him the occasion; he simply selected his men as fast as he
might. He secured four chariots and placed in them the fastest horses
in the royal stables and trusted men for drivers. He mounted the rest
of his thirty on other steeds, and the preparations were over. The
gate was thrown open; Decimus Mamercus, who was his subaltern, led out
the little company. Drusus rode out last, in one of the chariots. The
troops on the walls cheered them as they departed.

In the immediate neighbourhood of the palace there prevailed an
ominous silence. Earlier in the night a few cohorts had charged out
and scattered the street rabble; and the mob had kept at a distance.
There was no light save that of the moon and the distant glow of the
burning buildings. Drusus felt his breath coming thick and fast, the
drops of sweat were hanging on his forehead, something within was
driving his heart into his throat. "If--" he never went further;
unless he brought Cornelia and Fabia back to the palace unscathed, he
knew the Alexandrian rabble would howl over his unconscious body.

"Ride!" he commanded, as if the rush of the chariots and horses would
drown the fears that nearly drove him frantic. "Ride!"

The drivers lashed the teams, the horsemen pricked with the spur.
Drusus caught the reins from his chariot companion, and swung the lash
himself over the four steeds. Faster and faster they flew down the
splendidly paved and built highways. Temples and majestic public
buildings rose in sombre grandeur above their heads; above them winged
"Victories" seemed springing up into dark void, their sculptured
symmetries just visible in the moonlight. On and on, swift and more
swift--persons began shouting from the buildings which they passed,
now a few voices, now many, now a hundred. A volley of stones was
dashed down from the safe recesses of the pillars at the head of the
long flight of steps leading up to a temple. Presently an arrow
whirred over Drusus's head and smote on the masonry across the street.
There were lights ahead--scores of torches waving--a small building
was on fire; the glare grew redder and brighter every instant; and a
din, a din lifted by ten thousand men when their brute instincts are
enkindled, grew and grew. Drusus dashed the cold sweat from his brow,
his hand was trembling. He had a quiver and bow in the chariot,--a
powerful Parthian bow, and the arrows were abundant. Mamercus had
taught him to be a good archer, as a boy. Could