"Look, how the seven horses harnessed to the green chariot are pawing the sand! That is Hercules, the charioteer. He has five medals already." "But see! His opponent is the Moor Chalches. He wears seven medals. Look, he is throwing down his whip; he is challenging Hercules to drive without one, too. But he will not dare." "Yes; he is tossing the whip on the sand. I'll bet on Hercules! I side with the Greens!" shouted Victor, excitedly. "And I with the Blues. It ought--but stop! We--Roman citizens--betting on the games of our tyrants?" "Oh, nonsense! you have no courage! Or no money!" "More than you--of both! How much? Ten sestertii?" "Twelve!" "For aught I care. Done!" "Look, the rope has fallen!" "Now they are rushing forward!" "Bravo, Green, at the first meta already--and nearest--past." "On, Chalches! There, Blue! Forward! Hi! at the second meta Chalches was nearest." "Faster, Hercules! Faster, you lazy snail! Keep more to the right--the right! or--O, Heaven!" "Yes, Saint Cyprian! Triumph! There lies the proud Green! Flat on his belly, like a crushed frog! Triumph! The Blue is at the goal. Pay up, friend! Where is my money?" "That isn't fair. I won't pay. The Blue intentionally struck the horse on the left with his pole. That's cheating!" "What? Do you insult my color? And won't pay either?" "Not a pebble." "Indeed? Well, you rascal, I'll pay _you_." A blow fell; it sounded like a slap on a fat cheek. "Keep quiet up there, you dwellers in the clouds," shouted Mercury. "It is nothing, fair bride, except two Roman citizens cuffing each other. Friend Wandalar, go; turn them out. Both! There! Now on with the games. Carry the Green out through the Libitinensis. Is he dead? Yes. Go on. The prizes will be awarded at the end. We are in a hurry. If the King should return from Hippo before the time he named--woe betide us!" CHAPTER XIV "Pshaw!" said Modigisel's neighbor, a bold-looking, elderly nobleman with a haughty, aristocratic bearing. "We need not fear. We Gundings are of scarcely less ancient nobility. I do not bow my head to the Asdings. Least of all before this dissembler." "You are right, Gundomar!" assented a younger man. "Let us defy the tyrant." The giant Thrasaric turned his head and said very slowly but very impressively: "Listen, Gundomar and Gundobad; you are my guests but speak ill of Gelimer, and you will fare like those two Romans. So much wine has gone to my head; but nothing shall be said against Gelimer. I will not allow it. He, so full of kindness, a tyrant! What does that mean?" "It means a usurper." "How can you say that? He is the oldest Asding." "After King Hilderic! And was he justly imprisoned and deposed?" asked Gundomar, doubtfully. "Was not the whole affair a clever invention?" added Gundobad. "Not by Gelimer! You do not mean to say that?" cried Thrasaric, threateningly. "No! But perhaps by Verus."