Mountains, air, earth, and forest trembled with the voice of the multitude.
"Look, look!" murmured the dismayed Christians; "the Labarum is being lowered!" And in fact the holy banner was being veiled before the Emperor. A military blacksmith came down from the wood with a brazier and red-hot pincers.
Julian, whose face, in spite of the ruddy gleams of the purple and the sun, was dark with strong emotion, wrenched the golden cross, with its monogram of precious stones, from the staff of the Labarum. Pearls, emeralds, and rubies were scattered on the ground, and the glittering cross buried in the earth, stamped under the sandal of the Roman Cæsar.
From a casket Maximus immediately drew forth a little silver statue of the Sun-god, Mithra-Helios; and the smith in a few instants soldered it to the staff of the Labarum.
Before the army had recovered from its astonishment and fear, Constantine's sacred banner rose above the head of the Emperor, crowned with the image of Apollo. An old soldier, who was a devout Christian, turned away and veiled his eyes to avoid seeing the sight of horror.
"Sacrilege! sacrilege!" he muttered, turning pale.
"Woe, woe, upon us!" groaned another; "Satan has entoiled our Emperor!"
Julian knelt before the standard and, stretching out his arms to the little silver image, exclaimed—
"Glory to the invincible Sun, king of all gods!... Augustus worships the eternal Helios; god of light, god of reason, god of the gladness and joy upon Olympus!"
The last rays of sunset lighted the bold beauty of the god of Delphi, and rayed his head. The legionaries stood in silence, save that in the wood the dry leaves could be heard falling. The conflagration of the sunset, the purple of the sacrificial king, the withered woods, all these breathed a magnificence as of sumptuous obsequies. One of the men in the front rank muttered a single word so distinctly that it reached Julian's ear, and thrilled him—