“I do not wholly trust this man,” said Baudillas. “He was expelled for misconduct. Yet, what can we do? Time presses! Hark!—in a brief space the rabble will be here. Next house is a common lodging and will not detain them. Would that Marcianus had remained. He could have advised us. Madam, act as you think best.”
“The mob is on the move,” said Pedo. “They have been satisfied at the house of Dulcius Liber, and now Septimus Philadelphus is bringing out half-a-dozen gods. Master—there is not a moment to be lost.”
“Let us fly—quick!” gasped Quincta.
She plucked her daughter’s arm, and fairly dragged her along the passage out of the house.
In the street they saw a flare. The rabble, held in control by some directing spirit, was furnished with torches. It was roaring outside a house, impatient because no statue was produced, and proceeded to throw stones and batter the door.
“That house is empty,” whispered Pedo. “The master was bankrupt and everything sold. There is not a person in it.”
Quincta mounted the lectica or palanquin that was offered, without looking whether her daughter were safe, and allowed the bearers, nay urged them, to start at a trot.
Tarsius remained behind. He handed Perpetua into the second closed litter, then gave the word, and ran beside it, holding the curtains together with one hand.
Baudillas trembling for himself was now left alone.