in his
agony.

"You mean--" began his friend.

"That the pirates have kept Cornelia and perhaps Fabia in their vile
clutches until this hour; unless, indeed, the Fates have been merciful
and they are dead! Do you wonder at my pain?"

"_Phui!_ we will not imagine any such disagreeable thing!" said
Antonius, in a sickly effort to make banter at the other's fears.

"Don't speak again unless you want me your enemy," threatened Drusus,
springing up in fury. Antonius knew his own interests enough to keep
quiet; besides, his friend's pain cut him to the heart, and he knew
himself that Drusus's dread was justified under the circumstances.

"Do you think there will be a battle to-morrow?" demanded Drusus,
after some interval of gloomy silence.

"I would to the gods it might be so," was his answer; "are you
thirsting for blood?"

Drusus half drew his short sword, which even in camp never left the
side of officer or private during that campaign.

"Thirst for blood?" he growled. "Yes, for the lives of Lucius
Lentulus, and Domitius and his accursed younger son. I am hot as an
old gladiator for a chance to spill their blood! If Cornelia suffers
woe unutterable, it will be they--they who brought the evil upon her!
It may not be a philosophic mood, but all the animal has risen within
me, and rises more and more the longer I think upon them and on
_her_."

"Come," said Antonius, lifting his friend by the arm, "and let us lie
down in the tent. There will be toil enough to-morrow; and we must
take what rest we may."

II

On that same night, in a very sumptuous tent, fresh from an ample
dinner and a season over choice wines, the high and the mighty of
Caesar's enemies were taking counsel together. No longer were they
despairing, panic-stricken fugitives, driven from their native land
which they had abandoned a prey to the invader. The strength of the
East had gathered about them. Jews, Armenians, and Arabians were among
their auxiliary forces; Asia Minor, Greece, the Archipelago, had
poured out for them levies and subsidies. In the encampment were the
vassal kings, Deiotarus of Galatia and Ariarathes of Cappadocia,
allies who would share the triumph of the victorious Pompeius.

For none could doubt that the Magnus had proved his right to be called
the favoured child of Fortune. Had not Caesar been utterly defeated at
Dyrrachium? Was he not now almost a fugitive in the interior of
Greece,--liable at any moment to have his