They took the shortest way to the high-priest’s residence—along the foot of the Capitoline and across the Forum. The people crowded round them from all sides, for the rumor of Quintus’ arrest had long since spread into the remotest quarters of the city. Now, every one wanted to see the illustrious father, who had been to fetch his son out of the depths of the Tullianum. The little procession could hardly get along. Even the lictor, who marched before the high-priest and the soldiers of the guard were powerless. A hundred voices at once shouted their comments on the unwonted sight.
“He plotted against the Caesar’s life,” said a rough voice in the background.
“Nonsense—he is one of Caesar’s friends.”
“He was in the quarry with the Nazarenes.”
“He kissed the cross.”
“He is condemned to death.”
“It was his own father that made the law.”
“But see; it is his father, who is setting him at liberty.”
“That is just the way of the world.”
“True enough. Laws are only made for slaves and beggars! They take things easier at home.”