Still no one spoke; and now he observed it.  His scheme was too grand for these feeble spirits.  He must teach them to silence their conscience and the voice of Roman rectitude; he must take on himself the whole responsibility of this deed, at which the timid quaked.  So he drew himself up to his full height, and, affecting not to see the hesitancy of his companions, he said, in a tone of cheerful confidence: 

“Let each man do his part.  All I ask of you is to carry out the sentence I pronounce as a judge.  You know the crime of the citizens of this town, and, by virtue of the power I exercise over life and death, be it known to all that I, Caesar, condemn—­mark the word, condemn—­every free male of Alexandria, of whatever age or rank, to die by the sword of a Roman warrior!  This is a conquered city, which has forfeited every claim to quarter.  The blood and the treasure of the inhabitants are the prize of my soldiery.  Only”—­and he turned to Timotheus—­“this house of your god, which has given me shelter, with the priests and the treasure of great Serapis, are spared.  Now it lies with each of you to show whether or no he is faithful to me.  All of you”—­and he addressed his friends—­“all who do me service in avenging me for the audacious insults which have been offered to your sovereign, are assured of my imperial gratitude.”

This declaration was not without effect, and murmurs of applause rose from the “friends” and favorites, though less enthusiastic than Caracalla was accustomed to hear.  But the feebleness of this demonstration made him all the prouder of his own undaunted resolve.

Macrinus was one of those who had most loudly approved him, and Caracalla rejoiced to think that this prudent counselor should advise his drinking the cup of vengeance to the dregs.  Intoxicated already before he had even sipped it, he called Macrinus and Zminis to his side, and with glowing looks impressed on them to take particular care that Melissa, with her father, Alexander, and Diodoros were brought to him alive.

“And remember,” he added, “there will be many weeping mothers here by to-morrow morning; but there is one I must see again, and that not as a corpse—­that bedizened thing in red whom I saw in the Circus—­I mean the wife of Seleukus, of the Kanopic way.”

CHAPTER XXXI.

On the wide ascent leading to the Serapeum the praetorians stood awaiting Caesar’s commands.  They had not yet formed in rank and file, but were grouped round the centurion Martialis, who had come to tell them, sadly, of his removal to Edessa, and to take leave of his comrades.  He gave his hand to each one of them in turn, and received a kindly pressure in return; for the stubborn fellow, though not of the cleverest, had proved himself a good soldier, and to many of them a trusty friend.  There was not one who did not regret his going from among them.  But Caesar had spoken, and there was no gainsaying his orders.  In the camp, after service, they might talk the matter over; for the present it were wise to guard their tongues.