Cleomenes had been again upon the housetop to watch the progress of the fire.  He came down, and Drusus instantly saw that there was dismay written on his face.  The merchant, who was himself armed with sword and target, drew the officer aside and whispered:—­

“Pray, Roman, to all your native gods!  I can see a lochos[184] of regular troops filing into the square before the house.  Achillas is entering the city with his men.  We shall have to fight our way through his thousands.”

  [184] A company of about one hundred men.

Drusus uttered a deep and silent curse on himself for the mad bravado that led him to leave the palace with but thirty men; why had he not waited to assemble more?  He could ride over the mob; to master Achillas’s disciplined forces was otherwise.

A freedman came running down from the roof, crying out that it was already on fire.  It was a time for action, not thought, yet even at the moment Drusus’s schoolboy Polybius was running through his mind—­the description of the great riot when Agathocles, the wicked regent of Ptolemaeus Philopator, and his sister Agathocleia, and his mother Oenanthe, had been seized by the multitude and torn in pieces, bit by bit, while yet they lived.  Cornelia seemed to have caught some new cause for fear; she was trembling and shivering when Drusus took her in his arms and swung her into the chariot.  He lifted in Fabia likewise, but the Vestal only bowed her head in calm silence.  She had overheard Cleomenes’s tidings, but, by stress of all the force of her strong nature, remained composed.  Decimus Mamercus took Artemisia, frightened and crying, into his own chariot.  Monime, Berenice, and their father were to go in the other cars.  The fire was gaining on the roof, smoke was pouring down into the court-yard, and now and then a gleam came from a firebrand.  The horses were growing restive and frightened.

“Throw open the gate!” commanded Drusus; his anxieties and despair were driving him almost to frenzy, but the gods, if gods there were, knew that it was not for himself that he was fearful.  His voice sounded hollow in his throat; he would have given a talent of gold for a draught of water.  One of his men flung back the gateway, and in at the entrance came the glare of great bonfires lighted in the streets, of hundreds of tossing torches.  The yelling of the multitude was louder than ever.  There it was, packed thick on all sides:  in its midst Drusus could see bright lines of tossing steel—­the armour of Achillas’s soldiery!  As the portal opened, a mighty howl of triumph burst from the people; the fire had driven forth to the mob its prey.  Cornelia heard the howl—­the voice of a wild and raging beast—­and trembled more.

“Cornelia,” said Drusus, lowering his head so as to make himself heard, “do not look above the framework of the chariot.  Cling to it tightly, for we may have to pass over obstacles.  Above all, do not spring out, however much we may be swayed and shaken.”