But now up from the bridge came the thunder of horses’ hoofs,—­cavalry, tearing at a furious gallop.  Pompeius had evidently ordered out a turma[150] of mounted men to chase down the runaways.  More and more frantic the race—­Drusus’s tongue hung from his mouth like a dog’s.  He flew past a running fountain, and was just desperate enough to wonder if it was safe to stop one instant and touch—­he would not ask to drink—­one drop of the cool water.  Fortunately the Caesarians were all active young men, of about equal physical powers, and they kept well together and encouraged one another, not by word—­they had no breath for that—­but by interchange of courage and sympathy from eye to eye.  The heavy legionaries had given up the chase; it was the cavalry, now flying almost at their very heels, that urged them to their final burst of speed.

  [150] Squadron of 30 horse.

At last!  Here were the gardens of Caesar, and close by the roadway under a spreading oak, their grooms holding them in readiness for instant service, were six of the best specimens of horseflesh money could command.

None of the little party had breath left to speak a word.  To fling themselves into the saddles, to snatch the reins from the attendants’ hands, to plunge the heels of their sandals, in lieu of spurs, into the flanks of their already restless steeds,—­these things were done in an instant, but none too soon.  For, almost as the six riders turned out upon the road to give head to their horses, the cavalry were upon them.  The foremost rider sent his lance over Curio’s shoulder, grazing the skin and starting blood; a second struck with his short sword at Caelius’s steed, but the horse shied, and before the blow could be repeated the frightened beast had taken a great bound ahead and out of danger.  This exciting phase of the pursuit, however, was of only momentary duration.  The horses of the Caesarians were so incomparably superior to the common army hacks of the soldiers, that, as soon as the noble blooded animals began to stretch their long limbs on the hard Roman road, the troopers dropped back to a harmless distance in the rear.  The cavalrymen’s horses, furthermore, had been thoroughly winded by the fierce gallop over the bridge, and now it was out of the question for them to pursue.  Before the flight had continued a mile, the Caesarians had the satisfaction of seeing their enemies draw rein, then turn back to the city.  The friends, however, did not check their pace until, safe beyond chance of overtaking, they reined in at an hospitable tavern in the old Etruscan town of Veii.

Here Drusus took leave of Agias.

“You are quite too unimportant an enemy,” said he to the young Greek, “to be worth arrest by the consuls, if indeed they know what part you have had in our escape.  I know not what perils are before me, and I have no right to ask you to share them.  You have long ago paid off any debt of gratitude that you owed me and mine when Fabia saved your life.  I am your patron no longer; go, and live honourably, and you will find deposited with Flaccus a sum that will provide for all your needs.  If ever I return to Rome, my party victorious, myself in favour, then let us renew our friendship; but till then you and I meet no more.”