Camillus returned once more in triumph to Rome, to find yet another service he could do for the country he had served so loyally and loved so well. Civil war was on the point of breaking out, for the people, acting according to one of the Licinian laws, had chosen Sextus, a plebeian, to be Consul. The Senate and patricians were not at all ready to carry out this law. Indeed, it seemed that they would rather fight than let the people have their will. As the plebeians refused to give up their new-won privilege, the city was in an uproar. But Camillus had great influence with the Senate, and he persuaded it to yield to the just demand of the people. So the angry passions of the patricians and the plebeians were allayed, and Sextus became the first plebeian Consul. In the following year, 366 B.C., a pestilence swept over Italy, and in Rome, among many who perished was the brave old soldier Camillus. CHAPTER XL THE CURTIAN LAKE The pestilence, to which Camillus fell a prey, did not cease until 361 B.C. During the second year, the superstitious folk, of whom there were many, were startled by strange omens. The Tiber overflowed its banks. This was perhaps not so unusual as to alarm the citizens of Rome, but when the waters streamed into the Circus it was certainly strange. For at that very time games were being held there, in the hope of propitiating the gods, so that the pestilence might be stayed. But the flood speedily put an end to the games, and the people wondered if this was the answer of the gods. The flood was alarming, but still more so was an earthquake that took place before the people had forgotten their fears. It is supposed that the earthquake gave rise to the well-known legend of the Curtian Lake. For it was after the shock that a gulf wide and deep yawned in the Forum. The Romans believed that the gods who had sent the pestilence had now opened this terrible abyss in their market-place. In vain the terrified people tried to fill up the gulf. However much they threw into it, there it was, deep, dark, mysterious as before. Then the Romans went to their priests and begged them to learn from the gods how the gulf might be closed. The answer, when it came, seemed almost as perplexing as had been the problem. ‘Never will the awful chasm disappear until into it has been thrown the best and truest strength of Rome.’ What was the true strength of the city? With grave faces and anxious hearts the people pondered the answer of the gods. Suddenly the truth flashed into the mind of a noble youth named Curtius, who was known among his fellows as a brave and gallant soldier. ‘The true strength of Rome,’ said Curtius, ‘can lie in naught save in the arms and in the valour of her children. To think otherwise would shame us all.’ So, believing that he had discovered the will of the gods, the noble youth donned his armour, mounted his steed, and plunged headlong into the abyss.