it flashes and glitters with the hues of Iris!--they are crowding round
something on the ground--Mayhap the body of Seleukus. No--the crowd is
separating. Eternal gods! It is she--it is the woman who tended you!"

"Dead?" asked the other.

"She is lying on the ground with a spear in her bosom. Now the legate-
yes, it is Quintus Flavius Nobilior--bends over her and draws it out.
Dead--dead! and slain by a man of our cohort!"

He clasped his hands before his face, while Apollinaris muttered curses,
and the name of their faithful Marcipor, who had served their father
before them, coupled with wild vows of vengeance.

Nemesianus at length composed himself sufficiently to follow the course
of the horrible events going on below.

"Now," he went on, describing it to his brother, "now they are
surrounding Rufus. That merciless scoundrel must have done something
abominable, that even goes beyond what his fellows can put up with.
There they have caught a slave with a bundle in his hand, perhaps stolen
goods. They will punish him with death, and are themselves no better
than he. If you could only see how they come swarming from every side
with their costly plunder! The magnificent golden jug set with jewels,
out of which the lady Berenike poured the Byblos wine for you, is there
too!--Are we still soldiers, or robbers and murderers?"

"If we are," cried Apollinaris, "I know who has made us so."

They were startled by the approaching rattle of arms in the corridor, and