The elephant torch-bearers had greatly delighted him, and in the expectation of seeing Melissa again, and of a public recognition that he had won the fairest maid there, he had come into the Circus in the best spirits.  He still wore his natural expression; yet now and then his brow was knit, for he was haunted by the eyes of Seleukus’s wife.  The haughty woman—­“that bedizened Niobe” he had contemptuously called her in speaking to Macrinus—­had appeared to him as an avenging goddess; strangely enough, every time he thought of her, he remembered, too, the consul Vindex and his nephew, whose execution Melissa’s intercession had only hastened, and he was vexed now that he had not lent an ear to her entreaties.  The fact that the name Vindex signified an avenger disturbed him greatly, and he could no more get it out of his mind than the image of the “Niobe” with her ominous dark eyes.

He would see her no more; and in this he was helped by the gladiators, for they now approached him, and their frantic enthusiasm kept him for some time from all other thoughts.  While they flourished their weapons-some the sword and buckler, and others the not less terrible net and harpoon—­the time-honored cry rose from their husky throats in eager acclamation:  “Hail, Caesar! those about to die salute thee!” Then, in rows of ten men each, they crossed the arena at a rapid pace.

Between the first and second group one man swaggered past alone, as though he were something apart, and he strutted and rolled as he walked with pompous self-importance.  It was his prescriptive right, and in his broad, coarse features, with a snub nose, thick lips, and white, flashing teeth like those of a beast of prey, it was easy to see that the adversary would fare but ill who should try to humble him.  And yet he was not tall; but on his deep chest, his enormous square shoulders, and short, bandy legs, the muscles stood out like elastic balls, showing the connoisseur that in strength he was a giant.  A loin-cloth was all he wore, for he was proud of the many scars which gleamed red and white on his fair skin.  He had pushed back his little bronze helmet, so that the terrible aspect of the left side of his face might not be lost on the populace.  While he was engaged in fighting three panthers and a lion, the lion had torn out his eye and with it part of his cheek.  His name was Tarautas, and he was known throughout the empire as the most brutal of gladiators, for he had also earned the further privilege of never fighting but for life or death, and never under any circumstances either granting or asking quarter.  Where he was engaged corpses strewed the plain.