In spite of these precautions they kept on the alert. At about half a mile outside Rome, Clodianus and Parthenius joined the force, as had been agreed, and the soldiers halted for a moment. The conspirators greeted each other warmly. Still, it was only with a determined effort, that Aurelius could find a civil word for the chamberlain, for whom he had always felt a deep aversion, and who, even now, impressed him as odious and repulsive. The loud bluntness of Clodianus, on the contrary, who harangued at some length about freedom and patriotism, he felt had the ring of genuine coin. “I received your father’s last message,” said Parthenius to the young captain. “Well, I must submit. A woman on the throne of the Caesars seems to you dangerous, and still more so Cornelius Cinna’s scheme of re-establishing the Republic. Your father’s arguments have, on the whole, convinced me, so we will agree.--Your candidate is also mine.” “You have our thanks,” replied the Propraetor’s son. “Our troops are already informed as to the work in hand. Nerva’s name has been mentioned in the ranks, more than once. You will see, my noble friend, that only a spark is needed to fire their faithful hearts.” He turned his horse, and faced the troops. “Men,” he cried in a voice of thunder: “Your Caesar is Marcus Cocceius Nerva!” “Nerva!” was shouted by a thousand voices. “Down with Domitian! Long live Nerva _Imperator_!” The scattered natives, that dwelt near the high-road, might start from their sleep in astonishment at this rolling peal of shouts, and ask themselves what such a roar of voices could mean. But seeing presently that these were armed cohorts, marching in close order on Rome, they no doubt crept back under their coverlets with a shake of the head, and the time-honored comment that the soldiery were allowed to do just what they pleased,[169] even to rouse the peaceful peasant from his dreams. The cohorts themselves set out again with a will, and soon reached the western slope of the Janiculum, where, thanks to Clodianus' cautious foresight, no obstacle stood in their way. Quintus and Cornelia, meanwhile, were enduring a terrible night. After the unhoped-for issue of that first combat, they had been led back into the underground vault, and there they were left--either for convenience sake, or for fear lest the populace should give too emphatic expression to its sympathy, if the prisoners should be seen on the way back to the Mamertine prisons. A few rugs were flung on the stone pavement, and a man at arms was posted in the cell, while two more guarded the door outside. No one thought of giving the exhausted wretches food or drink, for their being yet alive was no part of the programme, and the master of the festival had too important business on hand, to trouble himself as to die fate of two “postponed” victims.