The general’s eyes were glittering, his cheeks flushed with an unhealthy colour.  The freedman was startled.

“Domine, domine!” he began, “you are not well—­let me send for Calchas, the physician; a mild sleeping powder—­”

For the first time in his long service of Caesar, Antiochus met with a burst of wrath from his master.

“Vagabond!  Do you think a sleeping potion will give peace to me?  Speak again of Calchas, and I’ll have you crucified!”

“Domine, domine!” cried the trembling freedman; but Caesar swept on:—­

“Don’t go from the room!  I am desperate to-night.  I may lay violent hands on myself.  Why should I not ask you for a poisoned dagger?”

Antiochus cowered at his master’s feet.

“Yes, why not?  What have I to gain by living?  I have won some little fame.  I have conquered all Gaul.  I have invaded Britain.  I have made the Germans tremble.  Life is an evil dream, a nightmare, a frightful delusion.  Death is real.  Sleep—­sleep—­forever sleep!  No care, no ambition, no vexation, no anger, no sorrow.  Cornelia, the wife of my love, is asleep.  Julia is asleep.  All that I loved sleep.  Why not I also?”

“Domine, speak not so!” and Antiochus clasped the proconsul’s knees.

Caesar bent down and lifted him up by the hand.  When he spoke again, the tone was entirely changed.

“Old friend, you have known me; have loved me.  You were my pedagogue[151] when I went to school at Rome.  You taught me to ride and fence and wrestle.  You aided me to escape the myrmidons of Sulla.  You were with me in Greece.  You shared my joy in my political successes, my triumphs in the field.  And now what am I to do?  You know the last advices from Rome; you know the determination of the consuls to work my ruin.  To-day no news has come at all, and for us no news is the worst of news.”

  [151] Slave who looked after the welfare and conduct of a schoolboy.

“Domine,” said Antiochus, wiping his eyes, “I cannot dream that the Senate and Pompeius will deny you your right to the second consulship.”

“But if they do?  You know what Curio reports.  What then?”

Antiochus shook his head.

“It would mean war, bloody war, the upturning of the whole world!”

“War, or—­” and Caesar paused.

“What, my lord?” said the freedman.

“I cease either to be a care to myself or my enemies.”

“I do not understand you, domine,” ventured Antiochus, turning pale.

“I mean, good friend,” said the proconsul, calmly, “that when I consider how little life often seems worth, and how much disaster the continuance of my act of living means to my fellow-men, I feel often that I have no right to live.”

Antiochus staggered with dread.  Caesar was no longer talking wildly; and the freedman knew that when in a calm mood the proconsul was always perfectly serious.