Julian had an interview with his brother Gallus while the latter was on his way to Constantinople. He had found him surrounded by a troop of traitors in the pay of Constantius: the quæstor Leontinus, a wily courtier, famous for skill in eavesdropping and cross-examining servants; the tribune Baïnobadois, a taciturn barbarian, who gave the impression of an over-tragic actor playing the part of a headsman; the Emperor's haughty Master of Ceremonies,comes domesticorum, Lucilian; and finally Marcus Scuda, the former tribune of Cæsarea in Cappadocia, who, thanks to the protection of certain old ladies, had attained the post he longed for.
Gallus, now, as always, gay and giddy, had offered Julian an excellent supper, of which the chief feature was a plump pheasant stuffed with fresh Theban dates. He laughed like a child, and was calling up all sorts of reminiscences of old days together at Macellum, when suddenly Julian spoke to him about his wife Constantia.
The face of Gallus fell; his eyes filled with tears, and he laid down on his plate the succulent piece of pheasant which he had been on the point of putting into his mouth.
"Don't you know, Julian, that Constantia is dead? She died unexpectedly after an attack of tertian ague, on the very journey to the Emperor which she hadundertaken to absolve me from blame in his eyes. I wept for two whole nights when I heard that news."
He cast a timid glance at the door, put his hand on Julian's shoulder, and whispered confidentially—
"Since then, I have let things go to the devil! She alone might have saved me. Ah! she was an astonishing woman. Without her I am ruined. I can do, and I can learn, nothing.... 'They' do with me just as they please."
He tossed off a cup of wine at a gulp.
Julian remembered Constantia, the sister of Constantius, a widow of ripe age, the evil genius of her brother, her who had incited him to commit numberless crimes, crimes which were frequently mere fatuous stupidities. Amazed, he asked, anxious to know by what quality this woman had tamed his brother—
"She was beautiful?"
"It is clear you never saw her."
"No. Was she ugly?"
"Yes, very ugly. She was short, brown, thin, and had bad teeth, which I can't bear in women. Nevertheless, being aware of this defect, she never laughed. People used to say she deceived me, that in disguise she used to go to the circus, as Messalina did, on visits to a young and handsome groom. Well, what of it? Did not I on my side deceive her? She never bothered me, and I used to take care in return never to worry her about these trifles. Folk used to say she was cruel! By God, Julian, she knew how to govern! Of course she didn't like the authors of epigrams on her bad manners, comparing her to some kitchen-slave dressed as Cæsar's wife! She loved revenge, admiration! And what a mind, what a mind, Julian! Why, I was as much at ease sheltered behind her, as behinda granite wall. Ah, the mad things we used to do together! We certainly never lacked amusement."
He smiled at some agreeable recollection and passed the tip of his tongue along his rosy upper lip between the sips of Chian wine.
"There's no denying we made the most of time," he repeated, not without modest pride.
When Julian was on his way to this interview with his brother, he had thought of waking in him some feeling of seriousness and remorse, had even prepared a little speech, in the style of Libanius, against the doings of irresponsible tyrants. He had expected to see a man bowed under the yoke of Nemesis, and not the tranquil fat and rosy visage of this comely athlete. Words died on Julian's lips. He looked without blame or distaste upon this "docile animal"—for so he inwardly named his brother. Of what avail were sermons to a young stallion? Julian contented himself therefore with saying to Gallus in a grave tone—
"Why are you going to Milan? Do you suspect nothing?"
"Yes—hush—but it is too late!"
And, sweeping his hand significantly round his neck, he added—
"The slipnoose of death is already here! 'He' is tightening it little by little. Why, he would unearth me from a rabbit-burrow, Julian! No, no, best speak no more of it! All's over! We've made the most of time, that's all."
"But you have two legions left you at Antioch?"
"Not one. 'He' has filched all my best soldiers, little by little, under colour of this pretext and that; and always, by Jove! for my own good! Why, everything he does is for my own good.... He thinks ofnothing else! Now he's in a hurry to see me simply to profit by my advice. Julian, that man is terrible! You don't know yet, and God grant that you may never know, what that man is. He sees everything, knows my inmost thoughts, those that I wouldn't mutter to my pillow; and he's watching your mind also. Frankly, I am afraid of him!"
"But can't you escape?"
"Hush, speak lower!"
The features of Gallus took on an expression of boyish terror.
"No, no; I tell you all is over! I am as neatly finished as a fish already hooked. 'He' is drawing in the line gently, so that it doesn't break. A Cæsar, let him be who he will, is always a big fish to land. I know that it's impossible to escape. He'll take me one day or another.... And now I see the snare, and I am walking into it all the same out of fear. For six years, from the very first, I quaked before that man. Like a small boy, now however I've walked far enough. Brother, he'll cut my throat as a cook cuts the throat of a fowl. But he will torture me first by a thousand stratagems and caresses. I should prefer to finish quicker."
The eyes of Gallus became suddenly brilliant, and he exclaimed—
"Ah, ifshehad been here, at my side, she would certainly have saved me! She was such an astonishing woman!"
The tribune Scuda, entering thetricliniumwhere supper was laid, announced, with a profound salutation, that on the morrow, in honour of the arrival of Cæsar, there would be races in the hippodrome of Constantinople, and that the celebrated rider Korax wouldtake part in them. Gallus was delighted at the news, and ordered a crown of bay-leaf to be prepared, that, in case of the victory of Korax, he might himself crown his favourite before the people. He launched into racing stories, boasting the skill of his charioteers.
Gallus drank deeply, laughed like a man whose rakish conscience is at ease, with not a trace of his recent fears upon those handsome features. Only at the last moment of farewell he kissed Julian heartily, suddenly melting into tears.
"May God help you! May God help you!" he blubbered. "You alone have stood my friend—you and Constantia!"
Then he whispered into Julian's ear—
"I hope that you'll save your skin, brother. You can wear a mask and keep your own counsel; I have always envied you that. May God succour you!"
Julian sincerely pitied his brother; he knew that he would not escape Constantius.
On the following morning Gallus left Constantinople with his former escort. At Adrianople he was only permitted to retain ten small chariots, and had to relinquish all his personal suite and baggage. The autumn was far advanced, the roads in fearful condition, rain falling continuously all day for a week. Peremptory messages reached Gallus to hurry on. He was given no time to rest or sleep, and had taken no bath for a fortnight.
One of his keenest discomforts was horror at close contact with dirt. All his life he had taken peculiar care to keep his body healthy and exquisitely groomed. It was with profound melancholy that he gazed at his uncut nails, and the purple of his travelling chlamys, befouled by dust and muddy roads. Scuda neverquitted his side for an instant, and Gallus, not without reason, dreaded his assiduous companion. The tribune, years ago, had come as bearer of a despatch from the Emperor, and was but newly arrived in Antioch, when by an impudent remark he had offended Constantia, the wife of Gallus, who straightway in a fit of fury had ordered the Roman tribune to be flogged and afterwards thrown, like a slave, into a dungeon.
Foreseeing the probable consequence, Constantia had quickly ordered the tribune to be set at liberty. He then presented himself at the palace of Gallus, as if nothing had occurred, and, pocketing the affront, had never even reported it to his master; perhaps through fear that so degrading a punishment might besmirch the prospects of his career as a courtier.
During the whole journey from Antioch to Milan Scuda retained his seat in Cæsar's chariot, never quitting him, inviting his confidences, and treating him like some wayward child, who, being out of sorts, was not to be left to himself for a moment by a servant so devoted and affectionate.
Where, as in Illyria, there were dangerous river crossings to be made on frail wooden bridges, Scuda would put his arm around Gallus with the tenderest solicitude, and if the latter strove to free himself, swear that he preferred death to the risk of drowning his precious charge.
The tribune wore an oddly thoughtful expression, especially when contemplating the neck of Gallus, smooth and white as a young girl's. The Cæsar, feeling this attentive look, would fidget uneasily in his seat, and with difficulty restrain himself from striking the amiable tribune in the face. But the poor prisoner's spirits quickly rose again. He contented himself withimploring (for despite everything his appetite remained healthy), that they might halt for a meal, were it never so scanty. At Petovio, in Norica, they were met by two fresh envoys from the Emperor, accompanied by a cohort of Court legionaries.
The mask was then dropped. Round the palace where Gallus slept armed sentinels were placed as round a prison. In the evening the prefect Barbatio, making his way in, without any pretence at ceremony, ordered him to take off the chlamys of a Cæsar and don the simple tunic and paludamentum, or ordinary cloak, of a common soldier.
On the following morning the prisoner was ordered to get into a karpenta, a little two-wheeled cart without a hood employed by minor officials on official journeys. A cold wind was blowing intermittently. Scuda according to his custom put one arm round Gallus, and with the disengaged hand gently fingered the new garment.
"Sound cloak, this—soft and warm! Better than the purple, which is a chilly affair! Why, they've lined this tunic with double wool!" And pushing his investigations further, Scuda slid a hand under the paludamentum, then under the tunic, and suddenly, with a laugh, drew forth the blade of a poniard, which Gallus had succeeded in concealing.
"Now that's a mistake!" said Scuda. "Why, you might through carelessness stab yourself! What a boy you are!"
And he threw the dagger out on the road. An infinite weariness seized Gallus. He closed his eyes and felt the endearing grip of Scuda inside his arm. Was it all a nightmare?
They halted at the fortress of Pola in Istria, on theshores of the Adriatic. Some years formerly this town had been the scene of the murder of Priscus, the heroic young son of Constantine the Great.
The gloomy town was thronged with soldiers. Interminable barracks in the style of Diocletian had replaced the houses of civilians. Snow lay thickly on the roofs, the wind was moaning in deserted streets, and the sea lay rumbling below.
Gallus was led into one of these barracks and given a seat fronting the window, so that the full daylight fell upon his face. One of the Emperor's most skilful police officers—Eustaphius,—a little wrinkled and amiable old man with the wheedling and penetrating voice of a confessor, rubbed his blue and chilly hands and began the cross-examination. Gallus, who was mortally fatigued, said everything that Eustaphius suggested he should say, but at the words "treason to the empire," paled, and started to his feet.
"It was no doing of mine—nothing to do with me!" he stammered in dismay. "Constantia planned it all! It was she who exacted the death of Theophilus, of Clement, Domitian, and the rest! Before God, it was not I. She said nothing to me about it. I was utterly ignorant!"
Eustaphius looked at him smilingly.
"Very well," he said, "I will duly inform the Emperor that his own sister Constantia, spouse of the late Cæsar of the East, alone is culpable."
And turning towards the legionaries he ordered—
"The interrogatory is finished. Take him away."
Shortly afterwards arrived the sentence of death decreed by the Emperor Constantius, who had looked on the accusation brought against his lamented sister in the light of a personal insult.
On hearing the sentence read out, Gallus lost consciousness and fell into the arms of the soldiers. Up to the last moment the poor fellow had hoped against hope. And, even now, he expected that they would at least grant him the reprieve of a few days, or hours, in which to prepare for death. But a rumour had gone round that the soldiers of the "Steadfast Sixteenth Flavian" legion were insubordinate, and planning to free Gallus; so he was dragged off incontinently to execution.
It was the early dawn. The snow, fallen during the night, had covered the foul mud, and lay glittering in chilly sunshine, its dazzling reflection lighting up the ceiling of the small room whither Gallus had been conducted.
The authorities distrusted the soldiery, who almost all liked and pitied the disgraced Cæsar; so for executioner they had chosen a butcher, who sometimes officiated in disposing of the thieves and brigands of the neighbourhood. This barbarian, unused to a Roman sword, had brought to the block a great double-edged axe which served him in the slaughter-yard. The butcher was a stupid, handsome, and sleepy slave. The name of the condemned man had been concealed from him and he believed he was only to behead a common thief. Before the last scene, Gallus became calm and humble, allowing his gaolers to do what they listed. Like a child, he wept and struggled when about to be placed by force in a bath, but once in he found the water pleasant.
But at sight of the butcher sharpening his axe he shivered in all his limbs. A barber then carefully shaved off the fine golden hair, always the beauty and pride of the young Cæsar. In returning from thebarber's room Gallus, finding himself alone for a moment with the tribune Scuda, unexpectedly dropped on his knees before the cruellest of his foes.
"Save me, Scuda! I know you can do it! Tonight I have received a message from the Flavian legion. Let me get a word with them. They will deliver me! I have thirty talents hidden in the temple at Mycenæ. Nobody knows it. I'll give them to you,—and more, much more! The soldiers love me. I'll make you my friend, my brother, my co-regent ... fellow-Cæsar!"
Mad with hope, he embraced the tribune's knees, and Scuda, shuddering, felt the lips of the Cæsar on his hands. He made no answer, and, smiling, slowly freed himself from the embrace. Gallus was ordered to undress. He objected to take off his sandals, his feet being unclean. When he was almost naked the butcher began to bind his hands behind his back, thief-fashion, and Scuda hastened to help him. When Gallus felt the touch of the tribune's fingers, in a fit of fury he escaped from the grasp of the headsman, seized Scuda by the throat, and endeavoured to strangle him. In his naked activity he seemed suddenly transformed into some sinewy and terrible young tiger.
The choking tribune was snatched from the grapple, and the prisoner's feet and hands were securely bound. At this moment in the barrack court resounded the shouts of the Flavian soldiers—"Long live Cæsar Gallus!" and the murderers hurried on with their job. A great section of a tree-trunk was rolled in for a block, and Gallus thrust down on his knees in front of it. Barbatio, Baïnobadois, and Apodemus gripped him by the shoulders, hands, and feet; and Scuda bowed the head against the block, weighing down thatvainly resisting skull with all his might. Chilled by emotion, his fingers felt the newly-shorn pate still moist with soap. The butcher proved an unskilful headsman. His axe slashed the neck, but the blow fell awry. He raised the hatchet a second time, crying to Scuda—
"More to the right! Hold the head more to the right!"
Gallus struggled and roared like a half-stunned bull. Nearer and nearer the cries of the soldiery resounded:
"Long live Gallus Cæsar!"
The butcher heaved his handle high and smote. A stream of blood gushed over the hands of Scuda; the head fell with a thud, and rolled away over the stone flags.
At that moment the legionaries burst into the hall. Barbatio, Apodemus, and Scuda hurried to the opposite door, the headsman remaining at a loss; but Scuda muttered in his ear—
"Take Cæsar's head, so that the legionaries may not recognise the body. It's a question of life or death for us all!"
"He wasnota thief then?" faltered the executioner, in amazement.
He found it difficult to carry this shaven head; at first he slid it under an arm, but it became uncomfortable; then, slipping his hooked thumb into the mouth, he managed to bear off the skull of him before whom so many heads had once bowed down.
Julian, on learning the death of his brother, said quietly to himself—
"Now comes my turn!"