‘It is Lydon, a youngster, practised only with the wooden sword as yet,’ answered Niger, condescendingly.  ’But he has the true blood in him, and has challenged Tetraides.’

‘He challenged me,’ said Lydon:  ‘I accept the offer.’

‘And how do you fight?’ asked Lepidus.  ’Chut, my boy, wait a while before you contend with Tetraides.’  Lydon smiled disdainfully.

‘Is he a citizen or a slave?’ said Clodius.

‘A citizen—­we are all citizens here,’ quoth Niger.

‘Stretch out your arm, my Lydon,’ said Lepidus, with the air of a connoisseur.

The gladiator, with a significant glance at his companions, extended an arm which, if not so huge in its girth as those of his comrades, was so firm in its muscles, so beautifully symmetrical in its proportions, that the three visitors uttered simultaneously an admiring exclamation.

‘Well, man, what is your weapon?’ said Clodius, tablet in hand.

’We are to fight first with the cestus; afterwards, if both survive, with swords,’ returned Tetraides, sharply, and with an envious scowl.

‘With the cestus!’ cried Glaucus; ’there you are wrong, Lydon; the cestus is the Greek fashion:  I know it well.  You should have encouraged flesh for that contest:  you are far too thin for it—­avoid the cestus.’

‘I cannot,’ said Lydon.

‘And why?’

‘I have said—­because he has challenged me.’

‘But he will not hold you to the precise weapon.’

‘My honour holds me!’ returned Lydon, proudly.

‘I bet on Tetraides, two to one, at the cestus,’ said Clodius; shall it be, Lepidus?—­even betting, with swords.’

’If you give me three to one, I will not take the odds, said Lepidus:  ‘Lydon will never come to the swords.  You are mighty courteous.’

‘What say you, Glaucus?’ said Clodius.

‘I will take the odds three to one.’

‘Ten sestertia to thirty.’

‘Yes.’

Clodius wrote the bet in his book.

‘Pardon me, noble sponsor mine,’ said Lydon, in a low voice to Glaucus:  ‘but how much think you the victor will gain?’

‘How much? why, perhaps seven sestertia.’

‘You are sure it will be as much?’

’At least.  But out on you!—­a Greek would have thought of the honour, and not the money.  O Italians! everywhere ye are Italians!’

A blush mantled over the bronzed cheek of the gladiator.

’Do not wrong me, noble Glaucus; I think of both, but I should never have been a gladiator but for the money.’

‘Base! mayest thou fall!  A miser never was a hero.’

‘I am not a miser,’ said Lydon, haughtily, and he withdrew to the other end of the room.

‘But I don’t see Burbo; where is Burbo?  I must talk with Burbo,’ cried Clodius.

‘He is within,’ said Niger, pointing to the door at the extremity of the room.

‘And Stratonice, the brave old lass, where is she?’ quoth Lepidus.