No persons could at first glance have seemed less evenly matched than the two antagonists.  Tetraides, though no taller than Lydon, weighed considerably more; the natural size of his muscles was increased, to the eyes of the vulgar, by masses of solid flesh; for, as it was a notion that the contest of the cestus fared easiest with him who was plumpest, Tetraides had encouraged to the utmost his hereditary predisposition to the portly.  His shoulders were vast, and his lower limbs thick-set, double-jointed, and slightly curved outward, in that formation which takes so much from beauty to give so largely to strength.  But Lydon, except that he was slender even almost to meagreness, was beautifully and delicately proportioned; and the skillful might have perceived that with much less compass of muscle than his foe, that which he had was more seasoned—­iron and compact.  In proportion, too, as he wanted flesh, he was likely to possess activity; and a haughty smile on his resolute face, which strongly contrasted with the solid heaviness of his enemy’s, gave assurance to those who beheld it and united their hope to their pity; so that despite the disparity of their seeming strength, the cry of the multitude was nearly as loud for Lydon as for Tetraides.

Whoever is acquainted with the modern prize-ring—­whoever has witnessed the heavy and disabling strokes which the human fist, skillfully directed, hath the power to bestow—­may easily understand how much that happy facility would be increased by a band carried by thongs of leather round the arm as high as the elbow, and terribly strengthened about the knuckles by a plate of iron, and sometimes a plummet of lead.  Yet this, which was meant to increase, perhaps rather diminished, the interest of the fray; for it necessarily shortened its duration.  A very few blows, successfully and scientifically planted, might suffice to bring the contest to a close; and the battle did not, therefore, often allow full scope for the energy, fortitude, and dogged perseverance that we technically style pluck, which not unusually wins the day against superior science, and which heightens to so painful a delight the interest in the battle and the sympathy for the brave.

“Guard thyself!” growled Tetraides, moving nearer and nearer to his foe, who rather shifted round him than receded.

Lydon did not answer, save by a scornful glance of his quick, vigilant eye.  Tetraides struck—­it was as the blow of a smith on a vise; Lydon sank suddenly on one knee—­the blow passed over his head.  Not so harmless was Lydon’s retaliation; he quickly sprang to his feet, and aimed his cestus full on the broad chest of his antagonist.  Tetraides reeled—­the populace shouted.

“You are unlucky to-day,” said Lepidus to Clodius:  “you have lost one bet; you will lose another.”

“By the gods! my bronzes go to the auctioneer if that is the case.  I have no less than a hundred sestertia upon Tetraides.  Ha, ha! see how he rallies!  That was a home stroke:  he has cut open Lydon’s shoulder.—­A Tetraides!—­a Tetraides!”