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A Friend of Caesar by William Stearns Davis

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"I will not, Quintus," and that was all she could be heard to say in
the din.

And so the little cavalcade drove forth. Cornelia cowered in the
chariot and saw nothing and heard everything, which was the same as
nothing. Was she frightened? She did not know. The peril was awful. Of
course she realized that; but how could calamity come to pass, when it
was Drusus whose powerful form towered above her, when it was Drusus
whose voice rang like a trumpet out into the press swaying around?

It was very dark crouching in the body of the chariot. She could just
see the face of Fabia opposite, very white, but, she knew, very calm.
She reached out and caught the Vestal's hand, and discovered that her
own was trembling, while the other's was perfectly steady. But the
contest, the fighting all about! Now the horses were dashing forward,
making the chariot spring as though it were a thing of life; now
reined in sharply, and the heavily loaded car swayed this way and
that, almost to overturning. The uproar above her head passed the
telling by words; but there was one shout, now in Greek, now in
Egyptian, that drowned all others: "Death to the Romans! tear them in
pieces!" Missiles smote against the chariot; an arrow went cutting
into the wood, driving its keen point home, and Cornelia experienced a
thrill of pain in her shoulder. She felt for the smart, found the mere
tip of the point only had penetrated the wood; but her fingers were
wet when she took them away. Drusus was shooting; his bow-string
snapped and snapped. Once a soldier in armour sprang behind the
chariot when it came to a stop, and his javelin was poised to
discharge; but an arrow tore through his throat, and he went down to
the pavement with a crash. The car rocked more and more; once the
wheels slipped without revolving, as though sliding over some smooth
liquid--not water. Cornelia felt powers of discriminating sensation
becoming fainter and fainter; a great force seemed pressing out from
within her; the clamour and shocks were maddening. She felt driven to
raise her head, to look out into the raging chaos, though the first
glance were death. Peering back out of the body of the chariot now and
then, she saw a little. The Romans were charging this way and that,
forcing their passage down the street, barred no longer by a mere mob,
but by Achillas's infantrymen, who were hastening into action. The
chariot horses were wounded, some seriously; she was sure of that.
They could not be driven through the spearmen, and the little handful
of cavalry was trying to break through the enemy and make space for a
rush. It was thirty against thousands; yet even in the mortal peril,
which Cornelia realized now if she had never before, she had a strange
sort of pride. Her countrymen were showing these Orientals how one
Roman could slay his tens, could put in terror his hundreds. Drusus
was giving orders with the same mechanical exactitude of the drill,
albeit his voice was high-pitched and strained--not entirely, perhaps,
because of the need of calling above the din.

"Form in line by fours!"

Cornelia raised her head above the chariot frame. The Romans had
worked their way down into a square formed by the intersection of
streets. Behind them and on every building were swarming the people;
right across the eastern avenue, where their escape lay, stood the
bristling files of one of Achillas's companies. Stones and roof-tiles
were being tossed in a perfect hail from the houses, and now and then
an arrow or a dart. The four chariots--one had only three horses
left--were standing in the little plaza, and the troopers were forming
before them. The arrows of the chariot warriors made the mob behind
keep a respectful distance. It was the triumph of discipline over
man's animal sense of fear. Even the mob felt this, when it saw the
little squadron fall into line with as much precision as on the parade
ground. A tile smote one soldier upon the head, and he tumbled from
his horse like a stone. His comrades never paused in their evolution.
Then, for the first time, Cornelia screamed with horror and fright.
Drusus, who was setting a new arrow to his bow, looked down upon her;
he had never seemed so handsome before, with the fierce light of the
battle in his eyes, with his whole form swelling with the exertions of
conflict.

"Down, Cornelia!" commanded the officer; and Cornelia did so
implicitly--to disobey him at that moment was inconceivable.

"At them, men!"

And then came a new bound from the horses, and then a mighty crash and
clash of bodies, blades, and shields, the snort of dying beasts, the
splintering of spear-shafts, the groans and cries of men in battle for
their lives. The car rose on one wheel higher and higher; Cornelia was
thrown against Fabia, and the two women clung to each other, too
terrified and crushed to scream; then on a sudden it righted, and as
it did so the soldier who had acted as charioteer reeled, his face
bathed in blood, the death-rattle in his throat. Back he fell, pierced
in face and breast, and tumbled from the car; and, as if answering to
this lightening of their burden, the hoofs of the hard-pressed horses
bit on the pavement, and the team bounded onward.

"_Io triumphe!_" It was Drusus who called; and in answer to his shout
came the deep Caesarian battle-cry from hundreds of throats, "_Venus
Victrix!_"

The chariot was advancing, but less rapidly. Cornelia rose and looked
forth again, not this time to be rebuked. Down the moon-lighted street
were moving several infantry cohorts from the palace; the avenue was
clear, the mob and hostile soldiery had melted away like a mist; a
mounted officer came flying down the street ahead of the legionaries.

"The ladies are safe, Imperator!" Drusus was reporting with military
exactitude. "I have lost twelve men."

Caesar galloped along beside the chariot. He had his horse under
absolute control, and he extended his hand, first to Fabia, then to
Cornelia.

"Fortune has been kind to us," said he, smiling.

"Vesta has protected us," said Fabia, bowing her head.

Caesar cast a single inquiring, keen glance at the Vestal.

"Your excellency doubts the omnipotence of the goddess," continued
she, looking him steadily in the face.

"That a power has protected you," was his answer, "I am the last to
deny."

But the Imperator and Drusus were exchanging glances; that a woman of
the intelligence of Fabia could believe in the regular, personal
intervention of the Deity in human affairs was to them, not an
absurdity, but a mystery unfathomable.

And so, safe-guarded by the troops, they rode back to the palace,
where the preparations for defence were ready, and all were awaiting
the onset of Achillas. The weary men on the walls cheered as the
carriages with their precious burdens rolled in at the gate; and
cheered again for Drusus and his eighteen who had taught the
Alexandrian rabble how Roman steel could bite. But Drusus himself was
sad when he thought of the twelve good men that he had left
behind--who need not have been sacrificed but for his headlong
rashness.

And how had the mob come to attack the house of Cleomenes? It was a
long story, but in a few words probably this. Pratinas had come and
demanded of Cleomenes that he surrender the ladies (doubtless because
they would be useful hostages) to go with him to Achillas. Cleomenes
had refused, the more especially as Cornelia adjured him not to
deliver them over to the clutches of such a creature; and Pratinas
went away full of anger and threatenings. How he came to be in
Alexandria, and had returned so soon from Achillas's forces, if he had
indeed gone to Achillas, was neither clear nor important. But that he
had excited the mob to assail Cleomenes's mansion needed no great
proof. Cleomenes himself had seen his artful fellow-countryman
surveying the riot from a housetop, though doubtless he had kept at a
prudent distance during the fighting.

So ended that exciting day, or rather that night. It was Cleopatra who
with her own hands laid the bandages on Cornelia's wounded shoulder,
but the hurt was not serious; only, as Drusus laughingly assured her,
it was an honourable scar, as became the descendant of so many
fighting Claudii and Cornelii.

"Ah! delectissime," replied she, "it isn't the hurt that gives me
pain; it is that I was frightened--frightened when you were acting
like one of the Heroes!"

"_Mehercle!_" laughed Drusus, before he left her to snatch a few hours
of well-earned rest and see to the dressing of his own bruises, "I
would not blame a veteran for being panic-struck in that melee, if he
didn't have a chance to swing a weapon and so keep his heart from
standing still."


II

On the next day Achillas moved up his thousands and attacked the
palace fortifications. There was a desperate struggle in the streets
outside the royal residence; the assailants were five to the
defenders' one, and the mob was arming to aid in the assault; but the
Egyptians soon realized that it was no light thing to carry barricades
held by men who had fought in Gaul, Britain, Germany, Spain, Italy,
and Greece, and never tasted overthrow. Fiercest of all was the fight
at the harbour, where the navy of the king lay, and which, if seized,
would have put Caesar at his enemies' mercy. But here, also, Roman
valour prevailed over Oriental temerity. All the ships that Caesar
could not use were burned. With the rest he sailed over to the Pharos
island, and landed men to make good the tower on that point of
vantage. So ended the first round of battle; and the initial danger of
being overwhelmed by sheer force was over.

But day after day of conflict followed. Princess Arsinoe and Achillas
quarrelled in the camp of the besiegers, and this occasioned some
respite to the Romans. Still there was no end to the fighting. Caesar
sent off to Asia Minor, Syria, and Crete for reenforcements; but
these, all knew, could not come at once. A sharp struggle cleared the
houses nearest to the palace, and the general caused them to be razed
and the positions thoroughly fortified. He seized the low-lying ground
which ran as an insignificant valley down between the halves of the
city and tried to cut his enemies' position in twain. So the struggle
dragged on. Achillas had been murdered by Arsinoe, and she had placed
in command her governor, the eunuch Ganymed, who was more dangerous by
his sly craft than fifty common generals. One day a frightened
centurion reported to Caesar that all the cisterns used by the troops
were becoming flooded with sea-water. It was a contrivance of Ganymed.
The soldiers were in a panic, and it was all that their leader could
do to pacify them. And then one of those strokes of fortune which will
always come to a favoured few was vouchsafed; as the terrified Romans
delved in the earth where rain had seldom fallen, lo! on the very
first night of their toil fresh water bubbled up, and all the danger
was at an end.

But it is needless to tell how the contest was waged; how the
thirty-seventh legion arrived as help, how the wind kept them off port
exposed to the enemy, and how Caesar sailed out and succoured them, and
worsted the Alexandrian ships. Then, again, Ganymed stirred the
disheartened citizens to build another fleet, and, by tremendous
exertions, a new flotilla arose to threaten to cut Caesar off; and
there was a second battle for dear life--this time on sea close by the
city; while Roman and Alexandrian stood staring on the housetops, with
their hearts beating quickly, for defeat meant ruin to the Romans.
And, again, the gods of the waters fought for Caesar, and the beaten
Alexandrian fleet drifted back to the shelter of its mole in the
harbour of Eunostus.

Next came a great struggle for the possession of the Pharos. The
fighting was severe, the footing on the island hard to win, up steep
crags and rocks swept by volleys of missiles; but Italian courage
seemed inexhaustible. The legionaries, without ladders or fascines,
stormed towers and battlements. The town on the island was taken and
the fort by it; then came the contest along the mole, driving the
Alexandrians to the fort at the lower end. On the next day the second
fort, too, was taken. There was a bridge at the lower end of the mole,
and the Alexandrians had tried to sail under to attack the Caesarians
in the western harbour. The legionaries toiled to fill up the passage.
All seemed going well, but of a sudden befell calamity.

* * * * *

Panic will seize the most hardened veterans, and so it was that day. A
flank attack from the Alexandrian ships, and of other foes by land, a
sudden giving way on the part of some sailors who were defending the
working party, and then terror spread among the three veteran cohorts
at the lower fort. Caesar had been among his men directing the work,
with him had gone Drusus, as aide-de-camp, and Agias, who had long
been chafing under the restraints of the beleaguered palace and
imagined the position safe and unassailable. The panic came more
quickly than words may tell: a few hostile shouts from behind, cries
of fear and alarm, a volley of darts, and the men who had hunted the
Magnus to his death fled like raw recruits at their first arrow.

The Caesarian ships beside the mole began to thrust back, lest the
enemy seize them. The terrified legionaries rushed from their ranks,
cast away shield and cuirass, sword and dart. Every man cared but to
save himself, the spirit of mere fear uppermost. Caesar and Drusus
rushed into the press, and commanded and exhorted; they might have
better striven to turn the flight of a herd of frightened cattle;
their words fell on deaf ears; the panic-struck soldiers swept them
aside in a mad dash to get on board the receding shipping. The danger
was terrible. On either side the enemy were rushing down the mole, and
over the defences just forsaken by the Romans. Caesar had been caught
in the swirl of his men and carried along despite his resistance. He
fell, and Drusus, who struggled to be near him, ran to his side.

"We must escape, Imperator!" cried he, in his commander's ear. He saw
that there was blood on the general's face, and for an instant that
thought overpowered all others.

"Save yourselves," gasped Caesar, striving to struggle to his feet."
You cannot aid me."

A burly Egyptian soldier was running toward them, far ahead of the
other enemies, flourishing a battle-axe. Did he realize the prize that
lay almost in his power? Drusus had not been fighting, but his sword
was now out. One blow of the terrible weapon of the legionary sent the
oncomer sprawling in his own gore. A trifling respite had been gained.
Caesar steadied himself and looked about him. They were alone with
Agias facing the foe; the legionaries were struggling one over another
at the edge of the causeway, battling for dear life to force their way
into the only galley that had not thrust off.

"Come," said Caesar, turning; and the three joined in the flight. To
linger were madness.

It was only a trifling distance across the mole, but a frightful
tragedy was enacted before their eyes as they ran. The galley by the
mole was none too large; as the frightened men piled into her, the
shifting and increasing weight threw her on an uneven keel; and then
came the horror. A cry of mortal agony burst from hundreds of throats
as the ship capsized. Drusus, as he ran, saw, but for a twinkling, her
deck black with writhing men, then her curving sides and keel, ere all
vanished behind the embankment of the mole. The three fugitives ran to
the edge of the causeway: below them, the water full of men battling
for life; behind, the foe, now fully aware of their advantage and
pressing on with exultant shouts. Never had the Imperator been in
greater peril. Drusus glanced at his chief and saw that he was very
pale, evidently hurt in the scuffle. There was not a ship within hail,
not a ship within two arrow-flights; and all seemed pulling back as if
to escape from the danger.

"Leap, swim!" cried Caesar, casting off his breastplate.[185]

[185] _Lorica_.

"There is no ship within reach, Imperator," replied the young man,
gravely.

"You are young and strong," was his answer, "and will come away safe."
Caesar was preparing to spring over the edge.

"And you?" cried Drusus, catching him by the wrist. He knew that Caesar
could never swim the distance to the nearest ship.

"In the hands of the Fates."

But Agias, whose eyes had been straining out into the western harbour,
cried, "Help! A galley is coming!"

"Imperator," said Drusus, "you must wait for this galley."

The foe were almost on them.

"Are you mad?" was the exclamation of the general.

"I can hold them off until it is safe to swim," and Drusus had covered
himself behind a coping in the masonry.

Caesar measured the distance with his eye.

"We play at dice with Fortuna, whatever we do," was his comment.
"Come, then." And the three steadied themselves on the narrow footing
behind the parapet, one thrust being enough to send them headlong.
Fortunately weapons were ready--thrown away by the luckless fugitives.
When the Alexandrians rushed up, three pila crashed in upon them, and,
caught unawares by the little volley, they held back an instant. The
three desperate men were counting their hearts' beats, while the
distance from the friendly galley lessened. Then the rush came, but it
was met, and, narrow as was the ledge, the attempt to carry it failed.
The victors were stripping the dead, and, thus engaged, few joined in
the attack. Caesar had laid down his paludamentum, and the attackers
thought they had to deal simply with three ordinary Romans, who meant
to sell their lives dearly. Another rush; the Imperator was forced
hard, so that another push would have sent him plunging into the sea;
but his companions sent the attackers reeling back, and there was more
breathing time. The Alexandrians had received a taste of these Roman
blades, and they did not enjoy it. Stripping the dead and picking up
lost arms was more profitable than bearding the three lions. The
galley was drawing nearer. Drusus began to think of something else
besides thrusting at men before him.

"They will give us time to escape, Imperator."

"I think so;" but as Caesar spoke all three started in dismay. There
was a new face among the little band immediately opposed to
them--Pratinas.

The Greek had never looked so handsome as in armour. His beautifully
polished mail sat on him with perfect grace; he was a model for an
artist's Ares, the beautiful genius of battle. _He_, at least, knew
whose were those three stern, set faces defiantly peering over the low
parapet that ran waist-high along the edge of the mole.

"At them!" cried the Hellene. "A thousand drachmas to the man who
brings the middle Roman down!"

The "middle Roman" was Caesar. The enemy came on again, this time some
springing over the parapet to run along the narrow outer platform and
attack from either side. But the galley was still nearer.

"Throw off your armour and leap!" It was Drusus who commanded now, and
Caesar who obeyed. The Imperator tore off his greaves and helmet,
caught his general's cloak in his teeth, that it might not fall as a
trophy to the foe, and sprang down into the waves; it was all done in
a twinkling. But, quick as the leap had been, it was but just in time.
A rush of irresistible numbers carried Drusus off of his feet, and he
fell also--but fell in all his armour. It was an instant too crowded
for sensations. He just realized that his helmet tumbled from his head
as he fell backward. The weight of his greaves righted him while he
was in the air. He struck the water with his feet. There was a
chilling shock; and then, as he went down, the shield on his left arm
caught the water in its hollow and bore him upward. Nature reasserted
itself; by a mighty tug at the straps he wrenched away his
breastplate, and could make shift to float. The short harbour waves
lifted him, and he saw Caesar striking out boldly toward the now
rapidly approaching galley. Even as the general swam, Drusus observed
that he held up a package of papyri in his left hand to keep it out of
the wet; in uttermost perils Caesar could not forget his books. But
while the young man gazed seaward, shook the water from his eyes, and
struck out to reach the friendly galley, groans and shouts arose from
the waters near beside him. A voice--Agias's voice--was calling out
for help. The sound of his freedman's cries drove the Roman to action.
Twice the waves lifted him, and he saw nothing; but at the third time
he lit on two forms clinging to a bit of wreckage, and yet struggling
together. A few powerful strokes sent him beside them, and, to his
unutterable astonishment, he beheld in the person who was battling
with Agias for possession of the float none other than Pratinas. There
are times when nothing has opportunity to appear wonderful. This
moment was one of these. Actions, not words, were wanted. The elder
Greek had made shift to draw a dagger, and was making a vicious effort
to stab the other, who had gripped him round the neck with a tenacity
that would end only with life. One stroke of Drusus's fist as he
surged alongside the wreckage sent the dagger flying; and in a
twinkling he had borne Pratinas down and had him pinioned fast on the
planking of the rude raft. There was a great shout rising from the
enemy on the mole. A few darts spat in the water beside the fugitives;
but at the sight of the approaching galley the Alexandrians gave way,
for on her decks were swarming archers and slingers, and her powerful
ballistae were already working havoc. The pulsations of her banks of
oars grew slower as she swept up to the fugitives, the great column of
white spray curling around her prow sank, and while she drifted past
them a boat shot forth. In a minute Drusus was standing on her deck,
and the sailors were passing up Pratinas, still feebly resisting, and
Agias, who was weak and helpless with his wounds. On the poop Caesar
was conversing with a seaman of magnificent presence, who was in the
act of assuring the Imperator that his vessel and crew were at the
general's service.


III

The boats of the rescuer were pulling about, taking up such few Romans
as had been able to keep afloat; but Drusus was too exhausted to give
them further heed. He realized that the vessel he was aboard was no
member of the Roman squadron, that its crew were neither Caesarians nor
Alexandrians. Deft hands aided him off with his water-soaked clothing,
and placed bandages on his bruises and cuts. A beaker of spiced wine,
the like of which he had never drunk before, sent a thrill of
reinvigorated life through his veins. When he came back upon the deck
he found Caesar--pale, yet, as ever, active and untiring--still
conversing with the captain of the vessel. The Imperator had a bandage
drawn across his forehead, but otherwise he seemed none the worse for
his recent danger. The galley, under a swinging oar, was pulling back
across the "Great Harbour" to the palace quay. The battle was over;
four hundred good Roman lives had been lost, but the disaster had not
entailed any serious compromise of Caesar's position. There was no need
of continuing at the Pharos, and it was well to assure the anxious
garrison at the palace-fortress that their general was safe and sound.

Drusus, as the one thing natural under the circumstances, went to the
captain of his rescuers to express his obligation and gratitude.

"This is Quintus Livius Drusus," said Caesar, good-naturedly, already
at his ease, to the strange commander, "who serves on my staff. In
saving him I owe you a debt, O Demetrius, in addition to my own
rescue."

The stranger caught Drusus by both hands.

"Are you indeed the son of Sextus Drusus of Praeneste?" he questioned
with eagerness.

"Assuredly, my good sir," replied the young Roman, a bit confused at
the other's impetuosity.

"And did your father never tell you of a certain Demetrius, a Greek,
who was his friend?"

"He did; this Demetrius was cast into prison and condemned by
Pompeius; my father secured his escape;" and Drusus hesitated. His
mind had worked rapidly, and he could jump at a conclusion.

"Say it out, your excellency," pressed the seaman.

"He became a pirate, though my father did not blame him overmuch."

"_Eu!_" interrupted Caesar, as if to prevent a moment of awkwardness.
"Before King Minos's days nothing was more honourable. I have known
some excellent men who were pirates."

But Demetrius had, in true Eastern fashion, fallen on his knees and
kissed the feet of Drusus.

"The son of my preserver! I have saved him! Praises to Mithras!"

After this, there was no longer any constraint on the part of rescuers
or rescued. And that evening, when all were safe behind the palace
walls, Caesar called the pirate chief into the hall where he had been
banqueting with Cleopatra, Fabia, and Cornelia, and his favourite
officers, and asked for an account of his life. A strange enough story
it was Demetrius had to tell, though Cornelia had heard it before; of
two voyages to wealthy Taprobane,[186] one as far as the Golden
Chersonesos,[187] almost to the Silk Land, Serica, of voyages out
beyond the Pillars of Hercules into the Sea of Darkness,--everywhere
that keel of ship had ploughed within the memory of man.

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