Quintus, who was likewise armed, grasped his sword-hilt convulsively. He glanced round at the little congregation; the fight would be too unequal, simply ridiculous, but he felt he must attempt it. His sword flashed from its sheath; but at that instant Antinous sprang upon him from one side and, with the strength of desperation, clutched his right arm. Before Quintus could shake him off he was surrounded by soldiers, his weapon was wrenched from him, and six or eight sinewy hands held his arms and shoulders with the grip of a vice. The centurion came up to him with his sword point downwards.
“My lord,” he said, “you see—resistance is hopeless.”
“What do you want of us?” asked Quintus, with a defiant sparkle in his glance.
“My lord, you know.”
“And do you know me?”
“Who that lives in Rome, can fail to know the son of Titus Claudius?”
“Well—and yet you seize me as if I were a thief?”
“I am doing my duty—I am seeking the Nazarenes.”
“And you have found them!” exclaimed Antinous, still breathless from his exertions.
“Who is this boy?” asked Quintus, with a feeling of unutterable loathing.