as the moonbeams swept across some stately pile, and touched on its Corinthian columns and nobly wrought pediments.  But Drusus was a soldier; and the best of poets doubtless work poorly when their lives are hanging in the balance.  Over the flower-strewn walks, under the festooned colonnades, ran the busy legionaries, bestirring themselves as never before; while Diomedes, and Hector, and Patroclus, and fifty other heroic worthies waged perpetual battle on their marble heights above the soldiers’ heads.  On occasion Drusus was called to one of the upper terraces and pinnacles of the palace buildings, and then he could catch a glimpse of the whole sweep of the mighty city.  Over to the southeast, where was the Jewish quarter, the sky was beginning to redden.  The mob had begun to vent its passions on the innocent Israelites, and the incendiary was at his work.  A deep, low, growling hum, as of ten thousand angry voices, drifted upon the night air.  The beast called the Alexandrian rabble was loose, and it was a terrible animal.

It was midnight.  Drusus had toiled since noon.  He had hardly tasted food or drink since morning, but there were three feet more of brick, stone, and rubbish to be added still to this and that rampart before it would be secure, and a whole wing of the overgrown palace must be pulled down to furnish the material.  He had climbed out upon the roof to aid in tearing up the tiles and to encourage the men by his example, when some one plucked him from behind on the cloak—­it was Caesar.

“You are not needed here,” said the general, in a voice that seemed a bit strained to keep calm.  “Read this—­take all the men you want.”

And the Imperator himself held up the torch, while Drusus took the tablet thrust into his hands and read the hastily scribbled lines:—­

“Cleomenes to Drusus.  The ladies are in danger.  I will resist the mob as long as I can.  Send help.”

Drusus threw down the tablet; forgot to so much as salute his commander.  He had laid off his armour during the work on the ramparts; he ran for it, put it on with feverish haste.  A moment more and he was running among the soldiers, calling this and that legionary by name.  The troops all knew him, and would have followed him to the death.  When he asked for thirty volunteers for dangerous service, none demanded of him the occasion; he simply selected his men as fast as he might.  He secured four chariots and placed in them the fastest horses in the royal stables and trusted men for drivers.  He mounted the rest of his thirty on other steeds, and the preparations were over.  The gate was thrown open; Decimus Mamercus, who was his subaltern, led out the little company.  Drusus rode out last, in one of the chariots.  The troops on the walls cheered them as they departed.