highways anywhere near an important Roman city could you go far without meeting a merchant with his slaves and his bales; a keen-eyed pedlar—­probably a Jew—­carrying his pack; a troupe of actors or tumblers; a body of gladiators being taken to fight in the amphitheatre or market-place of some provincial town; an unemployed philosopher gazing sternly over his long beard; a regiment of foot-soldiers or a squadron of cavalry on the move; a horseman scouring along with a despatch of the emperor or the senate; a casual traveller coming at a lively trot in his hired gig; a couple of ladies carefully protecting their complexions from sun and dust as they rode in a kind of covered wagonette; a pair of scarlet-clad outriders preceding a gorgeous but rumbling coach, in which a Roman noble or plutocrat is idly lounging, reading, dictating to his shorthand amanuensis, or playing dice with a friend; a dashing youth driving his own chariot in professional style to the disgust of the sober-minded; a languid matron lolling in a litter carried by six tall, bright-liveried Cappadocians; a peasant on his way to town with his waggon-load of produce and cruelly belabouring his mule.  If you are very fortunate you may meet Nero himself on one of his imperial progresses.  If so, you had better stand aside and wait.  It will take him a long time to pass; or, if this is one of his more serious undertakings, there will be a thousand carriages, many of them resplendent with gold and silver ornament in relief upon the woodwork, and drawn by horses or mules whose bridles are gleaming with gold.  And, if the beautiful and conscienceless Poppaea is with him, there may be a Procession of some five hundred asses, whose it is to supply her with the milk in which she bathes for the preservation of her admirable velvety skin.

There are, of course, many other individuals and types to be met with.  If you happen to be traversing certain parts of Spain, the mountains of Greece, the southern provinces of Asia Minor, or the upper parts of Egypt, you will perhaps also meet with a bandit, or even with a band of them.  In that case, prepare for the worst.  Some of the gang have been caught and crucified:  you may have passed the crosses upon your way.  This does not render the rest more amiable.  St. Paul takes it as natural to be thus “in peril of robbers.”  Perhaps certain regions of Italy itself were as dangerous as any.  We have more than one account of a traveller who was last seen at such-and-such a place, and was never heard of again.  It is therefore well, before undertaking a journey through suspected parts, to ascertain whether any one else is going that way.  There is sure to be either an official with a military escort or some other traveller with a retinue; at least there will be some trusty man bearing letters, or some sturdy fellow whom you can hire expressly to accompany you.

After allowing for this occasional embarrassment—­which was certainly not greater and almost certainly very much less than you would have encountered in the same parts of the world a century ago—­it must be declared that, on the whole, travel by land in the Roman world of the year 64 was remarkably safe.  If it was not very expeditious, it was probably on the average quite as much so as in the eighteenth century.