a couple of sailors.
“What book,” Philip asked Lucy in an undertone, “did she get these soldiers out of?”
“Caesar, I think,” said Lucy. “And I’m afraid it was my fault. I remember telling her about the barbarians and the legions and things after father had told me—when she was my nurse, you know. She’s very clever at thinking of horrid things to do, isn’t she?”
The council talked for two hours, and nobody said anything worth mentioning. When every one was quite tired out, every one went to bed.
It was Philip who woke in the night in the grasp of a sudden idea.
“What is it?” asked Max, rousing himself from his warm bed at Philip’s feet.
“I’ve thought of something,” said Philip in a low excited voice. “I’m going to have a night attack.”
“Shall I wake the others?” asked Max, ever ready to oblige.
Philip thought a moment. Then:
“No,” he said, “it’s rather dangerous; and besides I want to do it all by myself. Lucy’s done more than her share already. Look out, Max; I’m going to get up and go out.”
He got up and he went out. There was a faint greyness of dawn now which showed him the great square of the city on which he and Lucy had looked from the prison window, a very long time ago as it seemed. He found without difficulty the ruins of the Hall of Justice.
And among the vast blocks scattered on the ground was one that seemed of grey marble, and bore on its back in gigantic letters of gold the words De Bello Gallico.
Philip stole back to the prison and roused the captain.
“I want twenty picked men,” he said, “without boots—and at once.’
He got them, and he led them to the ruins of the Justice Hall.
“Now,” he said, “raise the cover of this book; only the cover, not any of the pages.”
The men set their shoulders to the marble slab that was the book’s cover and heaved it up. And as it rose on their shoulders Philip spoke softly, urgently.
“Caesar,” he said, “Caesar!”
And a voice answered from under the marble slab.
“Who calls?” it said. “Who calls upon Julius Caesar?”
And from the space below the slab, as it were from a marble tomb, a thin figure stepped out, clothed in toga and cloak and wearing on its head a crown of bays.
“I called,” said Philip in a voice that trembled a little. “There’s no one but you who can help. The barbarians of Gaul hold this city. I call on great Caesar to drive them away. No one else can help us.”
Caesar stood for a moment silent in the grey twilight. Then he spoke.
“I will do it,” he said; “you have often tried to master Caesar and always failed. Now you shall be no more ashamed of that failure, for you shall see Caesar’s power. Bid your slaves raise the leaves of my book to the number of fifteen.”
It was done, and Caesar turned towards the enormous open book.
“Come forth!” he said. “Come forth, my legions!”
Then something in the book moved suddenly, and out of it, as out of an open marble tomb, came long lines of silent armed men, ranged themselves in ranks, and, passing Caesar, saluted. And still more came, and more and more, each with the round shield and the shining helmet and the javelins and the terrible short sword. And on their backs were the packages they used to carry with them into war.
“The Barbarians of Gaul are loose in this city,” said the voice of the great commander; “drive them before you once more as you drove them of old.”
“Whither, O Caesar?” asked one of the Roman generals.
“Drive them, O Titus Labienus,” said Caesar, “back into that book wherein I set them more than nineteen hundred years ago, and from which they have dared to escape. Who is their leader?” he asked of Philip.
“The Pretenderette,” said Philip; “a woman in a motor veil.”
“Caesar does not war with women,” said the man in the laurel crown; “let her be taken prisoner and brought before me.”
Low-voiced, the generals of Caesar’s army gave their commands, and with incredible quietness the army moved away, spreading itself out in all directions.
“She has caged the Hippogriff,” said Philip; “the winged horse, and we want to send him with a message.”
“See that the beast is freed,” said Caesar, and turned to Plumbeus the captain. “We be soldiers together,” he said. “Lead me to the main gate. It is there that the fight will be fiercest.” He laid a hand on the captain’s shoulder, and at the head of the last legion, Caesar and the captain of the soldiers marched to the main gate.
CHAPTER XII
THE END
Philip tore back to the prison, to be met at the door by Lucy.
“I hate you,” she said briefly, and Philip understood.
“I couldn’t help it,” he said; “I did want to do something by myself.”
And Lucy understood.
“And besides,” he said, “I was coming back for you. Don’t be snarky about it, Lu. I’ve called up Caesar himself. And you shall see him before he goes back into the book. Come on; if we’re sharp we can hide in the ruins of the Justice Hall and see everything. I noticed there was a bit of the gallery left standing. Come on. I want you to think what message to send by the Hippogriff to Mr. Noah.”
“Oh, you needn’t trouble about that,” said Lucy in an off-hand manner. “I sent the parrot off ages ago.”
“And you never told me! Then I think that’s quits; don’t you?”
Lucy had a short struggle with herself (you know those unpleasant and difficult struggles, I am sure!) and said:
“Right-o!”
And together they ran back to the Justice Hall.
The light was growing every moment, and there was now a sound of movement in the city. Women came down to the public fountains to draw water, and boys swept the paths and doorsteps. That sort of work goes on even when barbarians are surrounding a town. And the ordinary sounds of a town’s awakening came to Lucy and Philip as they waited; crowing cocks and barking dogs and cats mewing faintly for the morning milk. But it was not for those sounds that Lucy and Philip were waiting.
So through those homely and familiar sounds they listened, listened, listened; and very gradually, so that they could neither of them have said at any moment “Now it has begun,” yet quite beyond mistake the sound for which they listened was presently loud in their ears. And it was the sound of steel
