Again the silence stretched so tense that a shuffle of feet and whispers brought angry looks from neighbors on the seats. Slowly, gently, with the caress of a mother for her young, the Greek girl was stroking the head of the beast between its ears. It stooped and licked her feet and lay down as if in the presence of a friend recognized, where it had expected foe. On bended knee, the girl stooped, caressing the beast. The Lady Trefina in the royal enclosure had lifted her veil and was leaning forward. The commandant was seen to lean across to her, and she rose and threw a laurel wreath into the arena. The horseman came spurring back and snatched the girl to his saddle. Other horsemen came galloping with long lances and drove the now terrified lioness back through the stone portal. All Iconium rose to its feet on the stone benches and shouted salvos of frantic applause; but the cries were mingled. Some shouted, “Saved—Saved!” others hissed and shouted back “More—More.” Blood lust felt that it had somehow been cheated of its full glut. In the center of the arena stood a tall flagpole with the Roman eagle in brass on the tip. The horseman with the naked girl now circled this in frantic gallops. Reining his horse so suddenly that it reared on its haunches, he now leaped off with the girl in his arms. He placed the laurel wreath on her forehead. With such a broad belt as men use to girth chariot teams, he now strapped the victim by the waist to the pole. Iconium knew what was coming and began to roar in an earthquake of applause. Never did this Greek city on the Great Roman Road fail of entertainment for royal visitors. After all, the quick victory of the girl over the beast was not to cheat their lust for horrors. Black slaves were piling faggots and straw about the pole. Others were emptying great vats of water in a lake about the pile to prevent the fire leaping across the sands to the seats. Thamyris sank from the upper bench, where he sat, a crumpled heap of blood-spattered blue silk with gold sash, to the stone space behind the next tier. “Dead,” said the Roman standing behind him. “These Greeks are all soft at pith. Would Roman die of love for a mistress?” The fanfare of trumpets was blowing again to drown cries of anguish; and in the crash of drum and bugle and trumpet, another crash was not heeded. The opal peaks no longer swam in silver moonlight. A black squall was coming down from the mountains and the commandant was seen signaling the attendants to hasten.