“Hold your tongue. I am here in the name of the city-prefect.” “And what do you want with me?” “That you shall soon know. Open the door, or by Jupiter...!” “Very good, I will open it.” He went forward and took hold of the bolt; as he did so he heard that some of the men outside were on horseback; this discovery chilled his blood and almost paralyzed him. He stood motionless with his hand on the bolt, which he had half thrust out of the staple. Just then a shrill whistle from the atrium reached his ear; it gave him new life. “In a minute--directly,” he shouted to the men, who were again rattling at the door with their spears and swords. “This bar sticks--I will call the slaves.” With these words he flew into the garden, where Magus, who had whistled in the corridor between the atrium and the peristyle, was in the act of mounting his horse. Aurelius flung himself into the saddle; the side gate was open. Herodianus went forward slowly on the Cappadocian, which, since his misadventure in the Field of Mars, he had ridden pretty constantly. Aurelius followed on his often-proved Andalusian, and Magus came last. Hardly had the slave come through the gate, when the master’s steed started and pricked his ears in alarm; at the same time they heard distant hoofs. “They are riding round the hill,” said the freedman. “Then we must turn to the left, towards the Porta Asinaria,” cried Aurelius. “Hurry! We are riding for our lives.” The horses rushed on like the wind. The neighborhood in which they found themselves, south of the Caelian, was a very quiet one, and the few passers-by, men on foot and chiefly of the lowest class, made way in astonishment for the cavalcade that stormed by. In a few minutes they were outside the walls of the city. The night was bright and starry, and Magus, looking round as they turned a corner, could plainly see, at about three hundred paces behind them, a troop of horsemen pursuing them at full gallop. “One, two--four--six,” he said to himself. Then he laid his hand on his sword-hilt and struck spurs into his horse, which had fallen a little behind. “Curse them!” said Aurelius. “We are going far out of our way; the nearest road is by Ardea.” Magus looked once more through the darkness and his keen eyes, accustomed to the gloomy nights of the northern seas, presently detected a cross-road at five or six hundred paces to the south-east and cutting across the plain to join the Appian and Ardeatinian Ways. He pointed it out to his master. “Very good; let us try it.” The spot indicated by the Goth was reached in a minute. The horses heads were abruptly turned and they made a good pace across the open country, along an unpaved bridle-path. The hoofs of the pursuers rang out through the silent night--suddenly they ceased. The pursuers too had reached the turning into the crossroad. “They ride like the Walküre!” exclaimed the Goth.