And so the time passed on, till, at length, all things were made ready.

It was the night before the night when the blow should fall, and there were revellings in the palace.  That very day I had seen Sepa, and with him the captains of a band of five hundred men, who should burst into the palace at midnight on the morrow, when I had slain Cleopatra the Queen, and put the Roman and the Gallic legionaries to the sword.  That very day I had suborned the Captain Paulus who, since I drew him through the gates, was my will’s slave.  Half by fear and half by promises of great reward I had prevailed upon him, for the watch was his, to unbar that small gate which faces to the East at the signal on the morrow night.

All was made ready—­the flower of Freedom that had been five-and-twenty years in growth was on the point of bloom.  Armed companies were gathering in every city from Abu to Athu, and spies looked out from their walls, awaiting the coming of the messenger who should bring tidings that Cleopatra was no more and that Harmachis, the royal Egyptian, had seized the throne.

All was prepared, triumph hung in my hand as a ripe fruit to the hand of the plucker.  Yet as I sat at the royal feast my heart was heavy, and a shadow of coming woe lay cold within my mind.  I sat there in a place of honour, near the majesty of Cleopatra, and looked down the lines of guests, bright with gems and garlanded with flowers, marking those whom I had doomed to die.  There before me lay Cleopatra in all her beauty, which thrilled the beholder as he is thrilled by the rushing of the midnight gale, or by the sight of stormy waters.  I gazed on her as she touched her lips with wine and toyed with the chaplet of roses on her brow, thinking of the dagger beneath my robe that I had sworn to bury in her breast.  Again, and yet again, I gazed and strove to hate her, strove to rejoice that she must die—­and could not.  There, too, behind her—­watching me now, as ever, with her deep-fringed eyes—­was the lovely Lady Charmion.  Who, to look at her innocent face, would believe that she was the setter of that snare in which the Queen who loved her should miserably perish?  Who would dream that the secret of so much death was locked in her girlish breast?  I gazed, and grew sick at heart because I must anoint my throne with blood, and by evil sweep away the evil of the land.  At that hour I wished, indeed, that I was nothing but some humble husbandman, who in its season grows and in its season garners the golden grain!  Alas! the seed that I had been doomed to sow was the seed of Death, and now I must reap the red fruit of the harvest!

“Why, Harmachis, what ails thee?” said Cleopatra, smiling her slow smile.  “Has the golden skein of stars got tangled, my astronomer? or dost thou plan some new feat of magic?  Say what is it that thou dost so poorly grace our feast?  Nay, now, did I not know, having made inquiry, that things so low as we poor women are far beneath thy gaze, why, I should swear that Eros had found thee out, Harmachis!”