Drusus strode at her heels.
It was a sorry enough sight that met them--though not uncommon in the age and place.

Some wretched slave-boy, a slight, delicate fellow, had been bound to the bars of a furca, and was being driven by two brutal executioners to the place of doom outside the gates.

At the street-crossing he had sunk down, and all the blows of the driver's scourge could not compel him to arise.

He lay in the dust, writhing and moaning, with the great welts showing on his bare back, where the brass knots of the lash had stripped away the cloth.
"Release this boy! Cease to beat him!" cried Fabia, with a commanding mien, that made the crowd shrink further back; while the two executioners looked stupid and sheepish, but did nothing.
"Release this boy!" commanded the Vestal.

"Dare you hesitate?
Do you wish to undo yourselves by defying me ?" "Mercy, august lady," cried Alfidius,--for the chief executioner was he,--with a supplicatory gesture.