Chapter 1

Prince Gaius Drusus Agrippa to Trib. Marcellus Lucan Gallio:

Greeting:

The courage of a Military Tribune should not be squandered in banquet-halls. It should be serving the Empire in positions where reckless audacity is honorable and valorous. Tribune Marcellus Lucan Gallio is commanded to report, before sunset, at the Praetorium of Chief Legate M. Cornelius Capito, and receive his commission.

Marcellus rolled up the scroll, tossed it negligently to Demetrius, who thrust it into the breast of his tunic; and, turning to his father, remarked, ‘We have plenty of time to go out and see Ismael’s horses.’

The Senator proudly drew himself erect, gave his son a respectful bow, strutted down the marble steps; and, taking the bridle reins, mounted his mettlesome black gelding. Marcellus beckoned to Demetrius.

‘You heard that message?’ he queried, abruptly.

‘Not if it was private, sir,’ countered Demetrius.

‘Sounds a bit malicious,’ observed Marcellus. ‘The Prince evidently wishes to dispose of me.’

‘Yes, sir,’ agreed Demetrius.

‘Well—I brought this upon myself,’ said Marcellus. ‘I shall not order you to risk your life. You are at liberty to decide whether—’

‘I shall go with you, sir.’

‘Very good. Inspect my equipment—and look over your own tackle, too.’ Marcellus started down the steps, and turned to say, soberly, ‘You’re going to your death, you know.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Demetrius. ‘You will need some heavier sandals, sir. Shall I get them?’

‘Yes—and several pairs for yourself. Ask Marcipor for the money.’

After a lively tussle with the bay, who was impatient to overtake her stable-mate, Marcellus drew up beside the Senator, and they slowed their horses to a trot.

‘I tarried for a word with Demetrius. I shall take him with me.’

‘Of course.’

‘I told him he might decide.’

‘That was quite proper.’

‘I told him he might never come back alive.’

‘Probably not,’ said the Senator, grimly, ‘but you can be assured that he will never come back alone.’

‘Demetrius is a very sound fellow—for a slave,’ observed Marcellus.

The Senator made no immediate rejoinder, but his stern face and flexed jaw indicated that his reflections were weighty.

‘My son,’ he said at length, staring moodily down the road, ‘we could use a few men in the Roman Senate with the brains and bravery of your slave, Demetrius.’ He pulled his horse down to a walk. ‘”Demetrius is a sound fellow—for a slave”; eh? Well—his being a slave does not mean that what he thinks, what he says, and what he does are unimportant. One of these days the slaves are going to take over this rotted Government! They could do it tomorrow if they were organized. You might say that their common desire for liberty should unite them, but that is not enough. All men want more liberty than they have. What the Roman slaves lack is leadership. In time, that will come. You shall see!’ The Senator paused so long, after this amazing declaration, that Marcellus felt some response was in order.

‘I never heard you express that opinion before, sir. Do you think there will be an uprising—among the slaves?’

‘It lacks form,’ replied Gallio. ‘It lacks cohesion. But some day it will take shape; it will be integrated; it will develop a leader, a cause, a slogan, a banner. Three-fourths of this city’s inhabitants either have been or are slaves. Daily our expeditionary forces arrive with new shiploads of them. It would require a very shrewd and powerful Government to keep in subjugation a force three times its size and strength. But—look at our Government! A mere hollow shell! It has no moral fiber! Content with its luxury, indolence, and profligacy, its extravagant pageants in honor of its silly gods; ruled by an insane dotard and a drunken nonentity! So, my son, Rome is doomed! I do not venture to predict when or how Nemesis will arrive—but it is on its way. The Roman Empire is too weak and wicked to survive!’