Part 16 (1/2)
”Leave them where they are! Feed them!”
”And the Moorish prisoner?”
He could not answer; for while the racehorses, the stallion among them, were being led from the Circus into the square between it and the Amphitheatre, loud shouts rang from the exits of the latter.
”The Moor! The captive! He has escaped! He is running away! Stop him!”
Thrasaric turned, and saw the figure of the young Moor coming toward him. He had been bound hand and foot, and though successful in breaking the rope around his ankles, he had been unable to sever the one firmly fastened about his wrists, and was greatly impeded in forcing a way through the crowd by his inability to use his hands.
”Let him go! Let him run!” ordered Thrasaric.
”No,” shouted the pursuers. ”He has just knocked his master down by a blow of his fist. His master commanded it! He must die! A thousand sestertii to the man who captures him.”
Stones flew, and here and there a spear whizzed by.
”A thousand sestertii?” cried one Roman to another. ”Friend Victor, let us forget our quarrel and earn them together.”
”Done. Halves, O Laurus!”
The fugitive now darted like an arrow straight toward Thrasaric. His lithe, n.o.ble figure came nearer and nearer. Lofty wrath glowed on the finely moulded young face. Then, close beside Thrasaric, Laurus grasped at the rope hanging from the Moor's wrists. A violent jerk, the youth fell. Victor grasped his arm.
”The thousand sestertii are ours,” cried Laurus, drawing the rope toward him.
”No,” exclaimed Thrasaric, s.n.a.t.c.hing his short-sword from its sheath.
The weapon flashed through the cord. ”Fly, Moor!”
The youth was instantly on his feet again; one grateful glance at the Vandal, and he was in the midst of the race-horses.
”Oh, the stallion! My stallion!” shouted Modigisel. But the Moor was already on the back of the magnificent animal. A word in its ear, the horse sprang forward, the crowd scattered shrieking, and already Styx and his rider were flying over the road to Numidia in the sheltering darkness of the night.
”The stallion,” muttered Modigisel. ”That will cost me the casting of the dice for the young wife.”
Thrasaric gazed after the horse in amazement. ”O G.o.d, I thank Thee! I will deserve it; I will atone. Come, little one. To the King! He seems to need me.”
Meanwhile the n.o.bles and their followers had pressed forward threateningly against the King, who did not yield a step.
”We will not be ruled by you,” cried Gundomar.
”We will not be forbidden to enjoy the pleasures of life!” exclaimed Modigisel. ”To-morrow, whether you are willing or not, I will invite my friends. We will meet again in this arena.”
”No, you will not,” said the King, quietly, and taking the torch from the hand of the nearest slave he rose in his stirrups, and, with a sure aim, hurled it high over the heads of the crowd into the silk tent, which instantly caught fire and blazed up brightly. Loud roars came from the cages of the wild beasts.
”Do you dare?” shrieked Gundobad. ”This house is not yours. It belongs to the Vandal nation! How dare you destroy their pleasures, merely because you do not share them?”
”And why do you not share them?” added Gundomar. ”Because you are no true man, no real Vandal.”
”An enthusiast--no king of a race of heroes!”
”Why do you so often tremble?”
”Who knows whether some secret sin does not burden you?”