginian should have power over a citizen of Capua. At the mention

of his rank, malice and envy lent to some of the cowed rabble courage

to jeer once more. Then he had asked, how they expected that an ally

so careless of recently sworn obligations would respect his vow that no

Capuan would be compelled to do military service against his will;

whereupon, some of those who heard looked serious, for this seemed

reasonable, and brought the possibility of evil unpleasantly home to

them. Finally, he congratulated them upon this marvellous, new-found

freedom which the Carthaginian alliance had brought, and which they had

been celebrating so earnestly.

Perolla and his companions had found themselves crushed against the

portico of the temple of Hercules, in which, only the day before, had

been established, also, the worship of the Tyrian Melkarth, out of

compliment to the new alliance.

At first they had realized but little of what was going on before and

around them. They had listened vacantly to crazy rumours of how the

statue of Jupiter in the Senate House had bowed to Hannibal as he

entered, and how the Senate had forthwith saluted him as a god and

declared him the patron and protector of the city; and, again, to other

rumours even more wild of how the wives of all the Capuans had been

decreed to be given to the Carthaginians, in return for which the women

of Rome were to be surrendered to the Capuans by their victorious

allies.

When Decius Magius was led out in custody of the soldiers, Perolla was

trying to think whether, after all, he would not prefer Marcia to

Cluvia. Then followed the passage through the crowded Forum, straight

toward the exit beside the temple of Hercules, and Perolla found

himself within a spear's length of his captive friend, whose words of

protest and warning fell upon his ears like molten lead, and whose

reproachful eyes gazed into his own, piercing through them to his brain

and dissipating the fumes of intoxication as sunlight melts the fog.

Decius had not spoken to him, for he was mindful that such speech might

bring suspicion upon the younger man, but his look had said all that

his tongue refrained from saying, and Perolla realized his degradation

and his shame.

He started forward and cried out:--

"I was mad, my father; _mad_! do you hear? It was because I knew

suddenly that I loved her, and that she would never love me! and then I

rushed out and met others who were drinking, and we feasted and drank

until I knew nothing. Pardon! pardon!"

Suddenly he became conscious that Decius and his guards were gone. Had

he heard his plea? Surely yes, for did not he, Perolla, now hear his

friend's eyes saying to him that he was but a fool who had added to

folly, philosophy, and to both, weakness, and to all, madness? He

looked around at his companions. Some were gaping at him vacantly,

some were laughing. Cluvia tried to grasp his arm, and he shook her

off and saw her stumble and roll down the steps that led up to the

portico; then a new commotion arose in the direction of the Senate

House, and the attention of the bystanders was diverted. More

Carthaginian soldiers were forming and marching through the mob that

now opened to give passage of double width; and, as the escort came

nearer, Perolla saw Hannibal, clad in the gown of a Capuan senator,

moving calmly in their midst.

A new frenzy came to his brain to take the place of the fumes of wine:

perhaps it was one compounded of that and of shame and horror and

revenge. He groped under his torn tunic and found his dagger; then,

brandishing it, he burst down through the crowd, uttering incoherent

words, and threw himself, like a wild beast, upon the guards.

He had stabbed one through the throat and another in the shoulder,

before he was beaten down by a blow from the staff of a javelin. A

moment later, the first soldier to recover from the surprise of the

incident bent over him with drawn sword.

A sharp exclamation from behind checked the descending thrust, and the

soldier turned quickly. Hannibal stood beside him, with a thoughtful

smile upon his lips.

"Would you kill a citizen of Capua? a man of our allies?" he said

quietly.

The African looked around stupidly. That he should not crush the

Italian vermin forthwith was beyond his comprehension, but evidently

such was not the schalischim's wish. Grumbling, he slipped his sword

slowly back into its sheath, and, at that moment, several of the Capuan

senators in Hannibal's train gathered round him with protestations and

expressions of regret. The general looked at them and frowned.

"I have been with you scarcely two days," he said, "and now you try to

murder me."

The senators fell upon their knees, kissing his gown and hands, in a

frenzy of horror at the thought.

"Who is this fellow?" asked Hannibal, turning Perolla over with his

foot. Then, recognizing the son of Pacuvius Calavius, he went on:

"Some one of no consequence, doubtless; dust of the street that stings

when the wind drives it," and he glared around at the prostrate

senators.

They glanced at the senseless figure, as if hardly daring so much.

Some knew him, more did not; but all united in protesting their

ignorance.

Hannibal viewed them with drooping lids, and the smile returned to his

lips. Perolla stirred slightly.

Again he addressed the Capuans, raising his voice somewhat, so that the

crowd might hear.

"What is your law for the punishment of such a crime?"

Those who had not recognized the assassin, cried out, "Death." Others,

divided between the more powerful enmity of Hannibal and the slower

revenge of Calavius, made their lips move but were silent, hoping to

escape notice in the shout of the others. A few of these were envious

of the young man's father; more feared him.

Hannibal noted their confusion and came to their relief.

"But perhaps so wicked a man is not a Capuan, after all. It is

difficult to believe that the gods would suffer such impiety to lurk in

a city so beloved as yours; and, if no one knows him--"

A chorus of disclaimers snatched at the proffered evasion, and the

smile on Hannibal's lips grew more subtle, as he said:--

"In that case, the treaty does not stand, and you, my fathers, are

relieved from the burden of his trial and punishment. I am still free

to condemn an ally of Rome. Let your rods and axe do their office."

The senators were standing now, and several of them winced and looked

frightened at the swift result of their complaisance. One, even,

gathered courage to say:--

"When is it my lord's will that punishment fall?"

Hannibal eyed him closely for a moment.

"Here, in your forum, and now," he said, "provided you would give

prompt warning to such vermin."

The Capuan shifted uneasily and looked down. Several of the soldiers

had already lifted Perolla to his feet, and, holding him upright, had

torn away what remained of his garments; others sent for the

executioners, and, in a moment, these appeared with the instruments of

their calling.

It was doubtful whether the prisoner had recovered full consciousness

when the first rod fell upon his shoulders, but he groaned and writhed

slightly in the grasp of the four soldiers who held him extended upon

the pavement.

Then Hannibal turned away, ordering one of his officers to remain and

see the end. He signed to the Capuans to follow him.

"Such jackals, my fathers, are not worthy that men of rank and wealth

should watch them die," he said lightly. "The rabble will provide him

with sufficient audience."

And the senators, with awed and thoughtful faces, followed in the train

of the captain-general of Carthage.

VIII.

DIPLOMACY.

Pacuvius Calavius sat in the atrium of his house. Black robed from

head to foot, with hair and beard untrimmed and uncombed, and face and

hands foul with dirt, he rocked to and fro and groaned. From time to

time he ran his fingers through beard and hair, and uttered the

measured cry of the Greek mourners.

An hour before, one of the senators had stolen furtively in, and,

having hurriedly related the grewsome scene just enacted in the Forum,

had sneaked out again as if he were a spy passing through hostile

lines. None other of the friends of the afflicted father had ventured

to bear or send a message of condolence. It was as if the house of the

once acknowledged leader had been marked for the pestilence--and no

pestilence was more to be shunned than the deadly blight of broken

power. Even the slaves shifted about in embarrassed silence, offered

little service, and obeyed as if conscious that obedience was something

of an indiscretion, and was liable at any moment to become a crime.

Some had slipped away to their quarters, and had begun to discuss the

relative possibilities of freedom, wholesale execution, or a new

master, when the coming blow should fall upon this one.

To Marcia, on the other hand, had been born a feeling of sympathy for

her host, that, for the present, overcame the contempt with which he

had inspired her--a contempt scarcely lessened by the repulsive

ostentation of his mourning. She alone ventured to minister to his

wants and to beg him to partake of food and drink. Perhaps her

attitude was due in a measure to the horror with which she herself had

listened to the morning's news. To be sure, she had not admired the

character of Perolla. It had in it too much of the weakness and

puerility engendered by the bastard Greek culture fashionable in lower

Italy, and which naturally attained its most offensive form in the

towns of Italian origin. Still, he had been faithful to Rome, and

there was something within that told her his madness and ruin were not

entirely disconnected with her own personality. Word, too, had just

been brought her that both Ligurius and Caipor had died of their

injuries. They had seemed on the road to recovery when she visited

them on the previous day, and this sudden misfortune filled her with

new forebodings, mingled with a suspicion too horrible to dwell upon.

As for Decius Magius, she had barely seen him, yet she had felt him to

be one of all others upon whom she could rely--an Italian uncorrupted

by Capuan luxury, a worthy descendant of the rugged Samnite stock, a

Roman in all but name; and now he was snatched away, a prisoner in the

hands of enemies who knew nothing of mercy. Still, he had approved of

her design; had seen in it the possibility of success; and there was at

least a consolation in the thought that, without friends or allies, no

one but herself would now be cognizant of the fulfilment of her

impending degradation.

Another hour had passed; into Marcia's mind had come the calmness of a

fixed resolve. Calavius still moaned and cried out his measured "Aêi!

aêi!"

Suddenly a tumult of noises sounded from the street: the approaching

murmur of a multitude, the footsteps of men, shouts of applause, cries

of wonder or warning, and sharp words of command.

Ah! the end was near, now. Calavius began to imagine himself

stretching out his neck to the sword, and he sought, by proclaiming his

willingness and welcome, to stay the chilling of his blood, the

trembling of his lips and hands.

Staves were beating upon the outer door; the hum of voices in the

street rose and fell and rose again.

"Open the door, Phoenix," mumbled Calavius, as he rocked and swayed.

"Open the door and let them enter. I am an old man. My son is dead.

What matters a few years of life? I pray to the gods that the

barbarians may not hack me. You shall see how easy I will make it--if

they have but a sharp sword." Suddenly he sprang to his feet and

grasped Marcia's arm. "They will not scourge me? Surely they will not

scourge me? I am a senator and the friend of Carthage!--will the door

hold? Hasten, my daughter; run and tell me whether they are guarding

the street in the rear--before the tradesmen's gate."

The beating upon the door still continued, with short intermissions,

and Marcia surmised that the porter was probably skulking in the attic

with his fellow-slaves. Calavius had turned suddenly from the depths

of despair and the height of resignation to a keen desire for life. He

had hurried away to seek for some unguarded exit, heedless, for the

moment, of what even Marcia fully realized: the utter impossibility of

a man so well known escaping unaided through a hostile city and without

a friendly land whereto to turn his flight. He had left her standing

in the court, to be a first prey of the assailants, whether Capuans or

Carthaginians, and she reasoned that it would be better, or at least

quicker, to unbar the door before it should be broken in: she was

wondering, in fact, at the forbearance that had preserved it thus far

from more violent assault. Calavius had been gone some time.

Doubtless he had escaped or, recognizing the uselessness of his

attempt, was hiding somewhere, and, in either event, nothing would be

lost by judicious parleying.

Arranging her robe, she walked slowly through the hall, slid back the

bolts one by one, and let the door swing out into the street; then she

stood, dazed and frightened, for the sight that met her eyes was

Hannibal himself reclining in a litter borne by four Nubians. The

curtains were thrown back, and he was leaning out, evidently giving

some directions to the attendants whose summons had thus far failed to

obtain an answer. Beside the litter stood the priest, Iddilcar, with

folded arms and look bent upon the ground. Around them were ranged a

strong guard of Africans, and, back through the streets, as far as she

could see, the Capuan rabble were thronging forward, curious or

bloodthirsty.

All this was visible in a moment, and then the general, attracted by

the creaking of the door and the exclamation of the crowd, looked up

and saw Marcia standing upon the threshold.

The litter was set down at an imperceptible signal, and he stepped out,

robed in a loose gown of black, entirely without ornaments, and with

hair and beard uncombed and sprinkled lightly with ashes. Marcia

stared in wonder. Surely this could not be the Carthaginian method of

announcing judgment or execution! She caught a flash of subtle

lightning from the eyes of Iddilcar, though these had not seemed to

neglect for a moment their close scrutiny of the pavement. Then

Hannibal stood before her, bowing low and speaking in suppressed

tones:--

"The gods be with you and dwell within this house! I have come to look

upon the face of my father, and, if may be, to console him. Praise be

to Tanis for the omen that you have opened to us, rather than one whose

servile duty it was. So shall our entrance be free and our going

joyful."

He had cast a rapid glance around, as he spoke, and Marcia knew that he

divined why the service of tending the door had been left to her--a

free woman and a guest; yet he was pleased to ignore all inferences,

and to attribute her act to some divine will. His words, too, were

more than friendly, and, if they covered no snare of Punic faith,

augured safety and continued favour.

"I have come," he continued, "that I might mingle my tears with those

of my father who mourns the death of a son."

Marcia stood amazed. Had they not been told how this man had himself

ordered the execution of Perolla? How, then, could even a Carthaginian

show such effrontery! Still, it was necessary to think quickly, and

her woman's wit told her that, in any event, Calavius' best chance of

safety was to seem to accept the visit in the spirit which cloaked it.

So thinking, she led the visitors into the peristyle,--Hannibal,

Iddilcar, and some twenty soldiers who followed as if by previous

orders; while the rest mounted guard before the vestibule. Murmuring

some word of apology, she hurried back through the garden to the

tradesmen's door.

It was still closed and barred, facts which, together with the rumble

of the crowd without, showed that Calavius' plan of escape had proven

impracticable. Then she began a careful search, becoming more

agitated, with each moment, about the difficulty of explaining the

delay. At last she found him, hidden away under a couch in one of the

slaves' apartments, so senseless with terror that several minutes

passed, before he could grasp her tale of Hannibal's presence, and of

the chance of safety it offered. When, however, he understood that

there was yet room for diplomacy,--that the visitors were not mere

executioners with orders to obey,--he drew himself out from his

hiding-place, alert and active. The need of haste, in view of the time

already lost, was apparent; but, nevertheless, he paused in the garden

to wallow a moment in the mould and plunge his hands into its depth.

Marcia saw with disgust, but she led on until they reached the

peristyle; when, slipping aside into one of the cells, she watched the

playing of the game.

Calavius paused a moment at the entrance. Then, groaning deeply to

attract attention, he shambled forward, and, throwing himself at full

length before Hannibal, seized the hem of his robe and pressed it

eagerly to his lips.

"Ah, my master!" he cried. "Slay me, slay me at once or with tortures.

Surely that man is not fit to live whose loins have engendered such a

monster of wickedness. Only by death can I hope to expiate my offence

and retain the favour of the gods."

"Rise, my father," said the captain-general, and to Marcia's ears his

voice rang true with sympathy. He reached out his hand to help

Calavius. "Do you not see that I also wear mourning for this

melancholy error?"

"Never shall I rise or face you," cried Calavius, "until you give me

your oath that I shall have your forgiveness before I die. Ah, the

monster! the parricide! who would slay, at one stroke, both him who had

brought him up to better deeds, and him who is indeed the father of his

country. Ah, gods! the shame of it! Give orders, lord, quickly--only

vow first that you forgive me."

Hannibal's tones were low and deep with sorrow, and, by an

imperceptible effort of what must have been prodigious strength, he

raised the unwilling Calavius to his feet.

"Listen, my father," he said. "Have they not told you how I knew not

the young man? He was stained and dishevelled with revellings in

honour of our alliance--in honour of me, unhappy one. Perchance the

Lord Bacchus, whom you worship, willed to have him for his own, for

surely it was he that raised the young man's hand against me. Ah! my

father, did I not know how this son of thine was most beautiful, best,

and bravest of the Capuan youth? Had I not marked him out for signal

honour--only less than yours, my father and his? See, now, how the

gods confuse the affairs of men. It was at the banquet that I learned

his worth, and determined that he should love me and find in me a

friend."

"Truly yes," interrupted Calavius, "and you had won his heart, for,

walking in the garden, he told me as much, only adding that he must

appear to turn to you slowly--for the honour of his name among the

partisans of Rome, whom may the gods confound as they have done."

Hannibal smiled softly, as he took up the words:--

"All this I knew well, being somewhat learned in men, my father; and

now the gods have smitten my brother with madness that he should try to

slay me, and myself with blindness that I should, unknowingly, order

the death of one I loved most. Look, my father, I join you in your

mourning, with black robes and ashes; I come to weep with you at the

feet of Fate--you whose love for me has lost you a son, and to offer

you myself to be a son in his place."

Calavius embraced him, mumbling prayers and vows and endearments in the

sudden joy of escaped death. Iddilcar raised his eyes from the study

of the mosaics and turned aside, shaking as if with some strong

emotion, and Hannibal spoke again.

"One thing more, my father, I would speak to you of, though for my best

interests I should hold my peace nor make dissensions among allies.

There were those with me when this evil happened--men of your Capuan

Senate--who knew this youth better than I, and who I am convinced

suspected the truth; yet they spoke not--"

"Ah!" cried Calavius, "and you have their names writ down for me? We

shall slay them!"

Hannibal's face wore an expression strangely inscrutable as he

answered:--

"Yes, my father, I have their names whom I suspect; and they shall

surely die. Grant it to me, though, that I alone keep them and expiate

my own fault by avenging your wrong. This I swear by Baal-Melkarth and

Baal-Moloch to accomplish at the season best for our plans. Therefore

I tell you the fact, but without names, that you may know that you have

enemies and walk warily, while I, your son, shall, under the gods, be

your reliance for protection and revenge."

Another thought seemed to be struggling for utterance in the bosom of

Calavius--a wish prompted by religion but checked by prudence. Twice

he raised his head as if to speak, and twice his eyes wandered. Then

Hannibal spoke again, as if reading the other's thoughts:--

"I have also, my father, given orders that funeral honours be paid to

my brother; a pyre rich with woven fabrics and wine and oil and spices,

and, from my own share of the Etruscan spoils, I have chosen a vase

boldly pictured with a combat of heroes."

Tears gushed anew from the eyes of Calavius at this added evidence of

thoughtful friendship, and once again he embraced his benefactor, but

with somewhat more of dignity, now that the fear of death was removed.

Suddenly Marcia became conscious of an intruding presence beside her,

and, turning, her eyes fell upon the repulsive features of Iddilcar,

that seemed to sneer through the semi-gloom. She shuddered and drew

back against the wall. Iddilcar held out his arms which the broad

sleeves of his robe left bare to elbow. An expression of eager lust

made his face even more hideous than did the sneer of a moment past.

"Come, little bird," he said, "and I will charm you. Moon of Tanis!

Lamp of Proserpine! Essence of all the Heavens! do you not see I love

you?--I, Iddilcar, priest of Melkarth. Behold, my robe is dark. It

mourns--not for the fool who died, but because you have not loved me.

Love, and it will gleam again in violet, and all the bracelets that

hung from my arms at the banquet shall be yours."

She pressed her hands to her face; she felt herself swaying upon her

trembling knees; only the support of the wall saved her from sinking

down.

After a moment's silence he began again:--

"What is an old man, and weak--a sport of foreigners--to me who am

young and strong, and by whose word even the schalischim of Carthage

must march or halt? I, the favoured one of Melkarth, beseech you, a

Roman, for favour, because Adonis wills it. See how I come to you,

unpermitted, from those who cajole each other, and I show you my heart.

Love me! love me! leave this keeper, who is but an old woman, and you

shall be a priestess in Carthage, and the people shall swarm around and

cast their jewels and wealth before you, for the deity--that shall be

you alone; and we shall feast and love and love and feast again in such

splendour as not even Carthage has ever known--"

She could restrain her feelings no longer; all her resolves seemed to

slip from her in the presence of this man; she thrust out her hands and

turned her head away with a shiver of utter disgust. Her movement was

vague in the dim light, but he saw it, and his face darkened.

"What is this house?" he exclaimed harshly. "How long will it stand

against me? Shall I not crush its root, even as its branch was torn

off to-day? Filth! vermin! dust! Shall not its flower lie in my bosom

to bloom forever, if she wills--or to bloom for a moment and wither and

be cast away, if she wills not?"

He strode forward and caught her wrist; his hot breath steamed in her

face.

"No! no! I _hate_ you! Go!" The words sprang from her lips, without

power to hold them back, and she struggled frantically in his grasp;

she heard his teeth grinding, as, mad with passion, he strove to bind

her arms to her sides. At that moment a rattling of weapons from the

peristyle seemed to bring him to a consciousness of his surroundings.

Releasing her, he half turned, and she sank down in the corner of the

cell. The visit was evidently over, and Hannibal, about to take his

leave, was glancing around, evidently in search of the missing priest.

Iddilcar spoke low and rapidly:--

"I will return at once. Wait me till I come, or I will have you given

to a syntagma of Africans."

He was out in the peristyle now, bowing low before the captain-general.

Then he whispered in his ear--probably some explanation of his absence,

of how he had been keeping watch against treachery; for Hannibal nodded

several times, and, again embracing Calavius, accepted his escort to

the door, giving his arm to steady the steps of the older man.

IX.

THE BAIT.

Marcia crouched, huddled in the farthest corner of the cell, and

listened to the receding footsteps of the visitors. Then she heard new

sounds echoing through the house: the rushing feet of slaves descending

from their quarters, striving to gain their stations unobserved; the

sharp tongue of Calavius now loosed from the bonds of terror, and

rating them soundly for their unfaithfulness and cowardice; the patter

of excuses and protestations. In a few moments the quarters above

resounded with the shrieks and groans of those condemned to the lash;

for the wrath and indignation of Calavius, generally the mildest of

masters, were spurred to vindictive bitterness by a consciousness of

his late terror and abasement. "They were guilty of all crimes, and,

worst of all, of the rankest ingratitude. Let them learn that their

master was still strong enough to punish." So the scourges fell, and

the victims screamed and writhed.

All these things Marcia heard, but they meant little to a mind so full

of internal conflict as was hers. What was she to believe of herself?

Had she not marked out a course of self-devotion and sacrifice which

was to gain respite and safety for her country, revenge upon its

enemies? Had not others, notably Decius Magius, been forced

unwillingly to admit the possible efficiency of her plan? Yet now,

when the gods had shown her favour beyond all anticipation--had brought

the chosen quarry into her net--she had thrown all aside and yielded to

her womanly weakness, her instinct of modesty, her sense of personal

repulsion. What right had she to think of herself as a woman! He, for

whose love her sex had been dear to her, was gone--a pallid shade who

could no longer be sensitive to her beauty, a vague being sent far

hence into the land of the four rivers by these very men whom she had

devoted to destruction. What though the virtues that had beaten down

her resolves had been good once--good for Marcia the woman? They were

evil for that Marcia who had resolved to be a heroine, and who was now

learning how hard it is for the female to seek the latter crown without

losing the former. Again and again she struggled with herself, swayed

back and forth by the counter-currents of conflicting shames, until the

thought of death, as a final possibility, revived to steel her purpose.

The sacrifice and the shame would be short, and, in the consciousness

of her work accomplished, she could die, going before the lady

Proserpine with a pure heart that need not fear to meet the eyes of

Sergius when they should ask its secret.

Rising quickly, she hastened to her chamber by passages where she would

not be likely to meet her host. Whatever intentions he might have

entertained toward her had been effectually suspended, if not

obliterated, by the course of events, and now he was much too busy

setting in order his demoralized household to think of her presence.

Therefore, she reached her apartment unnoticed, and, summoning her

tirewomen, surrendered herself to the tedious process of adornment

according to the accepted taste of Magna Graecia.

The afternoon was spent, ere all had been finished. Then she ate

hurriedly and with little appetite, drinking deeply of the Lesbian wine

till her cheeks flushed through the rouge, and her eyes sparkled.

Calavius had gone out, busy about affairs of state, and eager to

collect the strained threads of his influence--threads that might be

strengthened by their very straining, in the hands of a politician who

realized how men were ready to grant every complaisance to one whom

they had deserved ill of and whose vengeance they feared. Marcia found

herself wondering whether Iddilcar would indeed return as he had said.

Perhaps her attitude had seemed to him so unfavourable that he would

strike first;--but when and how? Perhaps affairs of state detained him

also. Perhaps, even, this man, Hannibal, whose eye pierced through all

subterfuges, had already divined the danger and set himself to nullify

it. Perhaps--and then, as she was reclining in the larger dining hall,

one of the slaves entered and whispered in her ear. She rose quickly.

"Tell my lord that she whom he favours awaits him at the hemicycle in

the garden, and guide him to me."

She spoke, marvelling at her steady tones, and, turning, walked, with

drooping head, to the semicircular, marble seat;--not the single seat,

back amongst the foliage, where she had met Perolla; "the philosopher's

chair," as Calavius had called it laughingly, where his son retired to

commune with thoughts too great for men. Sinking down at one end of

the hemicycle, she studied the carved lion's head that ornamented the

arm-rest, and the paw, thrusting out from the side-support, upon the

pavement beneath. It troubled her that such wonderful handicraft had

not considered that the head was entirely out of proportion with the

paw; and yet, if the former were larger or the latter smaller, surely

they would not fit well in the places they were intended to ornament.

What a provoking dilemma, to be sure--and at such a time, for, glancing

suddenly up, she saw Iddilcar's dark, repulsive features bent upon her

with a terrible intentness. All her former loathing surged back over

her heart with tenfold force, sickening her with its suffocating weight.

"Light of the two eyes of Baal," he murmured softly. "Look kindly upon

thy servant. Smile upon his love, that thy light and his worship may

be eternal. Behold! for thee I cast aside the worship of the lord

Melkarth!"

He tore apart his long, violet tunic, showing his throat and bosom hung

with necklaces. His arms, bare to the shoulders, glittered with heavy

bracelets.

"Lo! the spoils of Italy assigned to my Lord I give to thee,"; and,

taking off necklace and bracelet, he knelt and piled them at her feet,

raising and parting his arms in the attitude of oblation.

Charmed as by a serpent, Marcia watched him with horrible disgust, yet

unable to turn her eyes aside.

"What is Tanis to thee!" he went on. "What, Ceres! What, Proserpine!

Ashera! Derceto!--goddesses afar from men--goddesses whom, not seeing,

we worship faintly with sacrifice and ceremony. But thou--thou shalt

dwell forever in the temple upon the Square of Melkarth. Come!"

Again, and in spite of every resolve, Marcia felt the overmastering

sense of woman's loathing that stood so obstinately between herself and

the rôle she had marked out. It was too much. She could not--could

not suffer this man for a moment, even with the release of swiftly

hastening death before her eyes. She struggled to her feet, groping

about, turning, and, with a stifled scream, she sought to fly; but her

strength refused her even this service.

In an instant, he was up and beside her; his hand had roughly grasped

her shoulder, half tearing away the cyclas; his little eyes blazed with

vindictive fury; his nostrils dilated; his coarse lips writhed in

hungry passion.

"Ah, slave! You would escape? Where? where? In this house? Ah,

fool! Could you not measure the comedy of this morning? Do you think

this old imbecile, this man condemned to follow his mouse-killing son,

can protect you from the meanest Nubian in the army? Do you

think--ah!" and he raised his hand, as if to strike.

Wrenching herself loose by a quick movement, Marcia turned and faced

him with all the blood of the Torquati flushing in her cheeks, all

their fire blazing in her eyes.

"Dog of a pulse-eater!" she cried, and he shrank back before the

vehemence of her tone. "Do I care what you do? Break your alliance

with these people if you wish--an alliance of fools with fools, knaves

with knaves! Break it, before it be cloven asunder for you by the

sword of Rome. Doubtless your chief will sacrifice all his plans to

your cowardly lust. Kill my protector, tear down his house, and--kill

me!--me, for whom there is neither sowing nor reaping in this matter."

All his arrogance and violence had vanished, cowed and crushed by her

outbreak; but, even as he cringed before her, the gleam of Oriental

cunning had taken its place.

"Ah! now, indeed, art thou more beautiful than the lady Tanis," he

muttered, clasping and unclasping his hands, as if in ecstasy. "Now,

indeed, do I love thee." His voice sank to a whisper, and he glanced

about timorously. "And so it is neither sowing nor reaping with you,

my pretty?" he went on. "Fools we may be, but not the fools to be

blind to your sowing--not the fools who shall not root up your seed

before the day of reaping. Did not you, a Roman, counsel Mago to

delay? Did you not, foolish one, even give such counsel at the banquet

of welcome to the schalischim, until I laughed in my cup to see a silly

girl who would cajole men of government and of war?"

Marcia stood, rigid and pale. All her plans seemed shivering about

her. She was doomed to fail then--fail after all, through the cunning

of these vermin. Still she struggled to retain her composure.

"Liar!" she said. "Do I not know that if you spoke truth I would

already be buried under hurdles weighted with stones?"

He laughed softly. "Why?" he asked. "What can you avail, coining lead

for us who perceive its falseness? Nay, you are even of use to

Hannibal, for, by your very eagerness, he has come to Maharbal's

thinking, that all must be done speedily, if we would take Rome. Even

now Capuans work night and day building our engines. Soon they will

set them up before your gates. We shall winter in Rome, as the guests

of the lady Marcia who has invited us. Therefore Hannibal grants you

life and to be a comfort to his friend and father, Pacuvius Calavius,

in his declining years;" and he laughed again, but harshly and

sneeringly.

Marcia could scarcely keep her feet under the crushing force of these

blows. In what vain manner had she, an inexperienced girl, blind to

all but a noble purpose, contended with men whose cunning had sufficed

to snare the chiefs of her people! Worse even, she had herself forged

the weapons for the destruction of all she had hoped to save. Iddilcar

watched her from under half-closed lids, noting every line of her face,

and reading its struggle and its despair.

"And so it is wisdom for us to march north at once?" he said softly.

"How do I know?--a woman?"

He smiled subtly and ignored the change of front he had wrested from

her.

"Love me, and I swear by the crown of Melkarth that Hannibal shall

winter in Capua."

She started, as if from the touch of fire. Had her ears heard words of

his, or was it only a belated thought coursing from her brain to her

heart?

He stepped nearer and spoke again:--

"Love me, pretty one, and Hannibal shall winter in Capua,--yea, though

he hangs on the cross for it,--though all the armies of Carthage become

food for dogs."

At first she had been dreaming of new snares; but these last words and

the vehemence of his tone brought her to an intuitive realization that

this man was indeed prepared to give up god, country, general,

friends,--all, so only that he might gratify his overmastering passion.

The gods were indeed with her, after all,--were guiding her aright; and

the knowledge steadied her self-control and strengthened her resolve.

What omen of favour could be more potent than this snatching of victory

out of the very hands of ruin--this moulding of ruin into a source of

victory?

So she spoke, calmly and evenly:--

"Perhaps you tell the truth, perhaps folly. How shall I know, any more

than I know of this power to command commanders, of which you make such

silly boast?"

"Not I---not I, lady," he protested eagerly. "Listen! It is the lord

Melkarth that has always loved the colonies of Phoenicia, first among

which is Carthage. It is he that has guided and guarded us through the

perils of the deep and of the desert, of the skies and of the earth, of

hunger and thirst, of beasts and men. What god equals him in our city!

What god receives such gifts, such incense, such sacrifices! What

though we fear Baal Moloch! Is it not the lord Melkarth whom we love?

It is he who goes before our armies, that he may tell them when to

attack, when to await the foe. I am his priest. Do you understand? I

have spoken his words many times. Now he shall speak mine."

Marcia could hardly fail to understand the nature of the power which

this man now proposed to lay at her feet; yet it all seemed horribly

impossible that he, a priest, could dare such sacrilege for such end.

Had she been Fabius, Paullus, or even Sergius,--men who were already

groping amid the Greek schools of doubt, and were coming to regard the

religion of the state more as an invaluable means of curbing the vices

of the low and ignorant than as a divine light for the learned,--had

she been such as these, this proposal of Iddilcar would have seemed

incredible only on account of its treason to his country. And yet, in

one sense, she was better fitted than they to understand the

Carthaginian. True scepticism had found little room under the mantle

of the gloomy, the terrible cult that swayed the destinies of the

Chanaanitish races. Even the priests, while they were ready enough to

use the people's faith to minister to their own ends, trembled before

their savage gods. Low, brutish, full of inconsistent wiles their

faith might be, but such faith it was as an educated Roman could with

difficulty comprehend. On the other hand, the minds of the women of

Rome had not as yet swerved from unquestioning belief in the gods

consulting and the gods apart, and the Torquati were most conservative

among all the great houses. From childhood up--and in years she was

scarcely more than a child--all these had been very real to her.

Pomona wandered through every orchard beside her beloved Vertumnus; Pan

and his sylvan brood sported behind the foliage of every copse. She

would as soon have thought of questioning their presence as of doubting

her own being. Marcia believed; the average Roman patrician affected

to believe and indulged in his polite, Hellenic doubts; the

Carthaginian priest, while he believed, with all Marcia's fervour, in a

theology to which Marcia's was tender as the divine fellowship of the

Phaeacians, yet conceived that it was entirely legitimate to play

tricks upon his fiend-gods--to pit his cunning against theirs. If they

caught him, perhaps they would laugh, perhaps consume him in the flames

of their wrath. It depended on their mood--whether they had dined

well, perhaps; and he would take his chances. He stood, now, toward

his deities, just where the heroes of Homer had stood centuries before.

He was a living evidence of the Asiatic birth of Greek theology--only,

in the Asian races, religious feeling was not religious thought, did

not arise from the mind or change, like the cults of Europe, as the

mind that evolved or adopted them developed and outgrew its offspring.

So it was that, while Marcia, but for her instinctive realization of

the truth, might have been utterly unable to credit the sincerity of

such prodigious wickedness, yet, armed with this intuition as a

starting-point, she sought for and found reasons to support it. The

purity of her own faith came to her aid. Perhaps the Punic gods were

mere demons, as they seemed to be, and Iddilcar knew it and relied for

protection upon the mightier gods of Rome. In a sense, she reasoned on

false premises, but her conclusion was, none the less, more accurate

than would have been that of either Paullus or Sergius. For the time,

at least, Iddilcar was entirely sincere. To be sure, if he could gain

his end by mere promises, he preferred to deceive Marcia rather than

Melkarth, but his plotting had not gotten so far as that yet. Now, his

fierce, Oriental nature was consuming with that passion which, in it,

took the place of all love. This Roman woman had aroused desires that

he had never known in the gardens of Ashera; her face was to the faces

of the courtesans who thronged the sacred woods on feast days, as the

glory of the crescent moon was to the sputter of the rancid oil in the

lamp that illumined the cell of Fancula Cluvia. Cunning beyond his

race, learned in the strange learning of the East that had come to a

few in Egypt and to fewer yet in Phoenicia, Iddilcar read the struggle

that was taking place in the girl's mind.

"What do I care for Hannibal!" he cried; "for the Great Council! for

Carthage! I would give them all to you for one kiss. To him who has

learned all secret knowledge, the mind alone is God and city and home

and friends,--everything, everything save love," and his voice, harsh,

and strident, sank to a whisper in which was compassed all the

fierceness of ungoverned and ungovernable desire.

Marcia knew, now, that he was speaking the truth; that he would indeed

stop at nothing; and, with the certainty, there came to her a strange

mingling of exultation, terror, and calm. She saw this man, powerful

with the power of the conqueror, learned with the learning of the

student and of the ascetic, grovelling here at her feet--slave to a

force against which no power, no philosophy could avail. She saw him

crawl to her and press her robe to his lips; she heard him mumbling and

whining like some animal, and she despised him and grew stronger in the

light of her growing self-esteem. At last she spoke.

"It is well. I have listened and determined. Yes, you are right. I

have wished that the army should not march north; I have wished that it

should winter in Campania. I am a Roman; why should I not wish it?

You say you can accomplish this. Do so, and you shall have your

reward."

Iddilcar sprang to his feet and threw out his arms to draw her to him;

the breath came from his chest in short gasps; his eyes were suffused

with tears through which he saw something glitter; and his hands,

clutching and unclutching, caught only air. Then his arms fell to his

sides; he paused and looked stupidly at her. She had sprung back and

was facing him defiantly with a short dagger raised to strike.

"Not so soon, slave," she said, and her voice rang in his ears like

steel. "He who would reap must first sow."

"You do not love me," he said sheepishly, gnashing his teeth because he

knew the foolishness of his words, and yet could say no others.

She laughed; then her face grew sober.

"No," she said; "I do not love you. Why should I? We love those who

serve us well--"

"Ah! but I have promised," he broke in. "I am giving you everything."

"I want but one thing," she said, while the lines of her mouth

hardened; "and, for that, I take no promise."

He lowered his head to avoid the straight flash of her eyes.

"It is I, then, who must trust--always I," he muttered. "How do I know

you will give yourself when I earn you?--how do I know you will not

kill yourself with that dagger? for you hate me," and then, with sudden

fierceness; "why should I not take my own? What hinders me?"

"This," said Marcia, touching the point with her finger.

Iddilcar shuddered.

"Listen now," she began, "and be reasonable. I have named my price,

and you have said it is not too much. Why speak of love or hate? Earn

me and take me."

"Yes," he echoed; for he was braver when his eyes studied the pavement;

"why speak of love or hate? It is you I want--your kisses, your

embraces. Who shall say that hatred may not flavour them better even

than love?" and he sneered. "Ah! but how shall I know?"

"I am a Roman, and I have promised. Fulfil your Punic word as well,

and I swear you shall have your pay, so surely,"--and then the memory

of another day, happier, but oh! so bitterly regretted, came to her

mind,--"so surely as Orcus sends not the dead back from Acheron. Now

go."

He drew back, step by step, still facing her, longing to rebel, yet not

daring, cringing, skulking like a whipped cur. He reached the end of

the path; the entrance to the garden was behind him. He raised his

clenched hand to the heavens. "Ah, Melkarth!" burst from his lips,

and, turning, he plunged into the house, running.

Marcia listened eagerly to the fall of his sandals. They died away,

and the distant door creaked. Tears filled her eyes, and, shivering in

every muscle, she sank down upon the seat and buried her face in her

hands.

X.

MELKARTH.

Two moons had waxed and waned; Pacuvius Calavius had dined in his

winter triclinium for the first time this year, and Marcia was

rejoicing at the omen. She watched her host, as he lay back upon his

couch, and noted with pity the change that had come over him. When he

had greeted her coming, he had seemed not very much past middle age--a

brisk man, well preserved in mind and body. Now he was old--very

old--and the pallor and wrinkles were prominent through the flush of

the wine and the paint with which he strove to hide them. Even his

ambition was dead; he hardly sought the Senate House, but, stopping

within doors, maundered querulously and unceasingly to Marcia, to his

servants, to any one who would listen to him, of the blunders that were

being made, and of how war and negotiations should be conducted,

speaking always as a man for whom such things had no personal interest.

The diadem of Italy that had once blinded his eyes to good faith and

oaths of alliance, had melted away in the flames of the pyre that

consumed his son. As for Marcia, she had come to regard him with

something of that indulgent consideration which we feel for the aged

and infirm. His former attitude toward herself, which had filled her

with contempt and disgust, had vanished utterly, and, in its place, was

a fatherly kindness that had now no nearer object upon which to lavish

itself. As for the household, what little discipline had once

pertained, was gone. The slaves were no longer punished, and,

slavelike, they presumed upon their master's gentleness or

indifference. They pilfered right and left; they neglected duties and

orders; until, at last, a large measure of the care of her host and his

house devolved upon Marcia alone; and Marcia, also, had softened and

grown kindlier, and was as slow to ask for punishments as was Calavius

to decree them. They seemed like two who were awaiting death, and

would not add to the measure of human misery, knowing, from their own,

how great this was.

"Let them enjoy a false freedom for a few days longer," said Calavius.

"Soon we shall be gone, and then--who knows? I have no heirs, and the

state may not deal so kindly with them." Strangely enough, he seemed

always to assume Marcia's coming death along with his own; and when she

gazed into her mirror, its story moulded well with that reflected in

the mirror of her thoughts.

She had grown thin--very thin--and pale, and her eyes burned, large and

luminous, as with the fires of fever. Her lips, too, were redder even

than when the blood had tinted them with hues of more perfect vigour.

Hannibal had continued to preserve the attitude of respectful

consideration which had marked his demeanour on that day of which they

never spoke. He still greeted Calavius as, "father," when he came to

ask about his health, and on the days when he did not come, he sent

some Carthaginian of rank, generally Iddilcar, to make courteous

inquiries in his stead.

Calavius, on the other hand, complained continuously of the

schalischim's delay, and Hannibal listened with downcast face, frowning

to himself, and made no answer except that he was the servant of the

gods. Marcia's presence he entirely ignored. Still, he spent little

of his time in Capua, and of this Calavius was now speaking.

"Truly did you note the news we have received to-day, my daughter? Two

of the new engines destroyed before Casilinum!--Casilinum, forsooth!--a

paltry village, against which the Capuan children would hardly deign to

march! It is Rome--Rome--Rome that calls--and this great general, this

conqueror, sits down before Nuceria, Acerrae, Nola, Casilinum. Soon,

mark me," and his eyes gleamed prophetic, "Rome will sit down before

Capua: and then, receive thou me, O Death, who art my friend and

well-wisher!"

Marcia wondered at this vehemence, so different from his manner through

all these weeks.

"But the omens, my father," she said, after a moment's pause. "I have

heard that the gods of Carthage forbid the march north. Perhaps they

fear to contend with the gods of Rome at the foot of their own hills."

"Tush! girl," exclaimed Calavius, impatiently. "Who does not know that

the gods say such words as their thievish priests filch from them.

Mark now this fellow that comes from the captain-general. Do you not

see how the fingers of his left hand clutch and unclutch? Were

Hannibal to crucify him and a few like, his gods might utter more

favouring responses. Meanwhile, our engines that should thunder at

your Capenian Gate are consumed before mud heaps; and who knows but all

the time some tree grows stouter that it may bear the weight of this

Hannibal, the slave of gods that should be taught their place and their

duties."

Marcia, despite her complicity, listened, shuddering, to these

sacrilegious words; and, mingled with her shrinking from a philosophy

that dared to talk of the immortals as mere means to be used or cast

aside as human ends might dictate, was a terror lest similar reasoning

should at last find place in Hannibal's mind and thus bring to naught

her aims and her sacrifices. It was easy to see how the general chafed

at the unwonted delay, and with what willingness he listened when

another spoke the words which he himself dared not utter.

Calavius had but just finished his tirade when they both turned at a

slight noise and saw Iddilcar standing in the entrance of the room.

How long he had been there--what he had heard, neither knew, but his

face wore the subtle smile which, though well-nigh native to its lines,

yet seemed always to bear some hidden import.

"The favour of Melkarth and of the Baalim be with you!" he said softly.

"Your servants, my Pacuvius, are not over-well trained. There was no

offer to bear word of my coming--no offer of attendance. The porter

hardly deigned to swing the door for me."

Marcia, knowing Iddilcar as she did, was prompt to take this speech in

the light of an explanation of his eavesdropping; but the once sharp

intelligence of Calavius had been too much deadened to search for

secondary meanings.

"I am an old man, priest," he said querulously. "Why should I leave

stripes and crying behind me?"

Iddilcar shrugged his shoulders. "That may be," he replied, "but if we

had such servants as yours in Carthage we should send their shades

ahead of us."

He had indeed deftly parried any attack or inquiry. Then, suddenly,

and of his own accord, he turned back to strike.

"And so you have been condemning the piety of the schalischim? the

integrity of the college of priests? the truth of the gods themselves,

for aught I know? Have a care!"--he was lashing himself into a

fury--"I have listened to your words. If I reported them, how long

before you would both be sent to Carthage to keep comradeship with that

terrible fellow, Decius Magius? Have care! have care lest the gods

strike through me, their servant. Nevertheless the gods are merciful

to those who bring offerings--peace-offerings of gold and jewels and

raiment and spices. Come, what will you give me that I smother their

wrath--I, Iddilcar, your friend, whom you speak ill of behind his

back--whom you hate---yes, both of you;" and his eyes flashed at Marcia

with a strange recklessness that she had never seen in them.

Wondering and terrified, she listened to his outburst of rage, but

Calavius heard it calmly, and answered, without troubling himself to

probe its import.

"You shall have a talent of silver and such jewels as you choose," he

said, rising. "I will go and give the orders."

"Orders!" sneered the other; but to Marcia it seemed that the word and

look covered suspicion at the ready acquiescence of the Capuan.

"Then I will go with you and see that these orders are obeyed. Come;

ah!--" and he turned to Marcia; "and will you be here when I return? I

wish to speak with you."

She inclined her head, still wondering, and when they had left the room

her wonder deepened. Surely a change had taken place. A Carthaginian

was always said to love money, but for Iddilcar to seek to obtain it by

such crude and violent means, from a man whom his general professed to

honour and protect, seemed to augur something of which she knew not.

Either Hannibal's protection was to be, for some reason, withdrawn, or

else?--but what else could embolden the priest to such license? The

look, too, with which he had regarded herself! She had restrained him

with some difficulty during the past months, but now she felt

instinctively that her control had vanished. Even violence seemed

near; for that Iddilcar could be fool enough to dream that his mere

repetition of the words he had listened to, would enrage Hannibal, she

did not for a moment believe. The general had heard the same from

Calavius, face to face, and had only frowned and bit his lips behind

his beard, as if feeling their justice. What, then, could have

happened?

"Ah! you are still here."

She looked up quickly, and saw that the priest had returned alone. He

went on, speaking quickly and nervously, but in low tones:--

"The time has come. And so you were thinking, thinking of what? Was

it rejoicing that Tanis was to give you to me so soon?" and he showed

his teeth, like a dog. "Listen: they suspect me. I have done all as

you wished, but there was a council to-day in the camp before

Casilinum, and Maharbal fell on his knees, as he did after Cannae, and

begged to march north,--not with the cavalry alone, as then; he knew it

was too late for that: and the schalischim knit his brows and frowned.

Then Hasdrubal and Karthalo added their prayers and pleadings,

gathering around him, and then he turned his sombre face to me, and

asked if it was permitted; but, before I could answer, for my mind was

disturbed, that animal whom they call, 'The Fighter' had drawn his

sword and held it over my head, crying out: 'Yes, friends, it is

permitted--see! It is permitted;' and then I felt myself grow pale,

and I heard the great beast laugh. A moment later and Hannibal had

ordered him to put up his sword, and I saw Maharbal whispering quick

words in the general's ear, among which it seemed to me that his lips

formed your name. Again, Hannibal asked: 'Is it permitted, Iddilcar?

or what sacrifice will your lord have from us? Have we not served him

faithfully? Is there aught he wishes?' and I felt all their eyes on

me; but, above all, were yours that were soon to smile. Therefore I

took courage, which the lord Melkarth granted, and spoke boldly,

explaining that I had as yet been able to win no favour, though I had

prayed long and fasted and lashed myself with thongs, whereupon

Hannibal-the-Fighter made as if to tear off my mantle, laughing in his

beard; and when I saw they did not believe me, my terror came back.

Then it was that Melkarth shed wisdom upon his servant, and, after a

moment's thought, I spoke up, thus:--

"'Listen, lords,' I said; 'I am a native Carthaginian, like you all,

and I reverence the gods. Howbeit it may chance that here, beyond the

sea, it is not so easy to win their favour, so that they shall go

before us. New and strange sacrifices and pleadings wherein I am

untaught may be needed to pierce the denser ether of this land. Truly,

lords, as ye have not failed in piety, neither have I erred in

divination, for Melkarth has spoken many times, telling me of the

unnumbered woes that would overwhelm the army if it marched upon Rome

unbidden, and he hath spoken truth, and I have saved you to revile me

for it--only I would learn if there be yet speech better fitted to his

ear.' I paused, and they were silent, wondering. Then I spoke on:

'Grant me, lords, three days, that I may journey to Cumae; for I have

heard that a woman dwells there, wise in the ways of the gods, and, if

I bear her rich presents, it may happen that she will teach me the

words that shall pierce this dull air, even to where Baal-Melkarth sits

enthroned in Mappalia, that he may grant all your wishes.' So I

crossed my arms upon my breast, and, bowing my head, listened. 'At

Cumae?' growled Jubellius Taurea, who sat near me, 'say, rather, at the

house of Pacuvius Calavius,' and I felt myself trembling, for then I

knew surely that I had heard Maharbal aright, and that I was suspected.

Still, I stood fast, and at last Hannibal spoke: 'Go to Cumae for three

days,' he said sternly. 'Take what you wish--one talent, two, three;

only bring back the words that shall win favour;' and Hasdrubal added:

'And harken! lord; if you win not favour, we shall yet march, and

peradventure you shall come with us--if they drive not the nails too

deep;' but there was an outcry at this, for they trembled lest Melkarth

should smite them, and Hasdrubal spoke again, grumbling: 'Ah, masters,

you have not seen soldiers as I have seen them, becoming bloated with

wine and food, and soft in the arms of courtesans;' but Hannibal

interrupted him, crying out to me again: 'Go!--go! There is little

time for the march, and it may be we are already too late. Go and do

all things so that the lord, Baal-Melkarth, shall favour us.' So I

went out, and, having taken their talents, I am here. This old sheep

has disgorged another talent together with gems. Therefore come now

and we shall escape hence."

Marcia saw a dimness before her, amid which his jewels and bracelets

and earrings seemed to mingle strange glancings with the fires that

burned in his eyes. At last she faltered:--

"But your work?--it is not finished. How shall I know?--if I go with

you?--"

The rings on his hand were sinking deep into her wrist; his lips were

close to her ear.

"Ah! you will not go? You will play with me--deceive me? Listen now.

To-morrow I shall be here with horses and money--in the morning--very

early--before light; and you will go like a little bird that is tamed.

These days will give us time to gain more, if more be needed. Look! I

have hazarded all. Shall I lose my reward now because my work be

unfinished by ever so little? It may be that, having gone, I shall not

return. Do you think I will leave you here to laugh at me? You will

go, or, to-morrow, Baal-Melkarth shall speak the word, and, before

midday, Hannibal shall give orders to march to Rome. Why do you think

I have gathered this wealth? Look! I have risked all for it, and you

shall not escape."

Exhausted by his rapid vehemence, he stood back, breathing hard and

trying to smile.

"Ah! moon of Tanis, you will come," he murmured, holding out his arms.

"We shall escape to Sicily--to Greece--to Egypt--to the far East. We

shall be rich with the spoils of fools--"

A slight scraping noise came to their ears, and both started. Iddilcar

sprang swiftly to the entrance of the room, but the lamp in the hall

had gone out, and his eyes saw nothing in the darkness. Uncertain what

to do, he looked back to where Marcia stood, pale and rigid. His voice

and hands trembled as he repeated in a loud whisper:--

"You will come? You will be ready?"

"Yes," she said, "I will come;" but she did not look at him, as she

spoke, only she caught the triumphant gleam of his eyes; a thousand

weird lights seemed to whirl around her, and she felt herself sinking.

It seemed, for a moment, as if a slave in a gray tunic was supporting

her, and then all consciousness fled.

XI.

THE SLAVE.

It was an hour past midnight, when Marcia first knew the agony of

returning reason. The gong in the Forum had just struck. Where was

she? Surely in her own apartment! How had she come there? Then,

slowly, the memory of yesterday grew clear--the awful duty of

to-morrow. With eyelids fast shut, as if dreading to open them to the

darkness, she buried her throbbing temples beneath the rich Campanian

coverlid. She could still see the eyes of Iddilcar gleaming wolfish

amid his jewels; could see him standing in the doorway, as he turned

from that startled rush in pursuit of what had been, doubtless, only a

whisper of their imaginations. He had said he would come for

her--before daybreak--and she must be ready. Later, she could approach

death with suppliant hands, but now she must be ready. Her life was

not her own yet. It was her country's. Later, the shade of Lucius

would beckon. Surely he would forgive her for having avenged him. But

how had she reached her room? Had it been Calavius or the slaves who

had found her? did they suspect? Then she remembered the man who had

seemed to catch her as she fell. Where could Iddilcar have been then?

Had he hurried away? probably enough. Again a slight scratching noise,

as of some one softly changing his position,--like the sound which had

startled the priest, came to her ears. Ah, protecting gods! what was

true, and what but dreams? Her whole life was passing before her,

phantasmagorial and unreal. Surely some one was present! She _felt_

it. Had Iddilcar come already? The horror of the thought gave her

courage, and, thrusting down the coverlid, she opened her eyes

defiantly and tried to pierce the darkness. Nothing was visible, but

she knew she was not alone, and, leaning upon one elbow, she reached

out, groping.

Suddenly a hand grasped hers, a strong, bony hand, gripping it tightly,

and by its very energy commanding silence. It seemed strange to her

that she did not scream, but then she had known that she would find

some one, and had the hand been Iddilcar's, she would certainly have

realized it by the loathing in her soul. For her, now, all other men

had become friends. Therefore she was not frightened, did not cry

out--rather it was a soothing sense of companionship that came to

her--almost of reliance. Why had this man come?--perhaps to help her;

surely not to injure. Who was he? man or god? Gods had appeared to

those of olden times, when the Republic was young, and Romans

worshipped, believing. She felt very brave--fearless.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

"I am a slave," answered a voice. "I brought you here, and I am

watching."

It was a voice that, while it rang hard, yet had in it an assurance of

protection--even of power, and it thrilled her as with some familiar

memory. Nevertheless she could not place its owner in the household.

Calavius had many slaves; a few of them had been free-born, and some,

perhaps, might even have known a measure of social standing, before the

turn of war or of financial fortunes had lost them to home and position.

"Who are you?" she asked again.

"I am a new servant," said the other. "Pacuvius Calavius bought me

yesterday in the Street of the Whitened Feet."

She was silent a moment, trying hard to think; she felt the man's hand

trembling, and then, suddenly realizing, she drew her own away.

"And yet you are going to-morrow with this beast--this animal!" said

the voice, bitterly.

Startled again by the tone and accent, no less than by the words, she

burst out:--

"Ah! why do you say that?--but you do not know, and I cannot tell you.

Yes, you are right. I am going away to-morrow. I am--a courtesan.

What then?"

"By the gods! no!" he cried, and she heard him spring to his feet.

Then, lowering his voice, "If I thought _that_, I would kill you."

"You would only forestall my own blow," she said quietly, and there was

new silence.

At last he spoke again.

"Tell me all of this matter. You are safe. I am a Roman."

"A Roman--and a slave?"

"And a slave. Tell me the truth quickly."

The voice sounded weak and hollow now, but still strangely familiar.

She began her story, speaking in a low monotone.

"I am Marcia, daughter of Titus Manlius Torquatus. I loved, and yet I

drove my lover from me, and he was killed on the black day of Cannae.

Then the Senate feared lest the enemy should advance to Rome--prayed

for the winter--for time. And I was beautiful, and I had no love, save

for the king, Orcus. So the thought came to me that by my

blandishments I might win power with these people, and, by power,

delay, and, by delay, safety for Rome--and revenge for my lord, Lucius.

Therefore I journeyed to Capua. You see that I have played my

part--that I have won? Tomorrow I go to pay the price. What matters

it? Then I can die."

He had listened in silence; only she heard his breath coming hard, and,

a moment after she had finished, he spoke:--

"No--you cannot die--not thus. _I_ have died--once, yet I live.

Listen! I, like the lover you tell of, was slain at Cannae, pierced

through by javelins, and I lay with the dead heaped above me--ah! so

many hours--days, perhaps--I do not know; until the slave-dealers,

passing among the corpses, found me breathing, and wondered at my

strength, auguring a good value. Therefore they took me, and when I

was well of my wounds they brought me here--to Capua, and sold me to

Pacuvius Calavius--to whom may the gods give the death of a traitor!

Lo! now, let it be for a warning that Orcus does indeed send back the

dead from Acheron."

He leaned forward, as he spoke the words, and there came to Marcia a

sudden memory of two occasions when she had used the ancient

saying--the colloquial "never" of Rome. Once it had bound her to

Iddilcar, and once, far back, in happier times, it had parted her

forever from Sergius. Tears rolled down her cheeks. A dim light

seemed to be creeping into the room--very dim, but as her eyes grew dry

again, she could begin to trace the outlines of her companion sitting

on a low stool beside her couch. Surely those were footsteps in the

hall--yes, footsteps--and the approaching light of a lamp.

Marcia's heart stood still. The slave had started from his seat and

drawn far back in the darkest corner of the room; then the curtains

were pushed cautiously aside, and the tall form of Iddilcar stood

revealed by the light of the small, silver lamp he bore in his hand. A

long, dark mantle enveloped him from head to foot.

"Come," he said, speaking sharply but in low tones; and, holding the

lamp above his head, he tried to peer into the apartment. "Come; it

will soon be light. Ah! you have not arisen? No matter; I have

another cloak, and we must not delay. The slaves are well bribed, and

Calavius sleeps soundly--forever. My horses, good horses, are in the

street; a few moments and we gain the gate. The schalischim's own ring

is on my finger, and the seal of the Great Council shall win us egress.

_You_ are my slave: that is how you shall go with me--and I accept the

omen."

He laughed low and harshly, and Marcia shuddered, thinking of her host

lying slain--by his false slaves?--by the order of Hannibal?--no,

rather by the hand or plotting of this wretch who now called her,

"slave."

"Come, come quickly, Romanus," he said, mimicking the Latin

nomenclature of foreign slaves. At the same time he took a step

forward into the room and let the curtains fall behind him. "Come, or

I shall have to order the rods to those white shoulders. That would

be--"

And then a shadow seemed to glide forward from the corner half behind

him. For a moment a stream of lamplight fell upon a white, set face

behind the Carthaginian's shoulder--a face that was indeed from the

land of the four rivers; an arm was lashed around the priest's neck,

and, while Marcia stared spellbound at the shade that had come back to

save her, the lamp fell from Iddilcar's hand,--and then she lay still

and listened to the furious struggle that ensued, the scuffling of feet

upon the marble floor, the breathing that came and went in short, quick

gasps. Now it seemed that both fell together; but not in victory or

defeat, for the noises told of continuing combat; no words, only the

horrible sound of writhing and of hard-drawn breath.

Breaking at last from the bonds of dazed wonder, she glided from the

couch, groping for the fallen lamp. She must _see_. She must _know_.

Then she remembered the room-lamp that stood on a stand by the bed, and

began to feel her way toward it. The grating of metal against metal

came to her ears, followed by a low exclamation and a sharp "Ah!"

gasped exultantly; then came the sound of two fierce blows.

She had found the lamp now, and was trying to strike a light. The

victory was still undecided, though the combatants seemed to groan with

each breath they drew. At last the wick caught the spark, and the

mellow light and the odour of perfumed oil began slowly to fill the

room. A statuette or vase came crashing to the floor, and, raising the

lamp high above her head, she threw its light upon the struggling men.

For a moment she could make out nothing except a dark mass at her feet.

Then she caught the glitter of a weapon, and at last her eyes grasped

something of the situation.

Iddilcar was undermost. She could see his black, curling beard that

seemed matted and ragged now, while the Roman--the man who bore the

face of the dead Sergius--was extended upon him, grasping, with both

hands, the Carthaginian's wrists. It was the latter who held the blade

that had glittered--a long Numidian dagger, but the hold upon his

wrists prevented his using it, and the Roman dared not release either

hand to wrench it away. There were bruises, too, on Iddilcar's

face--the blows of fists; but the blood on the floor told of some other

wound, doubtless the Roman's, inflicted before he could restrain the

hand that dealt it. Now, neither seemed able to accomplish further

injury, until the strength of one should fail; and if it was her

protector's blood that was flowing?--the thought was ominous. Neither

dared to cry out, for the aid that might come was too doubtful, and,

besides, they needed to husband all the air their lungs could gain.

Marcia saw these things and thought them clearly, quickly, and in

order. Her mind seemed to grow as strangely calm as if busied in

selecting some shade of wool for her distaff. She reached down and, by

a quick movement, twisted the dagger from the stiffened, weary fingers

of the Carthaginian. A cry burst from him--the first since the

triumphant "Ah!" that had doubtless come from his lips when he used the

weapon, a few moments since. He writhed furiously, and Marcia stood,

holding the dagger in her hand, hesitating rather through dread of

injuring this new Sergius that had arisen to aid her.

The Roman, however, seeing himself freed from the necessity of guarding

against the sharp point that had menaced him, now suddenly released the

wrists of his adversary, and, grasping him by the throat, he lifted his

head several times, and struck it violently against the pavement. The

Carthaginian groaned, and his hold relaxed for a moment. Then, tearing

himself free, and with one hand still gripping the throat of the

prostrate man, the Roman raised his body, and, turning toward Marcia,

reached out for the dagger. With eyes fixed wonderingly on his, she

gave it to him, as if only half conscious of her act.

Again the scene changed. Less helpless than he had seemed, and with

staring eyes, before which death danced, Iddilcar gathered all his

remaining strength for one last, despairing effort, wrenched himself

loose, and staggered to his feet.

Then Marcia saw Sergius, for she knew now it was indeed he, saw him

throw himself forward on his knees, and, catching Iddilcar about the

hips, plunge the blade into his side.

The priest shrieked once, as he felt the point, and struggled furiously

to escape, raining blows upon the other's head and shoulders. Again

the long dagger rose and fell, piercing the man's entrails. Gods!

would he never fall?--and still he maintained his footing, but now his

hands beat only the air, and his struggles became agonized writhings.

Sergius' grip about his hips had never loosened, and the dagger rose

and fell a third time. Iddilcar groaned long and deeply and sank down

in a heap, carrying his slayer with him.

XII.

FLIGHT.

Slowly Sergius disengaged himself from the death grip that entangled

him, and, rising, turned to where Marcia stood. Still holding the

lighted lamp above her head and peering forward, she gazed into his

eyes with a look wherein wonder and terror were mingled with awakening

joy.

"Who are you?" she faltered at last; "you who come as a slave, bearing

the face of a shade?"

"I _am_ a shade," he answered; "one sent back by Orcus--by the hand of

Mercury, to save a Roman woman from dishonour."

"Oh, my lord Lucius!" she cried, falling upon her knees and holding out

her hands toward him. "Truly it was not dishonour to avenge you, to

save the Republic; but if it were, then may your manes pity and forgive

me. There, now, is the dagger. Take it and use it, so that I, too,

may be your companion when you return to the land that owns you. I

love you, Lucius; the laughter of the old days has passed. Surely a

woman who is about to die may say to the dead words which a girl might

not say to her lover for the shame of them. I love you--I love you.

Take me before the maiden, Proserpine, that she may show us favour--to

your land--"

The lamp fell from her hand; she felt herself raised suddenly from the

pavement, and strained hard against a bosom that rose and fell with all

the pulsations of life and love. Frightened, wondering, she struggled

faintly, while kisses warm and human fell upon her brow, her eyes, her

lips.

"Marcia, little bird, dearest, purest, best," murmured a voice close to

her ear; "yes, you shall go with me to my land, and that land is Rome."

Still she trembled in his arms, not daring to believe.

"Wait," he said. Then, releasing her for a moment, he regained the

fallen lamp, relighted it and placed it in its niche, facing her again

with arms outspread.

"Look well; am I not indeed Lucius Sergius--once pierced and worn with

wounds, but now well and strong to fight or love? The tale I told you

was true. It was my tale--the saving of one Roman from the slaughter

of her legions."

She drew closer and looked again into his eyes.

"Yes," she said, and in her voice the joy began to sweep away all other

feelings; "yes, you are indeed Lucius Sergius Fidenas--man, not shade--"

But, taking her hand, he interrupted:--

"Do you not remember the omen, my Marcia? how you said you would love

me when Orcus should send back the dead from Acheron? how I accepted

it? how the gods have brought all about, as was most to their honour

and my joy?--for now you have indeed said that you love me."

She placed her free hand upon his shoulder saying:--

"And that which I, Marcia, daughter of Titus Manlius Torquatus, have

said unto the shade, that say I to the living Lucius Sergius. Take me,

love; for where thou art Caius, there shall I be Caia."

Once again he took her in his arms and kissed her upon the lips, long

and tenderly. Then she drew herself back.

"You are wounded?" she said anxiously. "Forgive me that I forgot.

Truly I forget all things, now--in this wonder and joy."

Sergius laughed.

"He pricked me--in the thigh, I think, but not deeply. The gods have

brought me so close to the shades that I am enough akin to them not to

heed little hurts."

But she had seized the lamp and was examining his injury--a flesh wound

that, while it had bled freely, yet seemed to have avoided the larger

muscles and blood-vessels.

"Did I not tell you?" he said reassuringly, as she rose from her knee.

"A close bandage so that it will not bleed--that is all we shall want,

for my strength must remain with me yet a little while, if we would

truly go to Rome and not to the realms of the dead."

She said nothing, but, tearing strips from her stole, proceeded deftly

to bind them around the leg.

"Agathocles himself could not do better--nay, I doubt Aesculapius--"

but she rose again quickly and placed her finger upon his lips.

"It is the gods who have saved us to each other. Do not make them

angry, lest they withdraw their favour. I am ready to follow you, my

lord Lucius."

Standing erect, he raised both hands in invocation.

"A shrine to Venus the Preserver!--to Apollo the Healer!"

Then, stooping quickly, he drew the long, dark robe of Iddilcar from

where it lay entangled about the legs of the corpse. Fortunately it

had slipped down from the Carthaginian's shoulders early in the

struggle; perhaps he had tried to free himself from it; perhaps it had

been partly torn away; but, in either event, it had fallen where it

must have hampered his movements even more seriously, and where it was

less stained with his blood than might have been expected.

Sergius threw it over his own tattered, blood-stained garments,

striving to hide the rents, and raising it high about his neck so as to

conceal his face as much as possible. Meanwhile, Marcia, having bound

on her sandals, had of her own accord donned the mantle Iddilcar had

brought for her, and which had fallen by the door of the apartment.

Then, gathering up her long, thick hair, she confined it close above

her head, drawing down upon it the hat that lay beside the cloak--a

broad-brimmed Greek petasus, admirably adapted for concealment as well

as protection.

"I am ready," she said eagerly. "Let us make haste."

Sergius was stooping over the dead man, searching for something.

"It is the ring," he said; "the ring with the seal of the Great Council

of which he spoke. How else should we pass the guard at the gate?"

A moment later he rose, and, going to the light, examined carefully the

several rings taken from the priest's-fingers.

One by one they dropped and rolled away over the floor. The last only

remained, and Marcia, looking over his shoulder, saw a heavy, gold

signet bearing the device of a horse under a palm tree.

"Come now," he said, taking her hand. He had thrust the long knife of

Iddilcar into the girdle of his tunic, and this was their only weapon.

So, leading Marcia, he quickly traversed the halls and courts and

gained the door, which hung ajar and unattended. Outside, a company of

five men were gathered, all mounted. Two were apparently soldiers, a

sort of guard; the rest were servants. Heavy looking packages were

bound, behind them, on their horses' backs, doubtless the money which

Iddilcar had gotten, while two extra animals, saddled and bridled, were

held in waiting.

The heart of Sergius leaped as he noted the fine, small heads and

slender, muscular legs that marked the Asian stock of their mounts.

Iddilcar had provided well for all emergencies; but Sergius felt some

anxiety lest a chance glimpse of his face might lead to detection. The

sky in the east was already beginning to lighten, and there were more

men of the escort than he had anticipated. Speech would be fatal;

therefore he strode quickly out, took the bridle of one of the horses

from the man who held it, and swung himself upon its back. To assist

Marcia could not be done without exciting suspicion, and he ground his

teeth when she tried to follow his example, and one of the servants

laughed and pushed her roughly into the saddle. Then they rode on, and

the others followed, whispering together.

He had muffled his face a trifle too closely, perhaps, and he had

mounted the horse standing, whereas all knew that the Cappadocians were

trained to kneel at the word. Therefore the men of the escort

wondered, though they hardly ventured to suspect.

Marcia felt, rather than noted, their attitude, and Sergius, glancing

toward her, saw that she was trembling. He urged his horse faster

toward the gate that opened upon the Appian Way; boldness and speed

were all that could save them. Suddenly the gate loomed up, gray and

massive, in the mist of the early morning. Several soldiers lounged

forward from the guardhouse, whence came the rattle of dice and the

shrill laughter of a woman. Sergius showed his ring and said nothing,

while Marcia came close to him, shivering, for the morning air was

chill and biting. Their followers had drawn rein, and were gathered in

a little clump several spear-lengths behind.

Meanwhile the soldiers, Spaniards they seemed, were gazing stupidly at

the device on the seal and making irrelevant comments. It was evident

that their night had been spent among the wineskins, and that a new

danger menaced.

Summoning what Punic he knew, Sergius leaned forward and asked in a low

but stern voice to see their officer. Fortunately his own followers

were too far away to hear his words, and drunken Iberians would not be

critical as to a faulty Punic accent.

Still they hesitated, chattered together, and stared, but at last one

who seemed more sober than the rest reeled away to the guard-house,

and, after some delay and evident persuasion, emerged again with a

young officer whose moist, hanging lips and filmy eyes showed that he,

too, had been dragged from the pursuit of pleasure. Helmetless and

with loosened corselet, every detail of his appearance told the story

of relaxed discipline.

"What do you want? at this hour?" he said thickly, ambling forward and

leaning heavily upon the shoulder of his scarcely more steady guide.

Again Sergius held out the ring, and the man, being a native

Carthaginian, recognized it through the mist of his intoxication, and,

throwing himself at full length, touched the earth with his forehead.

"What do you wish?" he said, rising and standing, somewhat sobered by

the presence of such authority.

"Open the gate. I ride under orders of the schalischim," said the

Roman, again speaking low and rapidly.

The officer turned and shouted to his men, and several ran to unbar the

gate with such speed as their condition warranted. The other occupants

of the guard-house were now grouped at the door, five men, half armed,

and two dishevelled women with painted faces and flower-embroidered

pallas.

The gate swung slowly on its hinges.

"The light of the Baals be with you, friend!" exclaimed Sergius, and he

and Marcia rode through, with hearts beating madly. Voices raised in

discussion made them turn in their saddles. In his drunken stupidity,

the Carthaginian officer was trying to detain their escort and

servants. "The master had said nothing about them. How did he know

they belonged to the same party?" Then all began gesticulating and

shouting to Sergius for help and explanation.

Here was an unforeseen incident, and the mind of the young Roman viewed

it rapidly in all its lights. On the one side, he would be relieved of

an awkward following that might at any moment begin to suspect him; on

the other hand to leave these in the lurch would be to invite prompt

suspicion. Still, they were fifty yards or more in advance, their

horses were good, and more space would be gained before the tangle at

the gate could be straightened out; therefore he waved his arm, as if

making some signal, and, turning again in his saddle, rode on, but

without increasing his speed.

Louder shouts followed him, for, as he had intended, his gesture had

proved unintelligible. Then, when they saw he did not stop, the cries

ceased suddenly and an animated chattering came to his ears. Here was

suspicion trying to make itself understood and, at last, succeeding,

for, as Sergius glanced back once more to note how the matter

progressed, the young captain of the gate sprang forward and shouted

for him to halt.

"A third altar--to Mercury the hastener!" exclaimed Sergius. "Quick

now! with the knees!" and, pressing the flanks of his Cappadocian, both

animals bounded forward into a headlong gallop.

XIII.

WINTER QUARTERS.

The beat of hoofs upon the great blocks of basalt rang through the

morning air in measured cadence, and soon an answering echo came up

from the south. Open flight had at last dispelled all doubt and given

the signal for pursuit.

First came the two Africans of the original escort, released and bidden

to ride for life or death; a short distance behind was the Carthaginian

captain on his own horse which had probably been haltered behind the

guard-house; and, last of all, three of the Spanish guard, who had

thrown the servants and baggage from the animals that bore them, and

appropriated such speed as these afforded for the business in hand.

That the officer was pretty well sobered seemed apparent. A fugitive

bearing the ring of the schalischim--the seal of the Great

Council--must be a man of importance, or else the possession of such a

talisman augured the commission of some terrible crime. Already he saw

himself stretched writhing upon the cross; the crowd, reviling or

gibing, seemed surging about his feet; and his howls of anguish found

voice in a storm of guttural objurgations to men and horses, mingled

with prayers and vows to the gods of Carthage.

He had overtaken the two Africans now, for his animal was better than

theirs, but the three others laboured hopelessly behind: the

Cappadocians flew rather than galloped far in advance. Already nearly

three hundred yards separated them from their pursuers, and the gap was

widening slowly but surely. Only the officer held his own, for he was

now forging ahead of the Africans.

"Ah, cowards! slime! filth!" he shouted to his struggling men. "The

cross! the cross! that for you unless we catch them! that for me!--for

all! Ah, Eschmoun! Ah, Khamon!--Melkarth!--gifts!--gold, gems, robes,

spices!--my first-born to the Baals! to the Baals! Help! speed!"

The man was mad--mad indeed with terror and newly dispelled

drunkenness; and his horse, a great African, coal-black save for one

white hoof, seemed to partake of his master's frenzy. With ears lying

flat along his head, and eyes that burned into those of Sergius, when

he ventured to glance behind him,--glaring sheer through distance and

dust like the very eyes of those demons his rider invoked,--the beast

thundered on, equalling the speed of the light Asiatic chargers by the

force of strength alone.

From time to time the fugitives turned their heads to measure the

distance, and the sight of this unwearied pursuer appeared to fascinate

them as by some weird power. The rest were beaten out,--the Spaniards

lost to sight, the Africans visible only by the dust that hung over

them far behind.

The mountains to the eastward seemed to be dancing away in a mad chase

toward the south, a chase which Tifata itself was urging on. The

glimmer of white in the north told of the morning sun striking upon

houses. Still they rode on, pursuers and pursued.

Suddenly a sound, half-trumpet note, half bellow, swelled up ahead.

Then another answered it, and another and another took up the refrain.

Sergius' face blanched, and, with a sudden effort, he threw his animal

almost upon its haunches. Marcia was carried several spear-lengths

farther before she could check her speed. Wonder and the dread of some

accident drove the blood to her heart. A hoarse shout of triumph came

from their pursuer, as she turned to ride back.

She asked no questions. Surely Sergius knew what was best. She saw

Iddilcar's long dagger in his hand, and that he was about to fight.

"Back!--back! and to one side," he called, as she rode up. "Did you

not hear the elephants? That is Casilinum, and they are besieging it.

We should have remembered."

He darted forward to meet the Carthaginian, fearful that he, too, would

draw rein and await the coming of his followers. Then indeed all would

be lost. Six soldiers on the one side and a camp full on the other

were hopeless odds against a wounded man armed only with a Numidian

dagger.

But it was Bacchus that fought for Rome that day--Bacchus, to whom no

altar had been vowed. A night of debauchery and the sudden terror of

its awakening had effectually blurred whatever judgment the officer may

have had, and his one thought was to kill or capture his quarry.

So they came together, Sergius swerving his Cappadocian as they met.

The officer struck blindly, but the good lord Bacchus put out his hand

and turned the blow aside. Then, as they parted, a strange thing

happened. Marcia had wondered dimly why Sergius struggled with the

long, girdleless garment of Iddilcar, tearing it off as he rode. Now,

when the two horses sprang apart, she saw that he had thrown it

dexterously over the Carthaginian, blinding his blow and tangling him

in its heavy folds.

Prompt to respond to knee and rein, the Cappadocian wheeled, almost as

soon as he ran clear, but the African thundered on, while its rider

cursed in blind terror and tried to check his horse and to free his

face and sword-arm. A moment, and he had succeeded, but he succeeded

too late. The Roman was at his back, and Marcia saw the long dagger

rise and fall in a swift thrust. She could not see how the point took

its victim just at the nape; but she saw him pitch forward like an ox

under the axe.

Almost before she could grasp what had happened, Sergius was beside the

fallen man, had resumed the priest's tunic, red with new blood stains,

and was on his horse again. His brow lay in deep lines as he rode

toward her.

"Come," he said. "The gods favouring us, we must pass their camp

before the rest come up. Grant that those may linger by the corpse,

and that we meet no check."

Again they were galloping toward the lines that lay about Casilinum.

All had happened so quickly that even now they could scarcely see the

plume in the distant dust cloud that told where the pursuers straggled

on. They had turned into the new side-road without meeting a man.

Then a small foraging party halted them, and Sergius showed the seal

and spoke in Gallic to its Numidian leader. A little farther on was

stationed another band, and here the delay was longer ere his halting

Punic convinced the Spanish piquet, and they again rode forward

unsuspected. All had bowed low to the horse and the palm tree, and no

one dared question what weighty mission urged on the man in the torn

and blood-stained tunic and the slender youth, his companion.

Now they were back again upon the pavement of the Appian; the last line

was passed, and the beleaguered town with its stout-hearted garrison

lay well behind. Perhaps that sudden uproar told of the arrival of

their pursuers; perhaps those glittering points amid distant dust

clouds meant a new pursuit. Surely none but Mercury had winged the

feet of the Cappadocians! Unwearied, like springs of steel, the stout

muscles drove them on--on over the marshland with the glint of the sea

before them--on, up the rising ground.

Again and again Sergius turned in his saddle scanning the road behind,

feeling the presence of pursuers whom he could not see. The good

horses were weakening fast. No flesh and blood could stand that

strain, and naught but the spirit of the breed kept them afoot.

Marcia's was limping painfully; the one Sergius rode was wavering in

its stride, like the Carthaginian captain when he came out of the

guard-house by the gate.

"Gods! What were those shrill sounds--half whistle, half scream?"

Too well he remembered how the Numidians urged on their bridleless

chargers. Yes, there they were now--scarce half a milestone behind and

coming up like the wind that blew through their dishevelled

manes--fifty at least. Death, then, was decreed, after all, and he

glanced toward Marcia, measuring the time when he might kiss her and

kill her ere he sold his own life to the javelins.

Suddenly he heard her cry out.

"Look!" she called, and, following her finger, he gazed eagerly ahead.

A clump of horsemen, heavy armed with helmet and corselet, crowned the

knoll of rising ground over which the road led, and, above them,

fluttering in the breeze, he saw the square vexillum of the cavalry of

the legion.

He was among them now, lifting Marcia from her horse and dimly

conscious of many words being spoken around.

"See, lord, they have halted," said a voice. "Is it your will that we

pursue?"

Then, as an answering voice replied in the negative, he kissed Marcia

and made her drink wine that some one brought. Barbarous cries that

she must not hear or understand came to his ears, and he knew that

their pursuers were wheeling in discomfited flight. The circle of

soldiers stood back. Something cold and feathery fell upon his

upturned face and turned to moisture. He saw a tall man with features

of wonderful beauty regarding them kindly and in silence; his white

paludamentum was heavily fringed with purple, and Sergius recognized

him now,--Marcus Marcellus, the new dictator. Another drop, feathery,

cold, and moist, fell upon Marcia's hand, and she roused herself at the

touch, peering up into her lover's face and then quickly at the heavens.

"Look!" she cried. "Up! not into my eyes."

He turned, for an instant, to see the blue vault of a few moments since

overcast with gray and filled with a swirl of snowy flakes.

"See, now, Lucius, lord of my life; here are the messengers of winter.

Winter quarters! he is in winter quarters! See! have we not prevailed?"

It was the voice of the dictator that answered:--

"Yes, truly; and there shall soon be prepared for him eternal summer

quarters in Phlegethon--if the Greek tales be true."