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."

"A small Phoenician vessel stole out just before sundown between our
guard-ships," was the reply. "Curse it!" broke from Caesar's lips in
a loud voice, and, after a brief dialogue in an undertone with the
prefect, he desired to have papyrus and writing materials brought to
him. He himself must inform the senate of what had occurred, and he did
so in a few words.

He did not know the number of the slain, and he did not think it worth
while to make a rough estimate. All the Alexandrians, he said, had in
fact merited death. A swift trireme was to carry the letter to Ostia at
daybreak.

He did not, indeed, ask the opinion of the senate, and yet he felt that
it would be better that news of the day's events should reach the curia
under his own hand than through the distorting medium of rumor.

Nor did Macrinus impress on him, as usual, that he should give his
dispatch a respectful form. This crime, if anything, might help him to
the fulfillment of the Magian's prophecy.

As Caesar was rolling up his missive, the long-expected Zminis came into
the room. He had attired himself splendidly, and bore the insignia of
his new office. He humbly begged to be pardoned for his long delay.
He had had to make his outer man fit to appear among Caesar's guests,
for--as he boastfully explained--he himself had waded in blood, and in
the court-yard of the Museum the red life-ju