“And don’t you think, sir,” Eubulus went on, “that this is a loss.”
“Very likely,” replied Aquila, “but then you will remember that in the days when we were free, every man was virtually a soldier, and between [165] keeping himself ready for service and working for his daily bread, he had no time to spare.”
Priscilla, who had been listening to the conversation, now took a part in it.
“I cannot help thinking that our young friend is right. And I am quite sure that in one thing he and his people are greatly superior to my own. Their Games are infinitely superior to our dreadful Shows, poor creatures torn to pieces by wild beasts, a dreadful fate even for the worst criminals, and, what is still worse, men set to fight with men, aye, and slaughtered in cold blood afterwards if they do not acquit themselves so as to satisfy the spectators. I never shall forget what I saw when I went one day with my Aunt Cornelia to a great show. It was the first that the Emperor exhibited after he came to the throne, and it was expected to be particularly splendid. And so it was, as I was told by those who were experienced in such matters, but I thought it a very dreadful affair, and was very sorry that I was ever persuaded to go. The first part of it wasn’t so bad; there were performing elephants and dancing bears and dogs that performed such tricks as you never saw. Then there were all sorts of strange and beautiful animals from all parts of the world, ostriches, and flamingoesbright scarlet creatures [166] and deer of all kinds, big and little. I could not help feeling a little sorry for the beautiful creatures, taken away from their own places, and pretty certain to die. But this was nothing to what came afterwards. I can’t attempt to describe the horrors of that day; as a matter of fact I saw very little of them, for I hid my face in my hands, but what I did see was too dreadfulI can see it as I sit here at this moment. My aunt said, ‘Come, Prisca’they did not call me Priscilla then, for I had not grown as tall as I am now’ here is something well worth seeing, and nothing, too, that need shock you.’ Well I looked up, and it was an exciting thing, I must own, to watch. Do you know that I am ashamed to remember how exciting it was? perhaps it was the wolf’s blood in my veins. There were two men fighting. One had a net in one hand and a sort of three-pronged fork, rather bigger than a common shovel, in the other. He had a dagger, too, though I did not see it at the time. The other had a long sword, a very much more powerful weapon than the fork or the dagger; but then the net was supposed to make the two equal. Well, it was very interesting to see them making feints, advancing or retreating, first one seeming to get the advantage and then the other. At last the man with the net made a throw- [167] you see, if he entangled the other in it he had got the better of the fightbut he missed; the other man was watching him, watching not the hand but the eye, and guessed when he would throw, and so contrived to keep clear. Then the net-man took to his heels with his antagonist after him. He could not run quite so fast; his net and fork hindered him, and the other was soon close behind. And then a strange thing happened; the swordsman looked away for a moment; they told me afterwards that it was to the place where the girl to whom he was betrothed was sitting. In a moment the net-man saw it, made another cast, and entangled the swordsman in it. The next instant he struck him with the fork. That was bad enough to see, but it was nothing to what came after. The swordsman was supposed to have disgraced himself, though I don’t wonder at his doing it; anyhow, the spectators were very much enragedsome of them I was told had lost money in betting on the affairand they positively ordered the man to be killed. Yes, and my aunt was one of them. She was holding her thumb out straight, in a striking attitude, you might say, and she looked as fierce as if she could have killed the man with her own hands. ‘Clumsy fool,’ I heard her say, ‘when he had the game in his [168] own hands, to throw it away in this silly fashion. Let him suffer for it.’ There was a horrid fascination in the thing, and I positively could not look away. And besides, I hoped that the poor fellow might escape after all. For all the people were not of the same mind. Some held their thumbs downthat means mercy. But it went against him. They told me afterward, that when there is a difference it almost always does; except the party that is for killing is very small indeed. The Emperor, if he is present, or if not, the elder consul, decides, and he knows that the death sentence is more liked. It is the only thing that remains to the Romans of their old power. They used to rule the world, and now they have to be content with saying whether some poor wretch of a gladiator shall live or die. I shall never forget the gasp of satisfaction which my aunt gave when the net-man struck his dagger into his antagonist’s side; there was a dead silence, and you could hear the blow. So, at least, I fancied. I never went again, as you may suppose; and I could hardly bear to speak to my aunt, though I don’t suppose, poor woman! that she was worse than others.”
Eubulus, who was perfectly candid and honest when he was questioned about his life at the trainer’s, could not give a very good account of [169] the life that he had to lead there, or of his companions.
“The thing is not what it was, if I am to believe what was written about it in the former days. All the boys and lads are professionals, or would like to be professionals. If they win a victory, then they have their chance. One victory is not enough; they must have a second, and then the people who pay their expenses are willing to go on. If they fail, they have to take up with some other occupation. But there is not a single competitor who comes for the love of the thing. In the old days, as I have read, the sons of the best families in Greece used to compete. Commonly they were content if they won a prize; they went back to their houses and lived the life that they would have lived in any case, as statesmen, soldiers, teachers or anything else. Now and then if a man had special aptitude he would compete again and again. But he wasn’t a professional. These things adorned his life, but they did not make it. So I have read. There was a Dorieus of Rhodes, whom I have read about in Xenophon. He won the Pancratium (Footnote: The Pancratium was a combination of boxing and wrestling. It was a very severe exercise indeed, and one which required a man to be in the very fullest vigour of life. The remarkable thing about Dorieus was that if he was three and twenty when he won his first victory at Corinth he must have been close upon forty when he won his last. And this was an age at which it was the rarest thing for a man to keep up the requisite strength and condition. In this country a prize-fighter was thought to be past his prime at thirty.) three times at Olympia, and eight [170] times here at Corinth. That was a wonderful thing to do when one thinks what the Pancratium is. There is a man of eight and twenty training for it with us, and the master thinks that he is a little too old. But Dorieus, I have read, was always the first man in his state notwithstanding. I don’t wonder that the Athenians when they took him prisoner let him go free. He must have been a wonder of a man. There is nobody of that sort among us. Of course I have no right to talk about birth and station. Still I wouldn’t be a professional on any account, and I must say that I like the whole business far less than I did six weeks ago.”
CLEONICE
[171] IT is not to be supposed that Eubulus should have grown to manhood without having had his heart touched by the charms of some Corinthian maiden. As a matter of fact, he was deeply in love, and unfortunately the girl whom he loved was considerably above himself in social standing, for she was the only child of the Archon himself. There was also another difficulty in the way, were the social difficulty to be overcome. Her father’s sister was priestess of one of the most famous shrines of the city, the temple of Athene of the Bridle, a local title which was given to the goddess because she was believed, according to the local legend, to have bridled the winged horse, Pegasus, and handed him over ready for use, to her favourite hero Bellerophon. Cleonice then, for this was the maiden’s name, was the priestess’s nearest kinswoman, and her aunt was extremely anxious that she should succeed her in the priesthood, an office which was as lucrative as it was honour- [172] able. Failing her it would pass to a distant branch of the Bacchiad house. Cleonice’s family was divided in the matter. Her father favoured the scheme. The dignity of the position held for generations by the family to which he belonged, appealed to him strongly. Her mother was adverse. The priestess of Athene, the maiden goddess, was necessarily restrained from marriage, and the mother, whose own union had been singularly happy, was unwilling to shut out her child from wedded happiness. Cleonice herself did not as yet feel strongly either way. On the whole perhaps she was favourable to her aunt’s scheme; but it was probable that a little access of feeling might make her change her mind. At present she was perfectly heart-whole. She had seen Eubulus at a festival when the choirs of three temples had met, had even noticed his handsome person, and admired the penetrating sweetness of his tenor voice, but he had by this time entirely passed from her memory. He, on the contrary, had kept the image of the beautiful girl whom he had at once singled out from her companions in the shrine of his heart, and had continued to worship it secretly. The prospect was about as hopeless as it well could be, but he believed with the happy optimism of youth, that all things were possible in love, [173] and he was content, at least for the present, to possess his soul in patience.