"What matters it? Let Destiny decide! We must not resist her. Let the Galileans triumph. We shall conquer later on. And then shall begin on earth the reign of the equals of the gods, souls laughing for ever like the sun.... Look, behold him!"
A faint shiver ran through his body, and with a last effort Julian stretched out his arms, as if he would have rushed to meet the rising orb. Blood gushed from his wound, and the veins swelled on neck and temples.
"Water! water!" he whispered, choking.
Victor lifted a golden cup of spring-water to his mouth. Julian, looking forth from the tent drank thirstily of the ice-cold draught. Then his head fell back, and the last murmur came from his half-open lips—
"Helios! receive me into thyself...."
The eyes went out. Victor closed their lids. The face of the Emperor, lying in the sun-rays, took on a look of one of the Olympians sleeping.
XX
Three months had elapsed since the shameful treaty of peace signed by Jovian with the Persians. At the beginning of October the Roman army, exhausted by famine and forced marches through the deserts of Mesopotamia, had at last reached Antioch. During this melancholy retreat Anatolius, the centurion of Imperial cavalry, had formed a close friendship with the historian, Ammianus Marcellinus. The two friends had decided to betake themselves to Italy, to a secluded villa at Baiæ, whither Arsinoë had invited them, to rest from the fatigues of the campaign, and to heal their wounds at the sulphur-baths.
On this journey, they had made a halt of some days at Antioch, where great festivals were in preparation, in honour of Jovian's accession to the throne and of the return of the army.