and slaves gave intimation of further spoils. 'Do you not see
that he shakes his head? And do you not know his obstinacy? You could
not move him now were you to pay him in full the amount of the forfeit.
It is not the gold that he longer cares for, but the chance to
distinguish himself by the exhibition of the slave of greatest strength
and prowess. So let that matter go for settled. Rather strive, in some
other manner, to win the money with which to pay your forfeit. This,
with good luck, you may do--a little here and a little there--who knows?
Perhaps even I can help you. Have I not won fifty sestertia from you? I
will now wager it back against a slave.'

'Against any slave?'

'By Bacchus, no! I have enough of ordinary captives to suit me, and care
but little for any accession to the rabble of them. But you have one
whom I covet--a Greek of fair appearance and pleasing manners--fit not
for the camp or the quarries, but of some value as a page or cupbearer.
It was but lately that I saw him, writing at your lady's dictation, and
I wished for him at once. Shall we play for him?'

'No! a thousand times, no!' exclaimed Sergius, striking the table so
heavily with his open hand that the dice danced and the flagons shook.
'Were you to offer me thrice his value--to pay off my forfeit to
Sardesus to the last sestertium--to gain me back my quarry and my
vineyards--all that I have lost--I would not give up that slave. My
purpose is sweeter to me than all the gold you could offer, and I will
not be cheated out of it. That slave dies to-morrow in the
amphitheatre--between the lion's jaws!'

'Dies? In the arena?' was the astonished exclamation.

'Is there aught wonderful in that?' Sergius fiercely cried. 'Have you
never before known such a thing as a master giving up his slave for the
public amusement? And let no man ask me why I do it. It may be that I
wish revenge, hating him too much to let him live. It may be that I seek
to be a benefactor like others, and furnish entertainment to the
populace at my own expense. It is sufficient that I choose it. Will not
any other slave answer, Emilius?'

'Nay, no other will do,' remarked the poet, throwing himself carelessly
back, with the air of one dismissing a fruitless subject from his mind.
'This was the only one whom I coveted. For any other I would not care to
shake the dicebox three times, though I might feel sure to win.'

'Will you offer the same to me, Sergius?' eagerly crie