Envoy Extraordinary

"Make's a change, Caesar. Excitement, promotion, perhaps loot-and so on."

"Would you prefer to destroy your enemies at a distance?"

"I don't understand."

Posthumus jerked a thumb sideways at Phanocles.

"This slimy Greek has made that weapon on the quay. You press the tit and the enemy goes up in smoke."

The Captain ruminated.

"Has the Father of his Country no further use for his soldiers, then?"

Posthumus looked meaningly at the Captain.

"Apparently not. But I have."

"But sir-suppose. the enemy gets this thundermachine himself?"

Posthumus looked at Phanocles.

"Will armour be any use?"

"None, I should say."

The Emperor took Mamillius by the scarlet cloak and tugged it gently.

"I imagine this sort of uniform will disappear. You will spend your war crawling round on your belly. Your uniform will be mud- or dungcoloured."

The officer glanced down at his glittering breastplate.

"-and you could always paint the metal a neutral tint or just let it get dirty."

The officer paled.

"You are joking, Caesar."

"You saw what his ship did in the harbour."

The officer stepped back. His mouth was open and he was breathing quickly like a man in the first stages of nightmare. He began to glance round him, at the hedges, the stone seats, the soldiers blocking the tunnel-

Posthumus strode forward and grasped him by the arm.

"Well, Captain?"

Their eyes met. Doubt left the Captain's face. His jaw jutted and the muscles of his cheeks stood out.

"Can you manage the others, General?"

Posthumus nodded.

Instantly there was a confusion. Through a frieze of gesticulating figures, through an entanglement of men who sought to save their balance on the edge of the pond, Phanocles was visible sailing away from Posthumus' fist out over the quiet lilies. Then the officer was running fast toward the entrance of the tunnel and Posthumus was lumbering behind him. The officer shouted an order at the men guarding the entrance and they sidestepped like a human screen-one, two! one, two! one, two! Posthumus and the officer vanished into the tunnel and the guard remained to one side at attention. The soldiers began to sort themselves out by the pool. Mamillius, who had the whole width of the pool between him and the tunnel, was dashing this way and that as his astonished mind tried to find the quickest way round it. Only the Emperor still silent and distinguished, a little paler, perhaps, a little more remote as the certainty of downfall and death settled on him. Then the soldiers had picked themselves up, Phanocles had clambered out of the pool through which Mamillius, his problem solved, was now wading. Hesitating and unbelieving at the officer's defection they converged on the mouth of the tunnel. The Emperor strolled after them. He gazed thoughtfully at the human screen that discipline had rendered so ineffective. He shrugged slightly inside his toga.

He spoke very gently, as to children.

"You may stand easy."

A sudden push of air through the tunnel moved them and let them go. Almost at the same moment the ground jumped and noise hit them like the blow of a fist. The Emperor turned to Mamillius.

"Thunder?"

"Vesuvius?"

There was a whining sound from the air over the headland that separated the garden from the port, a descending whine, a brazen clang near at hand and the whisper of yew branches. The timeless moment of shock dulled for them the immediacy of their danger so that they looked at each other foolishly. Phanocles was shaking. Then there were footsteps in the tunnel, coming hastily, running, staggering. A soldier burst out of the entrance and they saw from the red and yellow favour that he was one of Posthumus' men.

"Caesar--"

"Pull yourself together. Then make your report."

"He is dead--"

"Who is dead and how did it happen?"

The soldier swayed back, then recovered.

"How can I tell you, Caesar? We were getting fell in again after the-after the inspection. General Posthumus came running from the tunnel. He saw that some of our company were away fighting the fires and he began to call out to the rest of us. There was one of your officers running behind him. I saw the officer bend down by the mark VII. There was a flash of lightning, a thunder-clap--"

"And a smoking hole in the quay. Where is Posthumus?"

The soldier spread his arms in a gesture of ignorance. Phanocles fell on his knees and put out a hand to the hem of the Emperor's toga. But the soldier was looking past them to the nearer yew hedge between the pool and the ascent of the gardens. They saw his eyes widen terribly. He screamed and took to his heels.

"Sorcery!"

Posthumus was watching them, must be watching them from behind the yew hedge, for they could see his bronze helmet with the scarlet and gold plume on it. He appeared to be cooking a small meal, for the air above his helmet shook with more than summer's heat. They saw that the plume was turning slowly to brown. The sprigs of yew bent, curled in the heat, gave way. The helmet bowed, turned among the branches and hung with its empty interior towards them.