Battling for Life
And then it was,--with the chariots bearing the guests almost driving
in at the gates of the palace,--that Cerrinius, Caesar's barber, came
before his master with an alarming tale. The worthy man declared that
he had lighted on nothing less than a plot to murder the Romans, one
and all, by admitting Achillas's soldiery to the palace enclosure,
while all the banqueters were helpless with drugged wine. Pratinas,
who had been supposed to be at Pelusium, Cerrinius had caught in
retired conference with Pothinus, planning the arrangement of the
feast. Achillas's mercenary army was advancing by stealthy marches to
enter the city in the course of the evening. The mob had been aroused
by agitators, until it was in a mood to rise en masse against the
Romans, and join in destroying them. Such, in short, was the barber's
story.
There was no time to delay. Caesar was a stranger in a strange and
probably hostile land, and to fail to take warning were suicide. He
sent for Pothinus, and demanded the whereabouts of Achillas's army.
The regent stammered that it was at Pelusium. Caesar followed up the
charge by inquiring about Pratinas. Pothinus swore that he was at
Pelusium also. But Caesar cut his network of lies short, by commanding
that a malefactor should be forced to swallow a beaker of the wine
prepared for the banquet. In a few moments the man was in a helpless
stupor.
The case was proved and Caesar became all action. A squad of
legionaries haled Pothinus away to an execution not long delayed.
Other legionaries disarmed and replaced the detachment of the royal
guard that controlled the palace gates and walls. And barely had these
steps been taken, when a courier thundered into the palace, hardly
escaped through the raging mob that was gaining control of the city.
Achillas, he reported, had wantonly murdered Dioscorides and Serapion,
whom Caesar had sent as envoys to Pelusium, and was marching on the
city with his whole army of Italian renegades, Syrian banditti,
convicts, and runaway slaves, twenty thousand strong.
There was nothing to do but to prepare to weather the storm in the
palace enclosure, which, with its high walls, was practically a
fortress in itself. There were only four thousand Romans, and yet
there was a long circuit of defences to man. But Drusus never saw his
general putting forth greater energy. That night, instead of feasting,
the soldiers laboured, piling up the ramparts by the light of torches.
The city was surging and thundering without the palace gates. Caesar
had placed the king under guard, but Arsinoe--his younger sister--had
slipped out of the palace to join herself to the advancing host of
Achillas, and speedily that general would be at hand. Caesar as usual
was everywhere, with new schemes for the defences, new enthusiasm for
his officers, new inspiration for his men. No one slept nor cared to
sleep inside the palace walls. They toiled for dear life, for with
morning, at most, Achillas would be upon them; and by morning, if
Pothinus's plans had not failed, they would have been drugged and
helpless to a man, none able to draw sword from scabbard. It was a new
experience to one and all, for these Romans to stand on the defensive.
For once Caesar had made a false step--he ought to have taken on his
voyage more men. He stood with his handful, with the sea on one side
of him and a great city and a nation in arms against him on the other.
The struggle was not to be for empire, but for life. But the Romans
were too busy that night to realize anything save the need of untiring
exertion. If they had counted the odds against them, four thousand
against a nation, they might well have despaired, though their
chieftain were Caesar.
Two years earlier Drusus, as he hurried to and fro transmitting orders
for his general, might have been fain to draw aside and muse on the
strangeness of the night scene. The sky was clear, as almost always in
a land where a thunder-storm is often as rare as an eclipse; the stars
twinkled out of heavens of soft blackness; the crescent of a new moon
hung like a silvered bow out over the harbour, and made a thin pathway
of lustre across the moving, shimmering waters. Dimly the sky-line was
visible; by the Pharos and its mole loomed the vague tracery of masts.
On the west and the south lay the white and dark masses of the city,
now and then brought into clearer relief as the moonbeams swept across
some stately pile, and touched on its Corinthian columns and nobly
wrought pediments. But Drusus was a soldier; and the best of poets
doubtless work poorly when their lives are hanging in the balance.
Over the flower-strewn walks, under the festooned colonnades, ran the
busy legionaries, bestirring themselves as never before; while
Diomedes, and Hector, and Patroclus, and fifty other heroic worthies
waged perpetual battle on their marble heights above the soldiers'
heads. On occasion Drusus was called to one of the upper terraces and
pinnacles of the palace buildings, and then he could catch a glimpse
of the whole sweep of the mighty city. Over to the southeast, where
was the Jewish quarter, the sky was beginning to redden. The mob had
begun to vent its passions on the innocent Israelites, and the
incendiary was at his work. A deep, low, growling hum, as of ten
thousand angry voices, drifted upon the night air. The beast called
the Alexandrian rabble was loose, and it was a terrible animal.
It was midnight. Drusus had toiled since noon. He had hardly tasted
food or drink since morning, but there were three feet more of brick,
stone, and rubbish to be added still to this and that rampart before
it would be secure, and a whole wing of the overgrown palace must be
pulled down to furnish the material. He had climbed out upon the roof
to aid in tearing up the tiles and to encourage the men by his
example, when some one plucked him from behind on the cloak--it was
Caesar.
"You are not needed here," said the general, in a voice that seemed a
bit strained to keep calm. "Read this--take all the men you want."
And the Imperator himself held up the torch, while Drusus took the
tablet thrust into his hands and read the hastily scribbled lines:--
"Cleomenes to Drusus. The ladies are in danger. I will resist the mob
as long as I can. Send help."
Drusus threw down the tablet; forgot to so much as salute his
commander. He had laid off his armour during the work on the ramparts;
he ran for it, put it on with feverish haste. A moment more and he was
running among the soldiers, calling this and that legionary by name.
The troops all knew him, and would have followed him to the death.
When he asked for thirty volunteers for dangerous service, none
demanded of him the occasion; he simply selected his men as fast as he
might. He secured four chariots and placed in them the fastest horses
in the royal stables and trusted men for drivers. He mounted the rest
of his thirty on other steeds, and the preparations were over. The
gate was thrown open; Decimus Mamercus, who was his subaltern, led out
the little company. Drusus rode out last, in one of the chariots. The
troops on the walls cheered them as they departed.
In the immediate neighbourhood of the palace there prevailed an
ominous silence. Earlier in the night a few cohorts had charged out
and scattered the street rabble; and the mob had kept at a distance.
There was no light save that of the moon and the distant glow of the
burning buildings. Drusus felt his breath coming thick and fast, the
drops of sweat were hanging on his forehead, something within was
driving his heart into his throat. "If--" he never went further;
unless he brought Cornelia and Fabia back to the palace unscathed, he
knew the Alexandrian rabble would howl over his unconscious body.
"Ride!" he commanded, as if the rush of the chariots and horses would
drown the fears that nearly drove him frantic. "Ride!"
The drivers lashed the teams, the horsemen pricked with the spur.
Drusus caught the reins from his chariot companion, and swung the lash
himself over the four steeds. Faster and faster they flew down the
splendidly paved and built highways. Temples and majestic public
buildings rose in sombre grandeur above their heads; above them winged
"Victories" seemed springing up into dark void, their sculptured
symmetries just visible in the moonlight. On and on, swift and more
swift--persons began shouting from the buildings which they passed,
now a few voices, now many, now a hundred. A volley of stones was
dashed down from the safe recesses of the pillars at the head of the
long flight of steps leading up to a temple. Presently an arrow
whirred over Drusus's head and smote on the masonry across the street.
There were lights ahead--scores of torches waving--a small building
was on fire; the glare grew redder and brighter every instant; and a
din, a din lifted by ten thousand men when their brute instincts are
enkindled, grew and grew. Drusus dashed the cold sweat from his brow,
his hand was trembling. He had a quiver and bow in the chariot,--a
powerful Parthian bow, and the arrows were abundant. Mamercus had
taught him to be a good archer, as a boy. Could he turn his old skill
to account? Not unless his hand became more steady.
Women screamed out at him and his band from the house roofs; a tile
struck one of the chariot horses and made it plunge wildly; Drusus
flung his strength into the reins, and curbed in the raging beast; he
tossed the lines back to his driver and tore the bow from its casings.
His car had rushed on ahead of Decimus Mamercus and the rest; two
furlongs more would bring him to the house of Cleomenes on one of the
squares of the city. The chariot swung around a street corner for the
final stretch, the way was broad, the buildings on either side (the
residences of the Alexandrian gentry) high; but the whole street from
wall to wall was a seething mass of human forms. The fire was
spreading; the brightening flames shone down on the tossing, howling
multitude--excited Egyptians from the quarter of Rhacotis, frenzied
Asiatics in their turbans, mad sailors from the Eunostian port and the
Pharos island. At the head of the street the flames were pressing in
upon a stately mansion around which the raging mob was packed thickly.
On the roof of the threatened house figures could be seen in the lurid
light, running to and fro, flinging down bricks and stones, and trying
to beat back the fire. It was the house of Cleomenes. Insensibly the
veteran who had been driving reined in the horses, who themselves drew
back, loath to plunge into the living barriers ahead. But Drusus was
past fear or prudence; with his own hands he sent the lash stinging
over all the four, and the team, that had won more than a single
trophy in the games, shot forward. The chariot struck the multitude
and went, not through it, but over it. The on-rush was too rapid, too
unexpected, for resistance. To right and left, as the water gives way
before the bows of an on-rushing ship, the crowd surged back, the
instinct of panic reigning in every breast. Thick and fast, as quickly
as he might set shaft to string, flew Drusus's arrows--not a shaft
that failed a mark, as it cut into the living masses. The chariot
reeled again and again, as this wheel or that passed over something
animate and struggling. The horses caught the fire of conflict; they
raced, they ran--and the others sped after them. The mob left off
howling: it screamed with a single voice of mortal dread. And before
Drusus or any one else realized, the deed was done, the long lane was
cleared, and the drivers were drawing rein before the house of
Cleomenes.
The heavily barred carriage-way was thrown open, the valiant merchant
and his faithful employees and slaves greeted their rescuers as the
little cavalcade drove in. There was not a moment to lose. Cleomenes
and his household might indeed have long made good the house against
the mere attacks of the mob; but the rioters had set the torch to some
adjacent buildings, and all efforts to beat back the flames were
proving futile. There was no time to condole with the merchant over
the loss of his house. The mob had surged again into the streets and
was pressing back, this time more or less prepared to resist the
Romans. The colonnades and the house roofs were swarming, the din was
indescribable, and the crackling and roar of the advancing flames grew
ever louder.
The only alternative was a return to the palace. Cleomenes's employees
and slaves were to scatter into the crowd, where they would easily
escape notice; he himself, with his daughters, Artemisia, and the
Roman ladies, must go in the chariots to the palace. Cornelia came
down from her chamber, her face more flushed with excitement than
alarm. Troubles enough she had had, but never before personal danger;
and she could not easily grasp the peril.
"Are you afraid, carissima," said Drusus, lifting her into his
chariot, "to ride back with me to the palace, through that wolf pack?"
"With you?" she said, admiring the ease with which he sprang about in
full armour; "I would laugh at Medusa or the Hydra of Lerna with you
beside me."
Cleomenes had been again upon the housetop to watch the progress of
the fire. He came down, and Drusus instantly saw that there was dismay
written on his face. The merchant, who was himself armed with sword
and target, drew the officer aside and whispered:--
"Pray, Roman, to all your native gods! I can see a _lochos_[184] of
regular troops filing into the square before the house. Achillas is
entering the city with his men. We shall have to fight our way through
his thousands."
[184] A company of about one hundred men.
Drusus uttered a deep and silent curse on himself for the mad bravado
that led him to leave the palace with but thirty men; why had he not
waited to assemble more? He could ride over the mob; to master
Achillas's disciplined forces was otherwise.
A freedman came running down from the roof, crying out that it was
already on fire. It was a time for action, not thought, yet even at
the moment Drusus's schoolboy Polybius was running through his
mind--the description of the great riot when Agathocles, the wicked
regent of Ptolemaeus Philopator, and his sister Agathocleia, and his
mother Oenanthe, had been seized by the multitude and torn in pieces,
bit by bit, while yet they lived. Cornelia seemed to have caught some
new cause for fear; she was trembling and shivering when Drusus took
her in his arms and swung her into the chariot. He lifted in Fabia
likewise, but the Vestal only bowed her head in calm silence. She had
overheard Cleomenes's tidings, but, by stress of all the force of her
strong nature, remained composed. Decimus Mamercus took Artemisia,
frightened and crying, into his own chariot. Monime, Berenice, and
their father were to go in the other cars. The fire was gaining on the
roof, smoke was pouring down into the court-yard, and now and then a
gleam came from a firebrand. The horses were growing restive and
frightened.
"Throw open the gate!" commanded Drusus; his anxieties and despair
were driving him almost to frenzy, but the gods, if gods there were,
knew that it was not for himself that he was fearful. His voice
sounded hollow in his throat; he would have given a talent of gold for
a draught of water. One of his men flung back the gateway, and in at
the entrance came the glare of great bonfires lighted in the streets,
of hundreds of tossing torches. The yelling of the multitude was
louder than ever. There it was, packed thick on all sides: in its
midst Drusus could see bright lines of tossing steel--the armour of
Achillas's soldiery! As the portal opened, a mighty howl of triumph
burst from the people; the fire had driven forth to the mob its prey.
Cornelia heard the howl--the voice of a wild and raging beast--and
trembled more.
"Cornelia," said Drusus, lowering his head so as to make himself
heard, "do not look above the framework of the chariot. Cling to it
tightly, for we may have to pass over obstacles. Above all, do not
spring out, however much we may be swayed and shaken."
"I will not, Quintus," and that was all she could be heard to say in
the din.
And so the little cavalcade drove forth. Cornelia cowered in the
chariot and saw nothing and heard everything, which was the same as
nothing. Was she frightened? She did not know. The peril was awful. Of
course she realized that; but how could calamity come to pass, when it
was Drusus whose powerful form towered above her, when it was Drusus
whose voice rang like a trumpet out into the press swaying around?
It was very dark crouching in the body of the chariot. She could just
see the face of Fabia opposite, very white, but, she knew, very calm.
She reached out and caught the Vestal's hand, and discovered that her
own was trembling, while the other's was perfectly steady. But the
contest, the fighting all about! Now the horses were dashing forward,
making the chariot spring as though it were a thing of life; now
reined in sharply, and the heavily loaded car swayed this way and
that, almost to overturning. The uproar above her head passed the
telling by words; but there was one shout, now in Greek, now in
Egyptian, that drowned all others: "Death to the Romans! tear them in
pieces!" Missiles smote against the chariot; an arrow went cutting
into the wood, driving its keen point home, and Cornelia experienced a
thrill of pain in her shoulder. She felt for the smart, found the mere
tip of the point only had penetrated the wood; but her fingers were
wet when she took them away. Drusus was shooting; his bow-string
snapped and snapped. Once a soldier in armour sprang behind the
chariot when it came to a stop, and his javelin was poised to
discharge; but an arrow tore through his throat, and he went down to
the pavement with a crash. The car rocked more and more; once the
wheels slipped without revolving, as though sliding over some smooth
liquid--not water. Cornelia felt powers of discriminating sensation
becoming fainter and fainter; a great force seemed pressing out from
within her; the clamour and shocks were maddening. She felt driven to
raise her head, to look out into the raging chaos, though the first
glance were death. Peering back out of the body of the chariot now and
then, she saw a little. The Romans were charging this way and that,
forcing their passage down the street, barred no longer by a mere mob,
but by Achillas's infantrymen, who were hastening into action. The
chariot horses were wounded, some seriously; she was sure of that.
They could not be driven through the spearmen, and the little handful
of cavalry was trying to break through the enemy and make space for a
rush. It was thirty against thousands; yet even in the mortal peril,
which Cornelia realized now if she had never before, she had a strange
sort of pride. Her countrymen were showing these Orientals how one
Roman could slay his tens, could put in terror his hundreds. Drusus
was giving orders with the same mechanical exactitude of the drill,
albeit his voice was high-pitched and strained--not entirely, perhaps,
because of the need of calling above the din.
"Form in line by fours!"
Cornelia raised her head above the chariot frame. The Romans had
worked their way down into a square formed by the intersection of
streets. Behind them and on every building were swarming the people;
right across the eastern avenue, where their escape lay, stood the
bristling files of one of Achillas's companies. Stones and roof-tiles
were being tossed in a perfect hail from the houses, and now and then
an arrow or a dart. The four chariots--one had only three horses
left--were standing in the little plaza, and the troopers were forming
before them. The arrows of the chariot warriors made the mob behind
keep a respectful distance. It was the triumph of discipline over
man's animal sense of fear. Even the mob felt this, when it saw the
little squadron fall into line with as much precision as on the parade
ground. A tile smote one soldier upon the head, and he tumbled from
his horse like a stone. His comrades never paused in their evolution.
Then, for the first time, Cornelia screamed with horror and fright.
Drusus, who was setting a new arrow to his bow, looked down upon her;
he had never seemed so handsome before, with the fierce light of the
battle in his eyes, with his whole form swelling with the exertions of
conflict.
"Down, Cornelia!" commanded the officer; and Cornelia did so
implicitly--to disobey him at that moment was inconceivable.
"At them, men!"
And then came a new bound from the horses, and then a mighty crash and
clash of bodies, blades, and shields, the snort of dying beasts, the
splintering of spear-shafts, the groans and cries of men in battle for
their lives. The car rose on one wheel higher and higher; Cornelia was
thrown against Fabia, and the two women clung to each other, too
terrified and crushed to scream; then on a sudden it righted, and as
it did so the soldier who had acted as charioteer reeled, his face
bathed in blood, the death-rattle in his throat. Back he fell, pierced
in face and breast, and tumbled from the car; and, as if answering to
this lightening of their burden, the hoofs of the hard-pressed horses
bit on the pavement, and the team bounded onward.
"_Io triumphe!_" It was Drusus who called; and in answer to his shout
came the deep Caesarian battle-cry from hundreds of throats, "_Venus
Victrix!_"
The chariot was advancing, but less rapidly. Cornelia rose and looked
forth again, not this time to be rebuked. Down the moon-lighted street
were moving several infantry cohorts from the palace; the avenue was
clear, the mob and hostile soldiery had melted away like a mist; a
mounted officer came flying down the street ahead of the legionaries.
"The ladies are safe, Imperator!" Drusus was reporting with military
exactitude. "I have lost twelve men."
Caesar galloped along beside the chariot. He had his horse under
absolute control, and he extended his hand, first to Fabia, then to
Cornelia.
"Fortune has been kind to us," said he, smiling.
"Vesta has protected us," said Fabia, bowing her head.
Caesar cast a single inquiring, keen glance at the Vestal.
"Your excellency doubts the omnipotence of the goddess," continued
she, looking him steadily in the face.
"That a power has protected you," was his answer, "I am the last to
deny."
But the Imperator and Drusus were exchanging glances; that a woman of
the intelligence of Fabia could believe in the regular, personal
intervention of the Deity in human affairs was to them, not an
absurdity, but a mystery unfathomable.
And so, safe-guarded by the troops, they rode back to the palace,
where the preparations for defence were ready, and all were awaiting
the onset of Achillas. The weary men on the walls cheered as the
carriages with their precious burdens rolled in at the gate; and
cheered again for Drusus and his eighteen who had taught the
Alexandrian rabble how Roman steel could bite. But Drusus himself was
sad when he thought of the twelve good men that he had left
behind--who need not have been sacrificed but for his headlong
rashness.
And how had the mob come to attack the house of Cleomenes? It was a
long story, but in a few words probably this. Pratinas had come and
demanded of Cleomenes that he surrender the ladies (doubtless because
they would be useful hostages) to go with him to Achillas. Cleomenes
had refused, the more especially as Cornelia adjured him not to
deliver them over to the clutches of such a creature; and Pratinas
went away full of anger and threatenings. How he came to be in
Alexandria, and had returned so soon from Achillas's forces, if he had
indeed gone to Achillas, was neither clear nor important. But that he
had excited the mob to assail Cleomenes's mansion needed no great
proof. Cleomenes himself had seen his artful fellow-countryman
surveying the riot from a housetop, though doubtless he had kept at a
prudent distance during the fighting.
So ended that exciting day, or rather that night. It was Cleopatra who
with her own hands laid the bandages on Cornelia's wounded shoulder,
but the hurt was not serious; only, as Drusus laughingly assured her,
it was an honourable scar, as became the descendant of so many
fighting Claudii and Cornelii.
"Ah! delectissime," replied she, "it isn't the hurt that gives me
pain; it is that I was frightened--frightened when you were acting
like one of the Heroes!"
"_Mehercle!_" laughed Drusus, before he left her to snatch a few hours
of well-earned rest and see to the dressing of his own bruises, "I
would not blame a veteran for being panic-struck in that melee, if he
didn't have a chance to swing a weapon and so keep his heart from
standing still."
II
On the next day Achillas moved up his thousands and attacked the
palace fortifications. There was a desperate struggle in the streets
outside the royal residence; the assailants were five to the
defenders' one, and the mob was arming to aid in the assault; but the
Egyptians soon realized that it was no light thing to carry barricades
held by men who had fought in Gaul, Britain, Germany, Spain, Italy,
and Greece, and never tasted overthrow. Fiercest of all was the fight
at the harbour, where the navy of the king lay, and which, if seized,
would have put Caesar at his enemies' mercy. But here, also, Roman
valour prevailed over Oriental temerity. All the ships that Caesar
could not use were burned. With the rest he sailed over to the Pharos
island, and landed men to make good the tower on that point of
vantage. So ended the first round of battle; and the initial danger of
being overwhelmed by sheer force was over.
But day after day of conflict followed. Princess Arsinoe and Achillas
quarrelled in the camp of the besiegers, and this occasioned some
respite to the Romans. Still there was no end to the fighting. Caesar
sent off to Asia Minor, Syria, and Crete for reenforcements; but
these, all knew, could not come at once. A sharp struggle cleared the
houses nearest to the palace, and the general caused them to be razed
and the positions thoroughly fortified. He seized the low-lying ground
which ran as an insignificant valley down between the halves of the
city and tried to cut his enemies' position in twain. So the struggle
dragged on. Achillas had been murdered by Arsinoe, and she had placed
in command her governor, the eunuch Ganymed, who was more dangerous by
his sly craft than fifty common generals. One day a frightened
centurion reported to Caesar that all the cisterns used by the troops
were becoming flooded with sea-water. It was a contrivance of Ganymed.
The soldiers were in a panic, and it was all that their leader could
do to pacify them. And then one of those strokes of fortune which will
always come to a favoured few was vouchsafed; as the terrified Romans
delved in the earth where rain had seldom fallen, lo! on the very
first night of their toil fresh water bubbled up, and all the danger
was at an end.
But it is needless to tell how the contest was waged; how the
thirty-seventh legion arrived as help, how the wind kept them off port
exposed to the enemy, and how Caesar sailed out and succoured them, and
worsted the Alexandrian ships. Then, again, Ganymed stirred the
disheartened citizens to build another fleet, and, by tremendous
exertions, a new flotilla arose to threaten to cut Caesar off; and
there was a second battle for dear life--this time on sea close by the
city; while Roman and Alexandrian stood staring on the housetops, with
their hearts beating quickly, for defeat meant ruin to the Romans.
And, again, the gods of the waters fought for Caesar, and the beaten
Alexandrian fleet drifted back to the shelter of its mole in the
harbour of Eunostus.
Next came a great struggle for the possession of the Pharos. The
fighting was severe, the footing on the island hard to win, up steep
crags and rocks swept by volleys of missiles; but Italian courage
seemed inexhaustible. The legionaries, without ladders or fascines,
stormed towers and battlements. The town on the island was taken and
the fort by it; then came the contest along the mole, driving the
Alexandrians to the fort at the lower end. On the next day the second
fort, too, was taken. There was a bridge at the lower end of the mole,
and the Alexandrians had tried to sail under to attack the Caesarians
in the western harbour. The legionaries toiled to fill up the passage.
All seemed going well, but of a sudden befell calamity.
* * * * *
Panic will seize the most hardened veterans, and so it was that day. A
flank attack from the Alexandrian ships, and of other foes by land, a
sudden giving way on the part of some sailors who were defending the
working party, and then terror spread among the three veteran cohorts
at the lower fort. Caesar had been among his men directing the work,
with him had gone Drusus, as aide-de-camp, and Agias, who had long
been chafing under the restraints of the beleaguered palace and
imagined the position safe and unassailable. The panic came more
quickly than words may tell: a few hostile shouts from behind, cries
of fear and alarm, a volley of darts, and the men who had hunted the
Magnus to his death fled like raw recruits at their first arrow.
The Caesarian ships beside the mole began to thrust back, lest the
enemy seize them. The terrified legionaries rushed from their ranks,
cast away shield and cuirass, sword and dart. Every man cared but to
save himself, the spirit of mere fear uppermost. Caesar and Drusus
rushed into the press, and commanded and exhorted; they might have
better striven to turn the flight of a herd of frightened cattle;
their words fell on deaf ears; the panic-struck soldiers swept them
aside in a mad dash to get on board the receding shipping. The danger
was terrible. On either side the enemy were rushing down the mole, and
over the defences just forsaken by the Romans. Caesar had been caught
in the swirl of his men and carried along despite his resistance. He
fell, and Drusus, who struggled to be near him, ran to his side.
"We must escape, Imperator!" cried he, in his commander's ear. He saw
that there was blood on the general's face, and for an instant that
thought overpowered all others.
"Save yourselves," gasped Caesar, striving to struggle to his feet."
You cannot aid me."
A burly Egyptian soldier was running toward them, far ahead of the
other enemies, flourishing a battle-axe. Did he realize the prize that
lay almost in his power? Drusus had not been fighting, but his sword
was now out. One blow of the terrible weapon of the legionary sent the
oncomer sprawling in his own gore. A trifling respite had been gained.
Caesar steadied himself and looked about him. They were alone with
Agias facing the foe; the legionaries were struggling one over another
at the edge of the causeway, battling for dear life to force their way
into the only galley that had not thrust off.
"Come," said Caesar, turning; and the three joined in the flight. To
linger were madness.
It was only a trifling distance across the mole, but a frightful
tragedy was enacted before their eyes as they ran. The galley by the
mole was none too large; as the frightened men piled into her, the
shifting and increasing weight threw her on an uneven keel; and then
came the horror. A cry of mortal agony burst from hundreds of throats
as the ship capsized. Drusus, as he ran, saw, but for a twinkling, her
deck black with writhing men, then her curving sides and keel, ere all
vanished behind the embankment of the mole. The three fugitives ran to
the edge of the causeway: below them, the water full of men battling
for life; behind, the foe, now fully aware of their advantage and
pressing on with exultant shouts. Never had the Imperator been in
greater peril. Drusus glanced at his chief and saw that he was very
pale, evidently hurt in the scuffle. There was not a ship within hail,
not a ship within two arrow-flights; and all seemed pulling back as if
to escape from the danger.
"Leap, swim!" cried Caesar, casting off his breastplate.[185]
[185] _Lorica_.
"There is no ship within reach, Imperator," replied the young man,
gravely.
"You are young and strong," was his answer, "and will come away safe."
Caesar was preparing to spring over the edge.
"And you?" cried Drusus, catching him by the wrist. He knew that Caesar
could never swim the distance to the nearest ship.
"In the hands of the Fates."
But Agias, whose eyes had been straining out into the western harbour,
cried, "Help! A galley is coming!"
"Imperator," said Drusus, "you must wait for this galley."
The foe were almost on them.
"Are you mad?" was the exclamation of the general.
"I can hold them off until it is safe to swim," and Drusus had covered
himself behind a coping in the masonry.
Caesar measured the distance with his eye.
"We play at dice with Fortuna, whatever we do," was his comment.
"Come, then." And the three steadied themselves on the narrow footing
behind the parapet, one thrust being enough to send them headlong.
Fortunately weapons were ready--thrown away by the luckless fugitives.
When the Alexandrians rushed up, three pila crashed in upon them, and,
caught unawares by the little volley, they held back an instant. The
three desperate men were counting their hearts' beats, while the
distance from the friendly galley lessened. Then the rush came, but it
was met, and, narrow as was the ledge, the attempt to carry it failed.
The victors were stripping the dead, and, thus engaged, few joined in
the attack. Caesar had laid down his paludamentum, and the attackers
thought they had to deal simply with three ordinary Romans, who meant
to sell their lives dearly. Another rush; the Imperator was forced
hard, so that another push would have sent him plunging into the sea;
but his companions sent the attackers reeling back, and there was more
breathing time. The Alexandrians had received a taste of these Roman
blades, and they did not enjoy it. Stripping the dead and picking up
lost arms was more profitable than bearding the three lions. The
galley was drawing nearer. Drusus began to think of something else
besides thrusting at men before him.
"They will give us time to escape, Imperator."
"I think so;" but as Caesar spoke all three started in dismay. There
was a new face among the little band immediately opposed to
them--Pratinas.
The Greek had never looked so handsome as in armour. His beautifully
polished mail sat on him with perfect grace; he was a model for an
artist's Ares, the beautiful genius of battle. _He_, at least, knew
whose were those three stern, set faces defiantly peering over the low
parapet that ran waist-high along the edge of the mole.
"At them!" cried the Hellene. "A thousand drachmas to the man who
brings the middle Roman down!"
The "middle Roman" was Caesar. The enemy came on again, this time some
springing over the parapet to run along the narrow outer platform and
attack from either side. But the galley was still nearer.
"Throw off your armour and leap!" It was Drusus who commanded now, and
Caesar who obeyed. The Imperator tore off his greaves and helmet,
caught his general's cloak in his teeth, that it might not fall as a
trophy to the foe, and sprang down into the waves; it was all done in
a twinkling. But, quick as the leap had been, it was but just in time.
A rush of irresistible numbers carried Drusus off of his feet, and he
fell also--but fell in all his armour. It was an instant too crowded
for sensations. He just realized that his helmet tumbled from his head
as he fell backward. The weight of his greaves righted him while he
was in the air. He struck the water with his feet. There was a
chilling shock; and then, as he went down, the shield on his left arm
caught the water in its hollow and bore him upward. Nature reasserted
itself; by a mighty tug at the straps he wrenched away his
breastplate, and could make shift to float. The short harbour waves
lifted him, and he saw Caesar striking out boldly toward the now
rapidly approaching galley. Even as the general swam, Drusus observed
that he held up a package of papyri in his left hand to keep it out of
the wet; in uttermost perils Caesar could not forget his books. But
while the young man gazed seaward, shook the water from his eyes, and
struck out to reach the friendly galley, groans and shouts arose from
the waters near beside him. A voice--Agias's voice--was calling out
for help. The sound of his freedman's cries drove the Roman to action.
Twice the waves lifted him, and he saw nothing; but at the third time
he lit on two forms clinging to a bit of wreckage, and yet struggling
together. A few powerful strokes sent him beside them, and, to his
unutterable astonishment, he beheld in the person who was battling
with Agias for possession of the float none other than Pratinas. There
are times when nothing has opportunity to appear wonderful. This
moment was one of these. Actions, not words, were wanted. The elder
Greek had made shift to draw a dagger, and was making a vicious effort
to stab the other, who had gripped him round the neck with a tenacity
that would end only with life. One stroke of Drusus's fist as he
surged alongside the wreckage sent the dagger flying; and in a
twinkling he had borne Pratinas down and had him pinioned fast on the
planking of the rude raft. There was a great shout rising from the
enemy on the mole. A few darts spat in the water beside the fugitives;
but at the sight of the approaching galley the Alexandrians gave way,
for on her decks were swarming archers and slingers, and her powerful
ballistae were already working havoc. The pulsations of her banks of
oars grew slower as she swept up to the fugitives, the great column of
white spray curling around her prow sank, and while she drifted past
them a boat shot forth. In a minute Drusus was standing on her deck,
and the sailors were passing up Pratinas, still feebly resisting, and
Agias, who was weak and helpless with his wounds. On the poop Caesar
was conversing with a seaman of magnificent presence, who was in the
act of assuring the Imperator that his vessel and crew were at the
general's service.
III
The boats of the rescuer were pulling about, taking up such few Romans
as had been able to keep afloat; but Drusus was too exhausted to give
them further heed. He realized that the vessel he was aboard was no
member of the Roman squadron, that its crew were neither Caesarians nor
Alexandrians. Deft hands aided him off with his water-soaked clothing,
and placed bandages on his bruises and cuts. A beaker of spiced wine,
the like of which he had never drunk before, sent a thrill of
reinvigorated life through his veins. When he came back upon the deck
he found Caesar--pale, yet, as ever, active and untiring--still
conversing with the captain of the vessel. The Imperator had a bandage
drawn across his forehead, but otherwise he seemed none the worse for
his recent danger. The galley, under a swinging oar, was pulling back
across the "Great Harbour" to the palace quay. The battle was over;
four hundred good Roman lives had been lost, but the disaster had not
entailed any serious compromise of Caesar's position. There was no need
of continuing at the Pharos, and it was well to assure the anxious
garrison at the palace-fortress that their general was safe and sound.
Drusus, as the one thing natural under the circumstances, went to the
captain of his rescuers to express his obligation and gratitude.
"This is Quintus Livius Drusus," said Caesar, good-naturedly, already
at his ease, to the strange commander, "who serves on my staff. In
saving him I owe you a debt, O Demetrius, in addition to my own
rescue."
The stranger caught Drusus by both hands.
"Are you indeed the son of Sextus Drusus of Praeneste?" he questioned
with eagerness.
"Assuredly, my good sir," replied the young Roman, a bit confused at
the other's impetuosity.
"And did your father never tell you of a certain Demetrius, a Greek,
who was his friend?"
"He did; this Demetrius was cast into prison and condemned by
Pompeius; my father secured his escape;" and Drusus hesitated. His
mind had worked rapidly, and he could jump at a conclusion.
"Say it out, your excellency," pressed the seaman.
"He became a pirate, though my father did not blame him overmuch."
"_Eu!_" interrupted Caesar, as if to prevent a moment of awkwardness.
"Before King Minos's days nothing was more honourable. I have known
some excellent men who were pirates."
But Demetrius had, in true Eastern fashion, fallen on his knees and
kissed the feet of Drusus.
"The son of my preserver! I have saved him! Praises to Mithras!"
After this, there was no longer any constraint on the part of rescuers
or rescued. And that evening, when all were safe behind the palace
walls, Caesar called the pirate chief into the hall where he had been
banqueting with Cleopatra, Fabia, and Cornelia, and his favourite
officers, and asked for an account of his life. A strange enough story
it was Demetrius had to tell, though Cornelia had heard it before; of
two voyages to wealthy Taprobane,[186] one as far as the Golden
Chersonesos,[187] almost to the Silk Land, Serica, of voyages out
beyond the Pillars of Hercules into the Sea of Darkness,--everywhere
that keel of ship had ploughed within the memory of man.
[186] Ceylon.
[187] Malay Peninsula.
"And the men that drove you to freebooting?" asked Caesar, when the
company had ceased applauding this recital, which the sailor set forth
with a spontaneous elegance that made it charming.
"I have said that they were Lucius Domitius, whom the gods have
rewarded, and a certain Greek."
"The Greek's name was--"
"Kyrios," said Demetrius, his fine features contracting with pain and
disgust, "I do not willingly mention his name. He has done me so great
a wrong, that I only breathe his name with a curse. Must you know who
it was that took my child, my Daphne,--though proof I have not against
him, but only the warnings of an angry heart?"
"But he was--" pressed Caesar.
"Menon." And as he spoke he hissed the words between his teeth. "He is
one knave among ten thousand. Why burden your excellency with
remembering him?"
So the conversation went on, and Caesar told how he had been taken
prisoner, when a young man, by pirates near Rhodes, and how he had
been kept captive by them on a little isle while his ransom was
coming.
"Ah!" interrupted Demetrius, "I have heard the whole tale from one of
my men who was there. You, kyrios, behaved like a prince. You bade
your captors take fifty talents instead of twenty, as they asked, and
wrote verses and declaimed to your guards all the time you were
awaiting the money, and joined in all their sports; howbeit, you kept
telling them that you would crucify them all for the matter."
"_Hem!_" laughed Caesar. "Didn't I make good the threat?"
"You did with all save this man, who got away," was his unflinching
answer. "Although in mercy you strangled all your captors before you
had them put on the crosses."
"_Hei!_" quoth the Imperator. "I should have spared them to give me
criticism of those verses now."
"Kyrios," rejoined Demetrius, "the man who survived assures me that
the verses at least were wretched, though your excellency was a very
good wrestler."
"_Euge!_ Bravo!" cried Caesar, and all the company joined in. "I must
take a few of your men back to Rome, for we need critics for our rough
Latin versifiers."
Drusus, as soon as the laugh passed away, arose, and addressed his
chief:--
"Imperator," he said, "Agias this morning dragged from off the mole
with him into the water one of the most dangerous men in the councils
of our enemies. I mean, as you know, Pratinas the Greek. He is now in
the palace prison, but every one is aware that, so long as he so much
as lives, we are hardly safe. What shall be done?"
Caesar frowned.
"This is hardly a basilica for a trial," he replied, "but '_inter arma
silent leges_.' Tell the centurions on guard to bring him here. I
imagine we must grant him the form of an examination."
Drusus went out to give the necessary orders.
"You did not see Agias's prisoner?" asked Cornelia of Demetrius, who
was now an old friend.
"I did not," answered the pirate prince, pouring down the contents of
a prodigious beaker at a single draught. "A very desperate man, I
imagine. But it is hard for me to blame any one so long as he fights
openly. Still," he added, with a laugh, "I mustn't express such
sentiments, now that his excellency has given me this." And he tossed
over to Cornelia a little roll, tiny but precious, for it was a
general pardon, in the name of the Republic, for all past offences, by
land or sea, against the peace. "_Babai!_" continued Demetrius,
lolling back his great length on the couch, "who would have imagined
that I, just returning from a mere voyage to Delos to get rid of some
slaves, should save the lives of my cousin, my benefactor's son, and
Caesar himself, and become once more an honest man. Gods! gods! avert
the misfortunes that come from too much good fortune!"
"Was Agias badly wounded?" asked Cornelia, with some concern.
"Oh," replied his cousin, "he will do well. If his precious captive
had thrust his dagger a bit deeper, we might have a sorry time
explaining it all to that pretty little girl--Artemisia he calls
her--whom he dotes upon. By the bye," continued Demetrius, as entirely
at his ease in the company as though he had been one of the world's
high-born and mighty, "can your ladyship tell me where Artemisia is
just now? She was a very attractive child."
"Assuredly," said Cornelia. "She is here in the palace, very anxious,
I doubt not, about Agias. Come, I will send for her. You shall tell
her all about his escape."
Demetrius appeared pleased, and Cornelia whispered to a serving-lad,
who immediately went out.
The tramp of heavy feet sounded on the mosaics outside the banqueting
room; the tapestry over the doorway was thrust aside, and in the dim
lamplight--for it had long been dark--two rigid soldiers in armour
could be seen, standing at attention. Drusus stepped past them, and
saluted.
"The prisoner is here, Imperator," he said.
"Bring him in," replied Caesar, laying down his wine-cup.
The curtain swayed again, and the rest of a decuria of troops entered.
In their centre was a figure whose manacles were clinking ominously.
In the uncertain light it was only possible to see that the prisoner
was bent and shivering with fright. The general shrugged his shoulders
in disgust.
"This is the sort of creature, Drusus," quoth he, derisively, "that is
so dangerous that we must despatch him at once? _Phui!_ Let him stand
forth. I suppose he can still speak?"
Pratinas made a pitiable picture. The scuffle and wetting had done
little benefit to his clothes; his armour the pirates had long since
appropriated; his hair, rather long through affectation, hung in
disorder around his neck. He had shaved off his "philosopher's" beard,
and his smooth cheeks showed ugly scratches. He was as pale as white
linen, and quaking like a blade of grass in the wind, the very
antithesis of the splendid Ares of the fight on the mole.
"Your name is Pratinas?" began Caesar, with the snappish energy of a
man who discharges a disagreeable formality.
"Yes, despotes," began the other, meekly; but as he did so he raised
his head, and the rays of one of the great candelabra fell full on his
face. In a twinkling a shout, or rather a scream, had broken from
Demetrius. The pirate had leaped from his couch, and, with straining
frame and dilated eyes, sprang between the prisoner and his judge.
"Menon!" The word smote on the captive like the missile of a catapult.
He reeled back, almost to falling; his eyes closed involuntarily. His
face had been pale before, now it was swollen, as with the sight of a
horror.
"Demetrius!" and at this counter exclamation, the cornered man burst
into a howl of animal fear. And well he might, for Demetrius had
sprung upon him as a tiger upon an antelope. One of the guards
indiscreetly interposed, and a stroke of the pirate's fist sent the
soldier sprawling. Demetrius caught his victim around the body, and
crushed the wretched man in beneath his grasp. The pseudo-Pratinas did
not cry out twice. He had no breath. Demetrius tore him off of his
feet and shook him in mid-air.
"Daphne! Daphne!" thundered the awful pirate; "speak--or by the
infernal gods--"
"Put him down!" shouted Caesar and Drusus. They were almost appealing
to an unchained lion roaring over his prey, Drusus caught one of
Demetrius's arms, and with all his strength tore it from its grasp.
"The man cannot say a word! you are choking him," he cried in the
pirate's ear.
Demetrius relaxed his mighty grip. Pratinas, for so we still call him,
leaned back against one of the soldiers, panting and gasping. Drusus
took his assailant by the arm, and led him back to a seat. Caesar sat
waiting until the prisoner could speak.
"Pratinas," said the Imperator, sternly, "as you hope for an easy
death or a hard one, tell this man the truth about his daughter."
Pratinas drew himself together by a mighty effort. For an instant he
was the former easy, elegant, versatile Hellene. When he answered it
was with the ring of triumph and defiance.
"Imperator, it would be easy to tell a lie, for there is no means of
proof at hand. This man," with a derisive glance at his enemy, "says
that I know something about his daughter. Doubtless, though, since he
has pursued for recent years so noble an avocation, it were more
grateful if he thanked me for caring for the deserted girl. Well, I
kept her until she was sufficiently old, and then--for I was at the
time quite poor--disposed of her to a dealer at Antioch, who was
planning to take a slave caravan to Seleucia. My good friend probably
will find his daughter in some Parthian harem, unless--"
Cornelia had arisen and was whispering to Drusus; the latter turned
and held the raging pirate in his seat. Pratinas had made of every
word a venomed arrow, and each and all struck home. The workings of
Demetrius's face were frightful, the beads of agony stood on his
brows,--doubtless he had always feared nothing less,--the certainty
was awful. Cornelia looked upon him half-anxious, yet serene and
smiling. Drusus, too, seemed composed and expectant. The Imperator
gazed straight before him, his eyes searching the prisoner through and
through, and under the glance the Greek again showed signs of fear and
nervousness.
The curtain at the opposite end of the hall rustled, Cornelia rose and
walked to the doorway, and returned, leading Artemisia by the hand.
The girl was dressed in a pure white chiton; her thick hair was bound
back with a white fillet, but in the midst of its mass shone a single
golden crescent studded with little gems. She came with shy steps and
downcast eyes--abashed before so many strangers; and, as she came, all
gazed at her in admiration, not as upon the bright beauty of a rose,
but the perfect sweetness of a modest lily. Cornelia led her on, until
they stood before the prisoner.
"Artemisia," said Cornelia, in a low voice, "have you ever seen this
man before?"
Artemisia raised her eyes, and, as they lit on Pratinas, there was in
them a gleam of wonder, then of fear, and she shrank back in dread, so
that Cornelia threw her arm about her to comfort her.
"_A! A!_" and the girl began to cry. "Has he found me? Will he take
me? Pity! mercy! Pratinas!"
But no one had paid her any more attention. It was Caesar who had
sprung from his seat.
"Wretch!" and his terrible eyes burned into Pratinas's guilty breast,
so that he writhed, and held down his head, and began to mutter words
inaudible. "Can you tell the truth to save yourself the most horrible
tortures human wit can devise?"
But Pratinas had nothing to say.
Again Demetrius leaped upon him. The pirate was a frantic animal. His
fingers moved as though they were claws to pluck the truth from the
offender's heart. He hissed his question between teeth that ground
together in frenzy.
"How did you get her? Where from? When?"
Pratinas choked for utterance.
"Artemisia! Daphne! Yours! I lost her! Ran away at Rome!"
The words shook out of him like water from a well-filled flask.
Demetrius relaxed his hold. A whole flood of conflicting emotions was
displayed upon his manly face. He turned to Artemisia.
"_Makaira!_ dearest! don't you know me?" he cried, holding
outstretched his mighty arms.
"I am afraid!" sobbed poor Artemisia in dismay.
"Come!" It was Cornelia who spoke; and, with the daughter crying
softly on one arm, and the father dragged along in a confused state of
ecstasy on the other, she led them both out of the room.
Pratinas was on his knees before Caesar. The Hellene was again
eloquent--eloquent as never before. In the hour of extremity his
sophistry and his rhetoric did not leave him. His antitheses,
epigrams, well-rounded maxims, figures of speech, never were at a
better command. For a time, charmed by the flow of his own language,
he gathered strength and confidence, and launched out into bolder
flights of subtly wrought rhetoric. He excused, explained away each
fault, vivified and magnified a hundred non-existent virtues, reared a
splendid word-fabric in praise of clemency. To what end? Before him
sat Caesar, and Drusus, and a dozen Romans more, who, with cold,
unmoved Italian faces, listened to his artificial eloquence, and gave
no sign of pity. And as he went on, the sense of his hopeless position
overcame the wretched man, and his skill began to leave him. He became
thick and confused of speech; his periods tripped; his thought moved
backward. Then his supple tongue failed him utterly, and, in cries and
incoherent groans, he pleaded for the right to exist.
"Man," said the Imperator, when the storm of prayers and moans was
over, "you conspired against Quintus Drusus, my friend. You
failed--that is forgiven. You conspired, I have cause to believe,
against Pompeius, my enemy, but a Roman--that is unproved, and
therefore forgiven. You conspired with Pothinus against me--that was
an offence touching me alone, and so that, too, may be forgiven. But
to the prayers of a father you had wronged, you answered so that you
might gloat over his pain. Therefore you shall die and not live. Take
him away, guards, and strike off his head, for his body is too vile to
nail to any cross."
The face of the Greek was livid. He raised his manacled hands, and
strained at the irons in sheer despair. The soldiers caught him
roughly to hale him away.
"Mercy! kyrios! kyrios!" he shrieked. "Spare me the torments of Hades!
The Furies will pursue me forever! Pity! Mercy!"
Cornelia had reentered the room, and saw this last scene.
"When my uncle and Ahenobarbus were nigh their deaths," she said
stingingly, "this man observed that often, in times of mortal peril,
skeptics call on the gods."
"The rule is proved," said Caesar, casting a cynical smile after the
soldiers with their victim. "All men need gods, either to worship when
they live, or to dread when they die."