The Tullianum!  Drusus knew no other term to conjure up a like abode of horrors—­the ancient prison of the city, a mere chamber sunk in the ground, and beneath that a dungeon, accessible only by an opening in the floor above—­where the luckless Jugurtha had perished of cold and starvation, and where Lentulus Sura, Cethegus, and the other lieutenants of Catilina had been garroted, in defiance of all their legal rights, by the arbitrary decree of a rancorous Senate!  So at last the danger had come!  Drusus felt himself quiver at every fibre.  He endured a sensation the like of which he had never felt before—­one of utter moral faintness.  But he steadied himself quickly.  Shame at his own recurring cowardice overmastered him.  “I am an unworthy Livian, indeed,” he muttered, not perhaps realizing that it is far more heroic consciously to confront and receive the full terrors of a peril, and put them by, than to have them harmlessly roll off on some self-acting mental armour.

“Escape!  There is yet time!” urged Agias, pulling his toga.  Drusus shook his head.

“Not until the Senate has set aside the veto of the tribunes,” he replied quietly.

“But the danger will then be imminent!”

“A good soldier does not leave his post, my excellent Agias,” said the Roman, “until duty orders him away.  Our duty is in the Senate until we can by our presence and voice do no more.  When that task is over, we go to Caesar as fast as horse may bear us; but not until then.”

“Then I have warned you all in vain!” cried Agias.

“Not at all.  You may still be of the greatest service.  Arrange so that we can leave Rome the instant we quit the Curia.”

“But if the lictors seize you before you get out of the building?”

“We can only take our chance.  I think we shall be permitted to go out.  I had intended to ride out of the city this evening if nothing hindered and the final vote had been passed.  But now I see that cannot be done.  You have wit and cunning, Agias.  Scheme, provide.  We must escape from Rome at the earliest moment consistent with our duty and honour.”

“I have it,” said Agias, his face lighting up.  “Come at once after leaving the Curia, to the rear of the Temple of Mars.[144] I know one or two of the temple servants, and they will give me the use of their rooms.  There I will have ready some slave dresses for a disguise, and just across the AEmilian bridge I will have some fast horses waiting—­that is, if you can give me an order on your stables.”

  [144] The AEdes Martis of the Campus Martius.

Drusus took off his signet ring.

“Show that to Pausanias.  He will honour every request you make, be it for a million sesterces.”

Agias bowed and was off.  For the last time Drusus was tempted to call him back and say that the flight would begin at once.  But the nimble Greek was already out of sight, and heroism became a necessity.  Drusus resolutely turned his steps toward the senate-house.  Not having been able to forecast the immediate moves of the enemy, he had not arranged for hurried flight; it was to be regretted, although he had known that on that day the end of the crisis would come.  He soon met Antonius, and imparted to him what he had just learned from Agias, and the precautions taken.