But Clodius merely smiled, and walked off, clinking the money he had won tauntingly in his hand.
"What now, I wonder, is the day destined to bring forth?" said the conspirator, making no more allusion to the dagger.
"A contest now between myself, Aristius, and Aurelius, in the five games of the _quinquertium_, and then a foot race in the heaviest panoply."
"Ha! can you beat them?" asked Catiline, regarding Arvina with an interest that grew every moment keener, as he saw more of his strength and daring spirit.
"If you please. I can beat them in some, I think; and, as I said, I will try in all."
More words followed, for Paullus hastened away to strip and anoint himself for the coming struggle; and in a little while the strife itself succeeded.
To describe this would be tedious; but suffice it, that while he won decidedly three games of the five, Paullus was beat in none; and that in the armed foot race, the most toilsome and arduous exercise of the Campus, he not only beat his competitors with ease; but ran the longest course, carrying the most ponderous armature and shield, in shorter time than had been performed within many years on the Field of Mars.
Catiline watched him eagerly all the while, inspecting him as a purchaser would a horse he was about to buy; and then, muttering to himself, "We must have him!" walked up to join him as he finished the last exploit.
"Will you dine with me, Paullus," he said, "to-day, and meet the loveliest women you can see in Rome, and no prudes either?"
"Willingly," he replied; "but I must swim first in the Tiber!"
"Be it so, there is time enough; I will swim also." And they moved down in company toward the river.
Fie, fie, upon her; There's a language in her eye, her cheek, her lip; Nay, her foot speaks, her wanton spirits look out At every joint and motive of her body. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
About three hours later than the scene in the Campus Martius, which had occurred a little after noon, Catiline was standing richly dressed in a bright saffron(13) robe, something longer than the ordinary tunic, flowered with sprigs of purple, in the inmost chamber of the woman's apartments, in his own heavily mortgaged mansion. His wife, Aurelia Orestilla, sat beside him on a low stool, a woman of the most superb and queenly beauty--for whom it was believed that he had plunged himself into the deepest guilt--and still, although past the prime of Italian womanhood, possessing charms that might well account for the most insane passion.