“O gods,” said Nero, “what a night!” On one side a fire, on the other a raging sea of people. And he fell to seeking expressions the most splendid to describe the danger of the moment, but, seeing around him alarmed looks and pale faces, he was frightened, with the others.
“Give me my dark mantle with a hood!” cried he; “must it come really to battle?”
“Lord,” said Tigellinus, in an uncertain voice, “I have done what I could, but danger is threatening. Speak, O lord, to the people, and make them promises.”
“Shall Cæsar speak to the rabble? Let another do that in my name. Who will undertake it?”
“I!” answered Petronius, calmly.
“Go, my friend; thou art most faithful to me in every necessity. Go, and spare no promises.”
Petronius turned to the retinue with a careless, sarcastic expression,—
“Senators here present, also Piso, Nerva, and Senecio, follow me.”
Then he descended the aqueduct slowly. Those whom he had summoned followed, not without hesitation, but with a certain confidence which his calmness had given them. Petronius, halting at the foot of the arches, gave command to bring him a white horse, and, mounting, rode on, at the head of the cavalcade, between the deep ranks of pretorians, to the black, howling multitude; he was unarmed, having only a slender ivory cane which he carried habitually.
When he had ridden up, he pushed his horse into the throng. All around, visible in the light of the burning, were upraised hands, armed with every manner of weapon, inflamed eyes, sweating faces, bellowing and foaming lips. A mad sea of people surrounded him and his attendants; round about was a sea of heads, moving, roaring, dreadful.