who has committed unwitting sin, and yet must reap his reward; we are Prometheus who is to be chained to the rock forever, for offending the gods; we are Orestes whom the Eumenides pursue, chasing him down for his guilt.  And all the time we vainly imagine that we are some victorious hero, some Perseus, especially favoured by the gods to fare scatheless over land and sea, and bear away the Medusa’s head, and live renowned and happy forever.”  The reverie was becoming deeper and deeper; the Roman was beginning no longer to whisper merely to himself, he was half declaiming; then of a sudden, by a quick revolution of mind, he broke short the thread of his monologue. “Phui! Caius, you are ranting as if you were still a youth at Rhodes, and Apollonius Molo were just teaching you rhetoric!  Why has no letter come from Curio to-day?  I am anxious for him.  There may have been a riot.  I hadn’t expected that those excellent ‘Optimates’ would begin to murder tribunes quite so soon.  The carrier is late!” and the general moved away from the window, and took from a cupboard a package of tablets, which he ran over hastily.  “Here are the despatches of yesterday.  None to-day.  I fear the worst.”  The brow of the solitary speaker grew darker.  “Poor Curio, poor Antonius; if they’ve dared to murder them, let them tremble.  I could forgive a mortal enemy to myself, but not one who had slaughtered a friend.”

  [123] The ancient curtain (aulaeum) had its roller at the bottom.

There were steps in the court below, and voices were raised.  In an instant the general’s eyes were kindled, his frame on a poise.  He sprang to the window, and shouted down the dark court.

“Curio!  Do I hear you speaking?”

“Salve! Caesar.  It is I!”

“Venus be praised!” and the proconsul, with almost undignified haste, was running out upon the stairs to meet his friend.  “Has the city broken out?  Has Antonius been murdered?  Is the truce at an end?  Are you alone?”

And Curio, who did not quite possess his leader’s ability to “do all things at the same time,” answered in a breath:  “The city so far keeps tolerable order.  Antonius is safe.  The consuls and Senate still keep the peace; but so poorly that I thought it my duty to come to you and say things that cannot go in a letter.”

“And who is this young man with you?”

“My friend,” said Curio, turning to his companion, “is Quintus Livius Drusus, of whom I have had occasion to write no little.”

The proconsul sprang forward and seized Drusus by both hands, and looked him fairly in the eye.

“Papae! I see Sextus Drusus once more, the best tribune in his legion, and my dear friend.  Your face should be cause for your welcome, if nothing else.  Ah! how much we shall have to say!  But you are travel-stained and weary.  Words will keep while you bathe, and our dinner is prepared; for I myself have not dined, waiting, as I thought, for your despatches.”