“I must!” screamed Chloe.  And, violating every law of subordination and decorum, she threw open the door.

Cappadox flew to eject her, but Chloe’s quick tongue did its work.

“A lad who calls himself Agias is chained in the ergastulum.  He says some gladiators are going to attack the house, and will be here in a moment!  Oh, I am so frightened!” and the poor girl threw her mantle over her head, and began to whimper and sob.

“Agias!” shouted Drusus, at the top of his voice.  “In the ergastulum? Per deos immortales! What’s this?  Mamercus!  Falto!”

And the young master rushed out of the room, Cappadox, who like lightning had caught up a sword, following him.

Falto came running from the stables; Mamercus from the garden.  Drusus faced his two subordinates, and in an eye’s twinkling had taken in the situation.  Mamercus, who felt within himself that he, by his oversight, had been the chief blunderer, to vent his vexation smote Falto so sound a cuff that the under villicus sprawled his full length.

“Go to the ergastulum and fetch Agias this instant,” cried Drusus, in thundering accents, to the trembling Mago, who had appeared on the scene.

Mago disappeared like magic, but in an instant a din was rising from the front of the house,—­cries, blows, clash of steel.  Into the peristylium, where the angry young master was standing, rushed the old slave woman, Lais.

“Hei! hei!” she screamed, “they are breaking in!  Monsters! a hundred of them!  They will kill us all!”

Drusus grew calm in an instant.

“Barricade the doors to the atrium!” he commanded, “while I can put on my armour.  You, Mamercus, are too old for this kind of work; run and call in the field-hands, the clients, and the neighbours.  Cappadox, Falto, and I can hold the doors till aid comes.”

“I run?” cried the veteran, in hot incredulity, while with his single hand he tore from its stout leather wall-fastenings a shield that had been beaten with Punic swords at the Metaurus.[114] “I run?” he repeated, while a mighty crash told that the front door had given way, and the attackers were pouring into the atrium.  And the veteran had thrust a venerable helmet over his grizzled locks, and was wielding his shield with his handless left arm, while a good Spanish short-sword gleamed in his right hand.

  [114] The great battle won in 207 B.C. over Hasdrubal.

The others had not been idle.  Cappadox had barred both doors leading into the front part of the house.  Drusus had armed, and Falto,—­a more loyal soul than whom lived not,—­burning to retrieve his blunder, had sprung to his patron’s side, also in shield and helm.

“They will soon force these doors,” said Drusus, quietly, growing more composed as closer and closer came the actual danger.  “Falto and I will guard the right.  Cappadox and you, Mamercus, if you will stay, must guard the left.  Some aid must come before a great while.”