But one sickening thought was in the breasts of both of them. They had sat side by side in daily intercourse; their common friendlessness, their common sympathies, had thrown them together in the closest bonds, and those bonds had been strengthened by the discovery that both had been taught at least the rudiments of a holy faith. But the day of the games was rapidly approaching, and the chances of the lot, or the caprice of the Prætor, might easily cause them to be pitted against each other. It was horrible to think that either of them might be compelled to drive sword or dagger into the throat or heart of his friend. ‘Supposing that we are matched together?’ said Glanydon, the evening before the display. ‘Then we must fight,’ said Onesimus. ‘Have we not taken the oath “to be bound, to be burned, to be scourged, to be slain,” or do anything else that is required of us as legitimate gladiators, giving up alike our souls and our bodies?’[75] ‘Which of us will win?’ asked Glanydon, with a sad smile. ‘You,’ said the Phrygian. ‘You are stronger than I am, and taller.’ ‘Yes, but you are quicker and more active, and you can’t tell how I hate that net of yours. I know you will catch me in it--’ ‘If I do, you will still have fought so well that the people will all turn down their thumbs, and you will be spared. A tall fine fellow like you is just the gladiator whom the Roman ladies like to look at, and they won’t have you killed in your first fight. But as for me--a mere Phrygian slave!--Yes, Glanydon, to-morrow your short sword will perhaps be red with my blood.’ ‘Never!’ said Glanydon. ‘I will fight because I must, and will do my best; and when my blood is up I might kill you or any other opponent in the blind heat of the combat; but as for slaughtering in cold blood I could not do it--least of all could I murder the friend I love.’ ‘You won’t be able to help yourself, Glanydon. And we netsmen (worse luck!) have our faces uncovered. Many of the spectators, like the late “divine” Claudius, as they call him, like to see us killed, because our dying expression is not concealed by a helmet.’ ‘But why should we not both escape?’ asked the Briton. ‘Perhaps before this time to-morrow we may each be the happy possessor of the ivory ticket with “_Sp._”[76] upon it, or even of the palm and the foil. Who knows but what by our bravery we may be _rude donati_?’ ‘Don’t you know, then, that to-morrow’s games will very likely be _sine missione_? We must either die or kill.’ The Briton had not been aware of it. He sank into gloomy silence. Onesimus gently laid his hand on his friend’s shoulder, and said, ‘Well, perhaps, like Priscus and Verrus, we may both be victors and both vanquished. _Pugnavere pares, succubuere pares._’ Glanydon shook his head. He said, ‘Let us talk no more, or we shall both be unmanned. Life--death--to-morrow; the _rudis_ or the stab? Which shall it be?’ ‘It is in God’s hands,’ said Onesimus, ‘if what we have been taught is true.’