ius, and after him
Caelius. Before Drusus could follow, however, the stern of the barge
had vanished under the archway. The lictors and soldiers had sprung
forward, but a second had been lost by rushing to the eastern side of
the bridge, where the barge had just disappeared from sight. Agias,
Antonius, and Drusus were already standing on the western parapet. The
lictors and soldiers were on them in an instant. The blow of one of
the fasces smote down Antonius, but he fell directly into the vessel
beneath--stunned but safe. A soldier caught Agias by the leg to drag
him down. Drusus smote the man under the ear so that he fell without a
groan; but Agias himself had been thrown from the parapet on to the
bridge; the soldiers were thronging around. Drusus saw the naked steel
of their swords flashing before his eyes; he knew that the barge was
slipping away in the current. It was a time of seconds, but of seconds
expanded for him into eternities. With one arm he dashed back a
lictor, with the other cast Agias--he never knew whence came that
strength which enabled him to do the feat--over the stonework, and
into the arms of Curio in the receding boat. Then he himself leaped. A
rude hand caught his cloak. It was torn from his back. A sword whisked
past his head--he never learned how closely. He was in the air, saw
that the barge was getting away, and next he was chilled by a sudden
dash of water and Caelius was dragging him aboard; he had landed under
the very stern of the barge. Struggling in the water, weighed down by
their armour, were several soldiers who had leaped after him and had
missed their distance completely.

The young man clambered on to the rude vessel. Its crew (two simple,
harmless peasants) were cowering among the lumber. Curio had seized
one of the paddles and was guiding the craft out into the middle of
the current; for the soldiers were already running along the wharves
and preparing to fling their darts. The other men, who had just been
plucked out of the jaws of destruction, were all engaged in collecting
their more or less scattered wits and trying to discover the next turn
of calamity in store. Antonius--who, despite his fall, had come down
upon a coil of rope and so escaped broken bones and serious
bruises--was the first to sense the great peril of even their present
situation.

"In a few moments," he remarked, casting a glance down the river, "we
shall be under the Pons Sublicius, and we shall eithe