he turn his old skill
to account? Not unless his hand became more steady.

Women screamed out at him and his band from the house roofs; a tile
struck one of the chariot horses and made it plunge wildly; Drusus
flung his strength into the reins, and curbed in the raging beast; he
tossed the lines back to his driver and tore the bow from its casings.
His car had rushed on ahead of Decimus Mamercus and the rest; two
furlongs more would bring him to the house of Cleomenes on one of the
squares of the city. The chariot swung around a street corner for the
final stretch, the way was broad, the buildings on either side (the
residences of the Alexandrian gentry) high; but the whole street from
wall to wall was a seething mass of human forms. The fire was
spreading; the brightening flames shone down on the tossing, howling
multitude--excited Egyptians from the quarter of Rhacotis, frenzied
Asiatics in their turbans, mad sailors from the Eunostian port and the
Pharos island. At the head of the street the flames were pressing in
upon a stately mansion around which the raging mob was packed thickly.
On the roof of the threatened house figures could be seen in the lurid
light, running to and fro, flinging down bricks and stones, and trying
to beat back the fire. It was the house of Cleomenes. Insensibly the
veteran who had been driving reined in the horses, who themselves drew
back, loath to plunge into the living barriers ahead. But Drusus was
past fear or prudence; with his own hands he sent the lash stinging
over all the four, and the team, that had won more than a single
trophy in the games, shot forward. The chariot struck the multitude
and went, not through it, but over it. The on-rush was too rapid, too
unexpected, for resistance. To right and left, as the water gives way
before the bows of an on-rushing ship, the crowd surged back, the
instinct of panic reigning in every breast. Thick and fast, as quickly
as he might set shaft to string, flew Drusus's arrows--not a shaft
that failed a mark, as it cut into the living masses. The chariot
reeled again and again, as this wheel or that passed over something
animate and struggling. The horses caught the fire of conflict; they
raced, they ran--and the others sped after them. The mob left off
howling: it screamed with a single voice of mortal dread. And before
Drusus or any one else realized, the deed was done, the long lane was
cleared, and the drivers were drawing rein before the