arms under the leadership of
Orestes, the Governor, for the High-Priest himself had to see to the
defences of the Serapeum.--Olympius had weapons ready in abundance, and
the youths rapidly collected round the standards he had prepared, and
rushed into the square before the Prefect's house to drive away the
monks and to insist that Cynegius should return forthwith to Rome with
the Emperor's edict.

Young and noble lads were they who marched forth to the struggle,
equipped like the Helleman soldiers of the palmy days of Athens; and as
they went they sang a battle-song of Callinus which some one--who, no
one could tell--had slightly altered for the occasion:

"Come, rouse ye Greeks; what, sleeping still!
Is courage dead, is shame unknown?
Start up, rush forth with zealous will,
And smite the mocking Christians down!"

Everything that opposed their progress was overthrown. Two maniples of
foot-soldiers who held the high-road across the Bruchium attempted
to turn them, but the advance of the inflamed young warriors was
irresistible and they reached the street of the Caesareum and the square
in front of the Prefect's residence. Here they paused to sing the last
lines of their battlesong:

"Fate seeks the coward out at home,
He dies unwept, unknown to fame,
While by the hero's honored tomb
Our grandsons' grandsons shall proclaim:
'In the great conflict's fiercest hour
He stood unmoved, our shield and tower.'"

It was here, at the wide opening into the square, that the collision
took place: on one side the handsome youths, crowned with garlands, with
their noble Greek type of heads, thoughtful brows, perfumed curls, and
anointed limbs exercised in the gymnasium--on the other the sinister
fanatics in sheep-skin, ascetic visionaries grown grey in fasting,
scourging, and self-denial.

The monks now prepared to meet the onset of the young enthusiasts who
were fighting for freedom of thought and enquiry, for Art and Beauty.
Each side was defending what it felt to be the highest Good, each was
equally in earnest as to its convictions, both fought for something
dearer and more precious than this earthly span of existence. But the
philosophers' party had swords; the monks' sole weapon was the scourge,
and they were accustomed to ply that, not on each other but on their own
rebellious flesh. A wild and disorderly struggle began with swingeing
blows o