XXI
More than two years had elapsed since the victory of Argentoratum.Julian had delivered Gaul from the barbarians. At the beginning ofspring, when still at Lutetia for his winter quarters, he had receivedan important letter from the Emperor Constantius brought by thetribune Decensius.
Each new victory achieved in Gaul harried the soul of Constantius, andstabbed his vanity to the quick. This "street-urchin," this "magpie,"this "monkey in the purple," this "pocket conqueror," to theindignation of Court scoffers had turned into a veritable victor.
Constantius writhed with jealousy. At the same time he sustaineddefeat after defeat in his own campaign against the Persians in theAsiatic provinces. He grew thin, sleepless, lost his appetite, andtwice suffered from terrible attacks of vomiting. The Court physicianswere in dismay.
Sometimes, during nights of insomnia, lying in bed under the sacredstandard of Constantine, the Emperor mused:
"Eusebia deceived me! But for her I should have followed the wisecounsel of Mercurius.... I should have had his throat cut in some darkcorner! I should have exterminated this serpent from the Flaviannest!... Imbecile that I was!... It was I, myself, who let him escape!And who knows?... Perhaps Eusebia herself was his mistress?"
A long-delayed jealousy made his envy bitterer still. He could notrevenge himself on the Empress Eusebia, who was dead. His second wife,Faustine, was an empty-headed little woman for whom he felt nothingbut contempt.
Constantius tore the hair on which hairdressers still spent suchinfinite pains, and shed tears of rage. Had he not protected theChurch? Had he not swept all heresies to destruction? Had he not builtand adorned monastery after monastery? Did he not regularly accomplishall due rites and offices? And now what reward was granted him? Forthe first time the master of the world felt his soul swelling inindignation against the Master of the universe. A dark imprecationrose to his lips.
To assuage his jealousy he had recourse to unusual means. He sentletters to all great cities,--"letters of victory," adorned withlaurels, and announcing the triumphs granted by the grace of God tothe Emperor Constantius. These letters were to the effect that it wasConstantius and not Julian who had four times crossed theRhine,--Constantius (who was really frittering away his army at theother end of the world). It was Constantius, and not Julian, who hadalmost perished from arrows at Argentoratum! Constantius who had takenChlodomir prisoner; Constantius who had pierced marshes andimpracticable forests, hewn roads, stormed fortresses and enduredhunger, thirst, heat; who, more wearied than the soldiers, hadallotted to himself less sleep than they.
Julian's name was never mentioned in these despatches, as if thatCaesar were no longer in existence. The people applauded Constantius asconqueror of the Gauls, and in all the churches, bishops andarchbishops chanted prayers and thanksgivings for victory granted tohim over the barbaric Alemanni.
Julian on hearing of these follies contented himself with a smile. Butthe Emperor's gnawing jealousy was not sated. He decided to rob Julianof his best soldiers, and then by imperceptible steps and fleetingpretences to disarm him, as Gallus had been disarmed; to draw him intothe toils and deal him the mortal blow.
With this intention he sent with a letter to Lutetia a certain skilfulofficial, the tribune Decensius. He was forthwith to select the mosttrusted legions, namely, the Heruli, Batavians, Petulants, and Celts;and to despatch them into Asia for the Emperor's own use. Moreover,this dignitary was to deflower each remaining legion of its threehundred bravest warriors; and Cintula, tribune of the Imperialstables, was instructed to take the pick of the porters andbaggage-carriers, and, having thus crippled Julian's transport, tobring these men to the East.
Julian warned Decensius, and proved to him that rebellion wasinevitable among the savage legions raised in Gaul, who would almostcertainly prefer to die rather than quit their native soil. But thatobstinate official, preserving an imperturbable haughtiness on hiswily yellow face, took no account of these observations.
At right angles to one of the wooden bridges which joined the islandof Lutetia to the river-banks, stretched long, low barrack buildings.All the morning the soldiery had been excited and tumultuous. Thestern and wise discipline hitherto observed by Julian alone restrainedthem.
The first cohorts of Petulants and the Heruli had departed on theprevious night. Their comrades the Celts and Batavians were preparingto follow them. Cintula issued his orders in a peremptory tone. Savagemurmurs were running through the crowd. An insubordinate soldier hadjust been beaten to death. Decensius strode hither and thither, penbehind ear, documents in hand. In the great courtyards, under a darksky, thick-wheeled covered chariots were waiting for the soldiers'wives and children. Women, parting from the country where they wereborn, were stretching out their arms to the woods and fields. Otherswere kissing the maternal soil, and weeping at the thought that theirdust should be buried in a strange land. Others, more resigned andsullen in their pain, had wrapped handfuls of earth in little bundles,to carry with them as tokens. A lean dog, with ribs to be countedthrough his skin, was licking the grease of an axle-tree. Suddenly hedarted away and began to howl, muzzle in the dust. Everybody, thrilledby the sound, turned round to watch him. A legionary angrily thrashedthe poor beast, who fled into a field with his tail between his legs,and, halting there, renewed his howlings in a yet more plaintive key.This dog's cry, wailing through the impressive silence of thetwilight, shook the nerves of all who heard it. The Sarmatian Aragarisbelonged to the number chosen to leave the north. He was biddingfarewell to the faithful Strombix--
"Oh, cousin, cousin! why are you leaving me?" whined Strombix, betweenmouthfuls of soup, which Aragaris had given up to him. Grief had takenaway his own appetite.
"Be quiet, fool!" the consolatory Aragaris was remarking; "there aretoo many women groaning already!... It would be more useful if you,who belong to the country, would tell me what forests we shall have topass through?"
"What do you mean, cousin? There are no forests there; only sand androcks."
"And how does one get shelter from the sun?" asked the incredulousAragaris.
"It's a desert! It's as hot there as under a cook's oven, and there'snot a drop of water."
"What! No water? And how about beer?"
"They don't even know what beer means!"
"You're lying!"
"May I be struck blind, cousin, if in all Mesopotamia and Syria youfind a keg of beer or of honey."
"Then it's all over, brother! If it's hot there, and there's neitherwater, beer, nor honey, they're simply hunting us to the end of theworld like oxen to the slaughter!"
"Hunting you on to the horns of the Devil, cousin!" and Strombix weptyet more bitterly.
At that moment there came a distant rumble, and din of voices. The twofriends ran out of the barracks; a crowd of soldiers were rushing overthe wooden bridge towards Lutetia. The cries came nearer; wildagitation seized the garrison; the soldiery poured out upon the roadin a dense shouting mass, in spite of the orders, threats, and evenblows of the centurions.
"What has happened?" asked a veteran.
"Twenty soldiers have been beaten to death!"
"What? Twenty! Why, it was a hundred!"
"They're going to cudgel every man in turn; it's the order!"
Suddenly a legionary with torn clothes and terrified demeanour rushedinto the crowd shouting--
"Comrades! quick, to the palace!... quick! Julian's just beenbeheaded!"
These words fell like a spark on tinder. The long-smouldering flameburst into destructiveness. The faces of the soldiers took on anexpression of animal ferocity. No one understood nor wished to hear,but all shouted--
"Where are the rascals? Kill the hounds!"
"Who?"
"The envoys from the Emperor Constantius!"
"Down with the Emperor!"
"Ah, the idiots!--to think they've killed such a leader!"
Two innocent centurions who were passing were seized, thrown to earth,trampled upon and almost rent in pi
eces. At the sight of the gushingblood the mutineers became yet more ferocious. Another mob coming overthe bridge swept up to the barracks, and there rose a deafening cry--
"Glory to the Emperor Julian! Glory to Augustus Julian!"
"He is slain! He is slain!"
"Hold your peace, fools; Augustus is alive! We've just seen him!"
"The Caesar's alive!"
"He's no longer Caesar, but Emperor!"
"Who said he was killed?"
"Where is the blackguard?"
"They tried to kill him!"
"Who?"
"Constantius!"
"Down with Constantius! Down with all cursed eunuchs!"
Someone on horseback rode by so quickly as almost to escaperecognition--
"Decensius! Decensius! Catch the ruffian!"
Still with pen behind his ear and ink-flask dangling from his girdle,accompanied by insults and laughter, he disappeared from sight. Thecrowd grew thicker and thicker, and the mutinous army was like araging flood; but their anger was turned into glee when the Herulianand Petulant legions, who had marched the evening before, and alsomutinied, were seen in the distance on their way back. They, theirwives, and their children were kissed with emotion, as after a longseparation. Some shed tears of joy, others struck their shields; andgreat bonfires were kindled. The fountains of oratory were unloosed.Strombix, who in his youth had been a buffoon at Antioch, felt himselfinspired, and, hoisted with wild gesticulations on the shoulders ofhis comrades, began--
"_Nos quidem ad orbis terrarum extrema ut noxii pellimur etdamnati...._"
"They're sending us to the other end of the world like criminals; andour families, whom we bought back from slavery with the price of ourblood, will fall back into the hands of the Alemanni----"
He was unable to finish; the barracks were ringing with piercingcries, and the noise, familiar to soldiers, of scourges scoring theback. The legionaries were lashing the detested centurion CedoAlteram, and the soldier who was administering the lashes to hissuperior flung away the bloody rod, and to the general amusement,imitating the cheery voice of the centurion, called out--
"_Cedo Alteram!_ Give me another!"
"To the palace! To the palace!" yelled the crowd. "Let us make Julian,Augustus! Let us crown him with a diadem!"
The mob rushed off, leaving in the courtyard the half-dead centurionweltering in blood. Through the dark clouds the stars sparkled hereand there, and a cold wind lifted the dust. The barred windows, doors,and shutters of the palace were all hermetically sealed. The buildingseemed tenantless.
Foreseeing the revolt, Julian had not left his quarters nor shownhimself to the soldiers, being occupied in divinations. For two daysand two nights he had waited for a miracle. Clothed in the long whiterobe of the Pythagoreans, lamp in hand, he was ascending the stepswhich led to the highest tower. There the assistant of Maximus ofEphesus was awaiting him, and observing the stars. This assistant wasno other than Nogodares, who once in the tavern owned by Syrax at thefoot of Mount Argaeus had foretold the future to the tribune Scuda.
"Well?" Julian asked anxiously.
"There's nothing to be seen! It looks as if heaven and earth wereconspiring."
A bat swooped by.
"Look, look! Perhaps some prediction can be made from the manner ofits flight?"
The night-wandering creature almost brushed Julian's face with itscold wings, and vanished.
"Someone's soul approaches," murmured Nogodares. "Remember! this nightsomething great will be accomplished...."
The indistinct cries of the mutineers were borne faintly up the wind.
"If a sign appears, come to me," said Julian as he went down to hislibrary.
With irregular restless strides he walked up and down the room,halting every now and then to listen. It seemed as if someone wasfollowing him; that a curious cold air was blowing on the nape of hisneck. He wheeled round, but discovered nothing. He felt the bloodbeating strongly in his temples. He resumed his walk, and again itseemed that someone was murmuring into his ear words that he had nottime to understand.
A servant entered, and announced that an old man from Athens desiredto see the Caesar on urgent business. Julian uttered a cry of elationand ran to meet the new-comer. He thought he should see Maximus; buthe was mistaken. It was the high-priest of the mysteries of Eleusis,whom also he had impatiently expected.
"Father!" exclaimed Julian, "save me! I must know the will of thegods!... Let us come quickly, for all is prepared."
Round the palace resounded deafening cries from the revolted army,shaking the old brickwork of the walls. But when a baggage-carrier,livid with fear, ran in exclaiming, "Mutiny! The soldiers are breakingin the iron gates!" Julian said with an imperious gesture, "Fearnothing! We will arrange that matter presently. Let no one come intomy presence!" and taking the high-priest by the hand he hastily ledhim into a dark underground vault, and closed the heavy iron door. Allwas there ready. Torch-flames were glittering over the silver image ofthe Sun-god, and tripods fuming; the holy vessels, full of water,wine, and honey, stood prepared, with salt and flour to be sprinkledon the bodies of the victims. Geese, doves, hens, an eagle, and awhite lamb which bleated plaintively, stood round in different cages.
"Quicker, quicker!" exclaimed Julian, giving a long dagger to thepriest.
The old man, who was panting heavily, began hurriedly to mutterprayers; he killed the lamb, put a portion of the flesh and fat uponthe coals of the altar, and with mysterious exorcisms began theinspection of its organs. With expert hands he drew forth the liver,heart, and lungs, and scanned them from every side.
"The powerful shall be overthrown!" he said, pointing to the heart,which was still warm; "a terrible death...."
"Whose?" Julian asked. "His or mine?"
"I know not."
"You know not?"
"Caesar," said the old man, "be not hasty. Decide nothing to-night;wait for the day; the presages are doubtful...."
He did not finish his sentence, but took another victim, a gander, andthen an eagle. Overhead the noise of the crowd at the gates swept likethe roar of a torrent. Blows of a battering-ram shook the iron doors,but Julian heard nothing. He examined the bloody organs with eagercuriosity.
The old sacrificial priest repeated:
"Decide nothing to-night; the gods are silent."
"But now is the moment!" cried Julian in vexation.
Nogodares came in, and solemnly spoke:
"Julian, rejoice! to-night your destiny is decided ... but make haste!Afterwards it will be too late."
The soothsayer looked at the hierophant; the hierophant at thesoothsayer.
"Wait!" said the priest of Eleusis.
"Dare!" said Nogodares.
Julian stood between the two, in perplexity scrutinising both.
The faces of the augurs remained impenetrable.
"What is to be done?" he murmured to himself. Then he remembered, andexclaimed joyfully:
"One moment! I have an ancient book in my library, _ConcerningContradiction in Auguries_; we shall see!"
He hurried to the library; but in a passage he encountered the bishopDorotheus, in sacerdotal dress, bearing the crucifix and the sacredViaticum.
"What is this?" asked Julian.
"The Viaticum for your wife, who is dying, O Caesar!"
Dorotheus looked with severity at the robes of Julian, his pale face,and his blood-stained hands.
"Your wife," continued the bishop, "desires to see you before herdeath. Will you come?"
"Yes!... yes! later!... O gods!... another ill omen."
He entered the library and began to rummage among the parchments.Suddenly he heard a voice murmuring distinctly in his ear:
"Dare! dare! dare!"
"Maximus, it is thou!" exclaimed Julian, wheeling round.
There was no one in the dark apartment.
Julian's heart beat so strongly that he pressed his hand against hisside; a cold sweat stood on his forehead.
"This--this is what I was waiting for!" murmured Julian. "The voicewas 'his'; now, all doubt is over!... I will go!"
The barred gates had given way with a crash. Legionaries were pouringinto the atrium, thrilling the old palace with their cries, while thecrimson glare of the torches shone through the chinks of shutters likethe light of a conflagration. Not a minute was to be lost. Castingaway his white robes, Julian donned his armour, paludamentum, warcloak, and helmet, buckled on his sword, and ran down the principalstaircase leading to the entrance. He opened the door and presentedhimself to the soldiers with a calm and unshaken demeanour. All doubtshad disappeared. While in action his will never vacillated; but neverup to that day had he been conscious of such a fulness of inwardforce, such clearness and self-possession of mind. In a moment thecrowd felt that supremacy. The pale face of Julian was imperial andawe-striking, and at a gesture from him the mob was silenced. Julianspoke to the soldiers, asking them to restore order; he would neitherabandon them nor permit that they should be taken from Gaul; on thathead he would convince his well-beloved brother, the EmperorConstantius.
"Down with Constantius!" interrupted the legionaries. "Down with himwho slew his brother! Thou art our Emperor! Glory to Augustus Julian,the Invincible!"
Admirably did Julian affect surprise, and, as if startled, lowered hiseyes and turned aside his head with a deprecating gesture of hislifted palms, as putting away from him so criminal a gift. The shoutsredoubled.
"What is this?" said Julian, feigning dismay. "You are ruining me andyou are ruining yourselves. Do you think that I can betray mysovereign?"
"Yes! your brother's murderer!" shouted the men.
"Silence!" answered Julian, striding towards the crowd. "Do you notknow that we are sworn...?"
Every movement was a hypocritical ruse. When the soldiers surged roundhim he drew his sword from its sheath and pointed it against his ownbreast as if to fall on it.
"Bravest of the brave! better die for Caesar than betray him!"
But the men, seizing his hands, disarmed him, and many, falling at hisfeet, kissed them, weeping--
"Ah! we are willing to die for you!"
Others stretched out their hands, groaning--
"Have pity on us; be our Augustus!"
The heart of Julian was thrilled. He loved these rough faces, thebarrack-atmosphere, and the unrivalled enthusiasm in which he felt hisown power.
He saw that the mutiny was dangerous and in earnest, observing thatthe legionaries did not interrupt each other, but shouted unanimously,and became suddenly hushed, as if their action had been concertedbeforehand.
There was either a deafening hubbub, or absolute silence.
Finally, Julian, with an effort that might well have been thoughtsincere--
"My children! my dear comrades! behold me ... I am yours in life andin death. I can refuse you nothing!"
"Crown him! The diadem!" they cried, triumphantly.
But no diadem was to be found.
Strombix proposed--
"Let Augustus order that his wife's necklet of pearls be broughthere!"
Julian answered that a woman's ornament would be unfitting, and an illpresage with which to inaugurate a reign.
But the men were unsatisfied. They insisted on seeing a sign ofregality shining on the head of their chosen, to make him theirEmperor indeed. One of the legionaries snatched from his war-horse thephalerae, or forehead trapping, with its string of metal disks, for thecrowning of Augustus.
But neither did this please him, for the ornament stank with the sweatof the horse. Everyone cast about to find another decoration, and atlast the standard-bearer of the Petulant legion, the SarmatianAragaris, pulled from his neck the metal chain denoting his rank, andJulian wound it twice round his own head. This chain made him Emperorof Rome.
"Hoist him on a shield! on a shield!" shouted the soldiery.
Aragaris tendered his round buckler. Hundreds of arms heaved theEmperor. He saw a sea of helmeted heads, and heard, like the rollingof thunder, the exultant cry--
"Glory to Julian, the divine Augustus!"
It seemed the will of destiny. One by one the torches wereextinguished. The clamour died away; and the eastern sky was barredwith soft white bands. The dark and dull mass of the palace-towersbecame clear in all its ugliness; a single lighted window was stillvisible. Julian guessed that this must be the light in the cell whereHelena lay dying.
And when at dawn the wearied army dispersed, he went to the bedside ofhis wife. It was too late. The dead woman lay quietly on her virgincouch; the lips severely closed. Julian felt no remorse, but painfulcuriosity moved him as he gazed at the dark face of his wife,wondering--
"What was that last desire? What did she wish to say to me?"
The Death of the Gods Page 22