Claudia squeezed her saucy sister’s arm, for the rider, who came galloping towards them, was none other than Caius Aurelius. By his side rode Herodianus, rather roughly exercised on a tall, high-stepping steed; his empurpled face betrayed but little liking for the performance. Aurelius, by contrast, looked all the more radiant, guiding his noble horse as if it were child’s-play among the throng of vehicles, and enjoying to the utmost the sense of power and security.
He now caught sight of Claudia, and the blood mounted to his brow. He was so much occupied in looking at the two girls, to whom he bowed in agitated confusion, that he did not notice, that one of the very small horses, called by the Romans "mannie,"[318] was rushing towards him like an arrow. Its rider, a boy of about twelve, tried to turn the pony’s head, but not soon enough to avoid the grey, which tossed its head aside. So the pony’s mane just tickled the horse’s lower jaw, and the boy only escaped a violent collision by ducking widely on one side. The Batavian’s horse, at all times an irritable beast, gave an ominous snort, and reared straight up, trembling in every muscle, and in the next instant would inevitably have fallen backwards if Quintus had not made a bold leap over the brushwood, seized the horse by the bridle, and after a short struggle brought him to a stand-still on all fours again. Herodianus, meanwhile, who was frightened out of his senses, was thrown up from his saddle by a sudden spring of his steed, and reseated in front of it; he threw his arms round the beast’s neck, and remained a comical picture of woe. After Quintus had quieted the Batavian’s excited grey, he came to the freedman’s help.
“By Jove the avenger!” cried Herodianus, shuffling back into his saddle with much difficulty, “this wild horse of the Sun[319] was within a hair’s breadth of trampling me under his hoofs. Thanks, earnest and warmest thanks, heroic Quintus Claudius! I will drink a dozen bowls to your health this evening.”
“I have to thank you too,” said Aurelius with feeling. “If it is ever in my power to render you such a service....”
“By all the gods!” said Quintus. “It might be supposed....”
“Nay, but I saw how close my horse’s hoofs were to your head.”
“Really? However, do you know who the little dare-devil was who shot by you at such a pace? That was Burrhus, the son of Parthenius;[320] a scatter-brained little rascal. He inherits it from his mother.”
“Burrhus?—the boy that Martial praises so extravagantly?”
“The very same. He flatters the son, and so touches the father.”
“Well, if he hears that Burrhus nearly rode me down, it may perhaps afford him materials for fresh adulation. I, at any rate, have reason to be glad that his heroic attempt was not altogether successful; that I owe to you, my valiant and fearless friend! As I say, if ever you are in a position....”