XIII.
WINTER QUARTERS.
The beat of hoofs upon the great blocks of basalt rang through themorning air in measured cadence, and soon an answering echo came upfrom the south. Open flight had at last dispelled all doubt and giventhe signal for pursuit.
First came the two Africans of the original escort, released and biddento ride for life or death; a short distance behind was the Carthaginiancaptain on his own horse which had probably been haltered behind theguard-house; and, last of all, three of the Spanish guard, who hadthrown the servants and baggage from the animals that bore them, andappropriated such speed as these afforded for the business in hand.
That the officer was pretty well sobered seemed apparent. A fugitivebearing the ring of the schalischim--the seal of the GreatCouncil--must be a man of importance, or else the possession of such atalisman augured the commission of some terrible crime. Already he sawhimself stretched writhing upon the cross; the crowd, reviling orgibing, seemed surging about his feet; and his howls of anguish foundvoice in a storm of guttural objurgations to men and horses, mingledwith prayers and vows to the gods of Carthage.
He had overtaken the two Africans now, for his animal was better thantheirs, but the three others laboured hopelessly behind: theCappadocians flew rather than galloped far in advance. Already nearlythree hundred yards separated them from their pursuers, and the gap waswidening slowly but surely. Only the officer held his own, for he wasnow forging ahead of the Africans.
"Ah, cowards! slime! filth!" he shouted to his struggling men. "Thecross! the cross! that for you unless we catch them! that for me!--forall! Ah, Eschmoun! Ah, Khamon!--Melkarth!--gifts!--gold, gems, robes,spices!--my first-born to the Baals! to the Baals! Help! speed!"
The man was mad--mad indeed with terror and newly dispelleddrunkenness; and his horse, a great African, coal-black save for onewhite hoof, seemed to partake of his master's frenzy. With ears lyingflat along his head, and eyes that burned into those of Sergius, whenhe ventured to glance behind him,--glaring sheer through distance anddust like the very eyes of those demons his rider invoked,--the beastthundered on, equalling the speed of the light Asiatic chargers by theforce of strength alone.
From time to time the fugitives turned their heads to measure thedistance, and the sight of this unwearied pursuer appeared to fascinatethem as by some weird power. The rest were beaten out,--the Spaniardslost to sight, the Africans visible only by the dust that hung overthem far behind.
The mountains to the eastward seemed to be dancing away in a mad chasetoward the south, a chase which Tifata itself was urging on. Theglimmer of white in the north told of the morning sun striking uponhouses. Still they rode on, pursuers and pursued.
Suddenly a sound, half-trumpet note, half bellow, swelled up ahead.Then another answered it, and another and another took up the refrain.
Sergius' face blanched, and, with a sudden effort, he threw his animalalmost upon its haunches. Marcia was carried several spear-lengthsfarther before she could check her speed. Wonder and the dread of someaccident drove the blood to her heart. A hoarse shout of triumph camefrom their pursuer, as she turned to ride back.
She asked no questions. Surely Sergius knew what was best. She sawIddilcar's long dagger in his hand, and that he was about to fight.
"Back!--back! and to one side," he called, as she rode up. "Did younot hear the elephants? That is Casilinum, and they are besieging it.We should have remembered."
He darted forward to meet the Carthaginian, fearful that he, too, woulddraw rein and await the coming of his followers. Then indeed all wouldbe lost. Six soldiers on the one side and a camp full on the otherwere hopeless odds against a wounded man armed only with a Numidiandagger.
But it was Bacchus that fought for Rome that day--Bacchus, to whom noaltar had been vowed. A night of debauchery and the sudden terror ofits awakening had effectually blurred whatever judgment the officer mayhave had, and his one thought was to kill or capture his quarry.
So they came together, Sergius swerving his Cappadocian as they met.The officer struck blindly, but the good lord Bacchus put out his handand turned the blow aside. Then, as they parted, a strange thinghappened. Marcia had wondered dimly why Sergius struggled with thelong, girdleless garment of Iddilcar, tearing it off as he rode. Now,when the two horses sprang apart, she saw that he had thrown itdexterously over the Carthaginian, blinding his blow and tangling himin its heavy folds.
Prompt to respond to knee and rein, the Cappadocian wheeled, almost assoon as he ran clear, but the African thundered on, while its ridercursed in blind terror and tried to check his horse and to free hisface and sword-arm. A moment, and he had succeeded, but he succeededtoo late. The Roman was at his back, and Marcia saw the long daggerrise and fall in a swift thrust. She could not see how the point tookits victim just at the nape; but she saw him pitch forward like an oxunder the axe.
Almost before she could grasp what had happened, Sergius was beside thefallen man, had resumed the priest's tunic, red with new blood stains,and was on his horse again. His brow lay in deep lines as he rodetoward her.
"Come," he said. "The gods favouring us, we must pass their campbefore the rest come up. Grant that those may linger by the corpse,and that we meet no check."
Again they were galloping toward the lines that lay about Casilinum.All had happened so quickly that even now they could scarcely see theplume in the distant dust cloud that told where the pursuers straggledon. They had turned into the new side-road without meeting a man.Then a small foraging party halted them, and Sergius showed the sealand spoke in Gallic to its Numidian leader. A little farther on wasstationed another band, and here the delay was longer ere his haltingPunic convinced the Spanish piquet, and they again rode forwardunsuspected. All had bowed low to the horse and the palm tree, and noone dared question what weighty mission urged on the man in the tornand blood-stained tunic and the slender youth, his companion.
Now they were back again upon the pavement of the Appian; the last linewas passed, and the beleaguered town with its stout-hearted garrisonlay well behind. Perhaps that sudden uproar told of the arrival oftheir pursuers; perhaps those glittering points amid distant dustclouds meant a new pursuit. Surely none but Mercury had winged thefeet of the Cappadocians! Unwearied, like springs of steel, the stoutmuscles drove them on--on over the marshland with the glint of the seabefore them--on, up the rising ground.
Again and again Sergius turned in his saddle scanning the road behind,feeling the presence of pursuers whom he could not see. The goodhorses were weakening fast. No flesh and blood could stand thatstrain, and naught but the spirit of the breed kept them afoot.Marcia's was limping painfully; the one Sergius rode was wavering inits stride, like the Carthaginian captain when he came out of theguard-house by the gate.
"Gods! What were those shrill sounds--half whistle, half scream?"
Too well he remembered how the Numidians urged on their bridlelesschargers. Yes, there they were now--scarce half a milestone behind andcoming up like the wind that blew through their dishevelledmanes--fifty at least. Death, then, was decreed, after all, and heglanced toward Marcia, measuring the time when he might kiss her andkill her ere he sold his own life to the javelins.
Suddenly he heard her cry out.
"Look!" she called, and, following her finger, he gazed eagerly ahead.
A clump of horsemen, heavy armed with helmet and corselet, crowned theknoll of rising ground over which the road led, and, above them,fluttering in the breeze, he saw the square vexillum of the cavalry ofthe legion.
He was among them now, lifting Marcia from her horse and dimlyconscious of many words being spoken around.
"See, lord, they have halted," said a voice. "Is it your will that wepursue?"
Then, as an answering voice replied in the negative, he kissed Marciaand made her drink wine that some one brought. Barbarous cries thatshe must not hear or understand came to his ears, and he knew thattheir pursuers
were wheeling in discomfited flight. The circle ofsoldiers stood back. Something cold and feathery fell upon hisupturned face and turned to moisture. He saw a tall man with featuresof wonderful beauty regarding them kindly and in silence; his whitepaludamentum was heavily fringed with purple, and Sergius recognizedhim now,--Marcus Marcellus, the new dictator. Another drop, feathery,cold, and moist, fell upon Marcia's hand, and she roused herself at thetouch, peering up into her lover's face and then quickly at the heavens.
"Look!" she cried. "Up! not into my eyes."
He turned, for an instant, to see the blue vault of a few moments sinceovercast with gray and filled with a swirl of snowy flakes.
"See, now, Lucius, lord of my life; here are the messengers of winter.Winter quarters! he is in winter quarters! See! have we not prevailed?"
It was the voice of the dictator that answered:--
"Yes, truly; and there shall soon be prepared for him eternal summerquarters in Phlegethon--if the Greek tales be true."
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