The Roman Traitor (Vol. 1 of 2) - The UK Mirror Service

THE MEASURES 25
sculptured shrine of Parian marble. Before the image there stood
a votive lamp, fed by the richest oils, a mighty bowl of silver half
filled with the red Massic wine, and many pateræ, or sacrificial
vessels of a yet richer metal.
"Hear, bird of Mars, and of Quirinus"—cried Cataline, without
a pause, stretching his hands toward the glittering effigy—"Hear
thou, and be propitious! Thou, who didst all-triumphant guide
a yet greater than Quirinus to deeds of might and glory; thou,
who wert worshipped by the charging shout of Marius, and
consecrated by the gore of Cimbric myriads; thou, who wert
erst enshrined on the Capitoline, what time the proud patricians
veiled their haughty crests before the conquering plebeian; thou,
who shalt sit again sublime upon those ramparts, meet aery for
thine unvanquished pinion; shalt drink again libations, boundless [31]
libations of rich Roman life-blood, hot from patrician hearts,
smoking from every kennel! Hear and receive our oaths—listen
and be propitious!"
He spoke, and seizing from the pedestal a sacrificial knife,
which lay beside the bowl, opened a small vein in his arm, and
suffered the warm stream to gush into the wine. While the red
current was yet flowing, he gave the weapon to Cethegus, and he
did likewise, passing it in his turn to the conspirator who stood
beside him, and he in like manner to the next, till each one in his
turn had shed his blood into the bowl, which now mantled to the
brim with a foul and sacrilegious mixture, the richest vintage of
the Massic hills, curdled with human gore.
Then filling out a golden goblet for himself, "Hear, God of
war," cried Cataline, "unto whose minister and omen we offer
daily worship; hear, mighty Mars, the homicide and the avenger;
and thou, most ancient goddess, hear, Nemesis! and Hecate, and
Hades! and all ye powers of darkness, Furies and Fates, hear
ye! For unto ye we swear, never to quench the torch; never
to sheath the brand; till all our foes be prostrate, till not one
drop shall run in living veins of Rome's patricians; till not one