Volume Iii Part 21 (2/2)

”You can sleep at such a moment, general?”

”Yes; I _must_. And I hope I shall sleep soundly. I must have time to collect myself--I have just yielded the Forum Romanum to the barbarian King! It was too much! I need time to recover myself. Syphax, I asked yesterday if no more wine was to be had on the right bank of the Tiber?”

”I have been to seek some. There is yet a little in the temple of your G.o.d; but the priests say that it is dedicated to the service of the altar.”

”That will not have spoiled it! Go, Lucius, and take it from the priests. Divide it amongst the hundred men on the bulwark of Caesar. It is the only thing that I can give them to show my grat.i.tude.”

Followed by Syphax, Cethegus now rode slowly home.

He stopped at the princ.i.p.al entrance to his house.

In answer to the call of Syphax, Thrax, a groom, opened the gate.

Cethegus dismounted and stroked the neck of his n.o.ble charger.

”Our next ride will be a sharp one, my Pluto--to victory or in flight!

Thrax, give him the white bread which was reserved for me.”

The horse was led into the stables near at hand. The stalls were empty.

Pluto shared the s.p.a.cious building only with the brown horse belonging to Syphax. All the Prefect's other horses had been slaughtered and devoured by the mercenaries.

The master of the house pa.s.sed through the splendid vestibule and atrium into the library.

The old ostiarius and secretary, the slave Fidus, who was past carrying a spear, the only domestic in the house. All the slaves and freedmen were upon the walls--either living or dead.

”Reach me the roll of Plutarch's Caesar, and the large goblet set with amethysts--it scarcely needed their decoration--full of spring water.”

The Prefect stayed in the library for some time. The old servant had lighted the lamp, filled with costly oil of spikenard, as he had been accustomed to do in times of peace.

Cethegus cast a long look at the numerous busts, Hermes, and statues, which cast sharp shadows along the exquisite mosaic pavement.

There, upon pedestals or brackets, on which were inscribed their names, stood small marble busts of almost all the heroes of Rome, from the mythic Kings to the long rows of Consuls and Caesars, ended by Trajan, Hadrian, and Constantine.

The ancestors of the ”Cethegi” formed a numerous group.

An empty niche already contained the pedestal upon which his bust would one day stand--the last on that side of the room, for he was the last of his house.

But on another side there was a whole row of arches and empty niches, destined for future scions of the family, not by marriage, but by adoption, should the name of Cethegus be continued into more fortunate generations.

As Cethegus walked slowly past the rows of busts, he chanced to look at the niche destined to contain his own, and, to his astonishment, saw that it was not empty.

”What is that?” he asked. ”Lift up the lamp, secretary. Whose is that bust standing in my place?”

”Forgive, master! The pedestal of that bust, one of the ancients, needed reparation. I was obliged to remove it, and I placed it in the empty niche to keep it from harm.”

”Show a light. Still higher. Who can it be?”

And Cethegus read the short inscription upon the bust: ”Tarquinius Superbus, tyrant of Rome, died in exile; banished from the city by the inhabitants on account of his monstrous despotism. A warning to future generations.”

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