Part 13 (1/2)

”You cannot see him,” replied Aper, placing himself before the entrance to Numerian's tent. ”No one except myself is allowed to speak to him during his illness. He even gives his orders to the army through me alone.”

Mesembrius sniffed the air suspiciously.

”Why does so strong a smell of musk and amber come from this tent?”

”Why?” repeated Aper, his face blanching. ”Why do you desire to know, Senator?”

”What?” retorted Mesembrius; ”because you lie, Aper, when you say that Numerian issues his orders through you.”

”What? What do you mean?” shouted the soldiers who had gathered around the two.

”I mean that Numerian is no longer living!” cried Mesembrius in ringing tones. ”No, no, the strong odour of amber issuing from his tent is only to disguise the scent of corruption, and Aper has long taken advantage of you by issuing orders in Numerian's name.”

The soldiers forced their way into Numerian's tent and found the old man's words confirmed. Numerian had lain dead a long time; his body was far advanced in decomposition.

Aper was instantly put in chains by the soldiers on account of this deception; in the afternoon an empty throne was erected in the open fields for the election of a new Imperator.

Mesembrius walked through the ranks of the legions, recommending Diocletian, whom the soldiers fairly forced to take his seat upon the throne.

Then Aper was brought forward.

”I charge you, publicly and plainly,” said Mesembrius, ”with having murdered Numerian and betrayed us to Carinus.”

”And we condemn you,” roared the army with one voice.

”And I execute the sentence,” said Diocletian, stabbing with his own hand the prisoner sentenced by the troops.

In the midst of this wrathful mood Marcius arrived with the order given to him by Manlius and, without knowing what had happened, he delivered his appointment to the new Caesar.

”Who is this?” asked Diocletian, turning to Mesembrius.

”The Caesar's barber.”

Diocletian turned smiling to the soldiers.

”Friends! Carinus provided for our beards and sent us a barber with the rank of an Imperator; pray sit down before him and have yourselves shaved. But do you take care not to cut my soldiers' faces, my little friend, for if they should try their big razors on you, you would fare ill.”

The soldiers, amid loud shouts of laughter, dragged Marcius off with them, and made him shave their bristling beards.

Scarcely an hour later aevius arrived with the command to dismiss half the army at once.

This enraged the Caesar and the whole body of troops. To a.s.sail their interests so boldly was presumptuous even from the Imperator.

”To the funeral pyre with the messenger and his message!” cried Diocletian, and the poet had already been bound to the huge pile of logs when he sighed bitterly:

”O ye G.o.ds, must I, while still living, witness my own apotheosis?”

Diocletian laughed at the idea and ordered the poet to be brought down from the funeral pyre, contenting himself with putting him in the pillory, after which he sent him back to Rome with a message declaring war against Carinus.