Ahenobarbus felt awed and uncomfortable.  Pratinas, with his mantle wrapped tightly around his head, continued at a rapid pace.  Lucius had left his attendants at home, and now began to recall gruesome tales of highwaymen and bandits frequenting this region after dark.  His fears were not allayed by noticing that underneath his himation Pratinas occasionally let the hilt of a short sword peep forth.  Still the Greek kept on, never turning to glance at a filthy, half-clad beggar, who whined after them for an alms, and who did not so much as throw a kiss after the young Roman when the latter tossed forth a denarius,[60] but snatched up the coin, muttered at its being no more, and vanished into the gathering gloom.

  [60] Four sesterces, 16 cents.

“Where are you leading me?” asked Ahenobarbus, a second time, after all his efforts to communicate with the usually fluent Greek met with only monosyllables.

“To the lanista[61] Dumnorix,” replied Pratinas, quickening an already rapid pace.

  [61] Keeper of a school of gladiators.

“And his barracks are—?”

“By the river, near the Mulvian bridge.”

At length a pile of low square buildings was barely visible in the haze.  It was close to the Tiber, and the rush of the water against the piling of the bridge was distinctly audible.  As the two drew near to a closed gateway, a number of mongrel dogs began to snap and bark around them.  From within the building came the roar of coarse hilarity and coarser jests.  As Pratinas approached the solidly barred doorway, a grating was pushed aside and a rude voice demanded:—­

“Your business?  What are you doing here?”

“Is Dumnorix sober?” replied Pratinas, nothing daunted.  “If so, tell him to come and speak with me.  I have something for his advantage.”

Either Pratinas was well known at the gladiators’ school, or something in his speech procured favour.  There was a rattling of chains and bolts, and the door swung open.  A man of unusual height and ponderous proportions appeared in the opening.  That was all which could be seen in the semi-darkness.

“You are Pratinas?” he asked, speaking Latin with a northern accent.  The Hellene nodded, and replied softly:  “Yes.  No noise.  Tell Dumnorix to come quietly.”

The two stepped in on to the flags of a courtyard, and the doorkeeper, after rebolting, vanished into the building.  Ahenobarbus could only see that he was standing in a large stone-paved court, perhaps one hundred and forty feet wide and considerably longer.  A colonnade of low whitewashed pillars ran all about:  and behind them stretched rows of small rooms and a few larger apartments.  There were tyros practising with wooden swords in one of the rooms, whence a light streamed, and a knot of older gladiators was urging them on, mocking, praising, and criticising their efforts.  Now and then a burly gladiator would stroll across the court; but the young noble and his escort remained hidden in shadow.