"Come, little girl, come! It is fruitless! Bid him farewell! he is prepared to die! he cannot survive his honor!"

And she drew her away, screaming and struggling, with eyes deluged in tears, from the apartment wherein the Senator now stood face to face with his first born, the slave alone present as a witness of the last struggle.

But Aulus had by this time recovered all the courage of his race, all his own natural audacity; and waving his hand with a proud gesture toward the slave, he exclaimed in tones of severe authority:

"Dismiss that wretched slave, Aulus Fulvius. Ready I am to die—nay! I wish not to live! But it becomes not thee to doom me to such a death, nor me so to die! Noble I am, and free; and by a free hand will I die, and a noble weapon!"

There was so much command, so much high pride, and spirit, in his tone, his expression, and his gesture, that an answering chord was struck in the mind of the old man; so that without reply, and without evincing any surprise at seeing the youth's arms unbound, he waved a signal to the slave to depart from the atrium.

Then the youth knelt down on one knee before the altar, and cried aloud in a solemn voice—

"Pardon me, ye Gods of our house, for this dishonor which I have brought upon you; absolve me, ye grand ancestors; mine eyes are open now, and I perceive the sin, the shame, the sorrow of my deeds! Absolve me, ye great Gods, and ye glorious men; and thou, my father, think sometimes of the son, whom it repented of his guilt, but whom it pained not"—he raised his arm aloft, and the bright knife-blade glittered in the rays of the altar-fire, when the old Senator sprang forward, with all his features working strangely, and cried "Hold!"

It might be that he had relented; but if it were so, it was too late; for, finishing his interrupted sentence with these words—

—"to die for his house's honor!"—

the young man struck himself one quick blow on the breast, with a hand so sure and steady, that the knife pierced through his ribs as if they had been paper, and clove his heart asunder, standing fixed hilt-deep in his chest; while, without word, or groan, or sigh or struggle, he dropped flat on his back beside the impluvium, and was dead in less time than it has taken to describe the deed.

The father looked on for a moment calmly; and then said in a cool hard voice, "It is well! it is well! The Gods be thanked! he died as a Roman should!"

Then he composed his limbs, and threw a white cloth which lay nigh the block, over the face and body of the wretched youth.

But, as he turned to leave the atrium, nature was too strong for his philosophy, for his pride; and crying out, "My son! my son! He was yet mine own son! mine own Aulus!" and burying his face in his toga, he burst into a paroxysm of loud grief, and threw himself at length on the dead body: father and son victims alike to the inexorable Roman honor!



CHAPTER XIII.

THE DOOM.

Without debatement further, more or less, He should the bearers put to sudden death, Not striving time allowed. HAMLET.

The nones(11) of November were perilous indeed to Rome.

The conspirators, arrested two days previously, and fully convicted on the evidence of the Gaulish ambassadors, of Titus Volturcius of Crotona, and of Lucius Tarquinius,—convicted on the evidence of their own letters—and lastly convicted by their own admissions, were yet uncondemned and in free custody, as it was termed; under the charge of certain senators and magistrates, whose zeal for the republic was undoubted.

There was still in the city a considerable mass of men, turbulent, disaffected, ripe for tumult—there was still in the Senate a large party, not indeed favorable to the plot, but far from being unfavorable to the plotters,—Catiline was at the head of a power which had increased already to nearly the force of two legions, and was in full march upon Rome.

Should the least check of the armies sent against him occur under such circumstances, there was but little doubt that an eruption of the Gladiators, and a servile insurrection, would liberate the traitors, and perhaps even crown their frantic rashness with success.

Such was the state of things, on the morning of the nones; and the brow of the great Consul was dark, and his heart heavy, as he entered the Senate, convened on this occasion in the temple of Jupiter Stator, in order to take the voice of that body on the fate of Lentulus and the rest.

But scarcely had he taken his seat, before a messenger was introduced, breathless and pale, the herald of present insurrection.

The freedmen and clients of Lentulus were in arms; the gladiators and the slaves of Cethegus were up already, and hurrying through the streets toward the house of Quintus Cornificius, wherein their master was confined.

Many slaves of other houses, and no small number of disaffected citizens had joined them; and the watches were well nigh overpowered.

Ere long the roar of the mob might be heard even within those hallowed precincts, booming up from the narrow streets about the Forum, like the distant sound of a heavy surf.

Another, and another messenger followed the first in quick succession—one manipule of soldiers had been overpowered, and driven into some houses where they defended themselves, though hard set, with their missiles—the multitude was thundering at the gates of the City Prisons; and, if not quelled immediately, would shortly swell their numbers by the accession of all the desperate criminals, convicted slaves, and reckless debtors, who were crowded together in those abodes of guilt and wretchedness.

Then was it seen, when the howls of the rabble were echoing through the arches of the sanctuary wherein they sate; when massacre and conflagration were imminent, and close at hand; then was it seen, how much of real majesty and power resided still in the Roman Senate.

Firm, as when Hannibal was thundering at their gates, solemn as when the Gaul was ravaging their city, they sat, and debated, grave, fearless, and unmoved.

Orders were issued to concentrate forces upon the spot where the tumult was raging; the knights, who were collected under arms, in the whole force of their order, without the gates of the Temple as a guard to the Senate, were informed that the Fathers were sufficiently defended by their own sanctity; and were requested to march down upon the forum, and disperse the rioters.

The heavy tramp of their solid march instantly succeeded the transmission of the order; and, in a short time after, the deep swell of their charging shout rose high above the discordant clamors of the mob, from the hollow of the Velabrum.

Still, not a Senator left his seat, or changed countenance; although it might be seen, by the fiery glances and clinched hands of some among the younger nobles, that they would have gladly joined the knights, in charging their hereditary enemies, the Democratic rabble.

The question which was then debating was of more weight, however, than any triumph over the mob; for by the decision of that question it was to be determined whether the traitors and the treason should be crushed simultaneously and forever, or whether Rome itself should be abandoned to the pleasure of the rebels.

That question was the life or death of Lentulus, Cethegus, Gabinius, Statilius, and Cparius; all of whom were in separate custody, the last having been brought in on the previous evening, arrested on his way to the camp of Catiline and Manlius.

Should the Senate decree their death, the commonwealth might be deemed safe—should it absolve them, by that weakness, the republic must be lost.

And on the turn of a die did that question seem to hang.

Decius Junius Silanus, whose opinion was first asked, spoke briefly, but strenuously and to the point, and as became the Consul elect, soon to be the first magistrate of that great empire. He declared for the capital punishment of all those named above, and of four others, Lucius Cassius, Publius Furius, Publius Umbrenus, and Quintus Annius, if they should be thereafter apprehended.

Several others of the high Patrician family followed on the same side; and no one had as yet ventured openly to urge the impunity of the parricides, although Tiberius Nero had recommended a delay in taking the question, and the casting of the prisoners meanwhile into actual incarceration under the safeguard of a military force.

But it had now come to the turn of Caius Julius Csar, the great leader then of the Democratic faction, the great captain that was to be in after days, and the first Emperor of subjugated Rome.

An orator second, if second, to Cicero alone, ardent, impassioned, yet bland, clement, easy; liberal both of hand and council; averse to Cicero from personal pique, as well as from party opposition; an eager candidate for popular applause and favor, it was most natural that he should take side with the conspirators.

Still, his name having been coupled obscurely with their infamous designs, although Cicero had positively refused to suffer his accusation or impeachment, it required so much boldness, so much audacity indeed, to enable him to stand forward as their open champion, that many men disbelieved that he would venture on a step so hazardous.

The greatest possible anxiety was manifested, therefore, in the house, when that distinguished Senator arose, and began in low, deep, harmonious tones, and words which rolled forth like a gentle river in an easy and silvery flow.

"It were well," he said, "Conscript Fathers, that all men who debate on dubious matters, should be unbiassed in opinion by hate or friendship, clemency or anger. When passions intervene, the mind can rarely perceive truth; nor hath at one time any man obeyed his interests and his pleasures. The intellect there prevails, where most it is exerted. If passion governs it, passion hath the sole sway; reason is powerless. It were an easy task for me, Conscript Fathers, to quote instances in which kings and nations, impelled by enmity or pity, have taken unadvised and evil counsels; but I prefer to cite those, wherein our ancestors, defying the influence of passion, have acted well and wisely. During the Macedonian war which we waged against King Perseus, the state of Rhodes, splendid then and stately, which had been built up by the aid and opulence of Rome, proved faithless to us, and a foe. Yet, when, the war being ended, debate was had concerning her, our fathers suffered her citizens to go unpunished, in order that no men might infer that Rome had gone to war for greed, and not for just resentment. Again, in all the Punic wars, although the Carthaginians repeatedly committed outrages against them, in violation both of truce and treaties, never once did they follow that example, considering rather what should seem worthy of themselves, than what might be inflicted justly on their foes.

"This same consideration you should now take, Conscript Fathers; having care that the crimes of Publius Lentulus and his fellows weigh not upon your minds with greater potency, than your own dignity and honor; and that ye obey not rather the dictates of resentment, than the teachings of your old renown. For if a punishment worthy their crimes can be discovered, I approve of it, of how new precedent soever; but if the enormity of their guilt overtop the invention of all men, then, I shall vote that we abide by the customs, prescribed by our laws and institutions.

"Many of those who have already spoken, have dilated in glowing and set phrases on the perils which have menaced the republic. They have descanted on the horrors of warfare, on the woes which befall the vanquished. The rape of virgins; the tearing of children from parental arms; the ransacking of human homes and divine temples; the subjecting of matrons to the brutal will of the conquerors; havoc and conflagration, and all places filled with arms and corpses, with massacre and misery—But, in the name of the immortal Gods! to what do such orations tend? Do they aim at inflaming your wrath against this conspiracy? Vain, vain were such intent; for is it probable that words will inflame the mind of any one, if such and so atrocious facts have failed to inflame it? That is indeed impossible! Nor hath any man, at any period, esteemed his own injuries too lightly. Most persons, on the contrary, hold them more heavy than they are. But consequences fall not equally on all men, Conscript Fathers. They who in lowly places pass their lives in obscurity, escape the censure of the world, if they err on occasion under the influences of passion. Their fortunes and their fame are equal. They who, endowed with high commands, live in exalted stations, perform every action of their lives in the full gaze of all men. Thus to the greatest fortunes, the smallest licence is conceded. The great man must in no case consult his affections, or his anger. Least of all, must he yield to passion. That which is styled wrath in the lowly-born, becomes tyranny and cruel pride in the high and noble.

"I indeed think, with those who have preceded me, that every torture is too small for their atrocity and crime. But it is human nature's trick to remember always that which occurs the last in order. Forgetful of the criminal's guilt, the world dwells ever on the horror of his punishment, if it lean never so little to the side of severity. Well sure am I, that the speech of Decius Silanus, a brave and energetic man, was dictated by his love for the republic—that in a cause so weighty he is moved neither by favor nor resentment. Yet his vote to my eyes appears, I say not cruel —for what could be cruel, inflicted on such men?—but foreign to the sense of our institutions. Now it is clear, Silanus, that either fear of future peril, or indignation at past wrong, impelled you to vote for an unprecedented penalty! Of fear it is needless to speak farther; when through the active energy of that most eminent man, our consul, such forces are assembled under arms! concerning the punishment of these men we must speak, however, as the circumstances of the case require. We must admit that in agony and wo death is no penalty, but rather the repose from sorrow. Death alone is the refuge from every mortal suffering—in death alone there is no place for joy or grief. But if this be not so, wherefore, in the name of the Gods! have ye not added also to your sentence, that they be scourged before their execution? Is it, that the Porcian law forbids? That cannot be—since other laws as strenuously prohibit the infliction of capital punishment on condemned citizens, enjoining that they be suffered to go into exile. Is it, then, that to be scourged is more severe and cruel than to be slain? Not so—for what can be too severe or too cruel for men convicted of such crime. If on the other hand it be less severe, how is it fitting to obey that law in the lesser, which you set at naught in the greater article? But, you will ask me perchance, who will find fault with any punishment inflicted upon the parricides of the republic? Time—future days—fortune, whose caprice governs nations! True, these men merit all that can befall them; but do ye, Conscript Fathers, pause on the precedent which you establish against others? Never did bad example arise but from a good precedent—only when the reins of empire have fallen from wise hands into ignorant or wicked guidance, that good example is perverted from grand and worthy to base and unworthy ends. The men of Lacedemon, when they had conquered Athens, set thirty tyrants at the helm who should control the commonwealth. They at the first began to take off the guiltiest individuals, wretches hated by all, without form of trial. Thereat the people were rejoiced, and cried out that their deaths were just and merited. Ere long, when license had gained ground, they slew alike the virtuous and the guilty, and governed all by terror. Thus did that state, oppressed by slavery, rue bitterly its insane mirth. Within our memory, when victorious Sylla commanded Damasippus and his crew, who had grown up a blight to the republic, to be put to the sword's edge, who did not praise the deed? Who did not exclaim earnestly that men, factious and infamous, who had torn the republic by their tumults, were slain justly? And yet that deed was the commencement of great havoc. For, when one envied the city mansion or the country farm, nay, but the plate or garment of another, he strove with all his energy to have him on the lists of the proscription. Therefore, they who exulted at the death of Damasippus were themselves, ere long, dragged to execution; nor was there an end put to the massacre, until Sylla had satiated all his men with plunder. These things, indeed, I fear not under Marcus Tullius, nor at this day; but in a mighty state there are many and diverse dispositions. It may be at another time, under another consul, who shall perhaps hold an army at his back, that the wrong shall be taken for the right. If it be so when—on this precedent, by this decree, of this Senate—that consul shall have drawn the sword, who will compel him to put it back into the scabbard, who moderate his execution? Our ancestors, O Conscript Fathers, never lacked either wisdom in design, or energy in action; nor did their pride restrain them from copying those institutions of their neighbors, which they deemed good and wise. Their arms offensive and defensive they imitated from the Samnites—most of the ensigns of their magistracies they borrowed of the Tuscans. In a word, whatsoever they observed good and fitting, among their allies or their foes, they followed up with the greatest zeal at home. They chose to imitate, rather than envy, what was good. But in those days, after the fashion of the Greeks, they punished citizens with stripes; they took the lives of condemned criminals. As the republic grew in size, and party strife arose among its multitudinous citizens, innocent persons were taken off under the pretext of the law, and many wrongful deeds were committed with impunity. Then was the Porcian Law enacted, with others of like tenor, permitting convicts to depart into exile. This I esteem, O Conscript Fathers, the first great cause wherefore this novel penalty be not established as a precedent. The wisdom and the valor of our ancestors who from a small beginning created this vast empire, were greater far than we, who scarcely can retain what they won so nobly. Would I have, therefore, you will ask, these men suffered to go at large, and so to augment the hosts of Catiline? Far from it. But I shall vote thus, that their property be confiscated, and they themselves detained in perpetual fetters, in those municipalities of Italy which are the wealthiest and the strongest. That the Senate never again consider their case, or bring their cause before the people—and that whosoever shall speak for them, be pronounced, of the Senate, an enemy to his country, and to the common good of all men."

This specious and artful oration, in which, while affecting to condemn what he dared not defend openly, he had more than insinuated a doubt of the legality of sentencing the traitors, was listened to by all present, with deep attention; and by the secret partizans of the conspiracy with joy and exultation. So sure did they esteem it that, in the teeth of this insidious argument, the Senate would not venture to inflict capital punishment on their friends, that they evinced their approbation by loud cheers; while many of the patrician party were shaken in their previous convictions; and many of those who perceived the fallacy of his sophistical reasoning, and detected his latent determination to screen the parricides of the state, felt the hazard and difficulty of proceeding as the exigencies of the case required.

Cicero's brow grew dark; as Silanus avowed openly that he had altered his opinion, and should vote for the motion of Tiberius Nero, to defer judgment.

Then Cicero himself arose, and in the noblest perhaps of all his orations, exerted himself strenuously to controvert the arguments and abolish the evil influence of the noble demagogue.

He did not, indeed, openly urge the death of the traitors; but he dwelt with tremendous force on the atrocious nature of the crimes, and on the consequence of their success. He showed the fallacy of Csar's insinuation, that death was a less severe enactment than perpetual imprisonment. He pointed out the impossibility and injustice of compelling the municipalities to take charge of the prisoners—the insecurity of those towns, as places of detention—the almost entire certainty, that the men would ere long be released, either by some popular tumult, or some party measure; and he concluded with a forcible and earnest peroration, appealing to the Senators, by their love of life, of their families, of their country, to take counsel worthily of themselves, and of their common mother; entreating them to decree firmly, and promising that he would execute their sentence, be it what it might, fearlessly.

As he sat down, the order was agitated like a sea in the tumultuous calm, which succeeds to the wrath and riot created by a succession of gales blowing from different quarters. Murmurs of approbation and encouragement were mixed with groans and loud evidences of displeasure.

The passions of the great concourse were aroused thoroughly, and the debate waxed wild and stormy.

Senator arose after Senator, advocating some the death, some the banishment, and some, emboldened by Csar's remarks, even proposing the enlargement of the conspirators.

At length, when all arguments appeared to be exhausted, and no hope left of anything like an unanimous decision being adopted, Marcus Portius Cato arose from his seat, stern, grave, composed, and awful from the severe integrity of his grand character.

The turbulent assembly was calm in a moment. All eyes were fixed on the harsh features of the stoic; all ears hung rivetted in expectation, on his deep guttural intonations, and short vigorous sentences. It was evident, almost ere he began to speak, that his opinion would sway the votes of the order.

"My mind is greatly different," he said, "Conscript Fathers, when I consider the perils of our case, and recall to my memory the speeches of some whom I have heard to-day. Those Senators, it seems to me, have descanted on the punishment of the men who have levied war against their country and their parents, against their healths and their altars. But the facts of the case require not punishment of their crimes, but defence from their assaults.—Other crimes you may punish after their commission—unless you prevent this from being done, when it is done, vainly shall ye ask for judgment. The city stormed, nothing remains to the vanquished. Now, in the name of the immortal Gods! I call upon you, you, who have always set more store on your mansions, your farms, your statues and your pictures, than on the interests of the state, if you desire to retain these things, be they what they may, to which you cling so lovingly, if you desire to give yourselves leisure for your luxuries, arouse yourselves, now or never, and take up the commonwealth! It is no question now of taxes! No question of plundering our allies! The lives, the liberties of every one of us, are hanging on your doubtful decision. Oftentimes, Conscript Fathers, have I spoken at length in this assembly. Oftentimes have I inveighed against the luxury and avarice of our citizens, and, therefore, have I many men my enemies. I, who have never pardoned my own soul even for any trivial error, could not readily excuse in others the lusts which result in open criminality. But, although you neglected those crimes as matters of small moment, still the republic, by its stability and opulence, sustained the weight cast on it by your negligence. Now, however, we ask not whether we shall live, corrupt or virtuous; we ask not how we shall render Rome most great, and most magnificent; we ask this—whether we ourselves, and with ourselves all that we possess whatsoever, shall be yielded up to the enemy? Who here will speak to me of clemency and pity? Long, long ago have we cast away the true names of things; for now to be lavish of the goods of others is termed liberality; audacity in guilt is denominated valor. Into such extremity has the republic fallen. Let Senators, therefore, since such are their habitudes and morals, be liberal of the fortunes of our allies, be merciful to the pilferers of the treasury; but let them not be lavish in bestowing our blood upon them! Let them not, in pity for a few scoundrels, send all good citizens to perdition. Caius Csar spoke a while since, eloquently and in set terms, in this house, concerning life and death; esteeming those things false, I presume, which are believed by most men of a future state that the wicked, I mean, journey on a different road from the righteous, and inhabit places aloof from them, dark, horrid, waste, and fearful.

"He hath declared his intent, therefore, to vote for the confiscation of their property; and the detention of themselves in the borough towns in close custody. Fearing, forsooth, that if they be kept in Rome, they may be rescued forcibly, either by the confederates in their plot, or by a hireling rabble. Just as if there were only rogues and villains in this city, and none throughout all Italy.—Just as if audacity cannot effect the greatest things there, where the means of defence are the smallest. Wherefore his plan is absurd, if he fear peril from these men. And if he alone, in the midst of consternation so general, do not fear, the more need is there that you and I do fear them. Wherefore, when you vote on the fate of Publius Lentulus and the rest, hold this assured, that you are voting also on the fate of Catiline's army, on the fate of the whole conspiracy. With the more energy you act, the more will their courage fail them. If they shall see you falter but a little, all at once they will fall on fiercely. Be far from believing that our ancestors raised this republic from a small state to a great empire, by dint of arms alone. Had it been so, much greater should we have rendered it, who have much greater force than they, of citizens and of allies, of arms and of horses. But there were other things which made them great, which we lack altogether. At home, industry, abroad justice! A mind free to take counsel, unbiassed by crime or passion. Instead of these things we possess luxury and avarice. Public need, private opulence. We praise wealth, and practice indolence. Between righteous and guilty we make no distinction. Ambition gains all the rewards of virtue. Nor is this strange, when separately every one of you takes counsel for himself alone. When at home, you are slaves to pleasure; here in the Senate house, to bribery or favor. Thence it arises that a general charge is made from all quarters against the helpless commonwealth.

"But this I will pass over.

"The noblest of our citizens have conspired to put the torch to the republic. They have called to their aid, in open war, the Gallic nation most hostile to the name of Roman. The chief of your enemy is thundering above your very heads; and are you hesitating even now what you shall do with enemies taken within your very walls?—Oh! you had better pity them, I think—the poor young men have only erred a little, misled by ambition—you had better send them away in arms! I swear that, should they once take those arms, that clemency and mercifulness of yours will be changed into wo and wailing. Forsooth, it is a desperate crisis; and yet you fear it not. Yea, by the Gods! but you do fear it vehemently. Yet, in your indolence and feebleness of mind, waiting the one upon the other, you hesitate, relying, I presume, on the protection of the Immortals, who have so many times preserved this republic in its greatest dangers. The aid of the Gods is not gained by prayers or womanish supplication. To those who watch, who act, who take counsel, wisely, all things turn out successful. Yield yourselves up to idleness and sloth, and in vain you shall implore the Gods—they are irate and hostile.

"In the time of our forefathers, Titus Manlius Torquatus during the Gallic war commanded his own son to be slain, because he had fought against orders; and that illustrious youth suffered the penalty of his immoderate valor.—Do ye know this, and delay what ye shall decide against the cruellest parricides? Is it forsooth that the lives of these men are in their character repugnant to this guilt.—Oh! spare the dignity of Lentulus, if he have ever spared his own modesty, his own good report; if he have ever spared any man or any God! Oh! pardon the youth of Cethegus, if this be not the second time that he has waged war on his country. For wherefore should I speak of Gabinius, Statilius or Cparius?—who if they ever felt any care for the republic, would never have taken these councils. To conclude, Conscript Fathers, if there were any space for a mistake, I would leave you right willingly, by Hercules, to be corrected by facts, since you will not be warned by words! But we are hemmed in on all sides. Catiline with his army is at our very throats—others of our foes are within our walls in the bosom of the state. Nothing can be prepared, nor any counsel taken, so privately but they must know it.—Wherefore I shall vote thus, seeing that the republic is plunged into most fearful peril by the guilty plot of atrocious citizens, seeing that these men are convicted on the evidence of Titus Volturcius, and of the ambassadors of the Allobroges, and seeing that they have confessed the intent of murder, conflagration, and other foul and barbarous crimes, against their fellow citizens and native country—I shall vote, I say, that execution, according to the custom of our ancestors, be done upon them having thus confessed, as upon men manifestly convicted of capital treason."

The stern voice ceased. The bitter irony, which had stung so many souls to the quick, the cutting sarcasm, which had demolished Csar's sophistry, the clear reasoning, which had so manifestly found the heart of the mystery, were silent. And, folding his narrow toga closely about him, the severe patriot resumed his seat, he alone unexcited and impassive.

But his words had done their work. The guilty were smitten into silence; even the daring eloquence and high heart of the ambitious Csar, were subdued and mute.—The friends of their country were encouraged to shake off their apathy.

With one voice, unanimous, the consulars of Rome cried out for the question, applauding loudly the energy and fearlessness of Cato, and accusing one another of timidity and weakness.

A great majority of the Senate, likewise, exclaimed aloud that they required no more words, but were prepared to vote.

And convinced that the time had arrived for striking, Cicero put it to the vote, according to the regular form, requiring those who thought with Marcus Porcius Cato, to pass over to the right of the curule chair.

The question was not in doubt a moment; for above three-fourths of the whole body arose, as a single man, and passed over to the right of the chair, and gathered about the seat of Cato; while very few joined themselves openly to Julius Csar, who sat, somewhat crest-fallen and scarcely able to conceal his disappointment, immediately on the left of the consul.

Rallying, however, before the vote of the Senate had been taken, the factious noble sprang to his feet and loudly called upon the tribunes in general, and upon Lucius Bestia, in particular, a private friend of Catiline, and understood by all to be one of the conspirators, to interpose their VETO.

That was too much, however, even for tribunician daring. No answer was made from the benches of the popular magistrates, for once awed into patriotic silence.

But a low sneering laugh ran through the crowded ranks of the Patricians, and the vote was taken, now nearly unanimous; for many men disgusted by that last step, who had believed the measure to be unconstitutional, passed across openly from Csar's side to that of Cato.

A decree of the Senate was framed forthwith, and committed to writing by the persons appointed, in presence of Marcus Porcius Cato and Decius Julius Silanus, as authorities or witnesses of the act, empowering the consul to see execution done upon the guilty, where and when it should to him seem fitting.

Thus was it that Cicero and Cato for a while saved the commonwealth, and checked the future Dictator in his first efforts to subvert the liberties of Rome, happy for him and for his country if it had been his last.



CHAPTER XIV.

THE TULLIANUM.

To be, or not be, that is the question. HAMLET.

Night was at hand.

The Roman Senate might not sit after the sun had set.

Although the Tribunes had failed, in the consternation of the moment, to respond to the call of Csar, there was no doubt, that, if one night should intervene, those miscalled magistrates would check the course of justice.

Confined, apart one from the other, in free custody, the traitors had not failed to learn all that was passing, almost ere it passed.

Their hopes had been high, when the rabble were alert and thundering at the prison gates—nor when the charge of the knights had beaten back the multitude, did they despair; for simultaneously with those evil tidings, they learned the effect of Csar's speech; and shortly afterward the news reached them that Cicero's reply had found few willing auditors.

Confined, apart one from the other, they had eaten and drunken, and their hearts were "jocund and sublime"; the eloquence of Csar, the turbulence of the tribunes, were their predominant ideas. Confined, apart one from the other, one thought was common to them all,—immediate liberation, speedy vengeance.

And, in truth, immediate was the liberation; speedy the vengeance.

Night was at hand.

The Triumvirs, whose duty it was to superintend all capital punishments—a thing almost unknown in Rome—had been instructed to prepare whatever should be needful.

Lentulus sat alone in an inner chamber of the house of Publius Lentulus Spintherus, an dile at that time. There was, it is true, a guard at the door, and clients under arms in the atrium; but in his own apartment the proud conspirator was still master of himself indeed, soon to be master of Rome, in his own frantic fantasy.

Bright lights were burning in bronze candelabra; rich wines were before him; his own favorite freedman leaned on the back of his ivory arm chair, and jested lightly on the discomfiture of noble Cicero, on the sure triumph of democratic Csar.

"Fill up the glass again, my Phormio," cried the exhilarated parricide; "this namesake of my own hath good wine, at the least—we may not taste it again shortly—fill up, I say; and do not spare to brim your own. What if our boys were beaten in the streets to-day. Brave Csar was not beaten in the Senate."

"By Hercules! no!" cried the wily Greek, base inheritor of a superb name—"and if he had been checked, there are the tribunes."

"But he was not checked, Phormio?" asked the conspirator in evident anxiety.

"By your head, no! You shall yet be the THIRD CORNELIUS!"—

"WHO SHALL RULE ROME!"—

The door of the small room was suddenly thrown open, and the tall form of Cicero stood in the shadow of the entrance. The gleam of the lamps fell full on his white robes, and glittered on his ivory sceptre; but behind him it showed the grim dark features of the Capital Triumvirs, and flickered on the axe-heads of the lictors.

The glass fell from the hand of Lentulus, the wine untasted; and so deep was the silence of that awful moment, that the gurgling of the liquor as it trickled from the shattered fragments of the crystal goblet, was distinctly audible.

There was a silent pause—no word, no motion followed the entrance of the Consul. Face to face, he stood with the deadliest of his foes, Catiline absent. Face to face, he stood with his overthrown and subdued enemy. And yet on his broad tranquil brow there was no frown of hatred; on his calm lip there there was no curl of gratified resentment, of high triumph.

Raising his hand, with a slow but very solemn gesture, he uttered in his deep harmonious accents, accents which at that moment spoke in almost an unnatural cadence, this one word—

"Come."

And calm, and proud, as the Consul, the degraded Senator, the fallen Consul replied, with a question,

"To death, Consul?"

"Come!"

"Give me my toga, Phormio."

And robing himself, with an air as quiet and an expression as unconcerned as if he had been setting forth to a banquet, the proud Epicurean gazed with a calmer eye upon the Consul, than that good man could fix upon his victim.

"This signet to Sempronia—that sword to—no! no!—this purse to thyself, Phormio! Consul, precede. I follow."

And the step of the convicted Traitor, as he descended from the portico of that mansion, for the last time, was firmer, statelier, prouder, than that of his conductor.

The streets were thronged—the windows crowded—the housetops heaped—with glaring mute spectators.

Some twenty knights, no more, unarmed, with the exception of their swords, composed the Consul's escort. Lentulus knew them, man by man, had drunk with them, played with them, lent money to them, borrowed of them.

He looked upon them.

They were the handful leading him to death! What made them break the ties which bound them to their brother noble? What made them forget mutual pleasures enjoyed, mutual perils incurred, mutual benefits accepted?

They were the nobles, true to their order.

He looked upon the thronged streets—upon the crowded windows—upon the heaped housetops, he saw myriads, myriads who had fed on his bounty, encouraged his infamy, hoped from his atrocity, urged him to his crime, myriads who now frowned upon him—cursed him—howled at him—or—more cowardly—were silent. Myriads, who might have saved him, and did not.

Wherefore?

They were the people, false to their leader.

He looked from the handful to the myriad—and shook himself, as a lion in his wrath; and stamped the dust from his sandals.

Cicero saw the movement, and read its meaning. He met the glance, not humiliated, but prouder for the mob's reprobation; and said, what he would not have said had the glance been conscious—

"Thou seest!—Hearest!"

"The voice of the People!" answered the traitor with a bitter sneer.

"The voice of God!" replied the Consul, looking upward.

"That voice of God shall shout for joy at thy head on the rostrum! Such is the fate of all who would serve the people!"

The eloquent tongue, stabbed with the harlot's bodkin, the head and the hand, nailed on the beaked column in after days, showed which best knew the people, their savior, or their parricide.

There is a place in Rome—there is a place—reader, thou mayest have seen it—on the right hand as thou goest up the steps of the Asylum ascending from the forum to the capitol.

"There is a place," wrote Sallust, some nineteen hundred years ago—"There is a place, within the prison, which is called Tullianum, after you have ascended a little way to the left, about twelve feet underground. It is built strongly with walls on every side, and arched above with a stone vaulting. But its aspect is foul and terrible from neglect, darkness, and stench."

It is there now—thou mayest have seen it, reader. Men call it the Mamertine Prison. It was then called Tullianum, because it was so antique at that time, that vague tradition only told of its origin long centuries before, built by the fabulous King Tullius.

The Tullianum—The Mamertine Prison.

The bath, which Jugurtha found very cold, when the earrings had been torn from his bleeding ears, and, stript of his last vestment, he was let down to die by the hangman's noose.

The prison, in which, scarce one century later, Saint Paul was held in durance, what time "Agrippa said unto Festus, This man might have been set at liberty, had he not appealed unto Csar."

Unto Csar?

Csar the third Emperor, the third tyrant of the Roman people.

Lentulus had appealed unto Csar, and was cast likewise into the Tullianum.

The voice of the people, is the voice of God.

Whether of the twain slew Lentulus? whether of the twain set free Paul, from the Tullianum?

In those days, there was a tall and massive structure above that sordid and tremendous vault, on the right hand as you go up towards the capitol.

The steps of the asylum were lined on either side by legionaries in full armor; and as the Consul walked up with his victim, side by side, each soldier faced about, and, by a simple movement, doubling their files, occupied the whole space of the steep ascent with a solid column; while all the heights above, and the great capitol itself, bristled with spears, and flashed with tawny light from the dense ranks of brazen corslets.

The Capital Triumvirs received the Consul at the door; and with his prisoner he passed inward.

It was in perfect keeping with the Roman character, that a man, hopeless of success, should die without an effort; and to the fullest, Lentulus acted out that character.

Impassive and unmoved, he went to his death. He disgraced his evil life by no cowardice in death; by no fruitless call upon the people for assistance, by no vain cry to the nobles for mercy.

But it was the impassibility of the Epicurean, not of the Stoic, that sustained him.

He went to die, like his brother democrats of France, with the madness of Atheism in his heart, the mirth of Perdition on his tongue.

They two, the Convict and the Consul, ascended a little, two or three steps, to the left, and entered a large apartment, paved, walled, and roofed with stone; but in the centre of the floor there was a small round aperture.

There were a dozen persons in that guard-room, four of whom were his fellow-traitors—Gabinius, Statilius, Cparius, and Cethegus—two prtors, four legionaries, and two Moorish slaves composed the group, until with the Triumvirs, and his twelve lictors, Cicero entered.

"Ha! my Cparius!" exclaimed Lentulus, who had not seen him since the morning of his arrest. "We have met again. But I slept my sleep out. Thou might'st as well have slept too; for we are both met here"—

"To die! to die! Great Gods! to die!" cried Cparius utterly overcome, and almost fainting with despair.

"Great Gods indeed!" replied Lentulus with his accustomed half-sardonic, half-indolent sneer. "They must be great, indeed, to let such a puppet as that," and he pointed to Cicero, as he spoke, "do as he will with us. To die! to die! Tush—what is that but to sleep? to sleep without the trouble of awaking, or the annoyance of to-morrow? What sayest thou, my Cethegus?"

"That thou art a sluggard, a fool, and a coward; curses! curses! curses upon thee!" And he made an effort to rush against his comrade, as if to strike him; and, when the guards seized him and dragged him back, he shook his fist at Cicero, and gnashed his teeth, and howling out, "Thou too! thou too shalt die proscribed, and thy country's foe!" by a sudden effort cast off the men who held him, and crying, "Slaves and dastards, see how a Roman noble dies," rushed, with his head down, at the solid wall, as a buffalo rushes blindly against an elephant.

He fell as if he were dead, the blood gushing from eyes, nose, and mouth, and lay senseless.

Lentulus thought he was killed, gazed on him for a moment tranquilly, and then said with a quiet laugh—

"He was a fool always—a rash fool!" Then turning to Cicero, he added—"By Hercules! this is slow work. I am exceeding hungry, and somewhat dry; and, as I fancy I shall eat nothing more to-day, nor drink, I would fain go to sleep."

"Would'st thou drink, Lentulus?" asked one of the Triumvirs.

"Would I not, had I wine?"

"Bring wine," said the magistrate to one of the Moorish slaves; who went out and returned in an instant with a large brazen platter supporting several goblets.

Lentulus seized one quickly, and swallowed it at a mouthful—there is a hot thirst in that last excitement—but as the flavor reached his palate, when the roughness of the harsh draught had passed away, he flung the cup down scornfully and said,

"Finish it! Take this filthy taste from my lips! Let me rest!"

And with the words, he advanced to the Moors who stood beside the well-like aperture, and without a word suffered them to place the rope under his arms, and lower him into the pit.

Just as his head, however, was disappearing, he cast his eyes upward, and met the earnest gaze of the Consul.

"The voice of the people! the man of the people!" he cried sarcastically. "Fool! fool! they shall avenge me! Think upon me near Formi!"

Was that spite, or a prophecy?

The eyes of the dying sometimes look far into futurity.

The haughty traitor was beyond the sight, before his words had ceased to ring in the ears of the spectators.

There was a small low sound heard from below—not a groan, not a struggle—but a rustle, a sob, a flutter—silence.

'So did(12) that Patrician, of the most noble house of the Cornelii, who once held consular dominion in Rome, meet his end, merited by his course of life, and his overt actions.'

Cethegus perished senseless, half dead by his own deed.

Cparius died sullen; Gabinius weak and almost fainting; Statilius struggling and howling. All by a hard and slavish death, strangled by the base noose of a foreign hangman.

An hour afterward, their corpses were hurled down the Gemonian Stairs, among the shouts and acclamations of the drunken slavish rabble.

An hour afterward, Cicero stood on the rostrum, near the Libonian well—that rostrum whereon, at a later day Lentulus' prophecy was fulfilled—and called out, in a voice as solemn and almost as deep as thunder,

"THEY WERE!"

And the voice of the people yelled out its joy, because they were no longer; and hailed their slayer the Savior and Father of his country.

A few years afterward, how did they not hail Anthony?



CHAPTER XV.

THE CAMP IN THE APPENNINES.

With that he gave his able horse the head. HENRY IV.

There is a wild gorge in the very summit of the Appennines, not quite midway between Florence and Pistoia, the waters of which, shed in different directions, flow on the one hand tributaries to the Po, and on the other to the Arno, swelling the Adriatic, and the Mediterranean seas.

The mountains rise abruptly in bare crags, covered here and there by a low growth of myrtle and wild olives, on either hand this gorge, quite inaccessible to any large array of armed men, though capable of being traversed by solitary foresters or shepherds. Below, the hills fall downward in a succession of vast broken ridges, in places rocky and almost perpendicular, in places swelling into rounded knolls, feathered with dark rich forests of holm oak and chesnut.

In the highest part of this gorge, where it spreads out into a little plain, perched like the eyry of some ravenous bird of prey, the camp of Catiline was pitched, on the second evening after the execution of his comrades.

Selected with rare judgment, commanding all the lower country, and the descent on one hand into the Val d'Arno and thence to Rome, on the other into the plain of the Po and thence into Cisalpine Gaul, the whole of which was ripe for insurrection, that camp secured to him an advance upon the city, should his friends prove successful, or a retreat into regions where he could raise new levies in case of their failure.

A Roman camp was little less than a regular fortification, being formed mostly in an oblong square, with a broad ditch and earthen ramparts garnished by a stockade, with wooden towers at the gates, one of which pierced each side of the intrenchment.

And to such a degree of perfection and celerity had long experience and the most rigid discipline brought the legions, that it required an incredibly short time to prepare such a camp for any number of men; a thing which never was omitted to be done nightly even during the most arduous marches and in the face of an enemy.

Catiline was too able and too old a soldier to neglect such precaution under any circumstances; and assuredly he would not have done so now, when the consul Antonius lay with two veteran legions within twenty miles distance in the low country east of Florence, while Quintus Metellus Celer, at the head of a yet larger force, was in the Picene district on his rear, and not so far off but he might have attempted to strike a blow at him.

His camp, capable of containing two full legions, the number of which he had completed, all free-born men and Roman citizens, for he had refused the slaves who flocked at first to his standard in great force, was perfectly defended, and provided with all the usual tents and divisions; so that every cohort, manipule, and century, nay every man, knew his own station.

The sun had just sunk beneath the horizon and the night watches had been set by sound of trumpets, the horsemen had been appointed for the rounds, and an outpost of light-armed soldiers pushed forward in front of all the gates.

There was a rosy tinge still lingering in the sky, and a few slant rays were shot through the gaps in the mountain ridge, gilding the evergreen foliage of the holm-oaks with bright lustre, and warming the cold grey stones which cumbered the sides and summits of the giant hills; but all the level country at their feet was covered with deep purple shadow.

Catiline sat alone in his prtorium, as the general's pavilion was entitled, situated on a little knoll nearly in the centre of the camp between the tents of the tribunes, and the quarters of the extraordinary horse.

He was completely armed, all but his head, and wore a rich scarlet cloak above his panoply, his helmet and buckler lying upon the ground beside him in easy reach of his hand. A pen was in his fingers, and a sheet of parchment was stretched on the board before him; but he was not writing, although there were several lines scrawled on it in a bold coarse hand.

His face was paler and more livid than usual, and his frame thinner, almost indeed emaciated, yet every sinew and muscle was hard as tempered steel.

But now there was a strange expression in his features; it was not doubt nor hesitation, much less fear; and consisted perhaps rather in the absence of his wonted characteristics, the unquiet and quick changes, the passionate restlessness, the fell deadly sneer, and the blighting flash of the dark eye, than in any token of peculiar meaning.—There was a cold and almost vacant expression in his gaze; and an impassive calmness in all his lineaments, that were in singular contrast with the character of the man; and he sat, a thing most unusual for him, perfectly motionless, buried in deep thought.

The night was very cold, and, without, a heavy hoar frost was falling; so that a fire of charcoal had keen kindled in a bronze brazier, and as the light of the sky died away strange lurid gleams and fantastic shadows rose and fell, upon the walls of the large tent, rendered more fickle and grotesque by the wavering of the canvass in the gusty night air. There was wine with several goblets upon the board, at which he sat, with his eyes fixed straight before him; and at his elbow there stood a tall brazen tripod supporting a large lamp with several burners; but none of these were lighted, and, but for the fitful glare of the charcoal, the tent would have been completely dark.

Still he called not to any slave, nor appeared to observe the growing obscurity, but sat gloomily pondering—on what?

Once or twice he drew his hand across his eyes, and then glared still more fixedly upon the dark and waving shadows, as if he saw something more than common in their uncertain outlines.

Suddenly he spoke, in a hoarse altered voice—"This is strange," he said, "very strange! Now, were I one of these weak fools who believe in omens, I should shake. But tush! tush! how should there be omens? for who should send them? there must be Gods, to have omens! and that is too absurd for credence! Gods! Gods!" he repeated half dubiously—"Yet, if there should—ha! ha! art thou turned dotard, Catiline! There are no Gods, or why sleep their thunders? Aye! there it is again," he added, gazing on vacancy. "By my right hand! it is very strange! three times last night, the first time when the watch was set, and twice afterward I saw him! And three times again tonight, since the trumpet was blown. Lentulus, with his lips distorted, his face black and full of blood, his eyes starting from their sockets, like a man strangled! and he beckoned me with his pale hand! I saw him, yet so shadowy and so transparent, that I might mark the waving of the canvass through his figure!—But tush! tush! it is but a trick of the fancy. I am worn out with this daily marching; and the body's fatigue hath made the mind weak and weary. And it is dull here too, no dice, no women, and no revelling. I will take some wine," he added, starting up and quaffing two or three goblets' full in quick succession, "my blood is thin and cold, and wants warming. Ha! that is better—It is right old Setinian too; I marvel whence Manlius had it." Then he rose from his seat, and began to stride about the room impatiently. After a moment or two he dashed his hand fiercely against his brow, and cried in a voice full of anguish and perturbation, "Tidings! tidings! I would give half the world for tidings! Curses! curses upon it! that I began this game at all, or had not brave colleagues! It is time! can it be that their hearts have failed them? that they have feared or delayed to strike, or have been overthrown, detected?—Tidings, tidings! By Hades! I must have tidings! What ho!" he exclaimed, raising his voice to a higher pitch, "Ho, I say, ho! Chrea!"

And from an outer compartment of the tent the Greek freedman entered, bearing a lighted lamp in his hand.

"Chrea, summon Manlius hither, and leave the lamp, have been long in the darkness!"

"Wert sleeping, Catiline?"

"Sleeping!" exclaimed the traitor, with a savage cry, hoarse as the roar of a wounded lion—"sleeping, thou idiot! Do men sleep on volcanoes? Do men sleep in the crisis of their fortunes? I have not slept these six nights. Get thee gone! summon Manlius!" and then, as the freedman left the room, he added; "perchance I shall sleep no more until—I sleep for ever! I would I could sleep, and not see those faces; they never troubled me till now. I would I knew if that sleep is dreamless. If it were so—perhaps, perhaps! but no! no! By all the Furies! no! until my foot hath trodden on the neck of Cicero."

As he spoke, Manlius entered the room, a tall dark sinister-looking scar-seamed veteran, equipped in splendid armor, of which the helmet alone was visible, so closely was he wrapped against the cold in a huge shaggy watch-cloak.

As his subordinate appeared, every trace of the conflict which had been in progress within him vanished, and his brow became as impassive, his eye as hard and keen as its wont.

"Welcome, my Caius," he exclaimed. "Look you, we have present need of council. The blow must be stricken before this in Rome, or must have failed altogether. If it have been stricken, we should be nearer Rome to profit by it—if it have failed, we must destroy Antonius' army, before Metellus join him. I doubt not he is marching hitherward even now. Besides, we must, we must have tidings—we must know all, and all truly!"

Then, seeing that Manlius doubted, "Look you," he continued. "Let us march at daybreak to-morrow upon Fsul, leaving Antonius in the plain on our right. Marching along the crest of the hills, he cannot assail our flank. We can outstrip him too, and reach Arretium ere the second sunset. He, thinking we have surely tidings from our friends in the city, will follow in disordered haste; and should we have bad news, doubling upon him on a sudden we may overpower him at one blow. It is a sure scheme either way—think'st thou not so, good friend? nay more, it is the only one."

"I think so, Sergius," he replied. "In very deed I think so. Forage too is becoming scarce in the camp, and the baggage horses are dying. The men are murmuring also for want of the pleasures, the carouses, and the women of the cities. They will regain their spirits in an hour, when they shall hear of the march upon Rome."

"I prithee, let them hear it, then, my Caius; and that presently. Give orders to the tribunes and centurions to have the tents struck, and the baggage loaded in the first hour of the last night-watch. We will advance at—ha!" he exclaimed, interrupting himself suddenly, and listening with eager attention. "There is a horse tramp crossing from the gates. By the Gods! news from Rome! Tarry with me, until we hear it."

Within five minutes, Chrea re-entered the tent, introducing a man dressed and armed as a light-horseman, covered with mudstains, travelworn, bending with fatigue, and shivering with cold, the hoar-frost hanging white upon his eyebrows and beard.

"From Rome, good fellow?" Catiline inquired quickly. "From Rome, Catiline!" replied the other, "bearing a letter from the noble Lentulus."

"Give—give it quick!" and with the word he snatched the scroll from the man's hand, tore it violently open, and read aloud as follows.

"Who I may be, you will learn from the bearer. All things go bravely. The ambassadors have lost their suit, but we have won ours. They return home to-morrow, by the Flaminian way, one Titus of Crotona guiding them, who shall explain to you our thoughts and hopes—but, of this doubt not, thoughts shall be deeds, and hopes success, before this hour to-morrow."

"By all the Gods!" cried Catiline with a shout of joy, "Ere this time all is won! Cicero, Cicero, I have triumphed, and thou, mine enemy, art nothing;" then turning to the messenger, he asked, "When didst leave Rome, with these joyous tidings? when sawest the noble Lentulus?"

"On the fourth(13) day before the nones, at sunset."

"And we are now in the sixth(14) before the Ides. Thou hast loitered on the way, Sirrah."

"I was compelled to quit my road, Catiline, and to lie hid four days among the hills to avoid a troop of horse which pursued me, seeing that I was armed; an advanced guard, I think, of Antonius' army."

"Thou didst well. Get thee gone, and bid them supply thy wants. Eat, drink, and sleep—we march upon Rome at day-break to-morrow."

The man left the apartment, and looking to Manlius with a flushed cheek and exulting aspect, Catiline exclaimed,

"Murmuring for pleasure, and for women, are they? Tell them, good friend, they shall have all the gold of Rome for their pleasure, and all its patrician dames for their women. Stir up their souls, my Manlius, kindle their blood with it matters not what fire! See to it, my good comrade, I am aweary, and will lay me down, I can sleep after these good tidings."

But it was not destined that he should sleep so soon.

He had thrown himself again into a chair, and filled himself a brimming goblet of the rich wine, when he repeated to himself in a half musing tone—

"Murmuring for their women? ha!—By Venus! I cannot blame the knaves. It is dull work enough without the darlings. By Hercules! I would Aurelia were here; or that jade Lucia! Pestilent handsome was she, and then so furious and so fiery! By the Gods! were she here, I would bestow one caress on her at the least, before she died, as die she shall, in torture by my hand! Curses on her, she has thwarted, defied, foiled me! By every fiend and Fury! ill shall she perish, were she ten times my daughter!"

Again there was a bustle without the entrance of the pavilion, and again Chrea introduced a messenger.

It was Niger, one of the swordsmith's men. Catiline recognized him in an instant.

"Ha! Niger, my good lad, from Caius Crispus, ha?"—

"From Caius Crispus, praying succor, and that swift, lest it be too late."

"Succor against whom? succor where, and wherefore?"

"Against a century of Antonius' foot. They came upon us unawares, killed forty of our men, and drove the stout smith for shelter into a ruined watch-tower, on the hill above the cataract, near to Usella, which happily afforded him a shelter. They have besieged us there these two days; but cannot storm us until our arrows fail, or they bring up engines. But our food is finished, and our wine wakes low, and Julia"—

"Who? Julia?" shouted Catiline, scarce able to believe his ears, and springing from his chair in rapturous agitation—"By your life! speak! what Julia?"—

"Hortensia's daughter, whom"—

"Enough! enough! Chrea"—he scrawled a few words on a strip of parchment—"this to Terentius the captain of my guard. Three hundred select horsemen to be in arms and mounted within half an hour. Let them take torches, and a guide for Usella. Saddle the black horse Erebus. Get me some food and a watch-cloak. Get thee away. Now tell me all, good fellow."

The man stated rapidly, but circumstantially, all that he knew of the occurrences of Julia's seizure, of the capture of Aulus, and of their journey; and then, his eyes gleaming with the fierce blaze of excited passion and triumphant hatred, Catiline cross-questioned him concerning the unhappy girl. Had she been brought thus far safely and with unblemished honor? Had she suffered from hunger or fatigue? Had her beauty been impaired by privation?

And, having received satisfactory replies to all his queries, he gave himself up to transports of exultation, such as his own most confidential freedman never before had witnessed.

Dismissing the messenger, he strode to and fro the hut, tossing his arms aloft and bursting into paroxysms of fierce laughter.

"Ha! ha! too much!—it is too much for one night! Ha! ha! ha! ha! Love, hatred, passion, triumph, rage, revenge, ambition, all, all gratified! Ha! ha! Soft, gentle Julia—proud, virtuous one that did despise me, thou shalt writhe for it—from thy soul shalt thou bleed for it! Ha! ha! Arvina—liar! fool! perjurer! but this will wring thee worse than Ixion's wheel, or whips of scorpions!—Ha! ha! Cicero! Cicero!—No! no! Chrea. There are no Gods! no Gods who guard the innocent! no Gods who smile on virtue! no gods! I say, no Gods! no Gods, Chrea!"—

But, as he spoke, there burst close over head an appaling crash of thunder, accompanied by a flash of lightning so vivid and pervading that the whole tent seemed to be on fire. The terrified Greek fell to the earth, stunned and dazzled; but the audacious and insane blasphemer, tossing his arms and lifting his front proudly, exclaimed with his cynical sneer, "If ye be Gods! strike! strike! I defy your vain noise! your harmless thunder!"

For ten minutes or more, blaze succeeded blaze, and crash followed crash, with such tremendous rapidity, that the whole heavens, nay, the whole atmosphere, appeared incandescent with white, sulphureous, omnipresent fire; and that the roar of the volleyed thunder was continuous and incessant.

Still the fierce traitor blenched not. Crime and success had maddened him. His heart was hardened, his head frenzied, to his own destruction.

But the winter storm in the mountains was as brief as it was sudden, and tremendous; and it ceased as abruptly as it broke out unexpectedly. A tempest of hail came pelting down, the grape-shot as it were of that heavenly artillery, scourging the earth with furious force during ten minutes more; and then the night was as serene and tranquil as it had been before that elemental uproar.

As the last flash of lightning flickered faintly away, and the last thunder roll died out in the sky, Catiline stirred the freedman with his foot.

"Get up, thou coward fool. Did I not tell thee that there are no Gods? lo! you now! for what should they have roused this trumpery pother, if not to strike me? Tush, man, I say, get up!"

"Is it thou, Sergius Catiline?" asked the Greek, scarce daring to raise his head from the ground. "Did not the bolt annihilate thee? art thou not indeed dead?"—

"Judge if I be dead, fool, by this, and this, and this!"—

And, with each word, he kicked and trampled on the grovelling wretch with such savage violence and fury, that he bellowed and howled for mercy, and was scarce able to creep out of the apartment, when he ceased stamping upon him, and ordered him to begone speedily and bring his charger.

Ere many minutes had elapsed, the traitor was on horse-back.

And issuing from the gates of his camp into the calm and starry night, he drove, with his escort at his heels, with the impetuosity and din of a whirlwind, waking the mountain echoes by the clang of the thundering hoofs, and the clash of the brazen armor and steel scabbards, down the steep defile toward Usella.



CHAPTER XVI.

THE WATCHTOWER OF USELLA.

Our castle's strength Will laugh a siege to scorn. MACBETH.

The watchtower in which Caius Crispus and his gang had taken refuge from the legionaries, was one of those small isolated structures, many of which had been perched in the olden time on the summits of the jutting crags, or in the passes of the Appennines, but most of which had fallen long before into utter ruin.

Some had been destroyed in the border wars of the innumerable petty tribes, which, ere the Romans became masters of the peninsula, divided among themselves that portion of Italy, and held it in continual turmoil with their incessant wars and forays.

Some had mouldered away, by the slow hand of ruthless time; and yet more had been pulled down for the sake of their materials, which now filled a more useful if less glorious station, in the enclosures of tilled fields, and the walls of rustic dwellings.

From such a fate the watchtower of Usella had been saved by several accidents. Its natural and artificial strength had prevented its sack or storm during the earlier period of its existence—the difficulty of approaching it had saved its solid masonry from the cupidity of the rural proprietors—and, yet more, its formidable situation, commanding one of the great hill passes into Cisalpine Gaul, had induced the Roman government to retain it in use, as a fortified post, so long as their Gallic neighbors were half subdued only, and capable of giving them trouble by their tumultuous incursions.

Although it had consisted, therefore, in the first instance, of little more than a rude circular tower of that architecture called Cyclopean, additions had been made to it by the Romans of a strong brick wall with a parapet, enclosing a space of about a hundred feet in diameter, accessible only by a single gateway, with a steep and narrow path leading to it, and thoroughly commanded by the tower itself.

In front, this wall was founded on a rough craggy bank of some thirty feet in height, rising from the main road traversing the defile, by which alone it could be approached; for, on the right and left, the rocks had been scarped artificially; and, in the rear, there was a natural gorge through which a narrow but impetuous torrent raved, between precipices a hundred feet in depth, although an arch of twenty foot span would have crossed the ravine with ease.

Against the wall at this point, on the inner side, the Romans had constructed a small barrack with three apartments, each of which had a narrow window overlooking the bed of the torrent, no danger being apprehended from that quarter.

Such was the place into which Crispus had retreated, under the guidance of one of the Etruscan conspirators, after the attack of the Roman infantry; and, having succeeded in reaching it by aid of their horses half an hour before their pursuers came up, they had contrived to barricade the gateway solidly with some felled pine trees; and had even managed to bring in with them a yoke of oxen and a mule laden with wine, which they had seized from the peasants in the street of the little village of Usella, as they gallopped through it, goading their blown and weary animals to the top of their speed.

It was singularly characteristic of the brutal pertinacity, and perhaps of the sagacity also, of Caius Crispus, that nothing could induce him to release the miserable Julia, who was but an incumbrance to their flight, and a hindrance to their defence.

To all her entreaties, and promises of safety from his captors, and reward from her friends, if he would release her, he had replied only with a sneer; saying that he would ensure his own safety at an obolus' fee, and that, for his reward, he would trust noble Catiline.

"For the rest," he added, "imagine not that you shall escape, to rejoice the heart of that slave Arvina. No! minion, no! We will fight 'till our flesh be hacked from our bones, ere they shall make their way in hither; and if they do so, they shall find thee—dead and dishonored! Pray, therefore, if thou be wise, for our success."

Such might in part indeed have been his reasoning; for he was cruel and licentious, as well as reckless and audacious; but it is probable that, knowing himself to be in the vicinity of Catiline's army, he calculated on finding some method of conveying to him information of the prize that lay within his grasp, and so of securing both rescue and reward.

If he had not, however, in the first instance thought of this, it was not long ere it occurred to him; when he at once proceeded to put it into execution.

Within half an hour of the entrance of the little party into this semi-ruinous strong-hold, the legionary foot came up, about a hundred and fifty men in number, but without scaling ladders, artillery, or engines.

Elated by their success, however, they immediately formed what was called the tortoise, by raising their shields and overlapping the edges of them above their heads, in such a manner as to make a complete penthouse, which might defend them from the missiles of the besieged; and, under cover of this, they rushed forward dauntlessly, to cut down the palisade with their hooks and axes.

In this they would have probably succeeded, for the arrows and ordinary missiles of the defenders rebounded and rolled down innocuous from the tough brass-bound bull-hides; and the rebels were already well nigh in despair, when Caius Crispus, who had been playing his part gallantly at the barricade, and had stabbed two or three of the legionaries with his pilum, in hand to hand encounter, through the apertures of the grating, rushed up to the battlements, covered with blood and dust, and shouting—

"Ho! by Hercules! this will never do, friends. Give me yon crow-bar—So! take levers, all of you, and axes! We must roll down the coping on their heads,"—applied his own skill and vast personal strength to the task. In an instant the levers were fixed, and grasping his crow-bar with gigantic energy, he set up his favorite chaunt, as cheerily as he had done of old in his smithy on the Sacred Way—

"Ply, ply, my boys, now ply the lever! Heave at it, heave at it, all! Together! Great Mars, the war God, watches ye laboring Joyously. Joyous watches"—

But his words were cut short by a thundering crash; for, animated by his untamed spirit, his fellows had heaved with such a will at the long line of freestone coping, that, after tottering for a few seconds, and reeling to and fro, it all rushed down with the speed and havoc of an avalanche, drowning all human sounds with the exception of one piercing yell of anguish, which rose clear above the confused roar and clatter.

"Ho! by the Thunderer! we have smashed them beneath their tortoise, like an egg in its shell! Now ply your bows, brave boys! now hurl your javelins! Well shot! well shot indeed, my Niger! You hit that high-crested centurion full in the mouth, as he called on them to rally, and nailed his tongue to his jaws. Give me another pilum, Rufus! This," he continued, as he poised and launched it hurtling through the air, "This to the ensign-bearer!" And, scarce was the word said, ere the ponderous missile alighted on his extended shield, pierced its tough fourfold bull-hide, as if it had been a sheet of parchment; drove through his bronze cuirass, and hurled him to the ground, slain outright in an instant. "Ha! they have got enough of it! Shout, boys! Victoria! Victoria!"

And the wild cheering of the rebels pealed high above the roar of the torrent, striking dismay into the soul of the wretched Julia.

But, although the rebels had thus far succeeded, and the legionaries had fallen back, bearing their dead and wounded with them, the success was by no means absolute or final; and this no man knew better than the swordsmith.

He watched the soldiers eagerly, as they drew off in orderly array into the hollow way, and after a short consultation, posting themselves directly in front of the gate with sentinels thrown out in all directions, lighted a large watch fire in the road, with the intention, evidently, of converting the storm into a blockade.

A few moments afterward, he saw a soldier mount the horse of the slain centurion, and gallop down the hill in the direction of Antonius' army, which was well known to be lying to the south-eastward. Still a few minutes later a small party was sent down into the village, and returned bringing provisions, which the men almost immediately began to cook, after having posted a chain of videttes from one bank to the other of the precipitous ravine, so as to assure themselves that no possibility of escape was left to the besieged in any direction, by which they conceived escape to be practicable.

"Ha!" exclaimed Crispus, as he watched their movements, "they will give us no more trouble to-night, but we will make sure of them by posting one sentinel above the gate, and another on the head of the watch-tower. Then we will light us a good fire in the yard below, and feast there on the beef and wine of those brute peasants. The legionaries fancy that they can starve us out; but they know not how well we are provided. Hark you, my Niger. Go down and butcher those two beeves, and when they are flayed and decapitated, blow me a good loud trumpet blast and roll down the heads over the battlements. Long ere we have consumed our provender, Catiline will be down on them in force! I go to look around the place, and make all certain."

And, with the words, he ascended to the summit of the old watch-tower and stood there for many minutes, surveying the whole conformation of the country, and all the defences of the place, with a calm and skilful eye.

The man was by no means destitute of certain natural talents, and an aptitude for war, which, had it been cultivated or improved, might possibly have made him a captain. He speedily perceived, therefore, that the defences were tenable so long only as no ladders or engines should be brought against them; which he was well assured would be done, within twenty-four hours at the latest. He knew also that want of provisions must compel him to surrender at discretion before many days; and he felt it to be very doubtful whether, without some strong effort on their part Catiline would hear at all of their situation, until it should be entirely too late.

He began, therefore, at once, to look about him for means of despatching an envoy, nothing doubting that succor would be sent to him instantly, could the arch traitor be informed, that the lovely Julia was a prisoner awaiting his licentious pleasure.

Descending from the battlements, he proceeded at once to the barrack rooms in the rear, hoping to find some possibility of lowering a messenger into the bed of the stream, or transporting him across the ravine, unseen by the sentinels of the enemy.

Then, casting open a door of fast decaying wood-work, he entered the first of the low mouldering unfurnished rooms; and, stepping across the paved floor with a noiseless foot, thrust his head out of the window and gazed anxiously up and down the course of the ravine.

He became satisfied at once that his idea was feasible; for the old wall was built, at this place, in salient angles, following the natural line of the cliffs; and the window of the central room was situated in the bottom of the recess, between two jutting curtains, in each of which was another embrasure. It was evident, therefore, that a person lowered by the middle window, into the gorge beneath, would be screened from the view of any watchers, by the projection of the walls; and Crispus nothing doubted but that, once in the bottom of the ravine, a path might be found more or less difficult by which to reach the upper country.

Beyond the ravine rose many broken knolls covered with a thick undergrowth of young chesnut hollies, wild laurels, and the like; and through these, a winding road might be discovered, penetrating the passes of the hills, and crossing the glen at a half mile's distance below on a single-arched brick bridge, by which it joined the causeway occupied by the legionaries.

Having observed so much, Caius Crispus was on the point of withdrawing his head, forgetting all about his prisoner, who, on their entrance into this dismantled hold, had been thrust in hither, as into the place where she would be most out of harm's way, and least likely to escape.

But just as he was satisfied with gazing, the lovely face of Julia, pale as an image of statuary marble, with all her splendid auburn hair unbound, was advanced out of the middle window; evidently looking out like himself for means of escape. But to her the prospect was not, as to him, satisfactory; and uttering a deep sigh she shook her head sadly, and wrung her hands with an expression of utter despair.

"Ha! ha! my pretty one, it is too deep, I trow!" cried Crispus, whom she had not yet observed, with a cruel laugh, "Nothing, I swear, without wings can descend that abyss; unless like Sappho, whom the poets tell us of, it would put an end to both love and life together. No! no! you cannot escape thus, my pretty one; and, on the outside, I will make sure of you. For the rest I will send you some watch cloaks for a bed, some supper, and some wine. We will not starve you, my fair Julia, and no one shall harm you here, for I will sleep across your door, myself, this night, and ere to-morrow's sunset we shall be in the camp with Catiline."

He was as good as his word, for he returned almost immediately, bringing a pile of watch-cloaks, which he arranged into a rude semblance of a bed, with a pack saddle for the pillow, in the innermost recess of the inner room, with some bread, and beef broiled hastily on the embers, and some wine mixed with water, which last she drank eagerly; for fear and anxiety had parched her, and she was faint with thirst.

Before he went out, again he looked earnestly from the unlatticed window, in order to assure himself that she had no means of escape. Scarce was he gone, before she heard the shrill blast of the Roman trumpets blown clearly and scientifically, for the watch-setting; and, soon afterward, all the din and bustle, which had been rife through the livelong day, sank into silence, and she could hear the brawling of the brook below chafing and raving against the rocks which barred its bed, and the wind murmuring against the leafless treetops.

Shortly after this, it became quite dark; and after sitting musing awhile with a sad and despairing heart, and putting up a wild prayer to the Gods for mercy and protection, she went once more and leaned out of the window, gazing wistfully on the black stones and foamy water.

"Nothing," she said to herself sadly, repeating Caius Crispus' words, "could descend hence, without wings, and live. It is too true! alas! too true!—" she paused for a moment, and then, while a flash of singular enthusiastic joy irradiated all her pallid lineaments, she exclaimed, "but the Great Gods be praised? one can leap down, and die! Let life go! what is life? since I can thus preserve my honor!" She paused again and considered; then clasped her hands together, and seemed to be on the point of casting herself into that awful gulf; but she resisted the temptation, and said, "Not yet! not yet! There is hope yet, on earth! and I will live awhile, for hope and for Paullus. I can do this at any time—of this refuge, at least, they cannot rob me. I will live yet awhile!" And with the words she turned away quietly, went to the pile of watch-cloaks, and lying down forgot ere long her sorrows and her dread, in calm and innocent slumber.

She had not been very long asleep, however, when a sound from without the door aroused her; and, as she started to her feet, Caius Crispus looked into the cell with a flambeau of pine-wood blazing in his right hand, to ascertain if she was still within, and safe under his keeping.

"You have been sleeping, ha!" he exclaimed. "That is well, you must be weary. Will you have more wine?"

"Some water, if you will, but no wine. I am athirst and feverish."

"You shall have water."

And thrusting the flambeau into the earth, between the crevices in the pavement, he left the room abruptly.

Scarce was he gone, leaving the whole apartment blazing with a bright light which rendered every object within clearly visible to any spectator from the farther side of the ravine, before a shrill voice with something of a feminine tone, was heard on the other brink, exclaiming in suppressed tones—

"Hist! hist! Julia?"

"Great Gods! who calls on Julia?"

"Julia Serena, is it thou?"

"Most miserable I!" she made answer. "But who calls me?"

"A friend—be wary, and silent, and you shall not lack aid."

But Julia heard the heavy step of the swordsmith approaching, and laying her finger on her lips, she sprang back hastily from the window, and when her gaoler entered, was busy, apparently, in arranging her miserable bed.

It was not long that he tarried; for after casting one keen glance around him, to see that all was right; he freed her of his hated presence, taking the torch along with him, and leaving her in utter darkness.

As soon as his footstep had died away into silence, she hurried back to the embrasure, and gazed forth earnestly; but the moon had not yet risen, and all the gulf of the ravine and the banks on both sides were black as night, and she could discern nothing.

She coughed gently, hoping to attract the attention of her unknown friend, and to learn more of her chances of escape; but no farther sound or signal was made to her; and, after watching long in hope deferred, and anxiety unspeakable, she returned to her sad pallet and bathed her pillow with hot tears, until she wept herself at length into unconsciousness of suffering, the last refuge of the wretched, when they have not the christian's hope to sustain them.

She was almost worn out with anxiety and toil, and she slept soundly, until the blowing of the Roman trumpets in the pass again aroused her; and before she had well collected her thoughts so as to satisfy herself where she was and wherefore, the shouts and groans of a sudden conflict, the rattling of stones and javelins on the tiled roof, the clang of arms, and all the dread accompaniments of a mortal conflict, awoke her to a full sense of her situation.

The day lagged tediously and slow. No one came near her, and, although she watched the farther side of the gorge, with all the frantic hope which is so near akin to despair, she saw nothing, heard nothing, but a few wood-pigeons among the leafless tree-tops, but the sob of the torrent and the sigh of the wintry wind.

At times indeed the long stern swell of the legionary trumpets would again sound for the assault, and the din of warfare would follow it; but the skirmishes were of shorter and shorter duration, and the tumultuous cheering of the rebels at the close of every onslaught, proved that their defence had been maintained at least, and that the besiegers had gained no advantage.

It was, perhaps, four o'clock in the afternoon; and the sun was beginning to verge to the westward, when, just after the cessation of one of the brief attacks—by which it would appear that the besiegers intended rather to harass the garrison and keep them constantly on the alert, than to effect anything decided—the sound of armed footsteps again reached the ears of Julia.

A moment afterward, Caius Crispus entered the room hastily, accompanied by Niger and Rufus, the latter bearing in his hand a coil of twisted rope, manufactured from the raw hide of the slaughtered cattle, cut into narrow stripes, and ingeniously interwoven.

"Ha!" he exclaimed, starting for a moment, as he saw Julia. "I had forgotten you. We have been hardly pressed all day, and I have had no time to think of you; but we shall have more leisure now. Are you hungry, Julia?"

For her only reply she pointed to the food yet untouched, which he had brought to her on the previous evening, and shook her head sadly; but uttered not a word.

"Well! well!" he exclaimed, "we have no time to talk about such matters now; but eat you shall, or I will have you crammed, as they stuff fat-livered geese! Come, Niger, we must lose no minute. If they attack again, and miss me from the battlements, they will be suspecting something, and will perhaps come prying to the rear.—Have you seen any soldiers, girl, on this side? I trow you have been gazing from the window all day long in the hope of escaping, but I suppose you will not tell me truly."

"If I tell you not truly, I shall hold my peace. But I will tell you, that I have seen no human being, no living thing, indeed; unless it be a thrush, and three wood pigeons, fluttering in the treetops yonder."

"That is a lie, I dare be sworn!" cried Niger. "If it had been the truth she would not have breathed a word of it to us. Beside which, it is too cool altogether!"

"By Mulciber my patron! if I believed so, it should go hardly with her; but it matters not. Come, we must lose no time."

And passing into the central room of the three, they made one end of the rope fast about the waist of Niger, and the other to an upright mullion in the embrasure, which, although broken half way up, afforded ample purchase whereby to lower him into the chasm.

This done, the man clambered out of the window very coolly, going backward, as if he were about to descend a ladder; but, when his face was on the point of disappearing below the sill, as he hung by his hands alone, having no foothold whatever, he said quietly, "If I shout, Caius Crispus, haul me up instantly. I shall not do so, if there be any path below. But if I whistle, be sure that all is right. Lower away. Farewell."

"Hold on! hold on, man!" replied Crispus quickly, "turn yourself round so as to bring your back to the crag's face, else shall the angles of the rock maim, and the dust blind you. That's it; most bravely done! you are a right good cragsman."

"I was born among the crags, at all events," answered the other, "and I think now that I am going to die among them. But what of that? One must die some day! Fewer words! lower away, I say, I am tired of hanging here between Heaven and Tartarus!"

No words were spoken farther, by any of the party; but the smith with the aid of Rufus paid out the line rapidly although steadily, hand under hand, until the whole length was run out with the exception of some three or four feet.

Just at this moment, when Crispus was beginning to despair of success, and was half afraid that he had miscalculated the length of the rope, the strain on it was slackened for a moment, and then ceased altogether.

The next instant a low and guarded whistle rose from the gorge, above the gurgling of the waters, but not so loud as to reach any ears save those for which it was intended.

A grim smile curled the swordsmith's lip, and his fierce eye glittered with cruel triumph. "We are safe now.—Catiline will be here long before daybreak. Your prayers have availed us, Julia; for I doubt not," he added, with malicious irony, "that you have prayed for us."