Chapter II
THE AMPHITHEATRE.
NYDIA, assured by the account of Sosia, on his return home, andsatisfied that her letter was in the hands of Sallust, gave herself uponce more to hope. Sallust would surely lose no time in seeking thepraetor--in coming to the house of the Egyptian--in releasing her--inbreaking the prison of Calenus. That very night Glaucus would be free.Alas! the night passed--the dawn broke; she heard nothing but thehurried footsteps of the slaves along the hall and peristyle, and theirvoices in preparation for the show. By-and-by, the commanding voice ofArbaces broke on her ear--a flourish of music rung out cheerily: thelong procession were sweeping to the amphitheatre to glut their eyes onthe death-pangs of the Athenian!
The procession of Arbaces moved along slowly, and with much solemnitytill now, arriving at the place where it was necessary for such as camein litters or chariots to alight, Arbaces descended from his vehicle,and proceeded to the entrance by which the more distinguished spectatorswere admitted. His slaves, mingling with the humbler crowd, werestationed by officers who received their tickets (not much unlike ourmodern Opera ones), in places in the popularia (the seats apportioned tothe vulgar). And now, from the spot where Arbaces sat, his eyes scannedthe mighty and impatient crowd that filled the stupendous theatre.
On the upper tier (but apart from the male spectators) sat women, theirgay dresses resembling some gaudy flower-bed; it is needless to add thatthey were the most talkative part of the assembly; and many were thelooks directed up to them, especially from the benches appropriated tothe young and the unmarried men. On the lower seats round the arena satthe more high-born and wealthy visitors--the magistrates and those ofsenatorial or equestrian dignity; the passages which, by corridors atthe right and left, gave access to these seats, at either end of theoval arena, were also the entrances for the combatants. Strong palingsat these passages prevented any unwelcome eccentricity in the movementsof the beasts, and confined them to their appointed prey. Around theparapet which was raised above the arena, and from which the seatsgradually rose, were gladiatorial inscriptions, and paintings wrought infresco, typical of the entertainments for which the place was designed.Throughout the whole building wound invisible pipes, from which, as theday advanced, cooling and fragrant showers were to be sprinkled over thespectators. The officers of the amphitheatre were still employed in thetask of fixing the vast awning (or velaria) which covered the whole, andwhich luxurious invention the Campanians arrogated to themselves: it waswoven of the whitest Apulian wool, and variegated with broad stripes ofcrimson. Owing either to some inexperience on the part of the workmen,or to some defect in the machinery, the awning, however, was notarranged that day so happily as usual; indeed, from the immense space ofthe circumference, the task was always one of great difficulty andart--so much so, that it could seldom be adventured in rough or windyweather. But the present day was so remarkably still that there seemedto the spectators no excuse for the awkwardness of the artificers; andwhen a large gap in the back of the awning was still visible, from theobstinate refusal of one part of the velaria to ally itself with therest, the murmurs of discontent were loud and general.
The aedile Pansa, at whose expense the exhibition was given, lookedparticularly annoyed at the defect, and, vowed bitter vengeance on thehead of the chief officer of the show, who, fretting, puffing,perspiring, busied himself in idle orders and unavailing threats.
The hubbub ceased suddenly--the operators desisted--the crowd werestilled--the gap was forgotten--for now, with a loud and warlikeflourish of trumpets, the gladiators, marshalled in ceremoniousprocession, entered the arena. They swept round the oval space veryslowly and deliberately, in order to give the spectators full leisure toadmire their stern serenity of feature--their brawny limbs and variousarms, as well as to form such wagers as the excitement of the momentmight suggest.
'Oh!' cried the widow Fulvia to the wife of Pansa, as they leaned downfrom their lofty bench, 'do you see that gigantic gladiator? how drollyhe is dressed!'
'Yes,' said the aedile's wife, with complacent importance, for she knewall the names and qualities of each combatant; 'he is a retiarius ornetter; he is armed only, you see, with a three-pronged spear like atrident, and a net; he wears no armor, only the fillet and the tunic.He is a mighty man, and is to fight with Sporus, yon thick-setgladiator, with the round shield and drawn sword, but without bodyarmor; he has not his helmet on now, in order that you may see hisface--how fearless it is!--by-and-by he will fight with his vizor down.'
'But surely a net and a spear are poor arms against a shield and sword?'
'That shows how innocent you are, my dear Fulvia; the retiarius hasgenerally the best of it.'
'But who is yon handsome gladiator, nearly naked--is it not quiteimproper? By Venus! but his limbs are beautifully shaped!'
'It is Lydon, a young untried man! he has the rashness to fight yonother gladiator similarly dressed, or rather undressed--Tetraides. Theyfight first in the Greek fashion, with the cestus; afterwards they puton armor, and try sword and shield.'
'He is a proper man, this Lydon; and the women, I am sure, are on hisside.'
'So are not the experienced betters; Clodius offers three to one againsthim!'
'Oh, Jove! how beautiful!' exclaimed the widow, as two gladiators, armedcap-a-pie, rode round the arena on light and prancing steeds. Resemblingmuch the combatants in the tilts of the middle age, they bore lances andround shields beautifully inlaid: their armor was woven intricately withbands of iron, but it covered only the thighs and the right arms; shortcloaks, extending to the seat, gave a picturesque and graceful air totheir costume; their legs were naked, with the exception of sandals,which were fastened a little above the ankle. 'Oh, beautiful! Who arethese?' asked the widow.
'The one is named Berbix--he has conquered twelve times; the otherassumes the arrogant name of Nobilior. They are both Gauls.'
While thus conversing, the first formalities of the show were over. Tothese succeeded a feigned combat with wooden swords between the variousgladiators matched against each other. Amongst these, the skill of twoRoman gladiators, hired for the occasion, was the most admired; and nextto them the most graceful combatant was Lydon. This sham contest didnot last above an hour, nor did it attract any very lively interest,except among those connoisseurs of the arena to whom art was preferableto more coarse excitement; the body of the spectators were rejoiced whenit was over, and when the sympathy rose to terror. The combatants werenow arranged in pairs, as agreed beforehand; their weapons examined; andthe grave sports of the day commenced amidst the deepest silence--brokenonly by an exciting and preliminary blast of warlike music.
It was often customary to begin the sports by the most cruel of all, andsome bestiarius, or gladiator appointed to the beasts, was slain first,as an initiatory sacrifice. But in the present instance, theexperienced Pansa thought it better that the sanguinary drama shouldadvance, not decrease, in interest and, accordingly, the execution ofOlinthus and Glaucus was reserved for the last. It was arranged thatthe two horsemen should first occupy the arena; that the footgladiators, paired Off, should then be loosed indiscriminately on thestage; that Glaucus and the lion should next perform their part in thebloody spectacle; and the tiger and the Nazarene be the grand finale.And, in the spectacles of Pompeii, the reader of Roman history mustlimit his imagination, nor expect to find those vast and wholesaleexhibitions of magnificent slaughter with which a Nero or a Caligularegaled the inhabitants of the Imperial City. The Roman shows, whichabsorbed the more celebrated gladiators, and the chief proportion offoreign beasts, were indeed the very reason why, in the lesser towns ofthe empire, the sports of the amphitheatre were comparatively humane andrare; and in this, as in other respects, Pompeii was but the miniature,the microcosm of Rome. Still, it was an awful and imposing spectacle,with which modern times have, happily, nothing to compare--a vasttheatre, rising row upon row, and swarming with human beings, fromfifteen to eighteen thousand in number, inten
t upon no fictitiousrepresentation--no tragedy of the stage--but the actual victory ordefeat, the exultant life or the bloody death, of each and all whoentered the arena!
The two horsemen were now at either extremity of the lists (if so theymight be called); and, at a given signal from Pansa, the combatantsstarted simultaneously as in full collision, each advancing his roundbuckler, each poising on high his light yet sturdy javelin; but justwhen within three paces of his opponent, the steed of Berbix suddenlyhalted, wheeled round, and, as Nobilior was borne rapidly by, hisantagonist spurred upon him. The buckler of Nobilior, quickly andskillfully extended, received a blow which otherwise would have beenfatal.
'Well done, Nobilior!' cried the praetor, giving the first vent to thepopular excitement.
'Bravely struck, my Berbix!' answered Clodius from his seat.
And the wild murmur, swelled by many a shout, echoed from side to side.
The vizors of both the horsemen were completely closed (like those ofthe knights in after times), but the head was, nevertheless, the greatpoint of assault; and Nobilior, now wheeling his charger with no lessadroitness than his opponent, directed his spear full on the helmet ofhis foe. Berbix raised his buckler to shield himself, and hisquick-eyed antagonist, suddenly lowering his weapon, pierced him throughthe breast. Berbix reeled and fell.
'Nobilior! Nobilior!' shouted the populace.
'I have lost ten sestertia,' said Clodius, between his teeth.
'Habet!--he has it,' said Pansa, deliberately.
The populace, not yet hardened into cruelty, made the signal of mercy;but as the attendants of the arena approached, they found the kindnesscame too late--the heart of the Gaul had been pierced, and his eyes wereset in death. It was his life's blood that flowed so darkly over thesand and sawdust of the arena.
'It is a pity it was so soon over--there was little enough for one'strouble,' said the widow Fulvia.
'Yes--I have no compassion for Berbix. Any one might have seen thatNobilior did but feint. Mark, they fix the fatal hook to the body--theydrag him away to the spoliarium--they scatter new sand over the stage!Pansa regrets nothing more than that he is not rich enough to strew thearena with borax and cinnabar, as Nero used to do.'
'Well, if it has been a brief battle, it is quickly succeeded. See myhandsome Lydon on the arena--ay--and the net-bearer too, and theswordsmen! oh, charming!'
There were now on the arena six combatants: Niger and his net, matchedagainst Sporus with his shield and his short broadsword; Lydon andTetraides, naked save by a cincture round the waist, each armed onlywith a heavy Greek cestus--and two gladiators from Rome, clad incomplete steel, and evenly matched with immense bucklers and pointedswords.
The initiatory contest between Lydon and Tetraides being less deadlythan that between the other combatants, no sooner had they advanced tothe middle of the arena than, as by common consent, the rest held back,to see how that contest should be decided, and wait till fiercer weaponsmight replace the cestus, ere they themselves commenced hostilities.They stood leaning on their arms and apart from each other, gazing onthe show, which, if not bloody enough, thoroughly to please thepopulace, they were still inclined to admire, because its origin was oftheir ancestral Greece.
No person could, at first glance, have seemed less evenly matched thanthe two antagonists. Tetraides, though not taller than Lydon, weighedconsiderably more; the natural size of his muscles was increased, to theeyes of the vulgar, by masses of solid flesh; for, as it was a notionthat the contest of the cestus fared easiest with him who was plumpest,Tetraides had encouraged to the utmost his hereditary predisposition tothe portly. His shoulders were vast, and his lower limbs thick-set,double-jointed, and slightly curved outward, in that formation whichtakes so much from beauty to give so largely to strength. But Lydon,except that he was slender even almost to meagreness, was beautifullyand delicately proportioned; and the skilful might have perceived that,with much less compass of muscle than his foe, that which he had wasmore seasoned--iron and compact. In proportion, too, as he wantedflesh, he was likely to possess activity; and a haughty smile on hisresolute face which strongly contrasted the solid heaviness of hisenemy's, gave assurance to those who beheld it, and united their hope totheir pity: so that, despite the disparity of their seeming strength,the cry of the multitude was nearly as loud for Lydon as for Tetraides.
Whoever is acquainted with the modern prize-ring--whoever has witnessedthe heavy and disabling strokes which the human fist, skillfullydirected, hath the power to bestow--may easily understand how much thathappy facility would be increased by a band carried by thongs of leatherround the arm as high as the elbow, and terribly strengthened about theknuckles by a plate of iron, and sometimes a plummet of lead. Yet this,which was meant to increase, perhaps rather diminished, the interest ofthe fray: for it necessarily shortened its duration. A very few blows,successfully and scientifically planted, might suffice to bring thecontest to a close; and the battle did not, therefore, often allow fullscope for the energy, fortitude and dogged perseverance, that wetechnically style pluck, which not unusually wins the day againstsuperior science, and which heightens to so painful a delight theinterest in the battle and the sympathy for the brave.
'Guard thyself!' growled Tetraides, moving nearer and nearer to his foe,who rather shifted round him than receded.
Lydon did not answer, save by a scornful glance of his quick, vigilanteye. Tetraides struck--it was as the blow of a smith on a vice; Lydonsank suddenly on one knee--the blow passed over his head. Not soharmless was Lydon's retaliation: he quickly sprung to his feet, andaimed his cestus full on the broad breast of his antagonist. Tetraidesreeled--the populace shouted.
'You are unlucky to-day,' said Lepidus to Clodius: 'you have lost onebet----you will lose another.'
'By the gods! my bronzes go to the auctioneer if that is the case. Ihave no less than a hundred sestertia upon Tetraides. Ha, ha! see howhe rallies! That was a home stroke: he has cut open Lydon's shoulder. ATetraides!--a Tetraides!'
'But Lydon is not disheartened. By Pollux! how well he keeps histemper. See how dexterously he avoids those hammer-like hands!--dodgingnow here, now there--circling round and round. Ah, poor Lydon! he hasit again.'
'Three to one still on Tetraides! What say you, Lepidus?'
'Well, nine sestertia to three--be it so! What! again, Lydon? Hestops--he gasps for breath. By the gods, he is down. No--he is againon his legs. Brave Lydon! Tetraides is encouraged--he laughs loud--herushes on him.'
'Fool--success blinds him--he should be cautious. Lydon's eye is likethe lynx's,' said Clodius, between his teeth.
'Ha, Clodius! saw you that? Your man totters! Another blow--hefalls--he falls!'
'Earth revives him, then. He is once more up; but the blood rolls downhis face.'
'By the thunderer! Lydon wins it. See how he presses on him! That blowon the temple would have crushed an ox! it has crushed Tetraides. Hefalls again--he cannot move--habet!--habet!'
'Habet!' repeated Pansa. 'Take them out and give them the armor andswords.'
'Noble editor,' said the officers, 'we fear that Tetraides will notrecover in time; howbeit, we will try.'
'Do so.'
In a few minutes the officers, who had dragged off the stunned andinsensible gladiator, returned with rueful countenances. They fearedfor his life; he was utterly incapacitated from re-entering the arena.
'In that case,' said Pansa, 'hold Lydon a subdititius; and the firstgladiator that is vanquished, let Lydon supply his place with thevictor.' The people shouted their applause at this sentence: then theyagain sunk into deep silence. The trumpet sounded loudly. The fourcombatants stood each against each in prepared and stern array.
'Dost thou recognize the Romans, my Clodius; are they among thecelebrated, or are they merely ordinary?'
'Eumolpus is a good second-rate swordsman, my Lepidus. Nepimus, thelesser man, I have never seen before: but he is the son of one of theimperial fiscales, and b
rought up in a proper school; doubtless theywill show sport, but I have no heart for the game; I cannot win back mymoney--I am undone. Curses on that Lydon! who could have supposed he wasso dexterous or so lucky?'
'Well, Clodius, shall I take compassion on you, and accept your ownterms with these Romans?'
'An even ten sestertia on Eumolpus, then?'
'What! when Nepimus is untried? Nay, nay; that is to bad.'
'Well--ten to eight?'
'Agreed.'
While the contest in the amphitheatre had thus commenced, there was onein the loftier benches for whom it had assumed, indeed, a poignant--astifling interest. The aged father of Lydon, despite his Christianhorror of the spectacle, in his agonized anxiety for his son, had notbeen able to resist being the spectator of his fate. One amidst a fiercecrowd of strangers--the lowest rabble of the populace--the old man saw,felt nothing, but the form--the presence of his brave son! Not a soundhad escaped his lips when twice he had seen him fall to the earth--onlyhe had turned paler, and his limbs trembled. But he had uttered one lowcry when he saw him victorious; unconscious, alas! of the more fearfulbattle to which that victory was but a prelude.
'My gallant boy!' said he, and wiped his eyes.
'Is he thy son said a brawny fellow to the right of the Nazarene; 'hehas fought well: let us see how he does by-and-by. Hark! he is to fightthe first victor. Now, old boy, pray the gods that that victor beneither of the Romans! nor, next to them, the giant Niger.'
The old man sat down again and covered his face. The fray for themoment was indifferent to him--Lydon was not one of the combatants.Yet--yet--the thought flashed across him--the fray was indeed of deadlyinterest--the first who fell was to make way for Lydon! He started, andbent down, with straining eyes and clasped hands, to view the encounter.
The first interest was attracted towards the combat of Niger withSporus; for this species of contest, from the fatal result which usuallyattended it, and from the great science it required in eitherantagonist, was always peculiarly inviting to the spectators.
They stood at a considerable distance from each other. The singularhelmet which Sporus wore (the vizor of which was down) concealed hisface; but the features of Niger attracted a fearful and universalinterest from their compressed and vigilant ferocity. Thus they stoodfor some moments, each eyeing each, until Sporus began slowly, and withgreat caution, to advance, holding his sword pointed, like a modernfencer's, at the breast of his foe. Niger retreated as his antagonistadvanced, gathering up his net with his right hand, and never taking hissmall glittering eye from the movements of the swordsman. Suddenly whenSporus had approached nearly at arm's length, the retiarius threwhimself forward, and cast his net. A quick inflection of body saved thegladiator from the deadly snare! he uttered a sharp cry of joy and rage,and rushed upon Niger: but Niger had already drawn in his net, thrown itacross his shoulders, and now fled round the lists with a swiftnesswhich the secutor in vain endeavored to equal. The people laughed andshouted aloud, to see the ineffectual efforts of the broad-shoulderedgladiator to overtake the flying giant: when, at that moment, theirattention was turned from these to the two Roman combatants.
They had placed themselves at the onset face to face, at the distance ofmodern fencers from each other: but the extreme caution which bothevinced at first had prevented any warmth of engagement, and allowed thespectators full leisure to interest themselves in the battle betweenSporus and his foe. But the Romans were now heated into full and fierceencounter: they pushed--returned--advanced on--retreated from each otherwith all that careful yet scarcely perceptible caution whichcharacterizes men well experienced and equally matched. But at thismoment, Eumolpus, the elder gladiator, by that dexterous back-strokewhich was considered in the arena so difficult to avoid, had woundedNepimus in the side. The people shouted; Lepidus turned pale.
'Ho!' said Clodius, 'the game is nearly over. If Eumolpus fights nowthe quiet fight, the other will gradually bleed himself away.'
'But, thank the gods! he does not fight the backward fight. See!--hepresses hard upon Nepimus. By Mars! but Nepimus had him there! thehelmet rang again!--Clodius, I shall win!'
'Why do I ever bet but at the dice?' groaned Clodius to himself;--or whycannot one cog a gladiator?'
'A Sporus!--a Sporus!' shouted the populace, as Niger having nowsuddenly paused, had again cast his net, and again unsuccessfully. Hehad not retreated this time with sufficient agility--the sword of Sporushad inflicted a severe wound upon his right leg; and, incapacitated tofly, he was pressed hard by the fierce swordsman. His great height andlength of arm still continued, however, to give him no despicableadvantages; and steadily keeping his trident at the front of his foe, herepelled him successfully for several minutes. Sporus now tried, bygreat rapidity of evolution, to get round his antagonist, whonecessarily moved with pain and slowness. In so doing, he lost hiscaution--he advanced too near to the giant--raised his arm to strike,and received the three points of the fatal spear full in his breast! Hesank on his knee. In a moment more, the deadly net was cast over him,he struggled against its meshes in vain; again--again--again he writhedmutely beneath the fresh strokes of the trident--his blood flowed fastthrough the net and redly over the sand. He lowered his arms inacknowledgment of defeat.
The conquering retiarius withdrew his net, and leaning on his spear,looked to the audience for their judgement. Slowly, too, at the samemoment, the vanquished gladiator rolled his dim and despairing eyesaround the theatre. From row to row, from bench to bench, there glaredupon him but merciless and unpitying eyes.
Hushed was the roar--the murmur! The silence was dread, for it was nosympathy; not a hand--no, not even a woman's hand--gave the signal ofcharity and life! Sporus had never been popular in the arena; and,lately, the interest of the combat had been excited on behalf of thewounded Niger. The people were warmed into blood--the mimic fight hadceased to charm; the interest had mounted up to the desire of sacrificeand the thirst of death!
The gladiator felt that his doom was sealed: he uttered no prayer--nogroan. The people gave the signal of death! In dogged but agonizedsubmission, he bent his neck to receive the fatal stroke. And now, asthe spear of the retiarius was not a weapon to inflict instant andcertain death, there stalked into the arena a grim and fatal form,brandishing a short, sharp sword, and with features utterly concealedbeneath its vizor. With slow and measured steps, this dismal headsmanapproached the gladiator, still kneeling--laid the left hand on hishumbled crest--drew the edge of the blade across his neck--turned roundto the assembly, lest, in the last moment, remorse should come uponthem; the dread signal continued the same: the blade glittered brightlyin the air--fell--and the gladiator rolled upon the sand; his limbsquivered--were still--he was a corpse.'
His body was dragged at once from the arena through the gate of death,and thrown into the gloomy den termed technically the spoliarium. Andere it had well reached that destination, the strife between theremaining combatants was decided. The sword of Eumolpus had inflictedthe death-wound upon the less experienced combatant. A new victim wasadded to the receptacle of the slain.
Throughout that mighty assembly there now ran a universal movement; thepeople breathed more freely, and resettled themselves in their seats. Agrateful shower was cast over every row from the concealed conduits. Incool and luxurious pleasure they talked over the late spectacle ofblood. Eumolpus removed his helmet, and wiped his brows; hisclose-curled hair and short beard, his noble Roman features and brightdark eye attracted the general admiration. He was fresh, unwounded,unfatigued.
The editor paused, and proclaimed aloud that, as Niger's wound disabledhim from again entering the arena, Lydon was to be the successor to theslaughtered Nepimus, and the new combatant of Eumolpus.
'Yet, Lydon,' added he, 'if thou wouldst decline the combat with one sobrave and tried, thou mayst have full liberty to do so. Eumolpus is notthe antagonist that was originally decreed for thee. Thou knowest besthow far thou canst cope with him
. If thou failest, thy doom ishonorable death; if thou conquerest, out of my own purse I will doublethe stipulated prize.'
The people shouted applause. Lydon stood in the lists, he gazed around;high above he beheld the pale face, the straining eyes, of his father.He turned away irresolute for a moment. No! the conquest of the cestuswas not sufficient--he had not yet won the prize of victory--his fatherwas still a slave!
'Noble aedile!' he replied, in a firm and deep tone, 'I shrink not fromthis combat. For the honour of Pompeii, I demand that one trained byits long-celebrated lanista shall do battle with this Roman.'
The people shouted louder than before.
'Four to one against Lydon!' said Clodius to Lepidus.
'I would not take twenty to one! Why, Eumolpus is a very Achilles, andthis poor fellow is but a tyro!'
Eumolpus gazed hard on the face of Lydon; he smiled; yet the smile wasfollowed by a slight and scarce audible sigh--a touch of compassionateemotion, which custom conquered the moment the heart acknowledged it.
And now both, clad in complete armor, the sword drawn, the vizor closed,the two last combatants of the arena (ere man, at least, was matchedwith beast), stood opposed to each other.
It was just at this time that a letter was delivered to the proctor byone of the attendants of the arena; he removed the cincture--glancedover it for a moment--his countenance betrayed surprise andembarrassment. He re-read the letter, and then muttering--'Tush! it isimpossible!--the man must be drunk, even in the morning, to dream ofsuch follies!'--threw it carelessly aside, and gravely settled himselfonce more in the attitude of attention to the sports.
The interest of the public was wound up very high. Eumolpus had atfirst won their favor; but the gallantry of Lydon, and his well-timedallusion to the honour of the Pompeian lanista, had afterwards given thelatter the preference in their eyes.
'Holla, old fellow!' said Medon's neighbor to him. 'Your son is hardlymatched; but never fear, the editor will not permit him to be slain--no,nor the people neither; he has behaved too bravely for that. Ha! thatwas a home thrust!--well averted, by Pollux! At him again, Lydon!--theystop to breathe. What art thou muttering, old boy
'Prayers!' answered Medon, with a more calm and hopeful mien than he hadyet maintained.
'Prayers!--trifles! The time for gods to carry a man away in a cloud isgone now. Ha! Jupiter! what a blow! Thy side--thy side!--take care ofthy side, Lydon!'
There was a convulsive tremor throughout the assembly. A fierce blowfrom Eumolpus, full on the crest, had brought Lydon to his knee.
'Habet!--he has it!' cried a shrill female voice; 'he has it!' It wasthe voice of the girl who had so anxiously anticipated the sacrifice ofsome criminal to the beasts.
'Be silent, child!' said the wife of Pansa, haughtily. 'Non habet!--heis not wounded!'
'I wish he were, if only to spite old surly Medon,' muttered the girl.
Meanwhile Lydon, who had hitherto defended himself with great skill andvalor, began to give way before the vigorous assaults of the practisedRoman; his arm grew tired, his eye dizzy, he breathed hard andpainfully. The combatants paused again for breath.
'Young man,' said Eumolpus, in a low voice, 'desist; I will wound theeslightly--then lower thy arms; thou hast propitiated the editor and themob--thou wilt be honorably saved!'
'And my father still enslaved!' groaned Lydon to himself. 'No! death orhis freedom.'
At that thought, and seeing that, his strength not being equal to theendurance of the Roman, everything depended on a sudden and desperateeffort, he threw himself fiercely on Eumolpus; the Roman warilyretreated--Lydon thrust again--Eumolpus drew himself aside--the swordgrazed his cuirass--Lydon's breast was exposed--the Roman plunged hissword through the joints of the armor, not meaning, however, to inflicta deep wound; Lydon, weak and exhausted, fell forward, fell right on thepoint: it passed through and through, even to the back. Eumolpus drewforth his blade; Lydon still made an effort to regain his balance--hissword left his grasp--he struck mechanically at the gladiator with hisnaked hand, and fell prostrate on the arena. With one accord, editorand assembly made the signal of mercy--the officers of the arenaapproached--they took off the helmet of the vanquished. He stillbreathed; his eyes rolled fiercely on his foe; the savageness he hadacquired in his calling glared from his gaze, and lowered upon the browdarkened already with the shades of death; then, with a convulsivegroan, with a half start, he lifted his eyes above. They rested not onthe face of the editor nor on the pitying brows of his relenting judges.He saw them not; they were as if the vast space was desolate and bare;one pale agonizing face alone was all he recognized--one cry of a brokenheart was all that, amidst the murmurs and the shouts of the populace,reached his ear. The ferocity vanished from his brow; a soft, a tenderexpression of sanctifying but despairing love played over hisfeatures--played--waned--darkened! His face suddenly became locked andrigid, resuming its former fierceness. He fell upon the earth.
'Look to him,' said the aedile; 'he has done his duty!'
The officers dragged him off to the spoliarium.
'A true type of glory, and of its fate!' murmured Arbaces to himself,and his eye, glancing round the amphitheatre, betrayed so much ofdisdain and scorn, that whoever encountered it felt his breath suddenlyarrested, and his emotions frozen into one sensation of abasement and ofawe.
Again rich perfumes were wafted around the theatre; the attendantssprinkled fresh sand over the arena.
'Bring forth the lion and Glaucus the Athenian,' said the editor.
And a deep and breathless hush of overwrought interest, and intense(yet, strange to say, not unpleasing) terror lay, like a mighty andawful dream, over the assembly.