He looked back.

The soldiers at the head of the bridge had taken alarm and were marching down to complete the arrest.
He looked before.

The lictors, the troops, the stupid cattle and their stolid drivers, and the great black-sided warehouses, casting their gloomy shadow over the rippling river.

Down stream; not a skiff seemed stirring.

The water was plashing, dancing, glancing in the sunshine.
Below the wooden bridge the spars of a huge merchantman were just covering with canvas, as she stood away from her quay.