rown back, his feet firmly set with his knees against
the silver bar of the chariot, and his hands gripping the reins. In a
few minutes he came flying past Dada and his brother, but he did not
see them. He had not even caught sight of his own mother, while the
professional charioteers had not failed to bow to Cynegius and nod to
their friends. He could only keep his eyes and mind fixed on his horses
and on the goal.

The multitude clapped, roared, shouted encouragement to their party,
hissed and whistled when they were disappointed--venting their utmost
indignation on Marcus as he came past behind the others; but he either
heard them not or would not hear. Dada's heart beat so wildly that she
thought it would burst. She could not sit still; she started to her
feet and then flung herself back on her cushions, shouting some spurring
words to Marcus in the flash of time when he might perhaps hear them.
When he had passed, her head fell and she said sadly enough: "Poor
fellow!--We have bought our wreaths for nothing after all, Demetrius!"

But Demetrius shook his head and smiled.

"Nay," he said, "the boy has iron sinews in that slight body. Look how
he holds the horses in! He is saving their strength till they need it.
Seven times, child, seven times he has to go round this great circus and
past the 'nyssa'. You will see, he will catch up what he has lost, yet.
Hippias, you see, is holding in his horses, too; it is his way of
giving himself airs at starting. Now he is close to the 'nyssa'--the
'kampter'--the 'meta' they call it at Rome; the smaller the bend he
can make round it the better for him, but it is risky work. There--you
see!--They drive round from right to left and that throws most of the
work on the lefthand beast; it has to turn almost in its own length.
Aura, our first horse, is as supple as a panther and I trained her to
do it, myself.--Now, look out there! that bronze figure of a rearing
horse--the 'Taraxippos' they call it--is put there to frighten the
horses, and Megaera, our third horse, is like a mad thing sometimes,
though she can go like a stag; every time Marcus gets her quietly past
the Taraxippos we are nearer to success.--Look, look,=-the first chariot
has got round the nyssa! It is Hippias! Yes, by Zeus, he has done it! He
is a detestable braggart, but he knows his business!"

This was one of the decisive moments of the race. The crowd was silent;
expectation was at the utmost pitch of tension,