In five minutes the Metapontine trader’s steed stood saddled and bridled at the door. It was a small, square-set brute, but strong. The soldier mounted, desired his men to await his return, and set off at a round pace.
Shortly before reaching Antium he met two riderless horses, one of which he at once recognized as that of his wounded comrade. There could no longer be a doubt; the fugitives were trusting to the sea. With renewed energy he struck spurs into his horse, and had soon got over the few hundred paces, that still lay between him and the harbor. Here, however, there was nothing to be seen or heard. He rode all round the bay and back again, keeping a sharp lookout. The ships lay motionless by the mole—the barges and shore-boats in the middle, farther out the larger merchant-vessels, and away to the left the imperial trireme, which through the summer months had cruised in search of pirates about the coasts of Egypt and Cyrenaica.[71] All was as silent as the dead, excepting when, now and then, the night-breeze whistled through the cordage.
Then he stopped awhile, and gazed out to sea—not a speck was to be seen on the starlit expanse so far as the eye could reach. He was beginning to think that he had been wrong in his calculations, and was about to take his way back again in a very provoked frame of mind, when an unhoped-for incident arrested him in the very act. Was it the uncertain twilight that cheated his sight? The large barque at the farthest end of the harbor seemed to be slowly moving, and then he heard the distant stroke of oars. At the same moment he sprang from his saddle, and thundered with a powerful fist at the door of the nearest house.
“A boat!” he shouted as the bewildered door-keeper opened to him. “In the name of the city-prefect I must row at once to the imperial guard-ship.”
“My lord, you are under a mistake,” said the slave not very civilly. “We are neither boat-keepers nor oarsmen. Euterpius lives here, the harbor-master.”
“So much the better. Take me to your master immediately, if you want to keep your head on your shoulders, fellow.”
Such a mode of address admitted of no denial; the harbor-master himself understood that the case was no common one, and in ten minutes he and the soldier were seated side by side in a light boat. They soon reached the imperial trireme, which at once took them on board, and the soldier explained in breathless haste how matters stood. The captain of the ship, a man of prompt determination, at once gave orders for sailing after the fugitives. While the soldiers made ready for a fight, the sailors weighed anchor and hauled in the chains. The oarsmen took their seats, the coxswain’s hammer gave the stroke, and they were off in chase.
The Batavian’s trireme had a good start; it was now but a speck, motionless as it seemed, on the north-western horizon.
It was not till nearly an hour later, that any one discovered on board the Batavia that they were being chased, and it was Magus’ eagle eye that made the unpleasant discovery. Keeping a bright lookout landward from the stern, he perceived that a dark object, which he at first thought to be part of the buildings above the harbor, was a vessel in motion. Its starting at so unusual an hour, and still more, the direction it was taking, roused his suspicions. Magus confessed his fears to Caius Aurelius, and, in the dawn which was now breaking, his master saw clearly the danger of their position. The conspirators—who after exchanging greetings had separated, some to rest, and some, wrapped in cloaks, like Aurelius himself, to pace the deck—were soon assembled to hold council in that centre-cabin, which, to Aurelius, had a peculiar sanctity, as having been the scene of his first meeting with Claudia. The steersman was called in, and Magus remained on deck to find out what more he might.
“Forgive me,” the Batavian began, “for having, under stress of circumstances, disturbed your slumbers. You have heard of the new danger which threatens us. It is a trireme, and, to judge from the speed she is making, well manned.”