m 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 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 visors 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