ch the windows
overlooked the great central courtyard. He was a tall man, spare, with
black, sombre eyes, a high nose, and a wiry black beard, close clipped.
His hands, long and white and nervous, held a scroll which he kept
slowly unwinding and letting roll together again. His face was
remarkable for nothing save its complete impassivity; devoid of all
expression, it was merely a mask behind which the man kept locked his
real self and thoughts. A dish of fruit stood on a stand at his elbow.
With him in the room sat Livinius, the father of Marius, making notes
with a stylus on a tablet of ivory coated with wax. The face of Livinius
was grave, yet eager. He began to speak presently, as though continuing
a conversation which had gone before.

"Rome has often needed gold, and has wrung it from the people
mercilessly; but I tell you, Eudemius, that her need was never greater
than in this hour. Ay, and not gold alone she must have, but brains to
plan for her, hands to work for her, blood to be spilled for her. You,
yourself, friend, have been soldier, senator, statesman. You know, as I
know, and as every Roman in his soul must know, that the core of the
trouble lies in the fact that she hath gathered in more than her two
hands could hold. I would not see her other than she is,--mistress of
the world; but I would first see her in a position to maintain that
title in the face of all challenge. And she is not in such position.
Outwardly, she hath all show of might, of force invincible and
impregnable. But behind this, what is there? The weakness of dissension,
where there should be solidarity; division of interests, where nothing
can save but union; rottenness, where there should be wholesomeness and
vigor. This is not treason I speak, but truth. We have served her in
field and forum, you and I; we have offered our blood on her altars; we
shall both carry the marks of her service until we die. And she hath
paid us well. Now I am worn out, useless, and cast aside; she has taken
all she would from me, even my son. But you, old friend, have still what
she needs to offer. She needs gold; but more than that, she needs one,
powerful as you are powerful, to come forward and point to more timid
ones the way. When she enters her own once more, she will repay your
loan with interest, for that hath ever been Rome's way. I tell you, Rome
in these days is like a sinking ship, from which the rats scurry in
swarms, to stand aside and wait to