had penetrated to the first antechamber when a soldier of the Germanic
body-guard laid hold on him. Martialis had him by the girdle now, and
the emperor looked sharply and mistrustfully at the praetorian, as he
asked if it were he who had captured the assassin.

The centurion replied that he had not. Ingiomarus, the German, had
noticed the knife; he, Martialis, was here only in right of his privilege
as a praetorian to bring such prisoners before great Caesar.

Caracalla bent a searching gaze upon the soldier; for he thought he
recognized in him the man who had aroused his envy and whose happiness he
had once greatly desired to damp, when against orders he had received his
wife and child in the camp. Recollections rose in his mind that drove
the hot blood to his cheek, and he cried, disdainfully:

"I might have guessed it! What can be expected beyond the letter of
their service from one who so neglects his duties? Did you not disport
yourself with lewd women in the camp before my very eyes, setting at
naught the well-known rules? Hands off the prisoner! This is your last
day as praetorian and in Alexandria. As soon as the harbor is opened--
to-morrow, I expect--you go on board the ship that carries reinforcements
to Edessa. A winter on the Pontus will cool your lascivious blood."

This attack was so rapid and so unexpected to the somewhat dull-witted
centurion, that he failed at first to grasp its full significance. He
only understood that he was to be banished again from the loved ones he
had so long been deprived of. But when he recovered sufficiently to
excuse himself by declaring that it was his own wife and children who had
visited him, Caesar cut him short by commanding him to report his change
of service at once to the tribune of the legion.