“Row,” he exhorted his companions, “row! as life is dear!  Row as never before!”

And under the combined impulse of the three desperate men, even the heavy barge leaped forward and a little eddy of foaming waves began to trail behind her stern.  Drusus had no time to ask of himself or Antonius the special object of this last burst of speed.  He only knew that he was flinging every pound of strength into the heavy handle of his oar, and that his life depended on making the broad blade push back the water as rapidly as possible.  Antonius, however, had had good cause for his command.  A searching scrutiny had revealed to him that a single very long warehouse ran clear down to the river’s edge, and so made it impossible to continue running along the bank.  A pursuer must double around the whole length of the building before continuing the chase of the barge.  And for a small quay just beyond this warehouse Antonius headed his clumsy vessel.  The soldiers continued their chase up to the very walls of the warehouse, where they, of a sudden, found themselves stopped by an impenetrable barrier.  They lost an instant of valuable time in trying to wade along the bank, where the channel shelved off rapidly, and, finding the attempt useless, dashed a volley of their missiles after the barge.  But the range was very long.  Few reached the vessel; none did damage.  The soldiers disappeared behind the warehouse, still running at a headlong pace.  Before they reappeared on the other side, Antonius had brought his craft to the quay.  There was no time for mooring, and the instant the barge lost way the hard-pressed Caesarians were on shore.  Another instant, and the clumsy vessel had been caught by the current, and swung out into the stream.

She had done her work.  The pursued men broke into a dash for the nearest highway.  The soldiers were close after them.  But they had flung away their javelins, and what with their heavy armour and the fatigue of running were quite as exhausted as the Caesarians, three of whom had been thoroughly winded by their desperate rowing.  On the Pons Sublicius, where a great crowd had gathered to watch the exciting chase, there was shouting and tumult.  No doubt voices few enough would have been raised for the Caesarians if they had been captured; but now that they bade fair to escape, the air was thick with gibes at the soldiers, and cries of encouragement to the pursued.  On the two parties ran.  Soon they were plunged in the tortuous, dirty lanes of the “Trans-Tiber” district, rushing at frantic speed past the shops of dirty Jews and the taverns of noisy fishermen and sailors.  Already news of the chase had gone before them, and, as Drusus followed his friends under the half-arching shadows of the tall tenement houses, drunken pedlers and ribald women howled out their wishes of success, precisely as though they were in a race-course.  Now the dirty streets were left behind and the fatigued runners panted up the slopes of the Janiculum, toward the gardens of Caesar.  They passed the little grove sacred to the Furies, and, even as for life he ran, Drusus recalled with shame how over this very road to this very grove, had fled Caius Gracchus, the great tribune of the people, whom Drusus’s own great grandfather, Marcus Livius Drusus, had hounded to his death; that day when all men encouraged him as he ran, but none would raise a hand to aid.