With that he gave his able horse the head.
HENRY IV.

There is a wild gorge in the very summit of the Appennines, not quite midway between Florence and Pistoia, the waters of which, shed in different directions, flow on the one hand tributaries to the Po, and on the other to the Arno, swelling the Adriatic, and the Mediterranean seas.

The mountains rise abruptly in bare crags, covered here and there by a low growth of myrtle and wild olives, on either hand this gorge, quite inaccessible to any large array of armed men, though capable of being traversed by solitary foresters or shepherds. Below, the hills fall downward in a succession of vast broken ridges, in places rocky and almost perpendicular, in places swelling into rounded knolls, feathered with dark rich forests of holm oak and chesnut.

In the highest part of this gorge, where it spreads out into a little plain, perched like the eyry of some ravenous bird of prey, the camp of Catiline was pitched, on the second evening after the execution of his comrades.

Selected with rare judgment, commanding all the lower country, and the descent on one hand into the Val d'Arno and thence to Rome, on the other into the plain of the Po and thence into Cisalpine Gaul, the whole of which was ripe for insurrection, that camp secured to him an advance upon the city, should his friends prove successful, or a retreat into regions where he could raise new levies in case of their failure.

A Roman camp was little less than a regular fortification, being formed mostly in an oblong square, with a broad ditch and earthen ramparts garnished by a stockade, with wooden towers at the gates, one of which pierced each side of the intrenchment.

And to such a degree of perfection and celerity had long experience and the most rigid discipline brought the legions, that it required an incredibly short time to prepare such a camp for any number of men; a thing which never was omitted to be done nightly even during the most arduous marches and in the face of an enemy.

Catiline was too able and too old a soldier to neglect such precaution under any circumstances; and assuredly he would not have done so now, when the consul Antonius lay with two veteran legions within twenty miles distance in the low country east of Florence, while Quintus Metellus Celer, at the head of a yet larger force, was in the Picene district on his rear, and not so far off but he might have attempted to strike a blow at him.

His camp, capable of containing two full legions, the number of which he had completed, all free-born men and Roman citizens, for he had refused the slaves who flocked at first to his standard in great force, was perfectly defended, and provided with all the usual tents and divisions; so that every cohort, manipule, and century, nay every man, knew his own station.

The sun had just sunk beneath the horizon and the night watches had been set by sound of trumpets, the horsemen had been appointed for the rounds, and an outpost of light-armed soldiers pushed forward in front of all the gates.

There was a rosy tinge still lingering in the sky, and a few slant rays were shot through the gaps in the mountain ridge, gilding the evergreen foliage of the holm-oaks with bright lustre, and warming the cold grey stones which cumbered the sides and summits of the giant hills; but all the level country at their feet was covered with deep purple shadow.

Catiline sat alone in his praetorium, as the general's pavilion was entitled, situated on a little knoll nearly in the centre of the camp between the tents of the tribunes, and the quarters of the extraordinary horse.

He was completely armed, all but his head, and wore a rich scarlet cloak above his panoply, his helmet and buckler lying upon the ground beside him in easy reach of his hand. A pen was in his fingers, and a sheet of parchment was stretched on the board before him; but he was not writing, although there were several lines scrawled on it in a bold coarse hand.

His face was paler and more livid than usual, and his frame thinner, almost indeed emaciated, yet every sinew and muscle was hard as tempered steel.

But now there was a strange expression in his features; it was not doubt nor hesitation, much less fear; and consisted perhaps rather in the absence of his wonted characteristics, the unquiet and quick changes, the passionate restlessness, the fell deadly sneer, and the blighting flash of the dark eye, than in any token of peculiar meaning. There was a cold and almost vacant expression in his gaze; and an impassive calmness in all his linéaments, that were in singular contrast with the character of the man; and he sat, a thing most unusual for him, perfectly motionless, buried in deep thought.

The night was very cold, and, without, a heavy hoar frost was falling; so that a fire of charcoal had keen kindled in a bronze brazier, and as the light of the sky died away strange lurid gleams and fantastic shadows rose and fell, upon the walls of the large tent, rendered more fickle and grotesque by the wavering of the canvass in the gusty night air. There was wine with several goblets upon the board, at which he sat, with his eyes fixed straight before him; and at his elbow there stood a tall brazen tripod supporting a large lamp with several burners; but none of these were lighted, and, but for the fitful glare of the charcoal, the tent would have been completely dark.

Still he called not to any slave, nor appeared to observe the growing obscurity, but sat gloomily pondering on what?

Once or twice he drew his hand across his eyes, and then glared still more fixedly upon the dark and waving shadows, as if he saw something more than common in their uncertain outlines.

Suddenly he spoke, in a hoarse altered voice This is strange, he said, very strange! Now, were I one of these weak fools who believe in omens, I should shake. But tush! tush! how should there be omens? for who should send them? there must be Gods, to have omens! and that is too absurd for credence! Gods! Gods! he repeated half dubiously Yet, if there should ha! ha! art thou turned dotard, Catiline! There are no Gods, or why sleep their thunders? Aye! there it is again,” he added, gazing on vacancy. “By my right hand! it is very strange! three times last night, the first time when the watch was set, and twice afterward I saw him! And three times again tonight, since the trumpet was blown. Lentulus, with his lips distorted, his face black and full of blood, his eyes starting from their sockets, like a man strangled! and he beckoned me with his pale hand! I saw him, yet so shadowy and so transparent, that I might mark the waving of the canvass through his figure! But tush! tush! it is but a trick of the fancy. I am worn out with this daily marching; and the body's fatigue hath made the mind weak and weary. And it is dull here too, no dice, no women, and no revelling. I will take some wine,” he added, starting up and quaffing two or three goblets' full in quick succession, “my blood is thin and cold, and wants warming. Ha! that is better It is right old Setinian too; I marvel whence Manlius had it.” Then he rose from his seat, and began to stride about the room impatiently. After a moment or two he dashed his hand fiercely against his brow, and cried in a voice full of anguish and perturbation, “Tidings! tidings! I would give half the world for tidings! Curses! curses upon it! that I began this game at all, or had not brave colleagues! It is time! can it be that their hearts have failed them? that they have feared or delayed to strike, or have been overthrown, detected? Tidings, tidings! By Hades! I must have tidings! What ho! he exclaimed, raising his voice to a higher pitch, Ho, I say, ho! Chaerea!”

And from an outer compartment of the tent the Greek freedman entered, bearing a lighted lamp in his hand.

Chaerea, summon Manlius hither, and leave the lamp, have been long in the darkness!”

“Wert sleeping, Catiline?”

Sleeping! exclaimed the traitor, with a savage cry, hoarse as the roar of a wounded lion sleeping, thou idiot! Do men sleep on volcanoes? Do men sleep in the crisis of their fortunes? I have not slept these six nights. Get thee gone! summon Manlius!” and then, as the freedman left the room, he added; “perchance I shall sleep no more until I sleep for ever! I would I could sleep, and not see those faces; they never troubled me till now. I would I knew if that sleep is dreamless. If it were so perhaps, perhaps! but no! no! By all the Furies! no! until my foot hath trodden on the neck of Cicero.”

As he spoke, Manlius entered the room, a tall dark sinister-looking scar-seamed veteran, equipped in splendid armor, of which the helmet alone was visible, so closely was he wrapped against the cold in a huge shaggy watch-cloak.

As his subordinate appeared, every trace of the conflict which had been in progress within him vanished, and his brow became as impassive, his eye as hard and keen as its wont.

“Welcome, my Caius,” he exclaimed. “Look you, we have present need of council. The blow must be stricken before this in Rome, or must have failed altogether. If it have been stricken, we should be nearer Rome to profit by it if it have failed, we must destroy Antonius' army, before Metellus join him. I doubt not he is marching hitherward even now. Besides, we must, we must have tidings we must know all, and all truly!”

Then, seeing that Manlius doubted, “Look you,” he continued. “Let us march at daybreak to-morrow upon Faesulae, leaving Antonius in the plain on our right. Marching along the crest of the hills, he cannot assail our flank. We can outstrip him too, and reach Arretium ere the second sunset. He, thinking we have surely tidings from our friends in the city, will follow in disordered haste; and should we have bad news, doubling upon him on a sudden we may overpower him at one blow. It is a sure scheme either way think'st thou not so, good friend? nay more, it is the only one.”

“I think so, Sergius,” he replied. “In very deed I think so. Forage too is becoming scarce in the camp, and the baggage horses are dying. The men are murmuring also for want of the pleasures, the carouses, and the women of the cities. They will regain their spirits in an hour, when they shall hear of the march upon Rome.”

“I prithee, let them hear it, then, my Caius; and that presently. Give orders to the tribunes and centurions to have the tents struck, and the baggage loaded in the first hour of the last night-watch. We will advance at ha!” he exclaimed, interrupting himself suddenly, and listening with eager attention. “There is a horse tramp crossing from the gates. By the Gods! news from Rome! Tarry with me, until we hear it.”

Within five minutes, Chaerea re-entered the tent, introducing a man dressed and armed as a light-horseman, covered with mudstains, travelworn, bending with fatigue, and shivering with cold, the hoar-frost hanging white upon his eyebrows and beard.

“From Rome, good fellow?” Catiline inquired quickly. “From Rome, Catiline!” replied the other, “bearing a letter from the noble Lentulus.”

“Give give it quick!” and with the word he snatched the scroll from the man's hand, tore it violently open, and read aloud as follows.

“Who I may be, you will learn from the bearer. All things go bravely. The ambassadors have lost their suit, but we have won ours. They return home to-morrow, by the Flaminian way, one Titus of Crotona guiding them, who shall explain to you our thoughts and hopes but, of this doubt not, thoughts shall be deeds, and hopes success, before this hour to-morrow.”

“By all the Gods!” cried Catiline with a shout of joy, “Ere this time all is won! Cicero, Cicero, I have triumphed, and thou, mine enemy, art nothing;” then turning to the messenger, he asked, “When didst leave Rome, with these joyous tidings? when sawest the noble Lentulus?”

“On the fourth(13) day before the nones, at sunset.”

“And we are now in the sixth(14) before the Ides. Thou hast loitered on the way, Sirrah.”

“I was compelled to quit my road, Catiline, and to lie hid four days among the hills to avoid a troop of horse which pursued me, seeing that I was armed; an advanced guard, I think, of Antonius' army.”

“Thou didst well. Get thee gone, and bid them supply thy wants. Eat, drink, and sleep we march upon Rome at day-break to-morrow.”

The man left the apartment, and looking to Manlius with a flushed cheek and exulting aspect, Catiline exclaimed,

“Murmuring for pleasure, and for women, are they? Tell them, good friend, they shall have all the gold of Rome for their pleasure, and all its patrician dames for their women. Stir up their souls, my Manlius, kindle their blood with it matters not what fire! See to it, my good comrade, I am aweary, and will lay me down, I can sleep after these good tidings.”

But it was not destined that he should sleep so soon.

He had thrown himself again into a chair, and filled himself a brimming goblet of the rich wine, when he repeated to himself in a half musing tone

“Murmuring for their women? ha! By Venus! I cannot blame the knaves. It is dull work enough without the darlings. By Hercules! I would Aurelia were here; or that jade Lucia! Pestilent handsome was she, and then so furious and so fiery! By the Gods! were she here, I would bestow one caress on her at the least, before she died, as die she shall, in torture by my hand! Curses on her, she has thwarted, defied, foiled me! By every fiend and Fury! ill shall she perish, were she ten times my daughter!”

Again there was a bustle without the entrance of the pavilion, and again Chaerea introduced a messenger.

It was Niger, one of the swordsmith's men. Catiline recognized him in an instant.

“Ha! Niger, my good lad, from Caius Crispus, ha?

“From Caius Crispus, praying succor, and that swift, lest it be too late.”

“Succor against whom? succor where, and wherefore?”

“Against a century of Antonius' foot. They came upon us unawares, killed forty of our men, and drove the stout smith for shelter into a ruined watch-tower, on the hill above the cataract, near to Usella, which happily afforded him a shelter. They have besieged us there these two days; but cannot storm us until our arrows fail, or they bring up engines. But our food is finished, and our wine wakes low, and Julia

Who? Julia? shouted Catiline, scarce able to believe his ears, and springing from his chair in rapturous agitation By your life! speak! what Julia?

“Hortensia's daughter, whom

Enough! enough! Chaerea he scrawled a few words on a strip of parchment this to Terentius the captain of my guard. Three hundred select horsemen to be in arms and mounted within half an hour. Let them take torches, and a guide for Usella. Saddle the black horse Erebus. Get me some food and a watch-cloak. Get thee away. Now tell me all, good fellow.”

The man stated rapidly, but circumstantially, all that he knew of the occurrences of Julia's seizure, of the capture of Aulus, and of their journey; and then, his eyes gleaming with the fierce blaze of excited passion and triumphant hatred, Catiline cross-questioned him concerning the unhappy girl. Had she been brought thus far safely and with unblemished honor? Had she suffered from hunger or fatigue? Had her beauty been impaired by privation?

And, having received satisfactory replies to all his queries, he gave himself up to transports of exultation, such as his own most confidential freedman never before had witnessed.

Dismissing the messenger, he strode to and fro the hut, tossing his arms aloft and bursting into paroxysms of fierce laughter.

“Ha! ha! too much! it is too much for one night! Ha! ha! ha! ha! Love, hatred, passion, triumph, rage, revenge, ambition, all, all gratified! Ha! ha! Soft, gentle Julia proud, virtuous one that did despise me, thou shalt writhe for it from thy soul shalt thou bleed for it! Ha! ha! Arvina liar! fool! perjurer! but this will wring thee worse than Ixion's wheel, or whips of scorpions! Ha! ha! Cicero! Cicero! No! no! Chaerea. There are no Gods! no Gods who guard the innocent! no Gods who smile on virtue! no gods! I say, no Gods! no Gods, Chaerea!

But, as he spoke, there burst close over head an appaling crash of thunder, accompanied by a flash of lightning so vivid and pervading that the whole tent seemed to be on fire. The terrified Greek fell to the earth, stunned and dazzled; but the audacious and insane blasphemer, tossing his arms and lifting his front proudly, exclaimed with his cynical sneer, “If ye be Gods! strike! strike! I defy your vain noise! your harmless thunder!”

For ten minutes or more, blaze succeeded blaze, and crash followed crash, with such tremendous rapidity, that the whole heavens, nay, the whole atmosphere, appeared incandescent with white, sulphureous, omnipresent fire; and that the roar of the volleyed thunder was continuous and incessant.

Still the fierce traitor blenched not. Crime and success had maddened him. His heart was hardened, his head frenzied, to his own destruction.

But the winter storm in the mountains was as brief as it was sudden, and tremendous; and it ceased as abruptly as it broke out unexpectedly. A tempest of hail came pelting down, the grape-shot as it were of that heavenly artillery, scourging the earth with furious force during ten minutes more; and then the night was as serene and tranquil as it had been before that elemental uproar.

As the last flash of lightning flickered faintly away, and the last thunder roll died out in the sky, Catiline stirred the freedman with his foot.

“Get up, thou coward fool. Did I not tell thee that there are no Gods? lo! you now! for what should they have roused this trumpery pother, if not to strike me? Tush, man, I say, get up!”

“Is it thou, Sergius Catiline?” asked the Greek, scarce daring to raise his head from the ground. “Did not the bolt annihilate thee? art thou not indeed dead?

“Judge if I be dead, fool, by this, and this, and this!

And, with each word, he kicked and trampled on the grovelling wretch with such savage violence and fury, that he bellowed and howled for mercy, and was scarce able to creep out of the apartment, when he ceased stamping upon him, and ordered him to begone speedily and bring his charger.

Ere many minutes had elapsed, the traitor was on horse-back.

And issuing from the gates of his camp into the calm and starry night, he drove, with his escort at his heels, with the impetuosity and din of a whirlwind, waking the mountain echoes by the clang of the thundering hoofs, and the clash of the brazen armor and steel scabbards, down the steep defile toward Usella.