But Cestus was either not so keen of hearing, or else was too impatient to make a speedy end of the business, so that, after listening for a brief second or two, he snarled in reply, ‘What horses, you fool; there are no horses out this time of the night, on this road—just as likely the goddess herself—be ready for the whistle!’
With that he rejoined the party, who were resting unconscious of such a dangerous trap. They had scarcely taken half a dozen steps onward, when Cestus gave his signal, shrill and sudden. Four forms leaped like tigers from the shadow of the altar and fell on the affrighted slaves. Cestus himself bounded on Fabricius. At the same time the figure, which had dogged their steps from the Janiculum, leaped down from the rock-wall of the road and stood apart to watch. Two of the slaves had fallen in the sudden onslaught, but the third had managed to escape at the top of his speed. Fabricius, who, in despite of his age, retained yet a large use of his keen senses and bodily activity, had taken sufficient warning to raise his staff, and meet the charge of Cestus with a vigorous blow. The ruffian staggered, and the moonbeams flashed upon the polished blade of a weapon, which was dashed from his hand by the lucky stroke.
‘Wretch!’ the old man shouted, when a blow from behind felled him senseless. Cestus, furious with rage and pain, belched forth a frightful imprecation. His right arm was benumbed or broken, and he stooped for his knife with his other hand.
Not far away was a sharp turn in the road. The tramp of horses and the jingle of accoutrements smote on their ears.
‘Bungling fool!’ hissed the mysterious figure, springing forward to complete the work in which, so far, the Suburan had been foiled. But he was met, and rudely thrust back by the powerful arm of the confederate who had knocked the Senator down from behind.
‘Take your time, my lad,’ bellowed that individual hoarsely, ‘he’s more mine than yours.’
The slash of a poniard was the answer, and they closed in a struggle, when the others suddenly raised a cry of ‘Cave!’ and fled in all directions into the recesses of the wood. A body of horsemen had rounded the bend in the road and was almost upon them. They were in military attire, and the moon glittered on their polished helmets and the trappings of the horses. The foremost trooper immediately sprang to the ground and rushed forward, followed by two or three more. The struggling men parted and darted into the grove after [pg 94]their companions, whilst the foremost of the new-comers, singling out Cestus, followed him at the top of his speed. He was in a few moments hard upon the heels of the Suburan, who strained every nerve in fear of his pursuer, who possessed a far fleeter foot than himself. Fortune favoured him just at the critical moment, when, in terror, he seemed to feel a hand upon his collar. The outgrowing, straggling roots of a tree tripped the foot of the trooper, and he flew, with a dire crash, to the ground. The fall was so violent that he lay for a few seconds stunned. When he picked himself up, the whole of the flying vagabonds had disappeared among the gloomy boles, like water through a sieve, leaving neither trace nor sound behind. He shook himself with a laugh, and gathering up his brazen helmet, walked back to the road. Some others of the troop were here dismounted, using their best efforts to revive the unconscious Fabricius. Flasks were produced; wine and water were poured into his mouth and rubbed on his temples. The two inanimate slaves were laid side by side until a helmet full of water could be brought from a neighbouring fountain to be dashed upon them.
The soldier we have particularised knelt down beside the prostrate Fabricius. ‘Is he badly hurt?’ he asked.
‘It is hard to say, Centurion; but, dead or not, it is a man of the Senate,’ replied the comrade, who was bathing the old man’s forehead.
‘Humph!’ said the Centurion, ‘is, or was, rather—he wears only the narrow band. However, he is worth the trouble of a few minutes. Do your best. Do you object to wait for a brief time, Drusus?’