"Cedo Alteram! Give me another!"
"To the palace! To the palace!" yelled the crowd. "Let us make Julian, Augustus! Let us crown him with a diadem!"
The mob rushed off, leaving in the courtyard the half-dead centurion weltering in blood. Through the dark clouds the stars sparkled here and there, and a cold wind lifted the dust. The barred windows, doors, and shutters of the palace were all hermetically sealed. The building seemed tenantless.
Foreseeing the revolt, Julian had not left his quarters nor shown himself to the soldiers, being occupied in divinations. For two days and two nights he had waited for a miracle. Clothed in the long white robe of the Pythagoreans, lamp in hand, he was ascending the steps which led to the highest tower. There the assistant of Maximus of Ephesus was awaiting him, and observing the stars. This assistant was no other than Nogodarès, who once in the tavern owned by Syrax at the foot of Mount Argæus had foretold the future to the tribune Scuda.
"Well?" Julian asked anxiously.
"There's nothing to be seen! It looks as if heaven and earth were conspiring."
A bat swooped by.
"Look, look! Perhaps some prediction can be made from the manner of its flight?"
The night-wandering creature almost brushed Julian's face with its cold wings, and vanished.
"Someone's soul approaches," murmured Nogodarès. "Remember! this night something great will be accomplished...."