riven to its last lair. Outside, on the terrace, where but an instant
before she and her lover were cooing in delicious ecstasy, there were
oaths, blows, and the sharp pants and howls of mortal struggle. And
she could do nothing--nothing! And it was through his love for her
that Drusus was to go down to his untimely grave! The seconds of
struggle and anguish moved on leaden feet. Every breath was agony,
every sound maddening. And she could do nothing--nothing. Still they
were fighting. Phaon--she knew his voice--was crying out as if in
grievous pain. And now the voice of Lucius Ahenobarbus sounded again:
"One thousand denarii if you fling him into the sea!" and she could do
nothing--nothing! She tore down the purple tapestries around her bed,
and dashed from its tripod a costly bowl of opal Alexandrian
glass--all in the mere rage of impotence. And still they were
fighting. What was that ornament hanging on the wall, half hid behind
the torn tapestry? A scabbard--a sword, some relic of ancient wars!
And all the combatants were unarmed! The antique weapon was held by
stout thongs to the wall; she plucked it from its fastenings with the
strength of a Titaness. The rusty blade resisted an instant; she
dragged it forth. Then out on to the terrace. Really only a moment had
elapsed since she left it. One of the slaves was lying dead, or
stunned, prone on the turf. Phaon was writhing and howling beside him,
nursing a broken jaw. The other assailants had sunk back in temporary
repulse and were preparing for a second rush. Drusus was still
standing. He half leaned upon the stone pedestal of an heroic-sized
Athena, who seemed to be spreading her protecting aegis above him. His
garments were rent to the veriest shreds. His features were hidden
behind streaming blood, his arms and neck were bruised and bleeding;
but clearly his adversaries could not yet congratulate themselves that
the lion's strength was too sapped to be no longer dreaded.

"Come, you," was his hot challenge to Lucius Ahenobarbus, who stood,
half delighted, half afraid, shivering and laughing spasmodically, as
he surveyed the struggle from a safe distance. "Come, you, and have
your share in the villany!"

And again, for it was all the affair of the veriest moment, the slaves
rushed once more on their indocile victim. "Freedom to the man who
pulls him down!" was the incentive of Ahenobarbus.

But again Drusus, who, to tell the truth, had to contend with only the