‘Save me from those wretches!’ pointing to the monks, who were peeping into the doorway.
Wulf seemed to understand it all in a moment; for, snatching up a heavy whip, he rushed at the foe, and with a few tremendous strokes cleared the doorway, and shut-to the door.
Philammon was going to explain and thank, but Smid stopped his mouth.
‘Never mind, young one, you are our guest now. Come in, and you shall be as welcome as ever. See what comes of running away from us at first.’
‘You do not seem to have benefited much by leaving me for the monks,’ said old Wulf. ‘Come in by the inner door. Smid! go and turn those monks out of the gateway.’
But the mob, after battering the door for a few minutes, had yielded to the agonised entreaties of Peter, who assured them that if those incarnate fiends once broke out upon them, they would not leave a Christian alive in Alexandria. So it was agreed to leave a few to watch for Philammon’s coming out; and the rest, balked of their prey, turned the tide of their wrath against the Prefect, and rejoined the mass of their party, who were still hanging round his chariot, ready for mischief.
In vain the hapless shepherd of the people attempted to drive on. The apparitors were frightened and hung back; and without their help it was impossible to force the horses through the mass of tossing arms and beards in front. The matter was evidently growing serious.
‘The bitterest ruffians in all Nitria, your Excellency,’ whispered one of the guards, with a pale face; ‘and two hundred of them at the least. The very same set, I will be sworn, who nearly murdered Dioscuros.’
‘If you will not allow me to proceed, my holy brethren,’ said Orestes, trying to look collected, ‘perhaps it will not be contrary to the canons of the Church if I turn back. Leave the horses’ heads alone. Why, in God’s name, what do you want?’
‘Do you fancy we have forgotten Hieracas?’ cried a voice from the rear; and at that name, yell upon yell arose, till the mob, gaining courage from its own noise, burst out into open threats. ‘Revenge for the blessed martyr Hieracas!’ ‘Revenge for the wrongs of the Church!’ ‘Down with the friend of Heathens, Jews, and Barbarians!’ ‘Down with the favourite of Hypatia!’ ‘Tyrant!’ ‘Butcher!’ And the last epithet so smote the delicate fancy of the crowd, that a general cry arose of ‘Kill the butcher!’ and one furious monk attempted to clamber into the chariot. An apparitor tore him down, and was dragged to the ground in his turn. The monks closed in. The guards, finding the enemy number ten to their one, threw down their weapons in a panic, and vanished; and in another minute the hopes of Hypatia and the gods would have been lost for ever, and Alexandria robbed of the blessing of being ruled by the most finished gentleman south of the Mediterranean, had it not been for unexpected succour; of which it will be time enough, considering who and what is in danger, to speak in a future chapter.