More than once did Oribazius prudently lift the door-curtain, bringing
refreshing drink to the sick man. Julian refused it, and kept asking
to be left alone. He feared human faces, noise, and light. Keeping his
hands pressed against his head, and closing his eyes, he endeavoured
to keep his mind a blank; to forget where he was, to forget every
emotion. The protracted effort of will sustained during the last three
months had changed him, and left him weak and broken, as after a long
illness. He knew not whether he was asleep or awake. Visionary scenes,
trains of pictures glided before his eyes one after another with
amazing swiftness and intolerable precision. Sometimes he fancied he
was in bed, in the great hall at Macellum. Old Labda had given him her
blessing for the night. The snortings of the horses picketed near the
tent became the dull snoring of Mardonius, which the boys used to
laugh at.
He felt happy and again a young boy, unknown by anyone, far from the
world, hidden amongst the Cappadocian mountains.
He smelt the fresh and subtle smell of hyacinths, in the first warmth
of the March sun, within the little courtyard of the priest
Olympiodorus. He heard the silver laughter of Amaryllis and the murmur
of the fountain, the metallic clink of the cottabos, and the voice of
Diaphane: "Children, the gingerbread cakes are ready!"
Then all vanished.
Then the only sound he heard was of the first flies, humming in a nook
out of the wind, on the white warm-sunned wall, by the seashore. And
he was blissfully watching sails bathed in the infinite softness of
the blue Propontic Sea, and he believed himself alone in a delicious
solitude, undisturbed by a single face, and, like the little dancing
gnats of the white wall, luxuriated in sheer happiness of living, in
the sunlight, in the calm.
Suddenly, half-waking, Julian remembers that he is in the heart of
Persia; that he is the Roman Emperor; that he alone is responsible for
the lives of sixty thousand legionaries; that the gods are no more,
that he has thrown down the altar of sacrifice. He shivers, and an icy
chillness invades his body. He is falling, falling through the void,
with nothing, nothing in the universe to arrest his fall.
Perhaps an hour, perhaps twenty-four hours, may have elapsed in this
kind of half-slumber.
Then no longer dreaming, but in reality, he hears his faithful slave
saying, as he thrusts his head under the door-curtain:
"Cæsar, I am afraid of disturbing you, but I dare not disobey. It was
your order that you should be immediately informed.... The chief
Ariphas has just arrived in the camp...."
"Ariphas!" exclaimed Julian, rising, "Ariphas!... Bring him, bring him
here quickly!"
This was one of his bravest commanders, sent with a detachment to
ascertain whether the auxiliary army of thirty thousand men, under the
command of Procopius and Sebastian, was not coming, with the troops of
his ally Arsaces, to join the Emperor under the walls of Ctesiphon.
Julian had long been awaiting this help, on which the fate of the
principal army depended.
"Bring him!" exclaimed the Emperor ... "or no, I myself will...."
But his weakness was not yet dissipated, despite this momentary
over-excitement. His head swam, he closed his eyes and had to support
himself against the canvas wall of the tent.
"Give me wine ... strong wine ... mixed with cold water."
The old slave rapidly executed the order, and gave the cup to the
Emperor, who drank slowly and issued from the tent. It was late in the
evening. A storm had passed far into the distance across the
Euphrates, and the wind was still fresh with the smell of rain. Rare
stars, trembling like watchlights in the breeze, shone in the gapped
cloud. From the desert came up the barkings of jackals. Julian laid
bare his breast, held his forehead in the wind, surrendering himself
to the soft breath of the sinking gale.
He smiled at the thought of his own cowardice. His weakness had
disappeared, strength returned to him. He was sensible of the tension
of his own nerves, and felt eager to command, to act, to pass the
night without sleep, to battle and play with life and death, and again
to conquer peril. Only from time to time was he conscious of
shivering.
Ariphas came.
The news was lamentable. All hope in the help of Procopius and
Sebastian was lost. The Emperor was abandoned by his allies in the
middle of Asia. There was even reason to suspect treason on the part
of the wily Arsaces.
At this moment it was announced that a deserter from the camp of
Sapor desired to speak with the Emperor.
This Persian prostrated himself before Julian and kissed the earth.
His body was monstrous. His hideous head had been disfigured by
Asiatic torture. The ears cut off, and the nostrils torn from the
face, made his visage like that of a human skull. But the eyes were
bright, intelligent, and resolute.
He was robed in rich fire-coloured silk, spoke Greek villainously, and
was accompanied by two slaves.
The Persian called himself Artaban, a satrap calumniated to Sapor, who
had therefore tortured him. He had come to the Romans, he said, for
revenge on his own king.
"O Lord of the Universe!" said Artaban, with fallacious emphasis, "I
will deliver Sapor up to thee, bound hand and foot, like a sacrificial
lamb. I will lead thee by night to the camp and softly shalt thy hand
take the king, as children take young birds in their snares. Only
hearken to Artaban: Artaban has plenitude of power, and knows the
king's secrets."
"What reward do you expect from me?" asked Julian.
"Vengeance! Come with me!"
"Whither?"
"To the north; through the desert--three hundred and twenty-five
parasangs--then through the mountains eastward, straight on Susa and
Ecbatana...."
The Persian pointed to the horizon.
"Over there, over there," he repeated, fixing his eyes on Julian.
"Cæsar," said Hormizdas to the Emperor, "take care!... I don't like
this man's face! He's a sorcerer--a brigand, or perhaps much
worse?... Sometimes queer things happen in these latitudes. Get rid of
him!... Don't listen to him...."
Julian paid no heed to the words of Hormizdas.
He felt the strange fascination of the Persian's supplicating eyes.
"Do you know every step of the road which leads to Ecbatana?"
"Oh yes! yes!" exclaimed the Persian with a contented laugh. "How
should I not know it? Every grain of sand in that desert ... every
roadside well.... Artaban knows the meaning of the birds' song, hears
the grass growing, and the waters flowing under the earth. He will run
before thine army, nosing the scent, tracing the road. Believe me, in
twenty days all Persia, as far as the Indies and the ocean, shall be
thine!"
The heart of the Emperor began beating violently.
"Can this be the miracle I was waiting for?" he mused. "In twenty
days, Persia shall be mine!"
He could scarcely breathe at the thought.
The monster, kneeling before him, murmured.
"Hound me not away from thee! Like a hound shall I remain lying
crouched at thy feet! From the moment I saw thee, I loved thee, Lord
of the Universe, because thou art the proudest of men! Oh, that thou
wouldst walk over my body, that thou wouldst trample on me, and I
would lick the dust from thy feet, chanting: 'Glory, glory to the son
of the Sun, to the king of the East and of the West, Julian!"
He kissed the Emperor's feet; and the two slaves prostrating
themselves also, repeated after him, "Glory, glory, glory!"
"But what to do with the ships?" thought Julian aloud to himself.
"Leave them unarmed in the hands of the enemy or keep them?"
"Burn them," breathed Artaban.
The words thrilled Julian, who looked strangely at the Persian.
"Burn them? What sayest thou?"
Artaban raised his head and looked steadfastly into the Emperor's
eyes.
"Hast thou _fear_? Thou!... No, no. Men alone are fearful, but not the
gods! Burn the ships, and thou shalt be free as the wind. Thy ships
shall not fall into the power of the enemy and thine army be swelled
by the soldiers that work the fleet. Be great and bold to the very
end! Burn them, and in ten days thou shalt be under the walls of
Ecbatana. In twenty days all Persia shall be thine! Thou shall be
greater than the son of Philip, who conquered Darius. Only ... burn
thy ships and follow me!..."
"And if these are but lies--if I can read in your heart that you are
lying!" exclaimed the Emperor seizing the Persian with one hand by the
throat and with the other menacing him with a dagger.
Hormizdas uttered a sigh of relief.
For some instants Artaban sustained the gaze of the Roman without
speaking, and Julian again felt the fascination of those eyes, so
intelligent, audacious, and servile.
"If thou dost not believe me, let me die by thy hand," repeated the
Persian.
Julian relaxed his hold, and returned the poignard to its sheath.
"It is terrible and pleasant to look thee in the eyes," continued
Artaban. "Thy visage is that of a god! That, as yet no one knows; I
alone know that thou art.... Do not repulse thy slave, sire."
"We shall see," murmured Julian thoughtfully. "Long have I desired to
fight your king, in the desert.... But the ships...."
"Oh, yes, the ships!" murmured Artaban. "Thou must set out at once ...
this night ... so that the inhabitants of Ctesiphon cannot see us....
Thou must burn them...."
Julian did not answer.
"Take them away," he said, pointing out the deserters to his
legionaries. "Keep them under close watch!"