"Young man," said Cæsar, gravely, half sadly, "what you have said is easy to utter. Do you know what war will mean?"
Drusus was silent.
"Let us grant that our cause is most just. Even then, if we fight, we destroy the Republic. If I conquer, it must be over the wreck of the Commonwealth. If Pompeius—on the same terms. I dare not harbour any illusions. The state cannot endure the farce of another Sullian restoration and reformation. A permanent government by one strong man will be the only one practicable to save the world from anarchy. Have you realized that?"
"I only know, Imperator," said Drusus, gloomily, "that no future state can be worse than ours to-day, when the magistrates of the Republic are the most grievous despots."
Cæsar shook his head.
"You magnify your own wrongs and mine. If mere revenge prompts us, we are worse than Xerxes, or Sulla. The gods alone can tell us what is right."
"The gods!" cried Drusus, half sunken though he was in a weary lethargy, "do you believe there are any gods?"
Cæsar threw back his head. "Not always; but at moments I do not believe in them, I know! And now I know that gods are guiding us!"
"Whither?" exclaimed the young man, starting from his weary drowsiness.
"I know not whither; neither do I care. Enough to be conscious that they guide us!"