A great stadium had been formed near the Bætis-Perkes in which the principal citizens of Saguntum were to contest for the triumph. The senators, on long benches, and guarded by a group of mercenaries, presided over the festival. At one end of the race-track the sons of the merchants and rich agriculturists, the entire youth of Saguntum, almost nude, awaited the signal, leaning on their light lances, and holding the bridles of their barebacked horses which snorted and champed the bit, scenting the coming contest. The signal to start was given, and placing their left feet on the handles of their lances all sprang simultaneously upon their chargers, dashing forward in a compact squadron along the track. The immense crowd broke into acclamations at sight of the bizarre riders who leaning forward almost lay on their horses' necks, as if forming a single body with them, waving their lances, quickening their gallop with shouts, and wrapped in a cloud of dust through which the multitude could barely make out the straining legs and the bellies of the animals which were nearly touching the ground. The wild race lasted long. The less skillful riders, and those with poorer mounts, were being out-stripped; the squadron was diminishing visibly. He who should remain longest on the track, ever in advance of the others, would win the crown, and the people made bets on the Celtiberian Alorcus, and on the Athenian Actæon who figured from the first instant at the head of the riders. The citizens who did not wish to wait in the sun for the end of the race followed the river bank until they reached the walls, in the shade of which the youths were wrestling or engaging in boxing matches in competition for the prize for dexterity. Others of more pacific turn went to the Forum, where beneath the porticos the young aristocrats were competing for the laurel crown offered for the most skilled in music and song. Seated on ivory chairs, attended by their handsome slave boys who fanned them with branches of myrtle, Lachares and his friends played the flute or thrummed the lyre, singing Greek verses with sweet and effeminate intonations. In the gathering, some laughed, mimicking the softness of their voices, but others, indignant, compelled silence, overcome by the charm which art, even in this womanish guise, exercised over their uncultured minds. Late in the morning the clamor from the enthusiastic multitude filled the broad space of the Forum like reverberating thunder. It was the people returning from the races, acclaiming the victor. The arrogant Alorcus, dragged off the back of his horse, was borne on the shoulders of the most enthusiastic. The olive crown encircled his tossed and dusty hair. Actæon was beside him, celebrating his triumph fraternally, without a touch of envy.