The Lion\'s Brood
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Duffield Osborne >> The Lion\'s Brood
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She drew closer and looked again into his eyes.
"Yes," she said, and in her voice the joy began to sweep away all other
feelings; "yes, you are indeed Lucius Sergius Fidenas--man, not shade--"
But, taking her hand, he interrupted:--
"Do you not remember the omen, my Marcia? how you said you would love
me when Orcus should send back the dead from Acheron? how I accepted
it? how the gods have brought all about, as was most to their honour
and my joy?--for now you have indeed said that you love me."
She placed her free hand upon his shoulder saying:--
"And that which I, Marcia, daughter of Titus Manlius Torquatus, have
said unto the shade, that say I to the living Lucius Sergius. Take me,
love; for where thou art Caius, there shall I be Caia."
Once again he took her in his arms and kissed her upon the lips, long
and tenderly. Then she drew herself back.
"You are wounded?" she said anxiously. "Forgive me that I forgot.
Truly I forget all things, now--in this wonder and joy."
Sergius laughed.
"He pricked me--in the thigh, I think, but not deeply. The gods have
brought me so close to the shades that I am enough akin to them not to
heed little hurts."
But she had seized the lamp and was examining his injury--a flesh wound
that, while it had bled freely, yet seemed to have avoided the larger
muscles and blood-vessels.
"Did I not tell you?" he said reassuringly, as she rose from her knee.
"A close bandage so that it will not bleed--that is all we shall want,
for my strength must remain with me yet a little while, if we would
truly go to Rome and not to the realms of the dead."
She said nothing, but, tearing strips from her stole, proceeded deftly
to bind them around the leg.
"Agathocles himself could not do better--nay, I doubt Aesculapius--"
but she rose again quickly and placed her finger upon his lips.
"It is the gods who have saved us to each other. Do not make them
angry, lest they withdraw their favour. I am ready to follow you, my
lord Lucius."
Standing erect, he raised both hands in invocation.
"A shrine to Venus the Preserver!--to Apollo the Healer!"
Then, stooping quickly, he drew the long, dark robe of Iddilcar from
where it lay entangled about the legs of the corpse. Fortunately it
had slipped down from the Carthaginian's shoulders early in the
struggle; perhaps he had tried to free himself from it; perhaps it had
been partly torn away; but, in either event, it had fallen where it
must have hampered his movements even more seriously, and where it was
less stained with his blood than might have been expected.
Sergius threw it over his own tattered, blood-stained garments,
striving to hide the rents, and raising it high about his neck so as to
conceal his face as much as possible. Meanwhile, Marcia, having bound
on her sandals, had of her own accord donned the mantle Iddilcar had
brought for her, and which had fallen by the door of the apartment.
Then, gathering up her long, thick hair, she confined it close above
her head, drawing down upon it the hat that lay beside the cloak--a
broad-brimmed Greek petasus, admirably adapted for concealment as well
as protection.
"I am ready," she said eagerly. "Let us make haste."
Sergius was stooping over the dead man, searching for something.
"It is the ring," he said; "the ring with the seal of the Great Council
of which he spoke. How else should we pass the guard at the gate?"
A moment later he rose, and, going to the light, examined carefully the
several rings taken from the priest's-fingers.
One by one they dropped and rolled away over the floor. The last only
remained, and Marcia, looking over his shoulder, saw a heavy, gold
signet bearing the device of a horse under a palm tree.
"Come now," he said, taking her hand. He had thrust the long knife of
Iddilcar into the girdle of his tunic, and this was their only weapon.
So, leading Marcia, he quickly traversed the halls and courts and
gained the door, which hung ajar and unattended. Outside, a company of
five men were gathered, all mounted. Two were apparently soldiers, a
sort of guard; the rest were servants. Heavy looking packages were
bound, behind them, on their horses' backs, doubtless the money which
Iddilcar had gotten, while two extra animals, saddled and bridled, were
held in waiting.
The heart of Sergius leaped as he noted the fine, small heads and
slender, muscular legs that marked the Asian stock of their mounts.
Iddilcar had provided well for all emergencies; but Sergius felt some
anxiety lest a chance glimpse of his face might lead to detection. The
sky in the east was already beginning to lighten, and there were more
men of the escort than he had anticipated. Speech would be fatal;
therefore he strode quickly out, took the bridle of one of the horses
from the man who held it, and swung himself upon its back. To assist
Marcia could not be done without exciting suspicion, and he ground his
teeth when she tried to follow his example, and one of the servants
laughed and pushed her roughly into the saddle. Then they rode on, and
the others followed, whispering together.
He had muffled his face a trifle too closely, perhaps, and he had
mounted the horse standing, whereas all knew that the Cappadocians were
trained to kneel at the word. Therefore the men of the escort
wondered, though they hardly ventured to suspect.
Marcia felt, rather than noted, their attitude, and Sergius, glancing
toward her, saw that she was trembling. He urged his horse faster
toward the gate that opened upon the Appian Way; boldness and speed
were all that could save them. Suddenly the gate loomed up, gray and
massive, in the mist of the early morning. Several soldiers lounged
forward from the guardhouse, whence came the rattle of dice and the
shrill laughter of a woman. Sergius showed his ring and said nothing,
while Marcia came close to him, shivering, for the morning air was
chill and biting. Their followers had drawn rein, and were gathered in
a little clump several spear-lengths behind.
Meanwhile the soldiers, Spaniards they seemed, were gazing stupidly at
the device on the seal and making irrelevant comments. It was evident
that their night had been spent among the wineskins, and that a new
danger menaced.
Summoning what Punic he knew, Sergius leaned forward and asked in a low
but stern voice to see their officer. Fortunately his own followers
were too far away to hear his words, and drunken Iberians would not be
critical as to a faulty Punic accent.
Still they hesitated, chattered together, and stared, but at last one
who seemed more sober than the rest reeled away to the guard-house,
and, after some delay and evident persuasion, emerged again with a
young officer whose moist, hanging lips and filmy eyes showed that he,
too, had been dragged from the pursuit of pleasure. Helmetless and
with loosened corselet, every detail of his appearance told the story
of relaxed discipline.
"What do you want? at this hour?" he said thickly, ambling forward and
leaning heavily upon the shoulder of his scarcely more steady guide.
Again Sergius held out the ring, and the man, being a native
Carthaginian, recognized it through the mist of his intoxication, and,
throwing himself at full length, touched the earth with his forehead.
"What do you wish?" he said, rising and standing, somewhat sobered by
the presence of such authority.
"Open the gate. I ride under orders of the schalischim," said the
Roman, again speaking low and rapidly.
The officer turned and shouted to his men, and several ran to unbar the
gate with such speed as their condition warranted. The other occupants
of the guard-house were now grouped at the door, five men, half armed,
and two dishevelled women with painted faces and flower-embroidered
pallas.
The gate swung slowly on its hinges.
"The light of the Baals be with you, friend!" exclaimed Sergius, and he
and Marcia rode through, with hearts beating madly. Voices raised in
discussion made them turn in their saddles. In his drunken stupidity,
the Carthaginian officer was trying to detain their escort and
servants. "The master had said nothing about them. How did he know
they belonged to the same party?" Then all began gesticulating and
shouting to Sergius for help and explanation.
Here was an unforeseen incident, and the mind of the young Roman viewed
it rapidly in all its lights. On the one side, he would be relieved of
an awkward following that might at any moment begin to suspect him; on
the other hand to leave these in the lurch would be to invite prompt
suspicion. Still, they were fifty yards or more in advance, their
horses were good, and more space would be gained before the tangle at
the gate could be straightened out; therefore he waved his arm, as if
making some signal, and, turning again in his saddle, rode on, but
without increasing his speed.
Louder shouts followed him, for, as he had intended, his gesture had
proved unintelligible. Then, when they saw he did not stop, the cries
ceased suddenly and an animated chattering came to his ears. Here was
suspicion trying to make itself understood and, at last, succeeding,
for, as Sergius glanced back once more to note how the matter
progressed, the young captain of the gate sprang forward and shouted
for him to halt.
"A third altar--to Mercury the hastener!" exclaimed Sergius. "Quick
now! with the knees!" and, pressing the flanks of his Cappadocian, both
animals bounded forward into a headlong gallop.
XIII.
WINTER QUARTERS.
The beat of hoofs upon the great blocks of basalt rang through the
morning air in measured cadence, and soon an answering echo came up
from the south. Open flight had at last dispelled all doubt and given
the signal for pursuit.
First came the two Africans of the original escort, released and bidden
to ride for life or death; a short distance behind was the Carthaginian
captain on his own horse which had probably been haltered behind the
guard-house; and, last of all, three of the Spanish guard, who had
thrown the servants and baggage from the animals that bore them, and
appropriated such speed as these afforded for the business in hand.
That the officer was pretty well sobered seemed apparent. A fugitive
bearing the ring of the schalischim--the seal of the Great
Council--must be a man of importance, or else the possession of such a
talisman augured the commission of some terrible crime. Already he saw
himself stretched writhing upon the cross; the crowd, reviling or
gibing, seemed surging about his feet; and his howls of anguish found
voice in a storm of guttural objurgations to men and horses, mingled
with prayers and vows to the gods of Carthage.
He had overtaken the two Africans now, for his animal was better than
theirs, but the three others laboured hopelessly behind: the
Cappadocians flew rather than galloped far in advance. Already nearly
three hundred yards separated them from their pursuers, and the gap was
widening slowly but surely. Only the officer held his own, for he was
now forging ahead of the Africans.
"Ah, cowards! slime! filth!" he shouted to his struggling men. "The
cross! the cross! that for you unless we catch them! that for me!--for
all! Ah, Eschmoun! Ah, Khamon!--Melkarth!--gifts!--gold, gems, robes,
spices!--my first-born to the Baals! to the Baals! Help! speed!"
The man was mad--mad indeed with terror and newly dispelled
drunkenness; and his horse, a great African, coal-black save for one
white hoof, seemed to partake of his master's frenzy. With ears lying
flat along his head, and eyes that burned into those of Sergius, when
he ventured to glance behind him,--glaring sheer through distance and
dust like the very eyes of those demons his rider invoked,--the beast
thundered on, equalling the speed of the light Asiatic chargers by the
force of strength alone.
From time to time the fugitives turned their heads to measure the
distance, and the sight of this unwearied pursuer appeared to fascinate
them as by some weird power. The rest were beaten out,--the Spaniards
lost to sight, the Africans visible only by the dust that hung over
them far behind.
The mountains to the eastward seemed to be dancing away in a mad chase
toward the south, a chase which Tifata itself was urging on. The
glimmer of white in the north told of the morning sun striking upon
houses. Still they rode on, pursuers and pursued.
Suddenly a sound, half-trumpet note, half bellow, swelled up ahead.
Then another answered it, and another and another took up the refrain.
Sergius' face blanched, and, with a sudden effort, he threw his animal
almost upon its haunches. Marcia was carried several spear-lengths
farther before she could check her speed. Wonder and the dread of some
accident drove the blood to her heart. A hoarse shout of triumph came
from their pursuer, as she turned to ride back.
She asked no questions. Surely Sergius knew what was best. She saw
Iddilcar's long dagger in his hand, and that he was about to fight.
"Back!--back! and to one side," he called, as she rode up. "Did you
not hear the elephants? That is Casilinum, and they are besieging it.
We should have remembered."
He darted forward to meet the Carthaginian, fearful that he, too, would
draw rein and await the coming of his followers. Then indeed all would
be lost. Six soldiers on the one side and a camp full on the other
were hopeless odds against a wounded man armed only with a Numidian
dagger.
But it was Bacchus that fought for Rome that day--Bacchus, to whom no
altar had been vowed. A night of debauchery and the sudden terror of
its awakening had effectually blurred whatever judgment the officer may
have had, and his one thought was to kill or capture his quarry.
So they came together, Sergius swerving his Cappadocian as they met.
The officer struck blindly, but the good lord Bacchus put out his hand
and turned the blow aside. Then, as they parted, a strange thing
happened. Marcia had wondered dimly why Sergius struggled with the
long, girdleless garment of Iddilcar, tearing it off as he rode. Now,
when the two horses sprang apart, she saw that he had thrown it
dexterously over the Carthaginian, blinding his blow and tangling him
in its heavy folds.
Prompt to respond to knee and rein, the Cappadocian wheeled, almost as
soon as he ran clear, but the African thundered on, while its rider
cursed in blind terror and tried to check his horse and to free his
face and sword-arm. A moment, and he had succeeded, but he succeeded
too late. The Roman was at his back, and Marcia saw the long dagger
rise and fall in a swift thrust. She could not see how the point took
its victim just at the nape; but she saw him pitch forward like an ox
under the axe.
Almost before she could grasp what had happened, Sergius was beside the
fallen man, had resumed the priest's tunic, red with new blood stains,
and was on his horse again. His brow lay in deep lines as he rode
toward her.
"Come," he said. "The gods favouring us, we must pass their camp
before the rest come up. Grant that those may linger by the corpse,
and that we meet no check."
Again they were galloping toward the lines that lay about Casilinum.
All had happened so quickly that even now they could scarcely see the
plume in the distant dust cloud that told where the pursuers straggled
on. They had turned into the new side-road without meeting a man.
Then a small foraging party halted them, and Sergius showed the seal
and spoke in Gallic to its Numidian leader. A little farther on was
stationed another band, and here the delay was longer ere his halting
Punic convinced the Spanish piquet, and they again rode forward
unsuspected. All had bowed low to the horse and the palm tree, and no
one dared question what weighty mission urged on the man in the torn
and blood-stained tunic and the slender youth, his companion.
Now they were back again upon the pavement of the Appian; the last line
was passed, and the beleaguered town with its stout-hearted garrison
lay well behind. Perhaps that sudden uproar told of the arrival of
their pursuers; perhaps those glittering points amid distant dust
clouds meant a new pursuit. Surely none but Mercury had winged the
feet of the Cappadocians! Unwearied, like springs of steel, the stout
muscles drove them on--on over the marshland with the glint of the sea
before them--on, up the rising ground.
Again and again Sergius turned in his saddle scanning the road behind,
feeling the presence of pursuers whom he could not see. The good
horses were weakening fast. No flesh and blood could stand that
strain, and naught but the spirit of the breed kept them afoot.
Marcia's was limping painfully; the one Sergius rode was wavering in
its stride, like the Carthaginian captain when he came out of the
guard-house by the gate.
"Gods! What were those shrill sounds--half whistle, half scream?"
Too well he remembered how the Numidians urged on their bridleless
chargers. Yes, there they were now--scarce half a milestone behind and
coming up like the wind that blew through their dishevelled
manes--fifty at least. Death, then, was decreed, after all, and he
glanced toward Marcia, measuring the time when he might kiss her and
kill her ere he sold his own life to the javelins.
Suddenly he heard her cry out.
"Look!" she called, and, following her finger, he gazed eagerly ahead.
A clump of horsemen, heavy armed with helmet and corselet, crowned the
knoll of rising ground over which the road led, and, above them,
fluttering in the breeze, he saw the square vexillum of the cavalry of
the legion.
He was among them now, lifting Marcia from her horse and dimly
conscious of many words being spoken around.
"See, lord, they have halted," said a voice. "Is it your will that we
pursue?"
Then, as an answering voice replied in the negative, he kissed Marcia
and made her drink wine that some one brought. Barbarous cries that
she must not hear or understand came to his ears, and he knew that
their pursuers were wheeling in discomfited flight. The circle of
soldiers stood back. Something cold and feathery fell upon his
upturned face and turned to moisture. He saw a tall man with features
of wonderful beauty regarding them kindly and in silence; his white
paludamentum was heavily fringed with purple, and Sergius recognized
him now,--Marcus Marcellus, the new dictator. Another drop, feathery,
cold, and moist, fell upon Marcia's hand, and she roused herself at the
touch, peering up into her lover's face and then quickly at the heavens.
"Look!" she cried. "Up! not into my eyes."
He turned, for an instant, to see the blue vault of a few moments since
overcast with gray and filled with a swirl of snowy flakes.
"See, now, Lucius, lord of my life; here are the messengers of winter.
Winter quarters! he is in winter quarters! See! have we not prevailed?"
It was the voice of the dictator that answered:--
"Yes, truly; and there shall soon be prepared for him eternal summer
quarters in Phlegethon--if the Greek tales be true."
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