In the immediate neighbourhood of the palace there prevailed an ominous silence.  Earlier in the night a few cohorts had charged out and scattered the street rabble; and the mob had kept at a distance.  There was no light save that of the moon and the distant glow of the burning buildings.  Drusus felt his breath coming thick and fast, the drops of sweat were hanging on his forehead, something within was driving his heart into his throat.  “If—­” he never went further; unless he brought Cornelia and Fabia back to the palace unscathed, he knew the Alexandrian rabble would howl over his unconscious body.

“Ride!” he commanded, as if the rush of the chariots and horses would drown the fears that nearly drove him frantic.  “Ride!”

The drivers lashed the teams, the horsemen pricked with the spur.  Drusus caught the reins from his chariot companion, and swung the lash himself over the four steeds.  Faster and faster they flew down the splendidly paved and built highways.  Temples and majestic public buildings rose in sombre grandeur above their heads; above them winged “Victories” seemed springing up into dark void, their sculptured symmetries just visible in the moonlight.  On and on, swift and more swift—­persons began shouting from the buildings which they passed, now a few voices, now many, now a hundred.  A volley of stones was dashed down from the safe recesses of the pillars at the head of the long flight of steps leading up to a temple.  Presently an arrow whirred over Drusus’s head and smote on the masonry across the street.  There were lights ahead—­scores of torches waving—­a small building was on fire; the glare grew redder and brighter every instant; and a din, a din lifted by ten thousand men when their brute instincts are enkindled, grew and grew.  Drusus dashed the cold sweat from his brow, his hand was trembling.  He had a quiver and bow in the chariot,—­a powerful Parthian bow, and the arrows were abundant.  Mamercus had taught him to be a good archer, as a boy.  Could he turn his old skill to account?  Not unless his hand became more steady.

Women screamed out at him and his band from the house roofs; a tile struck one of the chariot horses and made it plunge wildly; Drusus flung his strength into the reins, and curbed in the raging beast; he tossed the lines back to his driver and tore the bow from its casings.  His car had rushed on ahead of Decimus Mamercus and the rest; two furlongs more would bring him to the house of Cleomenes on one of the squares of the city.  The chariot swung around a street corner for the final stretch, the way was broad, the buildings on either side (the residences of the Alexandrian gentry) high; but the whole street from wall to wall was a seething mass of human forms.  The fire was spreading; the brightening flames shone down on the tossing, howling multitude—­excited Egyptians from the quarter of Rhacotis, frenzied Asiatics in their turbans, mad sailors from the Eunostian port