were bringing on the beakers, and the Cisalpine provincials were pledging one another in draughts of many cyathi, “prosperity to the proconsul, and confusion to his enemies.”  Caesar took a shallow glass of embossed blue and white bas-relief work,—­a triumph of Alexandrian art,—­poured into it a few drops of undiluted Caecuban liquor, dashed down the potion, then dropped the priceless beaker on to the floor.

“An offering to Fortuna!” he cried, springing from his couch.  “My friends, let us go!” And quietly leaving the table on the dais, the three found themselves outside the banqueting hall, while the provincials, unconscious that their host had departed, continued their noisy revelry.

Drusus at once saw that everything was ready for departure.  Antiochus was at hand with travelling cloaks, and assured the young man that due care had been taken to send in advance for him a complete wardrobe and outfit.  The proconsul evidently intended to waste no time in starting.  Drusus realized by the tone of his voice that Caesar the host had vanished, and Caesar the imperator was present.  His words were terse and to the point.

“Curio, you will find a fast horse awaiting you.  Take it.  Bide at full speed after the legion.  Take command of the rear cohorts and of the others as you come up with them.  Lead rapidly to Ariminum.”

And Curio, who was a man of few words, when few were needed, saluted and disappeared in the darkness.  Drusus followed the general out after him.  But no saddle-horses were prepared for Caesar.  Antiochus and one or two slaves were ready with lanterns, and led the general and Drusus out of the gloomy cantonment, along a short stretch of road, to a mill building, where in the dim light of the last flickers of day could be seen a carriage with mules.

“I have hired this as you wished,” said the freedman, briefly.

“It is well,” responded his patron.

Antiochus clambered upon the front seat; a stout German serving-man was at the reins.  Caesar motioned to Drusus to sit beside him behind.  There were a few necessaries in the carriage, but no other attendants, no luggage cart.  The German shook the reins over the backs of the two mules, and admonished them in his barbarous native dialect.  The dim shadow of the mill faded from sight; the lights of the praetorium grew dimmer and dimmer:  soon nothing was to be seen outside the narrow circle of pale light shed on the ground ahead by the lantern.

The autumn season was well advanced.  The day however had been warm.  The night was sultry.  There were no stars above, no moon, no wind.  A sickening miasmic odour rose from the low flat country sloping off toward the Adriatic—­the smell of overripe fruit, of decaying vegetation, of the harvest grown old.  There had been a drought, and now the dust rose thick and heavy, making the mules and travellers cough, and the latter cover their faces.  Out of the darkness came not the least sound:  save the creaking of the dead boughs on trees, whose dim tracery could just be distinguished against the sombre background of the sky.