e catch them! that for me!--for
all! Ah, Eschmoun! Ah, Khamon!--Melkarth!--gifts!--gold, gems, robes,
spices!--my first-born to the Baals! to the Baals! Help! speed!"

The man was mad--mad indeed with terror and newly dispelled
drunkenness; and his horse, a great African, coal-black save for one
white hoof, seemed to partake of his master's frenzy. With ears lying
flat along his head, and eyes that burned into those of Sergius, when
he ventured to glance behind him,--glaring sheer through distance and
dust like the very eyes of those demons his rider invoked,--the beast
thundered on, equalling the speed of the light Asiatic chargers by the
force of strength alone.

From time to time the fugitives turned their heads to measure the
distance, and the sight of this unwearied pursuer appeared to fascinate
them as by some weird power. The rest were beaten out,--the Spaniards
lost to sight, the Africans visible only by the dust that hung over
them far behind.

The mountains to the eastward seemed to be dancing away in a mad chase
toward the south, a chase which Tifata itself was urging on. The
glimmer of white in the north told of the morning sun striking upon
houses. Still they rode on, pursuers and pursued.

Suddenly a sound, half-trumpet note, half bellow, swelled up ahead.
Then another answered it, and another and another took up the refrain.

Sergius' face blanched, and, with a sudden effort, he threw his animal
almost upon its haunches. Marcia was carried several spear-lengths
farther before she could check her speed. Wonder and the dread of some
accident drove the blood to her heart. A hoarse shout of triumph came
from their pursuer, as she turned to ride back.

She asked no questions. Surely Sergius knew what was best. She saw
Iddilcar's long dagger in his hand, and that he was about to fight.

"Back!--back! and to one side," he called, as she rode up. "Did you
not hear the elephants? That is Casilinum, and they are besieging it.
We should have remembered."

He darted forward to meet the Carthaginian, fearful that he, too, would
draw rein and await the coming of his followers. Then indeed all would
be lost. Six soldiers on the one side and a camp full on the other
were hopeless odds against a wounded man armed only with a Numidian
dagger.

But it was Bacchus that fought for Rome that day--Bacchus, to whom no
altar had been vowed. A night of debauchery and the sudden terror of
its awakening h