His child?  One had been born to him, but it had followed its mother into exile and to the grave.  The little thing, which he had scarcely known, was so inseparable from its detested mother that he had mourned it no more than her.  It was well that the assassins, without any orders from him, should have cut short that wretched life.  He could not long for the embraces of the monster which should have united Plautilla’s vices and his own.

Among the men about his person, there was not one for whom other hearts beat warmer; no creature that loved him excepting his lion; no spot on earth where he was looked for with gladness.  He waited, as for some marvel, to see the one human being who had spontaneously entreated the gods for him.  The girl must probably be a poor, tearful creature, as weak of brain as she was soft-hearted.

There stood the centurion at the head of his maniple, and raised his staff.  Enviable man!  How content he looked; how clearly he spoke the word of command!  And how healthy the vulgar creature must be—­while he, Caesar, was suffering that acute headache again!  He gnashed his teeth, and felt a strong impulse to spoil the happiness of that shameless upstart.  If he were sent packing to Spain, now, or to Pontus, there would be an end of his gladness.  The centurion should know what it was to be a solitary soul.

Acting on this malignant impulse, he had raised his hand to his mouth to shout the cruel order to a tribune, when suddenly the clouds parted, and the glorious sun of Africa appeared in a blue island amid the ocean of gray, cheering the earth with glowing sheaves of rays.  The beams were blinding as they came reflected from the armor and weapons of the men, reminding Caesar of the god to whom he had just vowed an unparalleled sacrifice.

Philostratus had often praised Phoebus Apollo above all gods, because wherever he appeared there was light, irradiating not the earth alone but men’s souls; and because, as the lord of music and harmony, he aided men to arrive at that morally pure and equable frame of mind which was accordant and pleasing to his glorious nature.  Apollo had conquered the dark heralds of the storm, and Caracalla looked up.  Before this radiant witness he was ashamed to carry out his dark purpose, and he said, addressing the sun: 

“For thy sake, Phoebus Apollo, I spare the man.”  Then, pleased with himself, he looked down again.  The restraint he had laid upon himself struck him as in fact a great and noble effort, accustomed as he was to yield to every impulse.  But at the same time he observed that the clouds, which had so often brought him good fortune, were dispersing, and this gave him fresh uneasiness.  Dazzled by the flood of sunshine which poured in at the window, he withdrew discontentedly into the room.  If this bright day were to bring disaster?  If the god disdained his offering?