EDGAR RICE BURROUGHS
in her seat across the top of the arena wall as a man entered the loge from behind and sat upon the bench beside her.
“He is not there,” said the man.
The girl turned quickly toward the speaker. “Fastus!” she exclaimed. “How do you know that he is not there?”
“It is by my order,” replied the prince.
“He is dead,” cried Dilecta. “You have had him killed.”
“No,” denied Fastus, “he is safe in his cell.”
“What is to become of him?” asked the girl.
“His fate lies in your hands,” replied Fastus. “Give him up and promise to become the wife of Fastus and I will see that he is not forced to appear in the arena.”
“He would not have it so,” said the girl.
Fastus shrugged. “As you will,” he said, “but remember that his life is in your hands.”
“With sword, or dagger, or pike he has no equal,” said the girl, proudly. “If he were entered in the contest, he would be victorious.”
“Caesar has been known to pit unarmed men against lions,” Fastus reminded her, tauntingly. “Of what avail then is prowess with any weapon?”
“That would be murder,” said Dilecta.
“A harsh term to apply to an act of Caesar,” returned Fastus, menacingly.
“I speak my mind,” said the girl; “Caesar or no Caesar. It would be a cowardly and contemptible act, but I doubt not that either Caesar or his son is capable of even worse.” Her voice trembled with scathing contempt.
With a crooked smile upon his lips, Fastus arose. “It is not a matter to be determined without thought,” he said, “and your answer concerns not Maximus Praeclarus alone, nor you, nor me.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“There are Dion Splendidus and your mother, and Festivitas, the mother of Praeclarus!” And with this warning, he turned and left the loge.
The games progressed amid the din of trumpets, the crash of arms, the growling of beasts, and the murmuring of the great audience that sometimes rose to wild acclaim or deep-
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