w
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." ...

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. Once amid 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 toward the combat of Niger with Sporus;
for this spectacle 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 visor 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 eying 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