“Caesar to Antony, greeting.

“This answer to thy challenge:  Can Antony find no better way of death than beneath the sword of Caesar?  Farewell!”

And thereafter they cheered no more.

The darkness came, and before it was midnight, having feasted with his friends who to-night went over his woes and to-morrow should betray him, Antony went forth to the gathering of the captains of the land-forces and of the fleet, attended by many, among whom was I.

When all were come together, he spoke to them, standing bareheaded in their midst, beneath the radiance of the moon.  And thus he most nobly spoke: 

“Friends and companions in arms! who yet cling to me, and whom many a time I have led to victory, hearken to me now, who to-morrow may lie in the dumb dust, disempired and dishonoured.  This is our design:  no longer will we hang on poised wings above the flood of war, but will straightway plunge, perchance thence to snatch the victor’s diadem, or, failing, there to drown.  Be now but true to me, and to your honour’s sake, and you may still sit, the most proud of men, at my right hand in the Capitol of Rome.  Fail me now, and the cause of Antony is lost and so are ye.  To-morrow’s battle must be hazardous indeed, but we have stood many a time and faced a fiercer peril, and ere the sun had sunk, once more have driven armies like desert sands before our gale of valour and counted the spoil of hostile kings.  What have we to fear?  Though allies be fled, still is our array as strong as Caesar’s!  And show we but as high a heart, why, I swear to you, upon my princely word, to-morrow night I shall deck yonder Canopic gate with the heads of Octavian and his captains!

“Ay, cheer, and cheer again!  I love that martial music which swells, not as from the indifferent lips of clarions, now ’neath the breath of Antony and now of Caesar, but rather out of the single hearts of men who love me.  Yet—­and now I will speak low, as we do speak o’er the bier of some beloved dead—­yet, if Fortune should rise against me and if, borne down by the weight of arms, Antony, the soldier, dies a soldier’s death, leaving you to mourn him who ever was your friend, this is my will, that, after our rough fashion of the camp, I here declare to you.  You know where all my treasure lies.  Take it, most dear friends; and, in the memory of Antony, make just division.  Then go to Caesar and speak thus:  ’Antony, the dead, to Caesar, the living, sends greeting; and, in the name of ancient fellowship and of many a peril dared, craves this boon:  the safety of those who clung to him and that which he hath given them.’

“Nay, let not my tears—­for I must weep—­overflow your eyes!  Why, it is not manly; ’tis most womanish!  All men must die, and death were welcome were it not so lone.  Should I fall, I leave my children to your tender care—­if, perchance, it may avail to save them from the fate of helplessness.  Soldiers, enough! to-morrow at the dawn we spring on Caesar’s throat, both by land and sea.  Swear that ye will cling to me, even to the last issue!”