A sudden panic seized the assembled multitude; the Reds rushed down from their places into the arena to hear the details and ask questions—­ready to fight for the god or to fly for safety.  In an instant the victor’s chariot was surrounded by an angry mob; Dada clutched it for protection, and Marcus, without pausing to reflect—­indeed hardly master of his own actions—­turned and lifted her into it by his side; then, urging his horses forward, he forced a way through the crowd, past the caiceres.  He glanced anxiously up at the seats but could nowhere see his mother, so he guided the exhausted beasts, steaming with sweat and dappled with foam, through the open gate and out of the circus.  His stable-slaves had run after him; he released himself from the reins on his hips and flung them to the grooms.  Then he helped Dada to leap from the car.

“Will you come with me?” he asked her simply; and the girl’s reply was:  “Wherever you bid me.”

At the news that Serapis was overthrown Dame Mary had started from her seat with eager haste that ill-became her dignity and, under the protection of the body-guard in attendance on Cynegius, had found her way to her litter.

In the Hippodrome the tumult rose to a riot; Reds and Blues rushed from the upper tiers, down the ranks of the podium and into the dusty race-course; falling on each other tooth and nail like wild beasts; and the bloody fray—­no uncommon termination to the day, even in more peaceful times—­lasted till the Imperial soldiery parted the unarmed combatants.

The Bishop was triumphant; his adherents had won the day at every point; nor was he sorry to learn that Olympius, Helladius, Ainmonius and many other spiritual leaders of the heathen world had succeeded in escaping.  They might come back; they might preach and harangue as much as they chose:  their power was broken.  The Church had nothing now to fear from them, and their philosophy and learning would still and always be valuable in the mental training of her priests.

CHAPTER XXVI.

The great Hippodrome of Alexandria was outside the Canopic gate, on the northern side of the road leading to Eleusis which to-day was crowded with passengers, all moving in the same direction.  The tumult roused by the intelligence that Serapis was overthrown made all the more peaceful and peace-loving of the spectators hurry homewards; and as these, for the most part, were of the richer classes, who came and went in litters or chariots, their conveyances left but scanty space on the wide causeway for foot passengers, still, there they were, in considerable numbers, all wending their way towards the city, and the heathen who came rushing towards the Hippodrome behind the first heralds of the disaster, had great difficulty in making their way against the stream.