power of hands, wrists, arms, shoulders, and magnificent body.

The iron head of the ponderous weapon struck the center of the Gaul's
cuirass, which crunched inward like so much cardboard. Fermius seemed to
leave the ground and, folded around the mace, to fly briefly through the
air. As he struck the ground, Patroclus was upon him. The Gaul was
probably already dead--that blow would have killed an elephant--but that
made no difference. If that mob knew that Fermius was dead, they might
start yelling for his life, too. Hence, by lifting his head and poising
his dirk high in air, he asked of Caesar his Imperial will.

The crowd, already frantic, had gone stark mad at the blow. No thought
of mercy could or did exist in that insanely bloodthirsty throng; no
thought of clemency for the man who had fought such a magnificent fight.
In cooler moments they would have wanted him to live, to thrill them
again and yet again; but now, for almost half an hour, they had been
loving the hot, the suffocating thrill of death in their throats. Now
they wanted, and would have, the ultimate thrill.

"Death!" The solid structure rocked to the crescendo roar of the demand.
"_Death_! DEATH!"

Nero's right thumb pressed horizontally against his chest. Every vestal
was making the same sign. Pollice verso. Death. The strained and
strident yelling of the mob grew even louder.

Patroclus lowered his dagger and delivered the unnecessary and unfelt
thrust; and--

"Peractum est!" arose one deafening yell.

* * * * *

Thus the red-haired Thracian lived; and also, somewhat to his own
surprise, did Livius.

"I'm glad to see you, Bronze-heart, by the white thighs of Ceres, I am!"
that worthy exclaimed, when the two met, the following day. Patroclus
had never seen the Bithynian so buoyant. "Pallas Athene covered you,
like I asked her to. But by the red beak of Thoth and the sacred Zaimph
of Tanit, it gave me the horrors when you made that throw so quick and
missed it, and I went as crazy as the rest of them when you pulled the
real coup. But now, curse it, I suppose that we'll all have to be on the
lookout for it--or no, unlimiteds aren't common, thank Ninib the Smiter
and his scarlet spears!"

"I hear you didn't do so badly, yourself," Patroclus interrupted his
friend's loquacity. "I missed your first two, but I saw you take
Kalendios. He's a high-rater--one of the best of the locals--and I was
afraid he might sn