Philostratus had often praised Phoebus Apollo above all gods, because
wherever he appeared there was light, irradiating not the earth alone but
men's souls; and because, as the lord of music and harmony, he aided men
to arrive at that morally pure and equable frame of mind which was
accordant and pleasing to his glorious nature. Apollo had conquered the
dark heralds of the storm, and Caracalla looked up. Before this radiant
witness he was ashamed to carry out his dark purpose, and he said,
addressing the sun:

"For thy sake, Phoebus Apollo, I spare the man." Then, pleased with
himself, he looked down again. The restraint he had laid upon himself
struck him as in fact a great and noble effort, accustomed as he was to
yield to every impulse. But at the same time he observed that the clouds,
which had so often brought him good fortune, were dispersing, and this
gave him fresh uneasiness. Dazzled by the flood of sunshine which poured
in at the window, he withdrew discontentedly into the room. If this
bright day were to bring disaster? If the god disdained his offering?

But was not Apollo, perhaps, like the rest of the immortals, an idol of
the fancy, living only in the imagination of men who had devised it?
Stern thinkers and pious folks, like the skeptics and the Christians,
laughed the whole tribe of the Olympians to scorn. Still, the hand of
Phoebus Apollo had rested heavily on his shoulders in his dream. His
power, after all, might be great. The god must have the promised
sacrifice, come what might. Bitter wrath rose up in his soul at this
thought, as it had often done before, with the immortals, against whom
he, the all-powerful, was impotent. If only for an hour they could be his
subjects, he would make them rue the sufferings by which they spoiled his
existence.

"He is called Martialis. I will remember that name," he thought, as he
cast a last envious look at the centurion.

How long Philostratus was gone! Solitude weighed on him, and he looked
about him wildly, as though seeking some support. An attendant at this
moment announced the philosopher, and Caracalla, much relieved, went into
the tablinum to meet him. There he sat down on a seat in front of the
writing-table strewn with tablets and papyrus-rolls, rearranged the end
of the purple toga for which he had exchanged his bathing-robe, rested
one foot on the lion's neck and his head on his hand. He would receive
this wonderful girl in the character of an an