The tribune was laughing heartily at the athlete’s eloquence; but Damasippus, who never took his eyes off his patron’s face, thought the evil laugh was more malicious than usual at the mention of the Liburnians, and there was a false ring in the mirthful tones with which he asked for more information as to this young Apollo, and the dame on whom his appearance seemed to have made such an impression.
“I know most of the great ladies pretty well by sight,” answered the honest swordsman. “Faith, a man does not easily forget the faces he sees turned on him in the arena, when he has his point at his adversary’s throat, and they bid him drive it merrily home, and never spare. But of all the faces I see under the awning, there’s not one looks down so calm and beautiful on a death‐struggle as that of the noble Valeria.”
“Like the moon on the torrent of Anio,” observed Damasippus.
“Like the stars on the stormy Egean,” echoed Oarses.
“Like nothing but herself,” continued Hirpinus, who esteemed his own judgment incontrovertible on all matters relating to physical beauty, whether male or female. “The handsomest face and the finest form in Rome. It was not likely I could be mistaken, though I only caught a glimpse of her neck and arm for a moment, as she drew back the curtains of her litter, like”—and here Hirpinus paused for a simile, concluding with infinite relish,—“like a blade half drawn, and returned with a clash into the sheath.”
Again Damasippus thought he perceived a quiver on his patron’s face. Again there was something jarring in the tribune’s voice, as he said to Hippias—
“We must not let this new Achilles escape us! See to it, Hippias. Who knows? He may make a worthy successor, even for thee, thou artist in slaughter, when he has worked his way up, step by step, and victory by victory, to the topmost branch of the tree.”
Hippias laughed good‐humouredly, turning at the same time his right thumb outward, and pointing with it to the roof. It was the gesture with which the Roman crowd in the amphitheatre refused quarter to the combatant who was down.
The broken column of one of the buildings destroyed in the great fire of Rome, and not yet restored, was glowing crimson in the setting sun. Beneath its base, the Tiber was gliding gently on towards the sea. There was a subdued hum even in the streets of the Imperial City that denoted how the burden and heat of the day were now past; and the languor of the hour seemed to pervade even those who were compelled to toil on in the struggle for bread, and who could only in imagination abandon themselves to repose. On a fragment of the ruin sat Esca, gazing intently on the water as it stole by. To all appearance his listless and dreamy mood was unconscious of surrounding objects, yet his attitude was that of one prepared to start into action at a moment’s notice; and though his arms were folded and his head bent down, his ear was watching eagerly to catch the faintest sound.