“Know, lord, that thy slave has not been disobedient unto thy commandment.  Look, yonder burneth a bright red planet, called by us Nergal, which ye Westerns call by the name of Mars.  Who denieth that when Mars shines in the heavens, war will break forth among men?  Know that I have carefully compared the settings, risings, and movements of the planets at this season with their settings, risings, and movements at the time when my lord was born; and also at the time of the birth of his great enemy.  I have made use of the tables which my wise predecessors among the Chaldees have prepared; and which I myself, thy slave, copied from those at the Temple of Bel, in Babylon.”

“And they say?” breathlessly interrupted Lentulus.

“This is the message from the planets,” and Ulamhala’s form grew higher, his voice firmer; he raised his long bony arms above his head, and stood in the dull light like a skeleton arisen in all its white grave clothes to convey a warning to the living.  “To the Lord Pompeius, this is the warning, and to his enemy,

  “’He that is highest shall rise yet higher;
  He that is second shall utterly fall!’

I have said.”

And before the noble Romans could command the free play of their senses, the vision at the window had vanished, either out of doors, or behind some doorway or curtain.  The company sat gazing uneasily at each other for several minutes.  The Magnus was breathing heavily, as though he had passed through a terrible mental ordeal.  Cato, the Stoic and ascetic, had his eyes riveted on the carpet, and his face was as stony as an Egyptian Colossus.

Then a coarse forced laugh from Piso broke the spell.

“Capital, Pompeius!  You are a favourite of the gods!”

“I?” ventured the Magnus, moving his lips slowly.

“Of course,” cried several voices at once, catching the cue from Piso.  “You are the first in the world, Caesar the second!  You are to rise to new glories, and Caesar is to utterly fall!”

“The stars have said it, gentlemen,” said Pompeius, solemnly; “Caesar shall meet his fate.  Let there be war.”

* * * * *

Lentulus Crus rode away from the conference, his litter side by side with that of Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus, the consular, whom we will know as Domitius to distinguish from his son and namesake.  Domitius, a handsome, highly polished, vigorous, but none the less unprincipled man, who was just reaching the turn of years, was in high spirits.  No oligarch hated Caesar more violently than he, and the decision of Pompeius was a great personal triumph, the crowning of many years of political intrigue.  What Pompeius had said, he had said; and Caesar, the great foe of the Senate party, was a doomed man.

Lentulus had a question to ask his companion.

“Would you care to consider a marriage alliance between the Lentuli and the Domitii?” was his proposition.