CHAPTER XXIII.
Martialis, who, as the reader may have perceived, was returning from Rome,made his last change of horses in the town, an operation which hisfeverish haste contracted to the limits of a very few minutes. Leaping onthe back of the fresh steed he clattered through the narrow streets, and,on gaining the open, moonlit road, flew along at a frightful speed.
With all his energies concentrated on his headlong race, there was left noopportunity for the consideration of any special plan or method, by whichto attain his object. One supreme hope panted in his breast, that they,who had carried off his beloved, might have loitered on the way, and thatthus he might have time to close with them ere they reached theirjourney's end. Oh, that he might have that satisfaction!
He chuckled savagely at the thought--his brain was on fire! The fatigue ofa long day's incessant galloping, league after league, was unfelt andforgotten. Excitement strung his nerves to an intense pitch, and hescarcely knew the pitiless use he made of whip and spur on his flyinghorse's sides.
He raced along, with his eyes fixed and strained ahead to catch thewelcome sight of the group he burned to see, but he was fated to bitterdisappointment. The building which terminated his ride rose before him,and nothing more to gladden his eyes. An involuntary groan broke from hislips. Confidence and hope died away, and blind desperation and doggednesstook root. Half a score--half a hundred menials of Caesar, beyond theimmediate beck of the tyrant's finger, he heeded not; but in the vastpalace yonder, with its thronging guards and slaves, what then? There wasstill a faint hope left. There yet remained a league of sea to coverbefore gaining those accursed rocks, which lay far out in dim outline.
He leaped to the ground, and the grooms glanced in astonishment at thefoam-covered animal he quitted to their care, with its drooping head andtrembling limbs, its flanks dropping blood.
'The Centurion must have serious business to have ridden so fast. Yes;some of Caesar's slaves had taken boat for the island, but they must havelanded ere this.'
A meaning laugh accompanied the information. With distraction in his brainMartialis hastened forward to the landing-place, where a boat for courierservice was ever kept at hand for immediate use.
It happened, however, that the crew, probably tempted by the brilliantnight, were not all on the spot, as they ought to have been, but hadrambled off here and there in the moonlight. A very few minutes would,doubtless, have sufficed to bring them all together, but to thePretorian's fevered mind the delay was unbearable. Sweeping his glancearound, he perceived a light skiff drawn up on the shore at a littledistance. There were oars in it; and without a second thought he sprang toit, and putting forth his strength pushed it down into the water. The nextmoment he was pulling the frail vessel over the calm sea at a rate it hadsurely never travelled before.
The tough oars bent with the mighty strokes. Each time they gripped thewater the light bark seemed to leap forward, and the perspiration rolledin heavy drops from the stern brow of the rower. The exertion wasterrible; but yet the powerful arms never relaxed an ounce of theirstrength, nor the stroke a second of its time, nor an inch of its sweep,till the bow of the boat flew round into the narrow little bay of theMarina of Capreae, and ran hard upon the pebbly beach.
Dropping the oars, Martialis leaped ashore and ran up the steep path whichclimbed the terrace-like ascent to the village above, leaving theastonished guardians of the landing-place to wonder and speculate at theunusual method and haste of his arrival.
To the labour of his arms now succeeded the trial of his legs, and hepossessed the swiftest foot in the legion.
On his left arose the conical hill, topped by the villa, in which thePrefect was established. Here he should have stopped; but neither hiscommander, nor the despatches he carried for him, now claimed the leastthought. He doubled the base of the hill, and threaded the narrow lanesleading to the villa Jovis above, with a stride which brought him in avery few minutes close to the outer gate. Here he thought best to moderatehis pace to a rapid walk, and in this gait reached the Pretorian on guard.From this man he learned that half a dozen slaves, with a female, hadentered about half an hour previously. He passed on and entered thepalace.
Where within its fatal recesses was she hidden away? He came to a standwithin the gloom of a passage, whilst fiery thoughts flashed through hismind. Beyond he could hear the sound of hurrying menials. It was Caesar'shour for supping--what should he do?
The Prefect was his friend, and his influence was great. Oh, that he hadmet with the wretches ere this, so that his own arm had been all to trustto! Where was the Prefect, and would he stir in his cause? It might be toolate. After the supper most like would come the sacrifice. The drops burstforth on his brow in his agony of mind.
If he could only discover where she was placed, it would go hard, but thatcunning, or force, or both combined, would bring him to her. But which wayto turn? The superstructure of the palace was itself intricate;underneath, he knew, was another subterranean labyrinth of which few hadmuch knowledge. To follow to the bowels of the rocks was of no moreconsequence than to find the object of his search where he stood, sinceescape from either spot was hopeless without the tyrant's will. To gainher side was now his utmost hope. Could he but clasp her in his arm, hehad the means to save her unsullied and to put himself beyond the reach ofvengeance.
These few moments of reflection passed, during which the image of Neaerarose on his mind, in painful distinctness, with the sweet breath of hercalm beauty and purity.
He felt that his short sword and poniard were loose in their scabbards,then entered the peristyle before him.
Silver lamps shed a brilliant light on the polished marble of pillar andfloor, on the gilded fretwork of ceiling and cornice, the panelledpictures, the dancing, diamond-flashing waters of the fountain in themidst. Among the doorways which opened on the court was one heavilycurtained. Domestics passed in and out ever and anon, and the presence ofthe soldier stationed before it was evidence that Caesar was within.
Martialis perceived with satisfaction that this man was one of his owntroop, and went up to him immediately. The Pretorian drew himself up andsaluted, but not without a curious glance at the unusual aspect hisofficer presented.
'Welcome back, Centurion!--the Prefect is not within,' said he, concludingthat the object of the aide-de-camp was the commander himself.
'Where then?'
'At his house for anything that I can tell, Centurion.'
'Maybe he awaits me there, for this night I was due.'
'I can see with my own eyes you have travelled hard, Centurion.'
'Who is within?'
'Caesar supping with his friends.'
'Know you which friends?'
'Flaccus, Marinus, Priscus, the philosophers, and the Roman lady,' repliedthe legionary.
The three first named were companions of Tiberius, the third of whom wehave already known. The Roman lady Martialis knew to be Plautia. He passedhis hand across his forehead. The question was as useless as the answer.The slaves, who idled here and there in twos and threes about the court,were the natural repositories of household secrets and tattle. He eyedthem and gnawed his nether lip.
'Have you been in the palace long?' he asked again.
'I have wellnigh worn out my spell of duty, I should say, Centurion--atleast I brought Caesar hither from his dressing-room.'
'Tell me, Asca,' said Martialis, dropping his voice, 'since you have beenhere within-doors, have you seen or heard anything of the arrival of someof Caesar's slaves bearing with them a woman--a young girl?'
'Only a few minutes ago, Zeno, the worshipful steward, marshalled a couplesuch into Caesar's presence--they had a woman with them, and they are therenow.'
'Ah, and she?' demanded the young man, with an energy which caused thesoldier to recoil a step. 'What was she like--her appearance? Quick, Asca,speak!'
'Truly, Centurion, I scarce gave her any heed, except that she was tallerthan common--her fa
ce was well shrouded moreover,' quoth the surprisedAsca.
'Was that all? Was there nothing said? Did you not hear whence they came?Can you tell me nothing of her looks, her voice, dress, or anything toguide me?'
'Well, she seemed very unwilling; and when they first came and demandedentrance, Plautus--that is one of the slaves who came along with her, sentin Caesar's signet ring, along with the word Surrentum, upon which Zenocame out and----Stop, Centurion, stop----!'
But Martialis had disappeared through the curtains of the doorway. Theword Surrentum was electrical, and, with a bound, he was gone, ere hisamazed subordinate could move a muscle.
Double curtains closed the entrance to the supper-room, the few feet ofintervening space forming a kind of ante-chamber. Martialis dashed asidethe innermost drapery and halted for a brief second, whilst he cast aflashing glance around the brilliant chamber. Yes, there was Neaerastanding in the midst, on exactly the same spot where her ill-fatedfosterfather had stood before, a target for each rude, pitiless gaze ofmaster and slave alike. She was drawn to the full height of her tall,supple figure, and her noble face, as pale as death, was bent undauntedlyon the opposing visage of Tiberius. The expression of the latter wasseemingly cold and impassive. Plautia, reclining at his right hand, gazedwith an exultant glance and flushed cheeks; the others were critical andamused. On either hand of the captive girl was Plautus and a comrade, withtheir fierce eyes riveted on Tiberius, oblivious of all save his slightestmotion. Behind the Imperial couch stood the handsome steward, intentlywatchful of everything. The supper-table, in the midst, was loaded withits gorgeous service of gold and silver plate, whilst the attendantsaround the apartment had stayed their stealthy steps, fearful ofinterrupting the scene with the slightest sound.
'They said my father had need of me--was dying,' Neaera was saying in aclear, firm voice, when her glance, in common with the rest, was drawn bya stir at the doorway. The gleam of a corslet filled her eyes, breakingviolently through the cluster of slaves round the entrance, as the prow ofa ship dashes aside the billows of the sea. With a tremulous cry she heldforth her arms.
'Lucius!'
'Neaera--I am here!'
He reached her side at a stride, and, thrusting Plautus rudely back, casthis left arm around her and lifted her away to a clearer space.
Close on his heels rushed the terror-stricken Pretorian on guard, andPlautus, on his part, made a savage gesture of retaliation. Both, however,had the discretion to hesitate before the fiery glance of the Centurionand a still more significant motion of his right hand to his belt.
'Courage, my Neaera,' murmured her lover; 'I know all, and have followed tosave thee from these pitiless wretches, whose foul touch is worse thandeath. Only one escape from dishonour is left to thee now, dear love.'
He drew his poniard from his belt and placed it in her hand.
She took it, and held up her face to his with an ineffable smile.
'They shall not part us now.'
He kissed her lips, and looked calmly on the excitement which followed hisextraordinary interruption into the inviolable presence of the Emperor.Confused exclamations and cries broke forth. A convulsive movement ranthrough the throng like the tossing of forest boughs in a sudden gust ofwind. Each one stared with astonishment on the Pretorian garb, thesplendid form, the dark, stern, handsome face, flushed and damp withextreme exertion and emotion. The name of Martialis flew from lip to lip.
Under the wing and eye of their Imperial patron himself, the indignantexpressions of his shocked creatures were many and loud, but, beyond thesesafe demonstrations of just resentment of the unparalleled audacity of theintruder, there seemed to be no disposition to proceed to a more forcibleproof of their zeal. An armed, desperate man, who had more than held hisown with the first gladiators and athletes of the capital, was not to berashly interfered with.
Thus the clatter of tongues and perturbation of gesture eddied and tossedwithin its own agitated circle for a few moments, without overflowingtoward the tall person of the offender, who stood confronting them,motionless, yet watchful and resolute, with his left arm thrown round thewaist of the young girl.
'Yes, they are in no hurry to begin--they know it will cost them dear,'muttered Martialis grimly, with vigilant eyes on those nearest him, and ameaning hitch of his belt which brought his sword hilt nigher to his hand.
From him to Caesar all glances roved. Tiberius had recovered his attitudeand composure from his first start of astonishment and alarm. On hiscountenance rested a dark, lowering look, which no one, who knew him, sawwithout vague uneasiness.
Asca, whose instructions were without privilege to any one, was the mostto be pitied. He shook with dread, and his visage, full of consternation,hovered between his Centurion and his Emperor. On the former he bentreproachful glances, whilst the aspect of the latter filled him withterror.
'So please you, Caesar, it was no fault of mine,' he broke out, after thefirst few moments of confusion were dying away. 'The Centurion will bearme witness, that he broke past my guard ere it was possible to preventhim.'
'The man is right,' said Martialis calmly; 'he is in no way to blame. Thismaiden is my betrothed bride--I come to claim her. She has been draggedfrom her home by ruffians. I pray you, Caesar, of your clemency, to let megive her safe conduct back again.'
Zeno leant over his master and whispered in his ear. The frown did notquit the face of Tiberius, but he appeared to reflect. Martialis perceivedthe hesitation and took heart.
'You have a strange method of making your request,' said the Emperor, withsardonic slowness, in the deep silence which immediately reigned at thesound of his voice. 'Until this moment I thought the privacy of my room myown. When Pretorian officers set the example of breaking orders and over-riding regulations, it is time I saw to their discipline myself. I willbegin with you. Deliver up your arms, and place yourself in the custody ofthe guard, awaiting my pleasure.'
The Emperor signed to the soldier Asca to enforce these commands, but, erehe moved, Martialis retired farther back with Neaera, until he reached thecorner of the room. By this strategic movement into the empty angle hebrought all his expected assailants more in front, and, thereby, vastlystrengthened his position.
'I crave your pardon, Caesar, for what must appear an unseemly intrusioninto the privacy of your apartment, and nothing but the bittercircumstances of my case would ever have driven me to be guilty of suchdisregard of your presence,' said the Centurion, with respectful butresolute mien. 'I pray you, consider my position. I bear to the Prefectdespatches from the camp at Rome, and have galloped since early dawn withbarely a stop. Flinging myself from my horse at Surrentum, for a few briefminutes, at the house of my betrothed, I found it had been the spoil ofruffians. I have hastened hither without stop--what are every-day rules andcustoms to a man whose brain is distraught with grief? Nothing could havetouched me nearer, Caesar, and I entreat your indulgence--your pardon. Lether go, I beseech you--I doubt not the slaves have made some grave error.She cannot have given offence--it would not be possible for her sweetnature. It is not much thy Centurion asks, and he has served thee well.'
'Did you not stay, then, to deliver your despatches to the Prefect?' saidTiberius.
'They are here in my belt.'
'Another duty disregarded--the first care of a courier is the errand he isupon.'
'The Prefect will bear willing witness of my diligence in his service--Ihave ever the favour of his choice for the same errand,' said Martialis.
'Deliver up your weapons,' said Tiberius harshly. 'Guard, take him andlead him away.'
'He comes to certain death,' said Martialis with energy. 'You mayoverpower me, but it will cost you dear--you shall never take us alive.'
Excitement and commotion again shook the room like a turbulent sea, yetstill it never gathered sufficient cohesion and weight to propel itselfinto the corner against the resolute form there. All eyes were bent on theluckless Pretorian Asca, whose glance, in turn, hung on Caesar's with apiteou
s expression. With the selfish satisfaction which human beings viewthe misfortune of another, the soldier was assailed with cries ofencouragement and censure, which came all the more freely from the lips ofthose for whom he acted as a kind of sacrifice.
'Centurion, you hear!' he said to Martialis in beseeching tones, 'give upyour sword as Caesar wills.'
'I will not, Asca, and do you forgive me if I hurt you in self-defence.'
The legionary looked again to Caesar. 'He refuses!'
'Then compel him,' thundered the Emperor; 'strike, man, strike!'
Thrilled by the terrible voice, and somewhat excited by the cries of theothers, the Pretorian set his teeth in blind desperation, and levelled hisheavy spear. With consummate ease Martialis evaded the thrust, and graspedthe weapon with his hands. Continuing the same movement, he thrust thelance back athwart the body of the soldier, and threw him sprawling on hisback. It was done in a second of time, and with astonishing power andcelerity, but it gave what the attentive slave Plautus thought anexcellent opportunity for interference. He had been lingering nighest ofall, with the eye of a lynx on the movements of the Centurion. As thelatter closed with Asca, he therefore sprang forward. He was a large andpowerfully-built man, and, had he been able to carry out his intention ofgrappling with the young officer off his guard, the latter would probablyhave been entangled and finally smothered by numbers. But quick as theslave's movement was, it was late by a brief second, for he had beenclosely watched and suspected. As the soldier Asca went sprawling back,Martialis swerved, as swift as light, and met his new assailant with anunexpected blow of his clenched fist. No friendly affection for a comrade-in-arms tempered the stroke, as in the case of Asca, but, on the contrary,his long sinewy arm shot out like a battering-ram, and struck the on-coming slave off his feet.
The dash and prowess of the young officer seemed to arouse something likea revolution of feeling in his favour, to judge by the tone of theexclamations which broke forth at his feat. Even a half-stifled excited'_Euge!_' of approval might have been heard. His reputation was general,but Asca, alone of all present, had seen him discomfit a boxer of theamphitheatres by a similar blow, dealt for the honour of the Legion in thecamp at Rome, amid the delighted yells of packed thousands of hiscomrades.
The senseless Plautus was lifted and carried out with a face crushed anddisfigured for life. Martialis, with his weapon still undrawn, fell backto his former position. The slender fingers of Neaera glided into his, andhe clasped them tight.
'Hark!' he said to her, as the raised tones of Tiberius bade them hastefor a file of Pretorians, ''twill be no more child's play--would it hadbeen with others than my own comrades. But courage, my Neaera! Shelteryourself behind me, and when I fall, you know how to use your weapon;better the tomb for such as you than the pollution of these walls.'
'Alas, my father and mother!' she murmured, as she nestled closer to hisside.
He glanced quickly into her face, and saw that it was composed, thoughpale. No trace of fear trembled on the tender curving lips, or dwelt inthe calm clear eyes which rested devotedly upon him. New-born qualities ofheroism transfigured her, and clothed her with a new beauty. The routineof her humble life had never lighted her fair face with such an unexpectedspirit of dauntlessness. That brief glance filled his heart with pride andrapture such as he never felt before, and nerved him with the strength ofa Titan. Her unruffled mien flooded his mind with the parting words ofCestus, and he thrilled with joy. Surely, none but noble blood could sonobly withstand such a terrible test. It was a melancholy joy, however,despairing and fierce as it was fleet.
He reared his head, and bent his eyes upon the throng before him withinfinite pride and contempt. The dark deep orbs of the Emperor shone uponhim from beneath the shadow of their knitted brows, but he returned theirgaze disdainfully. He felt himself beyond their vengeance.
From the ghastly visage of Caesar his gaze rested on the warm lovelinessof Plautia, whose flushed countenance and sparkling eyes betrayed theexcited conflict of her mind. Her yet unconquered love of the youngsoldier's manly beauty, blown into fresh flame by the exhibition of hispower--the sting of remorse at the unlooked-for effect of her plot, mingledwith savage envy at the sight of her rival, and the bitter spectacle oftheir mutual devotion, were rioting in her breast. His glance was cold andcontemptuous, as it was passing and brief, and stung her soul to madness.
The messenger despatched for the Pretorians had sped away only a fewmoments, when the anxious brows of Zeno contracted suddenly. An eagerlight came into his eyes, and he stooped to whisper in the Emperor's ear.Tiberius nodded, and muttered a few words in reply. The Greek touched theelbow of the huge Nubian servant, and they both hurried swiftly out of theapartment.
Martialis saw them, but gave them no heed. He had no further hopes, fears,nor suspicions. His sole object, in what he considered to be the fewremaining minutes of his career, was to sell his life as dearly aspossible. In expectation of the coming struggle, the slaves hadimperceptibly edged away from his vicinity, and were waiting with uneasysuspense. The guests at table, with askant glances at the disturber oftheir peace, fidgeted as though he might, at any time, burst upon themwith a furious onslaught, whilst the stern glitter of the Emperor's eyes,on the other hand, discouraged any attempt at interference. Asca, theguard, remained at the doorway. He held his lance at the advance, and hisface was dejected and chopfallen in the extreme.
Rapid thoughts sped through the mind of Martialis as he surveyed thescene. What if he were to assume the offensive before the arrival of hiscomrades? Would he thereby better his position? Had he been alone, hisfleet foot by a quick dash would have easily carried him free from thepalace to the boats. But such an act was impossible with Neaera. It wastrue he might fall upon the craven, naked flock before him, and turn theroom into a shambles. But such a butchery would avail him nothing; and toleave the side of Neaera for an instant would be to endanger her. No, hewould meet his fate honestly, and not like a reckless murderous desperado.
Once more he appealed to Tiberius.
'Will you not send for the Prefect?' he said; 'his presence mightintercede with you, and gain your gracious clemency for his unfortunateCenturion and this blameless maiden. Force will avail nothing, but thesacrifice of some brave men--as for us, we shall never be parted alive, beassured.'
But Caesar answered nothing; neither did any motion or expression betokenthat he paid the least attention to the words. His glance was fixedintently, as it seemed, on the wall, or rather the long curtains whichdraped the wall behind the Centurion for some distance on either hand.
Martialis forebore to say more, and ere long the critical moment arrived.The rapid tread of many feet was heard through the half-drawn curtains ofthe door, and some ten or fifteen Pretorians, fully armed, and flashingwith their polished harness, filed into the room, headed by the bulkyCenturion Macro.
The legionaries came to a halt, with blank wonder on their faces, andtheir officer, with no less astonishment, turned his eyes on Caesar forhis orders.
Martialis silently stooped and kissed Neaera on the lips. Then he slowlydrew his sword from his sheath, and gravely saluted his comrades.
'He refuses to surrender himself,' said Tiberius to Macro, withoutremoving his eyes from Martialis; 'I have sent for you to securehim--alive, if possible; if not, dead.'
The task was repugnant from every point of view, and the legionariesshowed it by the want of alacrity and spirit in the preparations they madeto carry out the mandate. But to hear was to obey, and Macro, who,perhaps, felt less scruple than the rank and file, in consequence of ajealousy of Martialis, desired the latter to deliver up his weapon.
'Come and take it,' said Martialis; 'these are my only terms. Ourfellowship is fated to end in a way we never dreamt of; blame me not, butthose who have dragged my betrothed hither from her home--I will not giveher up.'
The faces of the men darkened, and dissatisfied mutterings broke fromtheir lips. The order to draw up in line and prepare for their
work wasobeyed sullenly and slowly. Martialis was popular, and his words andposition inspired them with additional sympathy.
'Do as ye are bid,' cried Martialis, as he noted the signs ofdissatisfaction; 'nought else will avail.'
But, as their fingers tightened on their weapons, an unlooked-foroccurrence changed the position of affairs.
Caesar's eyes were still riveted on the curtain which hung at the back ofthe Centurion's beleaguered corner. As the last words were spoken, atremulous motion stirred the heavy folds. Then they were suddenly andsilently parted immediately behind the lovers, and through the opening thegigantic form of the Nubian body-servant was launched upon the Centurionin rear. The steward followed him like a shadow, and simultaneouslygripped Neaera from behind. The surprised and helpless girl was speedilydragged apart and disarmed, but to force her lover to succumb was a moredifficult task. His weapon, poised readily but lightly in his hand, waswhirled away by a sudden blow, and the horror-stricken Centurion, at thesame instant, felt himself strained in an embrace which well-nigh stoppedhis respiration. By a marvellous contraction and eel-like movement of hisbody, however, he succeeded in releasing his arms and twisting himselfinto a position more face to face with his assailant. He was thus enabledto grapple on fairer terms, and a terrible struggle began.
The Nubian, as we have already said, was a giant in stature. He topped histall antagonist by a head, and enfolded him with an overwhelming bulk. Hishuge, thick limbs and muscles, his vast breadth of chest, denoted enormouspower; but it was a slow, ponderous, elephantine strength, overloaded withthe superfluous flesh of ease and good feeding. On the other hand, hisopponent was lithe, supple, and active as a tiger--a consummate athlete,with thews and sinews of steel. In addition, he was inspired with a furyit is impossible to describe,--rage at the manner in which he had beentricked--agony of desperation as he heard the faint cry of Neaera.
With every muscle strained to its utmost tension they swayed round andround. Macro, seeing the favourable opportunity, called on his men to joinin the struggle and secure the entrapped Centurion; but the voice ofTiberius broke in with the brief word 'Hold.' They glanced at him insurprise, and saw his uplifted hand and his eyes bent on the wrestlerswith eager interest. Nothing loth, therefore, they stood still to watchthe issue of the struggle.
The knotted veins, the corded muscles, the mighty strength of thecombatants, as they rocked to and fro and panted with terrible efforts,impressed the onlookers with awe, and thrilled them with excitement. Theimmense Nubian was a mountain of bone and flesh. To move him was likemoving a column of the palace. He followed no plan but that of trying tobore down his lighter antagonist by sheer weight and brute force.Martialis felt that these tactics, rude as they were, must finallyprevail, if the contest were suffered to go on much longer. Mad withpassion, he gathered every atom of his strength and art into a lastfrenzied effort. Finding it impossible to lift the ponderous, inanimatemass in his arms by main force, he swerved, as quick and sudden as light,and thrust forward his left hip, using it as a fulcrum, over which theastonished slave felt himself whirled from his feet with irresistibleforce. With his legs flying round in the air, like the spokes of a wheel,he was dashed on the floor with a tremendous concussion, which stunned himand shook the room.
A yell of delirious excitement and triumph rang from the lips ofMartialis, and he glanced round, like a tiger at bay, as if for the nextvictim. But nature has its limits, and the last supreme effort, added tothe extraordinary exertion and excitement of the day, had begun to telleven on his frame of iron. As he drew himself back and clenched his handsfor a desperate dash, his eyes seem to fill with blood--lights, faces,forms mingled in one confused gleam before him. The exultant shouts of thesoldiers, unrepressed by the presence of Caesar, filled his ears like amuffled roar. He swayed dizzily for a brief second or two, and, as hepassed his hand across his brow as if to clear his faculties from the mistwhich confused them, he was buried amid the forms of the soldiers. Theirgrasp restored him, and he struggled with renewed vigour. Once or twice,as he hurled the men right and left, he seemed on the point of breakingthrough the heaving mass, but numbers and exhaustion rendered the issue nolonger doubtful. The Pretorians, whose feelings rather prompted them toshoulder their officer in triumph, clung tenaciously to him with firmhands. Only too pleased at the bloodless conclusion of the matter, theyreceived their rough handling with good-humoured jokes and entreaties, andused their united strength with a merciful purpose.
At the first chance a belt was passed around their prisoner, and his armssecurely buckled to his sides. Then the unfortunate Centurion perceived,at last, that all hope was gone.
'Caesar! tyrant!' he foamed, as he struggled frantically with his bonds,'why did I not bury my blade in your foul heart and relieve the world? Doyour worst with me--I care nothing! But dare not to harm her; she is noblyborn and of gentle blood; beware, therefore!'
The Emperor waved his hand. There was only time for one agonising lookbetween the lovers, and the Pretorians hurried their prisoner from theroom.
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