"The interrogatory is finished. Take him away."
Shortly afterwards arrived the sentence of death decreed by the
Emperor Constantius, who had looked on the accusation brought against
his lamented sister in the light of a personal insult.
On hearing the sentence read out, Gallus lost consciousness and fell
into the arms of the soldiers. Up to the last moment the poor fellow
had hoped against hope. And, even now, he expected that they would at
least grant him the reprieve of a few days, or hours, in which to
prepare for death. But a rumour had gone round that the soldiers of
the "Steadfast Sixteenth Flavian" legion were insubordinate, and
planning to free Gallus; so he was dragged off incontinently to
execution.
It was the early dawn. The snow, fallen during the night, had covered
the foul mud, and lay glittering in chilly sunshine, its dazzling
reflection lighting up the ceiling of the small room whither Gallus
had been conducted.
The authorities distrusted the soldiery, who almost all liked and
pitied the disgraced Cæsar; so for executioner they had chosen a
butcher, who sometimes officiated in disposing of the thieves and
brigands of the neighbourhood. This barbarian, unused to a Roman
sword, had brought to the block a great double-edged axe which served
him in the slaughter-yard. The butcher was a stupid, handsome, and
sleepy slave. The name of the condemned man had been concealed from
him and he believed he was only to behead a common thief. Before the
last scene, Gallus became calm and humble, allowing his gaolers to do
what they listed. Like a child, he wept and struggled when about to be
placed by force in a bath, but once in he found the water pleasant.
But at sight of the butcher sharpening his axe he shivered in all his
limbs. A barber then carefully shaved off the fine golden hair, always
the beauty and pride of the young Cæsar. In returning from the
barber's room Gallus, finding himself alone for a moment with the
tribune Scuda, unexpectedly dropped on his knees before the cruellest
of his foes.
"Save me, Scuda! I know you can do it! Tonight I have received a
message from the Flavian legion. Let me get a word with them. They
will deliver me! I have thirty talents hidden in the temple at Mycenæ.
Nobody knows it. I'll give them to you,--and more, much more! The
soldiers love me. I'll make you my friend, my brother, my co-regent
... fellow-Cæsar!"
Mad with hope, he embraced the tribune's knees, and Scuda, shuddering,
felt the lips of the Cæsar on his hands. He made no answer, and,
smiling, slowly freed himself from the embrace. Gallus was ordered to
undress. He objected to take off his sandals, his feet being unclean.
When he was almost naked the butcher began to bind his hands behind
his back, thief-fashion, and Scuda hastened to help him. When Gallus
felt the touch of the tribune's fingers, in a fit of fury he escaped
from the grasp of the headsman, seized Scuda by the throat, and
endeavoured to strangle him. In his naked activity he seemed suddenly
transformed into some sinewy and terrible young tiger.
The choking tribune was snatched from the grapple, and the prisoner's
feet and hands were securely bound. At this moment in the barrack
court resounded the shouts of the Flavian soldiers--"Long live Cæsar
Gallus!" and the murderers hurried on with their job. A great section
of a tree-trunk was rolled in for a block, and Gallus thrust down on
his knees in front of it. Barbatio, Baïnobadois, and Apodemus gripped
him by the shoulders, hands, and feet; and Scuda bowed the head
against the block, weighing down that vainly resisting skull with all
his might. Chilled by emotion, his fingers felt the newly-shorn pate
still moist with soap. The butcher proved an unskilful headsman. His
axe slashed the neck, but the blow fell awry. He raised the hatchet a
second time, crying to Scuda--
"More to the right! Hold the head more to the right!"
Gallus struggled and roared like a half-stunned bull. Nearer and
nearer the cries of the soldiery resounded:
"Long live Gallus Cæsar!"
The butcher heaved his handle high and smote. A stream of blood gushed
over the hands of Scuda; the head fell with a thud, and rolled away
over the stone flags.
At that moment the legionaries burst into the hall. Barbatio,
Apodemus, and Scuda hurried to the opposite door, the headsman
remaining at a loss; but Scuda muttered in his ear--
"Take Cæsar's head, so that the legionaries may not recognise the
body. It's a question of life or death for us all!"
"He was _not_ a thief then?" faltered the executioner, in amazement.
He found it difficult to carry this shaven head; at first he slid it
under an arm, but it became uncomfortable; then, slipping his hooked
thumb into the mouth, he managed to bear off the skull of him before
whom so many heads had once bowed down.
* * * * *
Julian, on learning the death of his brother, said quietly to
himself--
"Now comes my turn!"