Chapter II
THE AMPHITHEATRE.
NYDIA, assured by the account of Sosia, on his return home, and satisfied
that her letter was in the hands of Sallust, gave herself up once more to
hope. Sallust would surely lose no time in seeking the praetor--in coming
to the house of the Egyptian--in releasing her--in breaking the prison of
Calenus. That very night Glaucus would be free. Alas! the night
passed--the dawn broke; she heard nothing but the hurried footsteps of the
slaves along the hall and peristyle, and their voices in preparation for the
show. By-and-by, the commanding voice of Arbaces broke on her ear--a
flourish of music rung out cheerily: the long procession were sweeping to
the amphitheatre to glut their eyes on the death-pangs of the Athenian!
The procession of Arbaces moved along slowly, and with much solemnity till
now, arriving at the place where it was necessary for such as came in
litters or chariots to alight, Arbaces descended from his vehicle, and
proceeded to the entrance by which the more distinguished spectators were
admitted. His slaves, mingling with the humbler crowd, were stationed by
officers who received their tickets (not much unlike our modern Opera ones),
in places in the popularia (the seats apportioned to the vulgar). And now,
from the spot where Arbaces sat, his eyes scanned the mighty and impatient
crowd that filled the stupendous theatre.
On the upper tier (but apart from the male spectators) sat women, their gay
dresses resembling some gaudy flower-bed; it is needless to add that they
were the most talkative part of the assembly; and many were the looks
directed up to them, especially from the benches appropriated to the young
and the unmarried men. On the lower seats round the arena sat the more
high-born and wealthy visitors--the magistrates and those of senatorial or
equestrian dignity; the passages which, by corridors at the right and left,
gave access to these seats, at either end of the oval arena, were also the
entrances for the combatants. Strong palings at these passages prevented
any unwelcome eccentricity in the movements of the beasts, and confined them
to their appointed prey. Around the parapet which was raised above the
arena, and from which the seats gradually rose, were gladiatorial
inscriptions, and paintings wrought in fresco, typical of the entertainments
for which the place was designed. Throughout the whole building wound
invisible pipes, from which, as the day advanced, cooling and fragrant
showers were to be sprinkled over the spectators. The officers of the
amphitheatre were still employed in the task of fixing the vast awning (or
velaria) which covered the whole, and which luxurious invention the
Campanians arrogated to themselves: it was woven of the whitest Apulian
wool, and variegated with broad stripes of crimson. Owing either to some
inexperience on the part of the workmen, or to some defect in the machinery,
the awning, however, was not arranged that day so happily as usual; indeed,
from the immense space of the circumference, the task was always one of
great difficulty and art--so much so, that it could seldom be adventured in
rough or windy weather. But the present day was so remarkably still that
there seemed to the spectators no excuse for the awkwardness of the
artificers; and when a large gap in the back of the awning was still
visible, from the obstinate refusal of one part of the velaria to ally
itself with the rest, the murmurs of discontent were loud and general.
The aedile Pansa, at whose expense the exhibition was given, looked
particularly annoyed at the defect, and, vowed bitter vengeance on the head
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 were
stilled--the gap was forgotten--for now, with a loud and warlike flourish of
trumpets, the gladiators, marshalled in ceremonious procession, entered the
arena. They swept round the oval space very slowly and deliberately, in
order to give the spectators full leisure to admire their stern serenity of
feature--their brawny limbs and various arms, as well as to form such wagers
as the excitement of the moment might suggest.
'Oh!' cried the widow Fulvia to the wife of Pansa, as they leaned down from
their lofty bench, 'do you see that gigantic gladiator? how drolly he is
dressed!'
'Yes,' said the aedile's wife, with complacent importance, for she knew all
the names and qualities of each combatant; 'he is a retiarius or netter; he
is armed only, you see, with a three-pronged spear like a trident, 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-set gladiator, with the round shield
and drawn sword, but without body armor; he has not his helmet on now, in
order that you may see his face--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 has
generally the best of it.'
'But who is yon handsome gladiator, nearly naked--is it not quite improper?
By Venus! but his limbs are beautifully shaped!'
'It is Lydon, a young untried man! he has the rashness to fight yon other
gladiator similarly dressed, or rather undressed--Tetraides. They fight
first in the Greek fashion, with the cestus; afterwards they put on armor,
and try sword and shield.'
'He is a proper man, this Lydon; and the women, I am sure, are on his side.'
'So are not the experienced betters; Clodius offers three to one against
him!'
'Oh, Jove! how beautiful!' exclaimed the widow, as two gladiators, armed
cap-a-pie, rode round the arena on light and prancing steeds. Resembling
much the combatants in the tilts of the middle age, they bore lances and
round shields beautifully inlaid: their armor was woven intricately with
bands of iron, but it covered only the thighs and the right arms; short
cloaks, extending to the seat, gave a picturesque and graceful air to their
costume; their legs were naked, with the exception of sandals, which were
fastened a little above the ankle. 'Oh, beautiful! Who are these?' asked
the widow.
'The one is named Berbix--he has conquered twelve times; the other assumes
the arrogant name of Nobilior. They are both Gauls.'
While thus conversing, the first formalities of the show were over. To
these succeeded a feigned combat with wooden swords between the various
gladiators matched against each other. Amongst these, the skill of two
Roman gladiators, hired for the occasion, was the most admired; and next to
them the most graceful combatant was Lydon. This sham contest did not last
above an hour, nor did it attract any very lively interest, except among
those connoisseurs of the arena to whom art was preferable to more coarse
excitement; the body of the spectators were rejoiced when it was over, and
when the sympathy rose to terror. The combatants were now arranged in
pairs, as agreed beforehand; their weapons examined; and the grave sports of
the day commenced amidst the deepest silence--broken only by an exciting and
preliminary blast of warlike music.
It was often customary to begin the sports by the most cruel of all, and
some bestiarius, or gladiator appointed to the beasts, was slain first, as
an initiatory sacrifice. But in the present instance, the experienced Pansa
thought it better that the sanguinary drama should advance, not decrease, in
interest and, accordingly, the execution of Olinthus and Glaucus was
reserved for the last. It was arranged that the two horsemen should first
occupy the arena; that the foot gladiators, paired Off, should then be
loosed indiscriminately on the stage; that Glaucus and the lion should next
perform their part in the bloody spectacle; and the tiger and the Nazarene
be the grand finale. And, in the spectacles of Pompeii, the reader of Roman
history must limit his imagination, nor expect to find those vast and
wholesale exhibitions of magnificent slaughter with which a Nero or a
Caligula regaled the inhabitants of the Imperial City. The Roman shows,
which absorbed the more celebrated gladiators, and the chief proportion of
foreign beasts, were indeed the very reason why, in the lesser towns of the
empire, the sports of the amphitheatre were comparatively humane and rare;
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 vast theatre, rising
row upon row, and swarming with human beings, from fifteen to eighteen
thousand in number, intent upon no fictitious representation--no tragedy of
the stage--but the actual victory or defeat, the exultant life or the bloody
death, of each and all who entered the arena!
The two horsemen were now at either extremity of the lists (if so they might
be called); and, at a given signal from Pansa, the combatants started
simultaneously as in full collision, each advancing his round buckler, each
poising on high his light yet sturdy javelin; but just when within three
paces of his opponent, the steed of Berbix suddenly halted, wheeled round,
and, as Nobilior was borne rapidly by, his antagonist spurred upon him. The
buckler of Nobilior, quickly and skillfully extended, received a blow which
otherwise would have been fatal.
'Well done, Nobilior!' cried the praetor, giving the first vent to the
popular 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 of the
knights in after times), but the head was, nevertheless, the great point of
assault; and Nobilior, now wheeling his charger with no less adroitness than
his opponent, directed his spear full on the helmet of his foe. Berbix
raised his buckler to shield himself, and his quick-eyed antagonist,
suddenly lowering his weapon, pierced him through the 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 kindness came too
late--the heart of the Gaul had been pierced, and his eyes were set in
death. It was his life's blood that flowed so darkly over the sand and
sawdust of the arena.
'It is a pity it was so soon over--there was little enough for one's
trouble,' said the widow Fulvia.
'Yes--I have no compassion for Berbix. Any one might have seen that
Nobilior did but feint. Mark, they fix the fatal hook to the body--they
drag 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 the
arena with borax and cinnabar, as Nero used to do.'
'Well, if it has been a brief battle, it is quickly succeeded. See my
handsome Lydon on the arena--ay--and the net-bearer too, and the swordsmen!
oh, charming!'
There were now on the arena six combatants: Niger and his net, matched
against Sporus with his shield and his short broadsword; Lydon and
Tetraides, naked save by a cincture round the waist, each armed only with a
heavy Greek cestus--and two gladiators from Rome, clad in complete steel,
and evenly matched with immense bucklers and pointed swords.
The initiatory contest between Lydon and Tetraides being less deadly than
that between the other combatants, no sooner had they advanced to the 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 weapons might replace the
cestus, ere they themselves commenced hostilities. They stood leaning on
their arms and apart from each other, gazing on the show, which, if not
bloody enough, thoroughly to please the populace, they were still inclined
to admire, because its origin was of their ancestral Greece.
No person could, at first glance, have seemed less evenly matched than the
two antagonists. Tetraides, though not taller than Lydon, weighed
considerably more; the natural size of his muscles was increased, to the
eyes of the vulgar, by masses of solid flesh; for, as it was a notion that
the contest of the cestus fared easiest with him who was plumpest, Tetraides
had encouraged to the utmost his hereditary predisposition to the portly.
His shoulders were vast, and his lower limbs thick-set, double-jointed, and
slightly curved outward, in that formation which takes so much from beauty
to give so largely to strength. But Lydon, except that he was slender even
almost to meagreness, was beautifully and delicately proportioned; and the
skilful might have perceived that, with much less compass of muscle than his
foe, that which he had was more seasoned--iron and compact. In proportion,
too, as he wanted flesh, he was likely to possess activity; and a haughty
smile on his resolute face which strongly contrasted the solid heaviness of
his enemy's, gave assurance to those who beheld it, and united their hope to
their 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 witnessed the
heavy and disabling strokes which the human fist, skillfully directed, hath
the power to bestow--may easily understand how much that happy facility
would be increased by a band carried by thongs of leather round the arm as
high as the elbow, and terribly strengthened about the knuckles by a plate
of iron, and sometimes a plummet of lead. Yet this, which was meant to
increase, perhaps rather diminished, the interest of the fray: for it
necessarily shortened its duration. A very few blows, successfully and
scientifically planted, might suffice to bring the contest to a close; and
the battle did not, therefore, often allow full scope for the energy,
fortitude and dogged perseverance, that we technically style pluck, which
not unusually wins the day against superior science, and which heightens to
so painful a delight the interest 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, vigilant eye.
Tetraides struck--it was as the blow of a smith on a vice; Lydon sank
suddenly on one knee--the blow passed over his head. Not so harmless was
Lydon's retaliation: he quickly sprung to his feet, and aimed his cestus
full on the broad breast of his antagonist. Tetraides reeled--the populace
shouted.
'You are unlucky to-day,' said Lepidus to Clodius: 'you have lost one
bet----you will lose another.'
'By the gods! my bronzes go to the auctioneer if that is the case. I have no
less than a hundred sestertia upon Tetraides. Ha, ha! see how he rallies!
That was a home stroke: he has cut open Lydon's shoulder. A Tetraides!--a
Tetraides!'
'But Lydon is not disheartened. By Pollux! how well he keeps his temper.
See how dexterously he avoids those hammer-like hands!--dodging now here,
now there--circling round and round. Ah, poor Lydon! he has it again.'
'Three to one still on Tetraides! What say you, Lepidus?'
'Well, nine sestertia to three--be it so! What! again, Lydon? He stops--he
gasps for breath. By the gods, he is down. No--he is again on his legs.
Brave Lydon! Tetraides is encouraged--he laughs loud--he rushes on him.'
'Fool--success blinds him--he should be cautious. Lydon's eye is like the
lynx's,' said Clodius, between his teeth.
'Ha, Clodius! saw you that? Your man totters! Another blow--he falls--he
falls!'
'Earth revives him, then. He is once more up; but the blood rolls down his
face.'
'By the thunderer! Lydon wins it. See how he presses on him! That blow on
the temple would have crushed an ox! it has crushed Tetraides. He falls
again--he cannot move--habet!--habet!'
'Habet!' repeated Pansa. 'Take them out and give them the armor and
swords.'
'Noble editor,' said the officers, 'we fear that Tetraides will not recover
in time; howbeit, we will try.'
'Do so.'
In a few minutes the officers, who had dragged off the stunned and
insensible gladiator, returned with rueful countenances. They feared for
his life; he was utterly incapacitated from re-entering the arena.
'In that case,' said Pansa, 'hold Lydon a subdititius; and the first
gladiator that is vanquished, let Lydon supply his place with the victor.'
The people shouted their applause at this sentence: then they again sunk
into deep silence. The trumpet sounded loudly. The four combatants stood
each against each in prepared and stern array.
'Dost thou recognize the Romans, my Clodius; are they among the celebrated,
or are they merely ordinary?'
'Eumolpus is a good second-rate swordsman, my Lepidus. Nepimus, the lesser
man, I have never seen before: but he is the son of one of the imperial
fiscales, and brought up in a proper school; doubtless they will show sport,
but I have no heart for the game; I cannot win back my money--I am undone.
Curses on that Lydon! who could have supposed he was so dexterous or so
lucky?'
'Well, Clodius, shall I take compassion on you, and accept your own terms
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 one in
the loftier benches for whom it had assumed, indeed, a poignant--a stifling
interest. The aged father of Lydon, despite his Christian horror of the
spectacle, in his agonized anxiety for his son, had not been able to resist
being the spectator of his fate. One amidst a fierce crowd 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 sound had escaped his lips when
twice he had seen him fall to the earth--only he had turned paler, and his
limbs trembled. But he had uttered one low cry when he saw him victorious;
unconscious, alas! of the more fearful battle 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; 'he has
fought well: let us see how he does by-and-by. Hark! he is to fight the
first victor. Now, old boy, pray the gods that that victor be neither of
the Romans! nor, next to them, the giant Niger.'
The old man sat down again and covered his face. The fray for the moment
was indifferent to him--Lydon was not one of the combatants. Yet--yet--the
thought flashed across him--the fray was indeed of deadly interest--the
first who fell was to make way for Lydon! He started, and bent down, with
straining eyes and clasped hands, to view the encounter.
The first interest was attracted towards the combat of Niger with Sporus;
for this species of contest, from the fatal result which usually attended
it, and from the great science it required in either antagonist, was always
peculiarly inviting to the spectators.
They stood at a considerable distance from each other. The singular helmet
which Sporus wore (the vizor of which was down) concealed his face; but the
features of Niger attracted a fearful and universal interest from their
compressed and vigilant ferocity. Thus they stood for some moments, each
eyeing each, until Sporus began slowly, and with great caution, to advance,
holding his sword pointed, like a modern fencer's, at the breast of his foe.
Niger retreated as his antagonist advanced, gathering up his net with his
right hand, and never taking his small glittering eye from the movements of
the swordsman. Suddenly when Sporus had approached nearly at arm's length,
the retiarius threw himself forward, and cast his net. A quick inflection
of body saved the gladiator 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 it across his shoulders, and now fled round the lists with a
swiftness which the secutor in vain endeavored to equal. The people laughed
and shouted aloud, to see the ineffectual efforts of the broad-shouldered
gladiator to overtake the flying giant: when, at that moment, their
attention was turned from these to the two Roman combatants.
They had placed themselves at the onset face to face, at the distance of
modern fencers from each other: but the extreme caution which both evinced
at first had prevented any warmth of engagement, and allowed the spectators
full leisure to interest themselves in the battle between Sporus and his
foe. But the Romans were now heated into full and fierce encounter: they
pushed--returned--advanced on--retreated from each other with all that
careful yet scarcely perceptible caution which characterizes men well
experienced and equally matched. But at this moment, Eumolpus, the elder
gladiator, by that dexterous back-stroke which was considered in the arena
so difficult to avoid, had wounded Nepimus in the side. The people shouted;
Lepidus turned pale.
'Ho!' said Clodius, 'the game is nearly over. If Eumolpus fights now the
quiet fight, the other will gradually bleed himself away.'
'But, thank the gods! he does not fight the backward fight. See!--he presses
hard upon Nepimus. By Mars! but Nepimus had him there! the helmet rang
again!--Clodius, I shall win!'
'Why do I ever bet but at the dice?' groaned Clodius to himself;--or why
cannot one cog a gladiator?'
'A Sporus!--a Sporus!' shouted the populace, as Niger having now suddenly
paused, had again cast his net, and again unsuccessfully. He had not
retreated this time with sufficient agility--the sword of Sporus had
inflicted a severe wound upon his right leg; and, incapacitated to fly, he
was pressed hard by the fierce swordsman. His great height and length of
arm still continued, however, to give him no despicable advantages; and
steadily keeping his trident at the front of his foe, he repelled him
successfully for several minutes. Sporus now tried, by great rapidity of
evolution, to get round his antagonist, who necessarily moved with pain and
slowness. In so doing, he lost his caution--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! He sank 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 writhed mutely beneath the fresh strokes of the
trident--his blood flowed fast through the net and redly over the sand. He
lowered his arms in acknowledgment of defeat.
The conquering retiarius withdrew his net, and leaning on his spear, looked
to the audience for their judgement. Slowly, too, at the same moment, the
vanquished gladiator rolled his dim and despairing eyes around the theatre.
From row to row, from bench to bench, there glared upon him but merciless
and unpitying eyes.
Hushed was the roar--the murmur! The silence was dread, for it was no
sympathy; not a hand--no, not even a woman's hand--gave the signal of
charity and life! Sporus had never been popular in the arena; and, lately,
the interest of the combat had been excited on behalf of the wounded Niger.
The people were warmed into blood--the mimic fight had ceased to charm; the
interest had mounted up to the desire of sacrifice and the thirst of death!
The gladiator felt that his doom was sealed: he uttered no prayer--no groan.
The people gave the signal of death! In dogged but agonized submission, he
bent his neck to receive the fatal stroke. And now, as the spear of the
retiarius was not a weapon to inflict instant and certain death, there
stalked into the arena a grim and fatal form, brandishing a short, sharp
sword, and with features utterly concealed beneath its vizor. With slow and
measured steps, this dismal headsman approached the gladiator, still
kneeling--laid the left hand on his humbled crest--drew the edge of the
blade across his neck--turned round to the assembly, lest, in the last
moment, remorse should come upon them; the dread signal continued the same:
the blade glittered brightly in the air--fell--and the gladiator rolled upon
the sand; his limbs quivered--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. And ere it
had well reached that destination, the strife between the remaining
combatants was decided. The sword of Eumolpus had inflicted the death-wound
upon the less experienced combatant. A new victim was added to the
receptacle of the slain.
Throughout that mighty assembly there now ran a universal movement; the
people breathed more freely, and resettled themselves in their seats. A
grateful shower was cast over every row from the concealed conduits. In
cool and luxurious pleasure they talked over the late spectacle of blood.
Eumolpus removed his helmet, and wiped his brows; his close-curled hair and
short beard, his noble Roman features and bright dark eye attracted the
general admiration. He was fresh, unwounded, unfatigued.
The editor paused, and proclaimed aloud that, as Niger's wound disabled him
from again entering the arena, Lydon was to be the successor to the
slaughtered Nepimus, and the new combatant of Eumolpus.
'Yet, Lydon,' added he, 'if thou wouldst decline the combat with one so
brave and tried, thou mayst have full liberty to do so. Eumolpus is not the
antagonist that was originally decreed for thee. Thou knowest best how far
thou canst cope with him. If thou failest, thy doom is honorable death; if
thou conquerest, out of my own purse I will double the 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 cestus was not
sufficient--he had not yet won the prize of victory--his father was still a
slave!
'Noble aedile!' he replied, in a firm and deep tone, 'I shrink not from this
combat. For the honour of Pompeii, I demand that one trained by its
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, and this
poor fellow is but a tyro!'
Eumolpus gazed hard on the face of Lydon; he smiled; yet the smile was
followed by a slight and scarce audible sigh--a touch of compassionate
emotion, 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 matched with
beast), stood opposed to each other.
It was just at this time that a letter was delivered to the proctor by one
of the attendants of the arena; he removed the cincture--glanced over it for
a moment--his countenance betrayed surprise and embarrassment. He re-read
the letter, and then muttering--'Tush! it is impossible!--the man must be
drunk, even in the morning, to dream of such follies!'--threw it carelessly
aside, and gravely settled himself once more in the attitude of attention to
the sports.
The interest of the public was wound up very high. Eumolpus had at first
won their favor; but the gallantry of Lydon, and his well-timed allusion to
the honour of the Pompeian lanista, had afterwards given the latter the
preference in their eyes.
'Holla, old fellow!' said Medon's neighbor to him. 'Your son is hardly
matched; 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! that was a
home thrust!--well averted, by Pollux! At him again, Lydon!--they stop to
breathe. What art thou muttering, old boy
'Prayers!' answered Medon, with a more calm and hopeful mien than he had yet
maintained.
'Prayers!--trifles! The time for gods to carry a man away in a cloud is
gone now. Ha! Jupiter! what a blow! Thy side--thy side!--take care of thy
side, Lydon!'
There was a convulsive tremor throughout the assembly. A fierce blow from
Eumolpus, full on the crest, had brought Lydon to his knee.
'Habet!--he has it!' cried a shrill female voice; 'he has it!' It was the
voice of the girl who had so anxiously anticipated the sacrifice of some
criminal to the beasts.
'Be silent, child!' said the wife of Pansa, haughtily. 'Non habet!--he is
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 and
valor, began to give way before the vigorous assaults of the practised
Roman; his arm grew tired, his eye dizzy, he breathed hard and painfully.
The combatants paused again for breath.
'Young man,' said Eumolpus, in a low voice, 'desist; I will wound thee
slightly--then lower thy arms; thou hast propitiated the editor and the
mob--thou wilt be honorably saved!'
'And my father still enslaved!' groaned Lydon to himself. 'No! death or his
freedom.'
At that thought, and seeing that, his strength not being equal to the
endurance of the Roman, everything depended on a sudden and desperate
effort, he threw himself fiercely on Eumolpus; the Roman warily
retreated--Lydon thrust again--Eumolpus drew himself aside--the sword grazed
his cuirass--Lydon's breast was exposed--the Roman plunged his sword through
the joints of the armor, not meaning, however, to inflict a deep wound;
Lydon, weak and exhausted, fell forward, fell right on the point: it passed
through and through, even to the back. Eumolpus drew forth his blade; Lydon
still made an effort to regain his balance--his sword left his grasp--he
struck mechanically at the gladiator with his naked hand, and fell prostrate
on the arena. With one accord, editor and assembly made the signal of
mercy--the officers of the arena approached--they took off the helmet of the
vanquished. He still breathed; his eyes rolled fiercely on his foe; the
savageness he had acquired in his calling glared from his gaze, and lowered
upon the brow darkened already with the shades of death; then, with a
convulsive groan, with a half start, he lifted his eyes above. They rested
not on the 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
broken heart was all that, amidst the murmurs and the shouts of the
populace, reached his ear. The ferocity vanished from his brow; a soft, a
tender expression of sanctifying but despairing love played over his
features--played--waned--darkened! His face suddenly became locked and
rigid, 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 of disdain and
scorn, that whoever encountered it felt his breath suddenly arrested, and
his emotions frozen into one sensation of abasement and of awe.
Again rich perfumes were wafted around the theatre; the attendants sprinkled
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 and awful dream,
over the assembly.
