THE LION'S BROOD
by
DUFFIELD OSBORNE
Author of "The Spell of Ashtaroth," "The Secret of the Crater"
[Frontispiece: Here and there a Gaul would boundforward . . . to throw himself prone beneaththe vermilion hoofs.]
New YorkDoubleday Page & Company1904Copyright, 1901,by Doubleday, Page & Co.
To the Memory of
HOWARD SEELY
BRILLIANT WRITER, TRUE-HEARTED GENTLEMAN,
STANCH AND LOYAL FRIEND
CONTENTS.
PART I.
INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER
I. NEWS II. WORDS III. PARTING IV. FABIUS V. TEMPTATION VI. DISOBEDIENCE VII. PUNISHMENT VIII. DISGRACE IX. HOME X. CONVALESCENCE XI. POLITICS XII. BRAWLINGS XIII. THE RED FLAG XIV. CANNAE XV. "WITHIN THE RAILS"
PART II.
I. THE QUEEN OF THE WAYS II. THE GATE III. PACUVIUS CALAVIUS IV. THE HOUSE OF THE NINII CELERES V. THE BANQUET VI. ALLIES VII. "FREEDOM" VIII. DIPLOMACY IX. THE BAIT X. MELKARTH XI. THE SLAVE XII. FLIGHT XIII. WINTER QUARTERS
PART I.
THE LION'S BROOD.
INTRODUCTION.
Centuries come and go; but the plot of the drama is unchanged, and thesame characters play the same parts. Only the actors cast for them arenew.
It is much worn,--this denarius,--and the lines are softened andblurred,--as of right they should be, when you think that more than twothousand years have passed since it felt the die. It is lying beforeme now on my table, and my eyes rest dreamily on its helmeted head ofPallas Nicephora. There, behind her, is the mint-mark and that word ofancient power and glory, "Roma." Below are letters so worn andindistinct that I must bend close to read them: "--M. SERGI," and thenothers that I cannot trace.
Perhaps I have dozed a bit, for I must have turned the coin,unthinking, and now I see the reverse: a horseman, in full panoply,galloping, with naked sword brandished in his left hand, from whichdepends a severed head tight-clutched by long, flowing hair.
The clouds hang low over the city, as I peer from my towerwindow,--driving, ever driving, from the east, and changing, everchanging, their fantastic shapes. Now they are the waving hands andgowns of a closely packed multitude surging with human passions; nowthey are the headlong rout of a flying army upon which press hordes ofriders, dark, fierce, and barbarous--horses with tumultuous manes, andhands with brandished darts. Surely it is a sleepy, workless day! Itwill be vain to drive my pen across the pages.
I do not see the cloud forms now--not with my eyes, for they haveclosed themselves perforce; but my brain is awake, and I know that theeyes of Pallas Nicephora see them, and grow brighter as if gazing onwell-remembered scenes.
Why not? How many thousand clinkings of coin against coin in purse andpouch, how many hundred impacts of hands that long since are dust, haveserved to dim your once clear relief!
Surely, Pallas, you have looked upon all this and much more. Shall Isee aught with your eyes, lady of my Sergian denarius? Shall I see,if, with you before me, I look fixedly at the legions of clouds thatcross my window an hour--two--three--even until the night closes in?
Grant but a grain of this, O Goddess, and lo! I vow to thee a troop ofpipe-players upon the Ides of June.
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