He struck the table by his couch violently with his fist; and then, as if the clatter of the metal vessels on it had brought him to himself, he added, meditatively:  “A hundred thousand!  If they burned their dead here, it would take a forest to reduce them to ashes.”

“This day will cost him dear enough as it is,” the high-priest of Alexander whispered; he, as idiologos, having to deposit the tribute from the temples and their estates in the imperial treasury.  He addressed his neighbor, old Julius Paulinus, who replied: 

“Charon is doing the best business to-day.  A hundred thousand obolus in a few hours.  If Tarautas reigns over us much longer, I will farm his ferry!”

During this whispered dialogue Theocritus the favorite was assuring Caesar in a loud voice that the possessions of the victims would suffice for any form of interment, and an ample number of thank-offerings into the bargain.

“An offering!” echoed Caracalla, and he pointed to a short sword which lay beside him on the couch.  “That helped in the work.  My father wielded it in many a fight, and I have not let it rust.  Still, I doubt whether in my hands and his together it ever before yesterday slaughtered a hundred thousand.”

He looked round for the high-priest of Serapis, and after seeking him in vain among the guests, he exclaimed: 

“The revered Timotheus withdraws his countenance from us to-day.  Yet it was to his god that I dedicated the work of vengeance.  He laments the loss of worshipers to great Serapis, as you, Vertinus”—­and he turned to the idiologos—­“regret the slain tax-payers.  Well, you are thinking of my loss or gain, and that I can not but praise.  Your colleague in the service of Serapis has nothing to care for but the honor of his god; but he does not succeed in rising to the occasion.  Poor wretch!  I will give him a lesson.  Here Epagathos, and you, Claudius—­go at once to Timotheus; carry him this sword.  I devote it to his god.  It is to be preserved in his holy of holies, in memory of the greatest act of vengeance ever known.  If Timotheus should refuse the gift—­But no, he has sense—­he knows me!”

He paused, and turned to look at Macrinus, who had risen to speak to some officials and soldiers who had entered the room.  They brought the news that the Parthian envoys had broken off all negotiations, and had left the city in the afternoon.  They would enter into no alliance, and were prepared to meet the Roman army.

Macrinus repeated this to Caesar with a shrug of his shoulders, but he withheld the remark added by the venerable elder of the ambassadors, that they did not fear a foe who by so vile a deed had incurred the wrath of the gods.

“Then it is war with the Parthians!” cried Caracalla, and his eyes flashed.  “My breast-plated favorites will rejoice.”

But then he looked grave, and inquired:  “They are leaving the town, you say?  But are they birds?  The gates and harbor are closed.”