Feeble arms clasped the Christian about the knees and he looked down on the tangled white locks of the palsied man, who had searched for him until he had found him.

The Christian laid his hand on the man's head but did not speak.
At the breach in the Old Wall, the watchers on that almost deserted street saw the brazen wave of four legions gather and sweep forward to gain ground in the city before the mob swept down on them.
Between the two warring bodies, one orderly, prepared but apprehensive, the other mad and perishing, was a considerable space.
Fighting still went on at the breach in the walls, but the supreme conflict of a comparatively small body of soldiers and an uncounted horde was not yet precipitated.
Ordinarily, the Roman army could have reduced any popular insurrection with half that number of men.

But at present the legionaries confronted desperate citizens who were simply choosing their own way to die.

Reason and human fear long since had ceased to inspire them.
They were believing now and following a prophet because it was the final respite before despair.

There was no alternative.