The Unwilling Vestal Part 21

Almo caught the eye of spectator after spectator, till most of the audience on that side of the arena were watching the fight in which he took part to the exclusion of everything else that was going on. He displayed that perfect balance of all the mental and physical faculties, that instantaneous co-ordination of eye, brain and muscle, which only an occasional phenomenon can attain to. He made no mistakes, bore himself like a dancer on a tight-rope, circled about his adversary, warded off all his thrusts, lunges and rushes, turned aside his long sword with his small round shield without a trace of effort, and at his leisure found a joint in his body armor and pierced his heart with an ostentatiously difficult lunge delivered with the acme of apparent ease.

"There," sighed Manlia, "I prayed hard."

"So did I," Brinnaria murmured, "but I prayed the other way. He ought to have been killed already. Numisia has recognized him and he has been recognized by three or four n.o.bles along the coping. The rumor is spreading from each of them and running through the audience."

Manlia, in fact, looking about was aware of an unusual stir among the spectators, of notes being handed along and read, of whisperings, callings, signs, pointings; of messengers worming their way from row to row and from tier to tier.

Almo won his third bout. While it was in progress Manlia had seen one of the Emperor's orderlies enter the arena from one of the small doors in the wall and confer with the chief lanista, who directed the fighting.

By the time Almo began a fourth bout half the audience was looking at him or at Brinnaria. There were thousands present who had survived the pestilence, who had been present fifteen years before when she had let herself down into the arena and had rescued the retiarius. They remembered her spectacular interference and were curious as to how she would now comport herself. Brinnaria, erect and calm, fanned herself placidly.

Almo won his fourth bout.

By this time the arrangements of the lanistas had been so far modified that, instead of a great throng of fighters, there were, in the whole immense arena, not more than twenty pairs.

With scarcely a breathing s.p.a.ce Almo was pitted against a fifth adversary. By the time he had disposed of him the entire audience, fully a hundred thousand souls, were as well aware of what was going on as was Brinnaria herself. She was pale, but entirely collected. To Manlia she whispered venomously:

"Castor be thanked, he is certain to be killed, Aurelius has attended to that." In fact the Roman sense of fair play was offended when the lanista gave Almo a mere moment of rest and then set against him a sixth antagonist. Murmurs ran from tier to tier, there were hoots and cat-calls.

Aurelius put up his hand and the people became still.

It was not often that the entire throng in the Colosseum focussed its attention on anyone fighter. That happened now. The dozen or more other pairs of fighters were ignored, all eyes were on Almo and his opponent--all eyes that did not stray towards Brinnaria.

Almo was not showing any signs of weariness, but he was plainly husbanding his strength. The sixth bout was tame--seldom had the Amphitheatre displayed so mild a set to. The heavy-armed man had seen Almo dispose of five like himself, he was timid; Almo was not timid, but he was cautious. The result was a tedious exhibition of fencing for position, each sword monotonously caught on the other shield. At the end Almo slashed his opponent's wrist, feinted, pretended to be unable to avoid a clumsy thrust, slipped inside the big man's guard and drove his sabre deep under his arm-pit.

The Colosseum rang with cheers.

Without so much as a sponging down or a mouthful of wine Almo was faced by a seventh fresh swordsman in complete armor. This time there were no caterwaulings or groans. Even the upper gallery had recognized Almo or been told who he was, even the populace had remembered or had been informed of the relation between Almo and Brinnaria. Everybody had recalled or been reminded of her rescue of the retiarius.

The audience collectively comprehended that Aurelius meant Almo to be defeated and put at an adversary's mercy before Brinnaria, that he was testing her.

The habitual hubbub, hum, and buzz of undertones was checked to a very unusual degree, the Amphitheatre became almost still.

But when Almo fairly duplicated his first bout and neatly, almost without effort, cut his victim's throat, the audience cheered him vociferously.

Louder, if possible did they acclaim his calm and adequate strategy against his eighth antagonist.

A ninth and a tenth were promptly put beyond power to hurt him by wounds ingeniously disabling, but far from deadly.

The eleventh bout was more tedious than the sixth.

Almo divined some greater strength or skill in this adversary and played him warily. When the audience was bored to the point of being almost ready to call for something diverting Almo slaughtered his man with a terrible wound between his corselet and kilt.

The twelfth, thirteenth and fourteenth antagonists Almo plainly despised. He stood almost still, hardly altering the position of his feet except to turn as the huge barbarians circled ponderously about him. Each he brought down with his first lunge.

As the fifteenth bout began the audience was manifestly impatient and restive. But they were not bored. That one Thracian, almost without rest, should successively dispose of fourteen antagonists, in the fullest armor, was a notable feat. The perfect form of Almo's fighting was even more notable. At each victory the audience cheered him till they were hoa.r.s.e. They seemed to cheer quite spontaneously and to need the relief for their feelings. But also they seemed to mean to give him as long a rest as was in their power. They were all for him.

But no man could go on fighting continually without fatigue. In his fifteenth bout Almo moved heavily.

The other man was unusually quick for a big man. He handled his big sword deftly. After much sparring he was too quick for Almo, and the point of his slender blade scratched Almo's splay vizor, nicked his chin, and tore a long shallow slash in the skin of his right breast.

Blood welling through it stained the green of Almo's tunic; blood dropping from his chin spotted the bright green.

The populace groaned.

Manlia prayed.

Brinnaria, under scrutiny of two hundred thousand eyes, sat erect, fanned herself steadily, and gazed straight before her. To all appearance she was as indifferent to Almo as if he did not exist.

After that Alma moved like a sleep-walker or a man in a dream, dully and dazedly.

The big man feinted and lunged cleverly. The point of his weapon ripped Alma's thigh on the outside above the knee. No man could stand up after such a wound. He went down, his shield under him.

From all around the arena, from every tier, automatically, thousands of arms shot out, thumb flat. Instantly every arm whipped back and was hidden under its owner's robe. All realized that expression of sympathy was not their business. A hush fell. Everybody looked at the Emperor and at Brinnaria.

Brinnaria sat erect in her arm-chair, fanning herself evenly, staring straight across the arena. The same instinct, the same curiosity which actuated the rest of the audience, restrained the Vestals from giving the sign of mercy. All felt that the matter concerned only Aurelius and Brinnaria, that for anyone else to interfere would be flouting the Emperor.

Brinnaria, white as a corpse, dizzy and numb, kept up the unvarying motion of her fan. Otherwise she was perfectly still.

The victor rolled his eyes along the rows of spectators. He got no inkling of their feelings.

He gazed at the Vestals. The audience saw him gaze that way. Brinnaria ignored him. Almo and all the world.

The victor looked toward the Emperor.

Aurelius held out his right hand, thumb out.

The lanista removed Almo's helmet. If anyone had doubted his ident.i.ty the doubt was dispelled among all near enough to make out his face.

The victor put one foot on Almo's chest. Almo stretched his neck.

Brinnaria sat there, tense, pale, but as collected as if she had no interest in what was going on.

The savage standing over Alma glanced a second time towards the Emperor.

Aurelius was holding his arm at full stretch over the coping, thumb flat against the extended fingers.

Brinnaria knew that she had won, that Aurelius had put her to the test before all Rome, that she had stood the test, that all Rome was witness.

Her fingers clutched the handle of her fan. She could hardly feel it in her grasp.

The big man took his foot from Almo's chest.

The audience broke into howls of applause, gust after gust of cheers, roaring like a storm wind in a forest.

Brinnaria saw the arena, saw the spectators, through a film of mist, through a gray veil, through a fog of blackness. She realized that, for the first time in her life, she was on the verge of fainting.

Mechanically she looked about her. Her glance fell on Meffia crumpled in her arm-chair.

That steadied her. If Meffia had fainted, she would not, she would not.

She did not faint. She fanned herself steadily as she watched the lanistas help Almo to hobble from the arena. When he was gone her attention returned to Meffia. Gargilia and Numisia were trying to rouse her.