thought strong and terrible, and this the gladiator was without a peer in
his own rank of life. They knew each other: Tarautas had received many a
gift from his imperial patron after hard-won victories in which his blood
had flowed. And now, as the scarred veteran, who, puffed up with conceit,
walked singly and apart in the long train of gladiators, cast a roving
and haughty glance on the ranks of spectators, he was filled out of due
time with the longing to center all eyes on himself, the one aim of his
so frequently risking his life in these games. His chest swelled, he
braced up the tension of his supple sinews, and as he passed the imperial
seats he whirled his short sword round his head, describing a circle in
the air, with such skill and such persistent rapidity, that it appeared
like a disk of flashing steel. At the same time his harsh, powerful voice
bellowed out, "Hail, Caesar!" sounding above the shouts of his comrades
like the roar of a lion; and Caracalla, who had not yet vouchsafed a
friendly word or pleasant look to any Alexandrian, waved his hand
graciously again and again to this audacious monster, whose strength and
skill delighted him.

This was the instant for which the "Greens" in the third tier were
waiting. No one could prohibit their applauding the man whom Caesar
himself approved, so they forthwith began shouting "Tarautas!" with all
their might. They knew that this would suggest the comparison between
Caesar and the sanguinary wretch whose name had been applied to him, and
all who were eager to give expression to their vexation or
dissatisfaction took the hint and joined in the outcry. Thus in a moment
the whole amphitheatre was ringing with the name of "Tarautas!"

At first it rose here and there; but soon, no one knew how, the whole
crowd in the upper ranks joined in one huge chorus, giving free vent to
their long-suppressed irritation with childish and increasing uproar,
shouting the word with steady reiteration and a sort of involuntary
rhythm. Before long it sounded as though the multitude must have
practiced the mad chant which swelled to a perfect roar.

"Tarau-Tarau-Tarautas!" and, as is always the case when a breach has been
made in the dam, one after another joined in, with here the shrill
whistle of a reed pipe and there the clatter of a rattle. Mingling with
these were the angry outcries of those whom the lictors or guardians of
the peace had laid hands on, or their indignant compan