It was a sunny morning, early in March, when Casca set forth for the school with a bundle of papers and vellum rolls, fastened together and hung across his shoulder. He yet wore the short toga prætexta which reached below the knee, and the golden bulla, which was a hollow ball of gold, hung round his neck. Casca had easily obtained admission to the school, which was presided over by a master who had no fear that the son of Severus would fail to recompense him for his trouble. And, indeed, there was something very winning in the gentle boy. His nervous temperament and dislike of all scenes of bloodshed and warfare had irritated his warlike father, but they were qualities which endeared him to the scholar and the poet, and Casca had become a great favourite in the schools, and was remarkable for his ability and quickness in learning. It was now many months since the martyrdom of Alban, and Casca began to think of that dreadful scene which his father compelled him to witness as a hideous dream. The persecutions of the Christians still raged, but in Rome there was so much space and so wide an area that the boy had not necessarily been brought in contact with the scenes which were continually enacted in the Coliseum. To-day there was a chariot race in the Circus Maximus, and when the morning school was over one of Casca’s companions invited him to stroll with him in that direction, in the hope of getting near the race. The Circus Maximus was of such enormous extent that this was no easy matter. The arena had in the centre a group of columns and obelisks on a raised platform, and round this the chariots raced. The judges sat here, and those to whom the chariots and horses belonged, moved round and round, shouting and waving their hands, and encouraging those who were in the arena to urge on their fiery horses to the utmost speed. The spring sunshine illuminated the temple and buildings on either side of the arena. The tiers of seats were filled with a vast multitude all in holiday attire, while the Emperor and his suite occupied a vantage-ground above the rows of seats on the right hand of the arena. These seats were reached by long flights of steps which divided the long line into twelve compartments, and the two boys found some vacant places near the end and commanding a view of the whole arena, though perhaps a distant one. It is difficult to picture anything more beautiful than the aspect of the Circus Maximus on a day like this. The range of mountains which seemed to shut it in at the further end, were seen in distinct outline against the clear blue sky--the clear and beautiful sapphire blue of Italy, which is never seen in our northern climates. The dark line of the foliage of spiral cypresses and round-topped pines set off the snowy whiteness of the marble pillars to which they made a background, and Casca was more fascinated by the grandeur of the place itself than interested in watching the race.