Clodius plunged his hand into his bosom, and drew a little dagger, the faithful companion of many desperate adventures.
“Oh, Gods! he will be murdered!” cried Zoe.
The whole throng of revellers was in agitation. The street fluctuated with torches and lifted hands. It was but for a moment. Cæsar watched with a steady eye the descending hand of Clodius, arrested the blow, seized his antagonist by the throat, and flung him against one of the pillars of the portico with such violence that he rolled, stunned and senseless, on the ground.
“He is killed,” cried several voices.
“Fair self-defence, by Hercules!” said Marcus Colius. “Bear witness, you all saw him draw his dagger.”
“He is not dead—he breathes,” said Ligarius. “Carry him into the house; he is dreadfully bruised.”
The rest of the party retired with Clodius. Colius turned to Cæsar.
“By all the Gods, Caius! you have won your (1) Cic. in Pis. lady fairly. A splendid victory! You deserve a triumph.”
“What a madman Clodius has become!”
“Intolerable. But come and sup with me on the Nones. You have no objection to meet the Consul?”