The spacious Hippodrome was filled with some thousands of spectators. At
first many rows of seats had been left vacant, though usually on the
eve of the great races, the people would set out soon after midnight
and every place would be filled long before the games began; indeed the
upper tiers of the tribune, which were built of wood and were free to
all comers, with standing-room behind, were commonly so crowded early in
the morning that the crush ended in a free fight.
On this occasion, the storm of the previous night, the anxiety caused
by the conflict round the Serapeum, and the prevalent panic as to
the approaching end of the world, kept great numbers away from their
favorite diversion; but when the sky recovered its radiant blue, and
when it became known that the statue of Serapis had escaped uninjured
in the siege of his sanctuary--when Cynegius, the Imperial legate, and
Evagrius, the city-prefect, had entered the theatre with much
pomp, followed by several senators and ladies and gentlemen of
rank-Christians, Heathen, and Jews--the most timid took courage; the
games had been postponed for an hour, and before the first team was led
into the arched shed whence the chariots started, the seats, though less
densely packed than usual, were amply filled.
The number of chariots entered for competition was by no means smaller
than on former occasions, for the heathen had strained every nerve to
show their fellow-citizens of different creeds, and especially Caesar’s
representative, that, in spite of persecution and in defiance of
Imperial edicts, they were still a power worthy of consideration. The
Christians, on their part, did their utmost to outdo the idolaters on
the same ground where, not long since, they had held quite the second
place.
The Bishop’s epigram: That Christianity had ceased to be the religion of
the poor, was amply confirmed; the greater proportion of the places for
senators, officials and rich citizens were occupied by its adherents,
and the men and women who professed the Faith were by no means behind
their heathen peers in magnificence of dress and jewels.
The horses, too, entered by the Christians could not fail to please
the connoisseur, as they punctually made their appearance behind the
starting-place, though he might have felt more confidence--and not
without reason--in the heathen steeds, and more particularly in their
drivers, each of whom had won on an average nine races out of ten.
The horses in the quadriga with which Marcus, the son of Mary, made his
appearance in the arena had never before been driven in the Hippodrome.
Demetrius, the owner’s brother, had bred and trained them--four
magnificent black Arabs--and they excited much interest among the
knowing judges who were wont to collect and lounge about the ‘oppidum’,
as it was called, behind the ‘carceres’--[The covered sheds or stalls
in which the horses were brought to wait for the start.]--to inspect the
racers, predict the winner, offer counsel to the drivers, and make
bets. These perfect creatures were perhaps as fine as the famous team
of golden bays belonging to Iphicrates, which so often had proved
victorious; but the agitatores, or drivers, attracted even more interest
than the horses. Marcus, though he knew how to handle the reins--he
had already been seen in experimental races--could hardly hold his
own against Hippias, the handsome young heathen, who, like most of the
drivers in the arena, was an agitator by profession. A story was told
of his having driven over a bridge which was not quite as wide as the
outside edges of his chariot-wheels; and there were many witnesses
to the feat he had performed of writing his mistress’ name with his
chariot-tracks in the sand of the Hippodrome.
The betting was freest and the wagers highest on Hippias and the team
belonging to Iphicrates. Some few backed Marcus and his Arabs, but for
smaller sums; and when they compared the tall but narrow-shouldered
figure of the young Christian with the heroic breadth of Hippias’ frame,
and his delicate features, dreamy blue eyes and downy black moustache
with the powerful Hermes-head of his rival, they were anxious about
their money. If his brother now, the farmer Demetrius--who was standing
by the horses’ heads--or some well-known agitator had held the reins, it
would have been a pleasure and a profit to back such horses. Marcus had
been abroad, too, and men shrugged their shoulders over that, for it was
not till the last few days that he had been seen exercising his horses
in the Hippodrome.
Time was going on, and the Imperial envoy, who had been elected to
preside as judge, at length took his place; Demetrius whispered a few
last words of advice to his brother and went back into the arena. He had
secured a good place on the stone podium and on the shady side, though
there were several seats vacant among those belonging to his family; but
he did not care to occupy one of these, preferring to keep out of the
way of his step-mother, who had made her appearance with a senator and
his wife to whom she was related. He had not seen her for two days; his
promise to Karnis that he would try to find Dada, had kept him fully
occupied, and he had done his best in all earnest to discover the girl.
The honest indignation with which this young creature had refused his
splendid offers, in spite of the modest circumstances of her life, had
roused his respect, and he had felt it an insult to himself and to his
brother when Gorgo had spoken of her with contempt. For his part, he had
never met with any one more fascinating; he could not cease dreaming of
her, and the thought that she might be swallowed up in the foul mire of
a great city made him miserable. His brother had the first claim on
her and he would not dispute it; while he had sought her unweariedly
in every resort of the young and gay--nay even in Canopus--he had only
meant to place her in safety, as a treasure which runs a risk of being
lost to the family, though, when at last its possession is secured,
it becomes the property of the member who can prove the best right
of ownership. But all his efforts had been in vain; and it was in an
unhappy mood that he went at last to the Hippodrome. There the bitter
hostility and party-feeling which he had everywhere observed during his
present visit to his native city, were not less conspicuous than they
had been in the streets. The competing chariots usually arrived at
the amphitheatre in grand procession, but this had not been thought
advisable in the prevailing excitement; they had driven into the oppidum
singly and without any display; and the images of the gods, which in
former days had always been placed on the spina before the games began,
had long since fallen into disuse.
[The spina was the division down the middle of the arena. At each
end of it were placed the metae or goals, at a distance from it of
about 13 feet. The spina was originally constructed of wood,
subsequently it was of stone, and its height was generally about 29
feet. The spina in the Circus of Caracalla was more than 900 feet
long.]
All this was vexatious to Demetrius, and when he had taken his seat
it was in no pleasant temper that he looked round at the ranks of
spectators.
His step-mother was sitting on the stuffed bench covered with lion-skins
which was reserved for the family. Her tunic and skirt displayed the
color blue of the Christian charioteer, being made of bright blue and
silver brocade of a beautiful pattern in which the cross, the fish, and
the olive-branch were elegantly combined. Her black hair was closely and
simply smoothed over her temples and she wore no garland, but a string
of large grey pearls, from which hung a chaplet of sapphires and opals,
lying on her forehead. A veil fell over the back of her head and she sat
gazing into her lap as if she were absorbed in prayer; her hands were
folded and held a cross. This placid and demure attitude she deemed
becoming to a Christian matron and widow. Everyone might see that she
had not come for worldly pleasure, but merely to be present at a triumph
of her fellow-Christians--and especially her son--over the idolaters.
Everything about her bore witness to the Faith, even the pattern on her
dress and the shape of her ornaments; down to the embroidery on her silk
gloves, in which a cross and an anchor were so designed as to form a
Greek X, the initial letter of the name of Christ. Her ambition was to
appear simple and superior to all worldly vanities; still, all she wore
must be rich and costly, for she was here to do honor to her creed. She
would have regarded it as a heathen abomination to wear wreaths of fresh
and fragrant flowers, though for the money which that string of pearls
had cost she might have decked the circus with garlands from end to end,
or have fed a hundred poor for a twelvemonth. It seems so much easier to
cheat the omniscient Creator of the Universe than our fellow-fools!
So Dame Maria sat there in sour and virtuous dignity, looking like
the Virgin Mary as painters and sculptors were at that time wont to
represent her; and her farmer-son shuddered whenever his eye fell on
his step-mother. It did him good, by contrast, to hear a hearty peal of
laughter that came up from the lowest ranks of the podium. When he had
discovered the spot from whence it proceeded he could hardly believe his
eyes, for there sat the long-sought Dada, between an old man and a
young woman, laughing as though something had just occurred to amuse her
extremely. Demetrius stretched his limbs with a feeling of relief and
satisfaction; then he rose, and seeing his city agent seated just behind
the girl, he begged him to change places with him, as he thought it
advisable not to lose sight of the game now it was caught; the old
man was very ready to oblige him and went up to the other seat with a
meaning smile.
For the first time since she could recollect anything Dada had spent
a sleepless night. Whether the wind and thunder would have sufficed to
keep her awake who can tell; but the thoughts that had whirled through
her brain had been varied and exciting enough to rob her of sleep. Her
own people who were fighting for Serapis--how were they faring; and
Agne--what had become of her? Then her mind turned to the church, and
the worthy old priest’s sermon; to the races that she was to see--and
the face and figure of the handsome young Christian rose vividly and
irresistibly before her fancy. Of course--of course, she wished his
horses to win; but it was strange enough that she, Karnis’ niece, should
be on the side of the Christians. Stranger still that she had entirely
ceased to believe in all the abuse which, from her earliest childhood,
she had heard heaped on the followers of the crucified Jew. It could
only be that Karnis had never been able to forgive them for having
ruined his theatre at Tauromenium, and so, perhaps, had never known them
thoroughly.
She had enjoyed many a happy hour at the festivals of the old gods; and
they were no doubt beautiful and festive divinities, or terrible when
they were wroth; still, in the depths of her soul there had for some
time lurked a vague, sweet longing which found no fulfilment in any
heathen temple. She knew no name for it and would have found it hard to
describe, but in the church, listening to the prayers and hymns and the
old deacon’s discourse, it had for the first time been stilled; she had
felt then and there that, helpless and simple as she was, and even if
she were to remain parted from her foster parents, she need never feel
abandoned, but could rest and hope in a supreme, loving, and helpful
power. And indeed she needed such a protector; she was so easily
beguiled. Stephanion, a flute-player she had known in Rome, had wheedled
everything she had a fancy for out of poor Dada, and when she had
got into any mischief laid it all on Dada’s shoulders. There must be
something particularly helpless about her, for everyone, as a matter of
course, took her in hand and treated her like a child, or said things
that made her angry.
In the Hippodrome, however, she forgot everything in the present
pleasure, and was happy enough in finding herself in the lowest row
of places, in the comfortable seats on the shady side, belonging to
Posidonius, the wealthy Magian. This was quite different from her
experience in Rome, where once, in the Circus Maximus, she had stood in
the second tier of the wooden gallery and had been squeezed and pushed,
while no one had taken any notice of her and she had only seen the races
from a distance, looking down on the heads of the men and horses. Herse
never would take her a second time, for, as they came out, they had been
followed and spoken to by men, young and old; and after that her aunt
had fancied she never could be safe, scenting danger at every turn, and
would not allow her ever again to go out alone in the city.
This was altogether a much finer place, for here she was parted from
the race-course only by a narrow watercourse which, as it happened, was
bridged over just in front of her; the horses would pass close to her;
and besides, it was pleasant to be seen and to feel conscious of a
thousand flattering glances centered on herself.
Even the great Cynegius, Caesar’s envoy and deputy, who had often
noticed her on board ship, turned again and again to look at her. He was
carried in on a golden litter by ten huge negroes, preceded by twelve
lictors bearing fasces wreathed with laurel; and he took his seat, robed
in purple and embroidery, on a magnificent throne in the middle of the
tribune above the starting sheds; however, Dada troubled herself no more
about the overdressed old man.
Her eyes were everywhere, and she made Medius or his daughter name
everybody and explain everything. Demetrius was delighted with her eager
enjoyment; presently, nudging the singer, she whispered to him with much
satisfaction:
“Look how the people down below are craning their necks to look at us!
My dress is so very pretty--I wonder where your friend Posidonius gets
these lovely roses. There are above a hundred buds in this garland
across my shoulders and down to my girdle, I counted them in the litter
as I came along. It is a pity they should die so soon; I shall dry the
leaves and make scent of them.”
Demetrius could not resist the temptation; he leaned forward and said
over her shoulder: “There are hardly enough for that.”
At this unexpected address Dada looked round, and she blushed as she
recognized Marcus’ brother; he, however, hastened to assure her that he
deeply regretted his audacious proposals of two days since, and the girl
laughed, and said that he had come off worst, and that she might have
sent him away a little more civilly perhaps; but the truth was she
had been out of temper to begin with--any one would be cross that was
treated as Dame Herse had treated her: hiding her shoes and leaving
her a prisoner on the deck of a barge in the middle of a lake! Then
she introduced him to Medius, and finally enquired about Marcus and his
horses, and whether he had any chance of winning the race.
The countryman answered all her questions; and when, presently, a
flower-girl came along the ranks of seats, selling wreaths of blue and
red flowers and ribbands, Demetrius bought two lovely olive-wreaths to
fling to the winner--his brother he hoped. Medius and his daughter wore
red knots--the color of the Heathen, and Dada, following their example,
had a similar bow on her shoulder; now, however, she accepted a blue
ribband that Demetrius bought for her and pinned it in the place of
the red one as being the color of Marcus, to the old singer’s great
annoyance. Demetrius laughed loudly in his deep bass tones, declaring
that his brother was already most anxious to win, and that, when he saw
her with these ribbands he would strain every nerve, in gratitude
for her partisanship. He could assure her that Marcus thought of her
constantly.
“I am glad of that,” she said simply; and she added that it was the same
with her, for she had been thinking all night of Marcus and his horses.
Medius could not help remarking that Karnis and Herse would take it very
ill that she should display the Christian color to-day of all days; to
which she only replied that she was sorry for that, but that she
liked blue better than red. The answer was so abrupt and short that it
startled Demetrius, who had hitherto seen Dada gentle and pliant; and
it struck him at once how deep an aversion the girl felt for her present
protectors.
There was music, as usual, in the towers at either end of the row
of carceres; but it was less stirring and cheerful than of yore, for
flutes, and several of the heathen airs had been prohibited. Formerly,
too, the Hippodrome had been a place where lovers could meet and where
many a love-affair had been brought to a happy climax; but to-day none
of the daughters of the more respectable families were allowed to quit
the women’s apartments in their own homes, for danger was in the air;
the course of events in the Serapeum had kept many of the younger men
from witnessing the races, and some mysterious influence seemed to weigh
upon the gaiety and mirth of which the Hippodrome on a gala day was
usually the headquarters.
Wild excitement, expectation strung to the highest pitch, and
party-feeling, both for and against, had always, of course, been rife
here; but to-day they were manifest in an acuter form--hatred had
added its taint and lent virulence to every emotion. The heathen were
oppressed and angered, their rights abridged and defied; they saw the
Christians triumphant at every point, and hatred is a protean monster
which rages most fiercely and most venomously when it has lurked in the
foul career of envy.
The Christians could hate, too, and they hated the idolaters who gloried
with haughty self-sufficiency in their intellectual inheritance; the
traditions of a brilliant past. They, who had been persecuted and
contemned, now had the upper hand; they were in power, and the more
insolently they treated their opponents, the more injustice they
did them, and the less the victimized heathen were able to revenge
themselves, the more bitterly did the Christians detest the party they
contemned as superstitious idolaters. In their care for the soul--the
spiritual and divine part--the Christians had hitherto neglected the
graces of the body; thus the heathen had remained the undisputed masters
of the palaestra and the hippodrome. In the gymnasium the Christian
refused even to compete, for the exhibition of his naked body he
regarded as an abomination; but on the race-course he had lately been
willing to display his horses, and many times had disputed the crown
with the hereditary victors, so that, even here, the heathen felt
his time-honored and undisputed supremacy endangered. This was
intolerable--this must be averted--the mere thought of being beaten on
this ground roused the idolaters to wrath and malice. They displayed
their color in wreaths of scarlet poppies, pomegranate flowers and red
roses, with crimson ribbands and dresses; white and green, the colors
formerly adopted by the competitors, were abandoned; for all the heathen
were unanimous in combining their forces against the common foe.
The ladies used red sun-shades and the very baskets, in which the
refreshments were brought for the day, were painted red.
The widow Mary, on the other hand, and all the Christians were robed in
blue from head to foot, their sandals being tied with blue ribbands;
and Dada’s blue shoulder-knot was in conspicuous contrast to her bright
rose-colored dress.
The vendors of food who wandered round the circus had eggs dyed blue
and red, cakes with sugared icing and refreshing drinks in jars of both
colors. When a Christian and a Heathen found themselves seated side by
side, each turned a shoulder to the other, or, if they were forced to
sit face to face, eyed each other with a scowl.
Cynegius did all he could to postpone the races as long as possible;
he was anxious to wait till the Comes had finished his task in the
Serapeum, so that the troops might be free to act in any emergency that
might arise before the contests in the Hippodrome were fairly ended.
Time did not hang heavy on his hands for the vast multitude here
assembled interested him greatly, though he had frequently been a
spectator of similar festivities in Rome and Constantinople; but this
crowd differed in many particulars from the populace of those cities.
In the topmost tiers of free seats black and brown faces predominated
greatly over white ones; in the cushioned and carpeted ranks of the
stone podium--the lower portion of the amphitheatre--mingled with Greeks
and Egyptians, sat thousands of splendidly dressed men and women
with strongly-marked Semitic features: members of the wealthy Jewish
community, whose venerable head, the Alabarch, a dignified patriarch in
Greek dress, sat with the chief members of the senate, near the envoy’s
tribune.
The Alexandrians were not a patient race and they were beginning to
rebel against the delay, making no small noise and disturbance, when
Cynegius rose and with his white handkerchief waved the signal for the
races to begin. The number of spectators had gradually swelled from
fifty to sixty and to eighty thousand; and no less than thirty-six
chariots were waiting behind the carceres ready to start.
Four ‘missus’ or races were to be run. In each of the three first twelve
chariots were to start, and in the fourth only the leaders in the
three former ones were to compete. The winner of the olive-wreath and
palmbranch in this final heat would bear the honors of the day; his
party would be victorious and he would quit the Hippodrome in triumph.
Lots were now drawn in the oppidum to decide which shed each chariot was
to start from, and in which naissus each was to run. It was Marcus’ fate
to start among the first lot, and, to the horror of those who had backed
his chances, Hippias, the hero of the Hippodrome, was his rival, with
the four famous bays.
Heathen priests poured libations to Poseidon, and Phoebus Apollo, the
patron divinities of horses and of the Hippodrome--for sacrifices of
blood were prohibited; while Christian presbyters and exorcists blessed
the rival steeds in the name of the Bishop. A few monks had crept in,
but they were turned out by the heathen with bitter jeers, as unbidden
intruders.
Cynegius repeated his signal. The sound of the tuba rang through the
air, and the first twelve chariots were led into the starting-sheds. A
few minutes later a machine was set in motion by which a bronze eagle
was made to rise with outspread wings high into the air, from an altar
in front of the carceres; this was the signal for the chariots to come
forth from their boxes. They took up their positions close behind a
broad chalk line, traced on the ground with diagonal slope, so as to
reduce the disadvantage of standing outermost and having a larger curve
to cover.
Until this moment only the privileged possessors of the seats over the
carceres had been able, by craning backwards, to see the horses and
drivers; now the competitors were visible to the multitude which,
at their first appearance, broke out into vociferous applause. The
agitatores had to exert all their strength to hold in the startled and
eager teams, and make them stand even for a few short minutes; then
Cynegius signalled for the third time. A golden dolphin, which had been
suspended from a beam, and on which the eye of every charioteer was
fixed, dropped to the ground, a blast on the ‘salpinx’, or war-trumpet,
was sounded, and forty-eight horses flew forth as though thrown forward
by one impulsion.
The strength of four fine horses whirled each light, two-wheeled chariot
over the hard causeway as though it were a toy. The down-pour of the
previous night had laid the dust; the bright sunshine sparkled and
danced in rapidly-changing flashes, mirrored in the polished gilding
of the bronze or the silver fittings of the elegantly-decorated,
semicircular cars in which the drivers stood.
Five blue and seven red competitors had drawn the first lots. The eye
rested with pleasure on the sinewy figures whose bare feet seemed rooted
to the boards they stood on, while their eyes were riveted on the goal
they were striving to reach, though--as the eye of the archer sees
arrow, bow and mark all at once--they never lost sight of the horses
they were guiding. A close cap with floating ribbands confined their
hair, and they wore a short sleeveless tunic, swathed round the body
with wide bands, as if to brace their muscles and add to their strength.
The reins were fastened around the hips so as to leave the hands free,
not only to hold them but also to ply the whip and use the goad. Each
charioteer had a knife in his girdle, to enable him to release himself,
in case of accident, from a bond that might prove fatal.
Before long the bay team was leading alone. Behind were two Christian
drivers, followed by three red chariots; Marcus was last of all, but it
was easy to see that it was by choice and not by necessity that he was
hanging back. He was holding in his fiery team with all his strength and
weight--his body thrown back, his feet firmly set with his knees against
the silver bar of the chariot, and his hands gripping the reins. In a
few minutes he came flying past Dada and his brother, but he did not
see them. He had not even caught sight of his own mother, while the
professional charioteers had not failed to bow to Cynegius and nod to
their friends. He could only keep his eyes and mind fixed on his horses
and on the goal.
The multitude clapped, roared, shouted encouragement to their party,
hissed and whistled when they were disappointed--venting their utmost
indignation on Marcus as he came past behind the others; but he either
heard them not or would not hear. Dada’s heart beat so wildly that she
thought it would burst. She could not sit still; she started to her
feet and then flung herself back on her cushions, shouting some spurring
words to Marcus in the flash of time when he might perhaps hear them.
When he had passed, her head fell and she said sadly enough: “Poor
fellow!--We have bought our wreaths for nothing after all, Demetrius!”
But Demetrius shook his head and smiled.
“Nay,” he said, “the boy has iron sinews in that slight body. Look how
he holds the horses in! He is saving their strength till they need it.
Seven times, child, seven times he has to go round this great circus and
past the ‘nyssa’. You will see, he will catch up what he has lost, yet.
Hippias, you see, is holding in his horses, too; it is his way of
giving himself airs at starting. Now he is close to the ‘nyssa’--the
‘kampter’--the ‘meta’ they call it at Rome; the smaller the bend he
can make round it the better for him, but it is risky work. There--you
see!--They drive round from right to left and that throws most of the
work on the lefthand beast; it has to turn almost in its own length.
Aura, our first horse, is as supple as a panther and I trained her to
do it, myself.--Now, look out there! that bronze figure of a rearing
horse--the ‘Taraxippos’ they call it--is put there to frighten the
horses, and Megaera, our third horse, is like a mad thing sometimes,
though she can go like a stag; every time Marcus gets her quietly past
the Taraxippos we are nearer to success.--Look, look,=-the first chariot
has got round the nyssa! It is Hippias! Yes, by Zeus, he has done it! He
is a detestable braggart, but he knows his business!”
This was one of the decisive moments of the race. The crowd was silent;
expectation was at the utmost pitch of tension, and Dada’s eyes were
fixed spell-bound on the obelisk and on the quadrigas that whirled round
the bourn.
Next to Hippias came a blue team, and close behind were three red ones.
The Christian who had succeeded in reaching the nyssa second, boldly
took his horses close round the obelisk, hoping to gain space and get
past Hippias; but the left wheel of his chariot grazed the granite
plinth, the light car was overset, and the horses of the red chariot,
whose noses were almost on his shoulder, could not be pulled up short
in time. They fell over the Christian’s team which rolled on the
ground; the red chariot, too, turned over, and eight snorting beasts lay
struggling in the sand.
The horses in the next chariot bolted as they were being driven past
this mass of plunging and neighing confusion; they defied their driver’s
impotent efforts and galloped across the course back into the caiceres.
The rest had time and space enough to beware of the wreck and to give it
a wide berth, among them Marcus. The melee at the Meta had excited his
steeds almost beyond control, and as they tore past the Taraxippos the
third horse, Megaera, shied violently as Demetrius had predicted. She
flung herself on one side, thrust her hind quarters under the pole, and
kicked desperately, lifting the chariot quite off the ground; the young
charioteer lost his footing and slipped. Dada covered her face with her
hands, and his mother turned pale and knit her brows with apprehension.
The youth was still standing; his feet were on the sand of the arena;
but he had a firm grip on the right-hand spiral ornament that terminated
the bar round the chariot. Many a heart stood still with anxiety, and
shouts of triumph and mockery broke from the red party; but in less than
half a minute, by an effort of strength and agility, he had his knees on
the foot-board, and then, in the winking of an eye, he was on his feet
in the chariot, had gathered up the reins and was rushing onward.
Meanwhile, however, Hippias had far outstripped all the rest, and as
he flew past the carceres he checked his pace, snatched a cup from
a lemonade-seller, tossed the contents down his throat with haughty
audacity amid the plaudits of the crowd, and then dashed on again. A
wide gap, indeed, still lay between him and Marcus.
By the time the competitors again came round to the nyssa, the slaves in
attendance had cleared away the broken chariots and led off the horses.
A Christian still came next to Hippias followed by a red agitator;
Marcus had gained on the others and was now fourth.
In the third round the chariot of the red driver in front of Marcus
made too sharp a turn and ran up against the granite. The broken car was
dragged on by the terrified beasts, and the charioter with it, till, by
the time they were stopped, he was a corpse. In the fifth circuit the
Christian who till now had been second to Hippias shared the same
fate, though he escaped with his life; and then Marcus drove past the
starting-sheds next to Hippias.
Hippias had ceased to flout and dally. In spite of the delay that Marcus
had experienced from the Taraxippos, the space that parted his bays
from the black Arabs had sensibly diminished, round after round; and
the interest of the race now centered entirely in him and the young
Christian. Never before had so passionate and reckless a contest been
fought out on this venerable race-course, and the throng of spectators
were carried away by the almost frenzied rivalry of the two drivers. Not
a creature in the upper tiers had been able to keep his seat; men and
women alike had risen to their feet and were shouting and roaring to the
competitors. The music in the towers might have ceased, so completely
was it drowned by the tumult in the amphitheatre.
Only the ladies, in the best places above the starting-sheds, preserved
their aristocratic calm; Still, when the seventh and decisive round was
begun, even the widow Mary leaned forward a little and clasped her hands
more tightly over the cross in her lap. Each time that Marcus had driven
round the obelisk or past the Taraxippos, Dada had clutched her head
with her hands and set her teeth in her lip; each time, as he happily
steered clear of the fatal stone and whirled past the dreadful bronze
statue, she had relaxed her grip and leaned back in her seat with a sigh
of relief. Her sympathy made her one with Marcus; she felt as if his
loss must be her death and his victory her personal triumph.
During the sixth circuit Hippias was still a long way ahead of the young
Christian; the distance which lay between Marcus and the team of bays
seemed to have become a fixed quantity, for, do what he could, he could
not diminish it by a hand-breadth. The two agitatores had now completely
altered their tactics; instead of holding their horses in they urged
them onward, leaning over the front of their chariots, speaking to the
horses, Shouting at them with hoarse, breathless cries, and flogging
them unsparingly. Steamy sweat and lathering foam streaked the flanks of
the desperate, laboring brutes, while clouds of dust were flung up
from the dry, furrowed and trampled soil. The other chariots were left
further and further behind those of Hippias and Marcus, and when, for
the seventh and last time, these two were nearing the nyssa, the crowd
for a moment held its breath, only to break out into louder and wilder
cries, and then again to be hushed. It seemed as though their exhausted
lungs found renewed strength to shout with double energy when their
excitement had kept them silent for a while.
Dada spoke no more; pale and gasping, she sat with her eyes fixed on the
tall obelisk and on the cloud of dust which, as the chariots neared the
nyssa, seemed to grow denser. At about a hundred paces from the nyssa
she saw, above the sandy curtain, the red cap of Hippias flash past, and
then--close behind it--the blue cap worn by Marcus. Then a deafening,
thundering roar from thousands of throats went up to heaven, while,
round the obelisk--so close to it that not a horse, not a wheel could
have found room between the plinth and the driver-the blue cap came
forward out of the cloud, and, behind it now--no longer in front, though
not more than a length behind--came the red cap of Hippias. When within
a few feet of the nyssa, Marcus had overtaken his antagonist, had passed
the point with a bold and perilously close turn, and had left the bays
behind him.
Demetrius saw it all, as though his eye had power to pierce the
dust-cloud, and now he, too, lost his phlegmatic calm. He threw up his
arms as if in prayer and shouted, as though his brother could hear him:
“Well done, splendid boy! Now for the kentron--the goad--drive it in,
send it home if they die for it! Give it them well!”
Dada, who could only guess what was happening, looked round at him,
asking in tremulous tones: “Has he passed him? Is he gaining on him?
Will he win?” But Demetrius did not answer; he only pointed to the
foremost of the flying clouds on which the second was fast advancing,
and cried in a frenzy of excitement:
“Death and Hades! The other is catching him up. The dog, the sneak! If
only the boy would use his goad. Give it them, Marcus! Give it them,
lad! Never give in now! Great Father Poseidon!--there--there!--no! I can
hardly stand--Yes, he is still in front, and now--now--this must settle
it! Thunder and lightning! They are close together again--may the dust
choke him! No--it is all right; my Arabs are in front! All is well, keep
it up, lad, well done! We have won!”
The horses were pulled up, the dust settled; Marcus, the Christian, had
won the first missus. Cynegius held out the crown to the victor,
who bowed to receive it. Then he waved his hand to his mother, who
graciously waved hers in return, and he drove into the oppidurn and was
lost to sight.
Hippias flung down his whip in a rage, but the triumphant shouts of the
Christians drowned the music, the trumpet-blasts and the angry murmurs
of the defeated heathen. Threatening fists were shaken in the air, while
behind the carceres the drivers and owners of the red party scolded,
squabbled and stormed; and Hippias, who by his audacious swagger
had given away the race to their hated foe--to the Blues, the
Christians--narrowly escaped being torn in pieces.
The tumult and excitement were unparalleled; but Dada saw and heard
nothing. She sat in a blissful dream, gazing into her lap, while tears
of joyful reaction rolled down her cheeks. Demetrius saw her tears and
was glad; then, pointing out Mary to the girl, he informed her that she
was the mother of Marcus. And he registered a secret vow that, cost what
it might, he would bring his victorious brother and this sweet child
together.
The second and third missus, like the first, were marked by serious
accidents; both, however, were won for the Red party. In the fourth,
the decisive race, there were but three competitors: Marcus and the two
heathen winners. Demetrius watched it with less anxiety; he knew that
his Arabs were far superior to the Egyptian breed in staying power, and
they also had the advantage of having had a longer rest. In fact, the
final victory was adjudged to the young Christian.
Long before it was decided Dada had been impatiently fingering her
wreaths, and could hardly wait any longer to fling them into Marcus’
chariot. When it was all over she might perhaps have an opportunity of
speaking to him; and she thought how delightful his voice was and what
fine, kind eyes he had. If only he were to bid her be his, she would
follow him whither and wherever he desired, whatever Karnis and Herse
might say to the contrary. She thought no one could be so glad of his
success as she was; she felt as if she belonged to him, had always
belonged to him, and only some spiteful trick of Fate had come between
them.
There was a fresh blast of trumpets; the victor, in obedience to a
time-honored custom, was to drive round the arena at a foot-pace and
show his brave team to the multitude. He came nearer and nearer, and
Demetrius proposed that they should cross the little watercourse that
parted the podium from the arena and follow the chariot, so as to
give his brother the wreaths instead of flinging them to him. The girl
colored and could say neither yes or no; but she rose, hung one of the
olive-crowns on her arm with a happy, bashful smile, and handed the
other to her new friend; then she followed him across the little bridge
on to the race-course which, now that the games were over, was crowded
with Christians.
The brothers exchanged pleased greetings from afar, but Marcus did not
see Dada till she was close to him and stood, with a shy but radiant
glance of intense delight, holding out the olive-wreath for his
acceptance. He felt as though Heaven had wrought a miracle in his favor.
Never before had he thought her half so lovely. She seemed to have
grown since he had seen her last, to have gained a deeper and nobler
expression; and he observed, too, the blue favors on her shoulder and
among the roses that crowned her fair curls. Gladness and surprise
prevented his speaking; but he took the garland she offered him and,
seizing her hands, stammered out: “Thanks--thank you, Dada.”
Their eyes met, and as he gazed into her face he forgot where he was,
did not even wonder why his brother had suddenly turned away and,
beginning some long-winded speech, had rushed after a man who hastily
covered his head and tried to escape; he did not notice that thousands
of eyes were fixed on him, and among them his mother’s; he could merely
repeat: “thanks” and “Dada”--the only words he could find. He would
perhaps have gone on repeating them, but that he was interrupted; the
‘porta libitinaria’--the gate through which the dead or injured were
usually carried out, was thrown open, and a rabble of infuriated heathen
rushed in, crying: “Serapis is fallen! They have destroyed the image of
Serapis! The Christians are ruining the sanctuaries of the gods!”
A sudden panic seized the assembled multitude; the Reds rushed down from
their places into the arena to hear the details and ask questions--ready
to fight for the god or to fly for safety. In an instant the victor’s
chariot was surrounded by an angry mob; Dada clutched it for protection,
and Marcus, without pausing to reflect--indeed hardly master of his own
actions--turned and lifted her into it by his side; then, urging his
horses forward, he forced a way through the crowd, past the caiceres. He
glanced anxiously up at the seats but could nowhere see his mother, so
he guided the exhausted beasts, steaming with sweat and dappled with
foam, through the open gate and out of the circus. His stable-slaves had
run after him; he released himself from the reins on his hips and flung
them to the grooms. Then he helped Dada to leap from the car.
“Will you come with me?” he asked her simply; and the girl’s reply was:
“Wherever you bid me.”
At the news that Serapis was overthrown Dame Mary had started from
her seat with eager haste that ill-became her dignity and, under the
protection of the body-guard in attendance on Cynegius, had found her
way to her litter.
In the Hippodrome the tumult rose to a riot; Reds and Blues rushed
from the upper tiers, down the ranks of the podium and into the dusty
race-course; falling on each other tooth and nail like wild beasts;
and the bloody fray--no uncommon termination to the day, even in more
peaceful times--lasted till the Imperial soldiery parted the unarmed
combatants.
The Bishop was triumphant; his adherents had won the day at every point;
nor was he sorry to learn that Olympius, Helladius, Ainmonius and many
other spiritual leaders of the heathen world had succeeded in escaping.
They might come back; they might preach and harangue as much as they
chose: their power was broken. The Church had nothing now to fear
from them, and their philosophy and learning would still and always be
valuable in the mental training of her priests.