Egypt -- History -- 30 B.C.-640 A.D. -- Fiction; German fiction -- Translations into English
Hippias had ceased to flout and dally. In spite of the delay that Marcus
had experienced from the Taraxippos, the space that parted his bays
from the black Arabs had sensibly diminished, round after round; and
the interest of the race now centered entirely in him and the young
Christian. Never before had so passionate and reckless a contest been
fought out on this venerable race-course, and the throng of spectators
were carried away by the almost frenzied rivalry of the two drivers. Not
a creature in the upper tiers had been able to keep his seat; men and
women alike had risen to their feet and were shouting and roaring to the
competitors. The music in the towers might have ceased, so completely
was it drowned by the tumult in the amphitheatre.
Only the ladies, in the best places above the starting-sheds, preserved
their aristocratic calm; Still, when the seventh and decisive round was
begun, even the widow Mary leaned forward a little and clasped her hands
more tightly over the cross in her lap. Each time that Marcus had driven
round the obelisk or past the Taraxippos, Dada had clutched her head
with her hands and set her teeth in her lip; each time, as he happily
steered clear of the fatal stone and whirled past the dreadful bronze
statue, she had relaxed her grip and leaned back in her seat with a sigh
of relief. Her sympathy made her one with Marcus; she felt as if his
loss must be her death and his victory her personal triumph.
During the sixth circuit Hippias was still a long way ahead of the young
Christian; the distance which lay between Marcus and the team of bays
seemed to have become a fixed quantity, for, do what he could, he could
not diminish it by a hand-breadth. The two agitatores had now completely
altered their tactics; instead of holding their horses in they urged
them onward, leaning over the front of their chariots, speaking to the
horses, Shouting at them with hoarse, breathless cries, and flogging
them unsparingly. Steamy sweat and lathering foam streaked the flanks of
the desperate, laboring brutes, while clouds of dust were flung up
from the dry, furrowed and trampled soil. The other chariots were left
further and further behind those of Hippias and Marcus, and when, for
the seventh and last time, these two were nearing the nyssa, the crowd
for a moment held its breath, only to break out into louder and wilder
cries, and then again to be hushed. It seemed as though their exhausted
lungs found renewed strength to shout with double energy when their
excitement had kept them silent for a while.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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