All that day the country was in a turmoil.  The Praenestean senate had met in hasty session, and the decurions[118] ordered the entire community under arms to hunt down the disturbers of the peace.  Not until nightfall did Dumnorix and a mere remnant of his band find themselves able, under the shadow of the darkness, to shake off the pursuit.  Gabinius was still with him.  Curio and Antonius had chased them down with their horsemen; many of the gladiators had been slain, many more taken.  For the survivors only the life of outlaws remained.  The fastnesses of the Apennines were their sole safety; and thither—­scarce daring to stop to pillage for victuals—­they hurried their weary steps.

  [118] Local municipal magistrates.

III

Lucius Ahenobarbus spent that day in frightful anxiety.  One moment he was fingering Drusus’s money bags; the next haunted by the murdered man’s ghost.  When he called on Cornelia, her slaves said she had a headache and would receive no one.  Pratinas held aloof.  No news all day—­the suspense became unendurable.  He lived through the following night harassed by waking visions of every conceivable calamity; but toward morning fell asleep, and as was his wont, awoke late.  The first friend he met on the street was Calvus, the young poet and orator.

“Have you heard the news from Praeneste?” began Calvus.

“News?  What news?”

“Why, how Dumnorix’s gang of gladiators attacked the villa of your distant relative, Quintus Drusus, and were beaten off, while they tried to murder him.  A most daring attempt!  But you will hear all about it.  I have a case at the courts and cannot linger.”

And Calvus was gone, leaving Ahenobarbus as though he had been cudgelled into numbness.  With a great effort he collected himself.  After all, Dumnorix’s gladiators were nothing to him.  And when later he found that neither Dumnorix, nor Gabinius, nor Phaon had been taken or slain at Praeneste, he breathed the easier.  No one else except Pratinas, he was certain, knew why the lanista had made his attack; and there was no danger of being charged with complicity in the conspiracy.  And so he was able to bear the stroke of ill-fortune with some equanimity, and at last rejoice that his dreams would no longer be haunted by the shade of Drusus.  He was in no mood to meet Pratinas, and the smooth Greek evidently did not care to meet him.  He went around to visit Cornelia again—­she was still quite indisposed.  So he spent that morning with Servius Flaccus playing draughts, a game at which his opponent was so excessively stupid that Ahenobarbus won at pleasure, and consequently found himself after lunch[119] in a moderately equable humour.  Then it was he was agreeably surprised to receive the following note from Cornelia.

  [119] Prandium.

“Cornelia to her dearest Lucius, greeting.