“What do I care? the road is for every one.”
“Certainly—for all alike. Let those who want to go on, get out and walk if the crowd is too great; it is only a hundred steps to the chariots.”
“Aye, get out!” cried a chorus. “We have as good a right to be here as our betters. Get out! Get out!”
The mob closed upon them threateningly from both sides; Quintus Claudius turned pale. If he could not succeed in scaring off the people, and if this irresponsible populace insisted on having their own way, all must be lost. The lame foot of the pretended seaman must inevitably attract the attention and rouse the suspicion of a rabble, whose heads were full of the notice and description before them—discovery was inevitable.
With a leap Quintus Claudius was standing on his feet, and went forward with calm dignity to face the tumult.
“What do you want?” he asked sternly. “Why do you dare to stop the public way?”
His cool self-possession worked wonders—their noisy audacity was quelled.
“Make way,” continued Claudius, while a faint flush rose to his brow. “I, Quintus Claudius, the friend of Caesar, command you.”
“Not Caesar himself would let our ribs be battered,” shrieked a croaking voice.
But the excuse came too late. Whether it was Caesar’s name, or the imposing and attractive presence of the young patrician, who stood unapproachable as an avenging Apollo, looking calmly on the tumult of his antagonists—the crowd parted with a dull murmur, and the road was free. Quintus and Aurelius had some difficulty in dissembling their joy.