“Insolent knave!” he exclaimed in well-feigned indignation: “Would you dare to touch Quintus Claudius?” And seizing the astonished man by the wrist he flung him violently from him. Meanwhile the others had come up. Quintus still barred the way simply by standing there. The band of men looked doubtfully now at the young nobleman, and then at their comrade, who got up, grumbling, from the stones. Thus a precious moment was gained. At last Quintus thought it as well to understand the situation.
“Idiots!” he exclaimed. “Why did you not explain at once what you wanted?—instead of that, you storm and rave like madmen....” And he stood aside.
The pursuers rushed by him in breathless fury.
“On with you!” he said to himself, as he looked after the armed men. “But unless I have reckoned very badly, the game has this time escaped the hunters.”
Quintus found the company in the greatest excitement; they were standing in agitated knots vehemently discussing something; uncertainty, alarm, and consternation were visible in all. The only man who appeared altogether calm and indifferent was Stephanus, haggard and diplomatically reserved. He was sitting apart, not far from the spot where the avenue by which Quintus returned, opened on to the terrace. A man of athletic build was lying on the ground, bleeding from numerous wounds; in his right hand he held the hilt of a broken sword and his left was pressed in speechless anguish to his breast, where the enemy’s blade had pierced him. Five or six slaves, who had carried him hither, were standing round him with expressive gestures, while Stephanus was making a pitiable abortive attempt to cross-examine the dying man. At about forty paces farther away four slaves, fearfully injured, were lying in their blood. One had had his skull cleft to the neck, and the others were covered with hideous and gaping wounds. All four were dead.
On the spot too, where just now the curtain of gold-tissue had waved, there was the greatest confusion. The curtain[180] had been lowered—the fanciful decorations of one side had been overthrown and nearly half-burnt, while hammers, nails, ropes, fragments of dresses, and rubbish of every kind strewed the stage. In the midst of this hideous disorder a tall cross[181] stood upright.
It was some time before Quintus could get any connected account of what had happened; at first ten voices were raised at once to their highest pitch of explanation. Lycoris was sulky and peevish, because the best effect of her whole programme had been spoilt. Her friend Leaina, on the contrary, swore by Hercules that Quintus had lost the finest sight in the world. His wily acquaintance Clodianus, who took every opportunity of assuming airs of frank bluntness, railed in threatening bass tones at the audacity of the rascals, and others wandered off into questions, so that Quintus at last lost patience. He went to the captain of the Praetorian guard, took him by the arm, and asked almost angrily:
“Norbanus, will you tell me in plain words? I was absent, in the remotest part of the wood, and on my return I find a perfect chaos. What does it all mean?”
“It means one more sign of the times. Rome is become a perfect Vesuvius; there are rumblings and mutterings on every side and in every corner. What do you think? We were sitting here very contentedly on the garden seats, enjoying the pleasures of digestion. Well, I was just wondering to myself what this Massilian bay mare could still have in reserve, and somewhat excited with curiosity, when the curtain was lowered. A grand burst of music! and a fellow dressed in scarlet came to the front and informed us in well-turned trimeters,[182] that a devilish funny piece was about to be performed, the capital punishment of a criminal slave[183] named Eurymachus....”