The big man feinted and lunged cleverly. The point of his weapon ripped Alma’s thigh on the outside above the knee. No man could stand up after such a wound. He went down, his shield under him. From all around the arena, from every tier, automatically, thousands of arms shot out, thumb flat. Instantly every arm whipped back and was hidden under its owner’s robe. All realized that expression of sympathy was not their business. A hush fell. Everybody looked at the Emperor and at Brinnaria. Brinnaria sat erect in her arm-chair, fanning herself evenly, staring straight across the arena. The same instinct, the same curiosity which actuated the rest of the audience, restrained the Vestals from giving the sign of mercy. All felt that the matter concerned only Aurelius and Brinnaria, that for anyone else to interfere would be flouting the Emperor. Brinnaria, white as a corpse, dizzy and numb, kept up the unvarying motion of her fan. Otherwise she was perfectly still. The victor rolled his eyes along the rows of spectators. He got no inkling of their feelings. He gazed at the Vestals. The audience saw him gaze that way. Brinnaria ignored him. Almo and all the world. The victor looked toward the Emperor. Aurelius held out his right hand, thumb out. The lanista removed Almo’s helmet. If anyone had doubted his identity the doubt was dispelled among all near enough to make out his face. The victor put one foot on Almo’s chest. Almo stretched his neck. Brinnaria sat there, tense, pale, but as collected as if she had no interest in what was going on. The savage standing over Alma glanced a second time towards the Emperor. Aurelius was holding his arm at full stretch over the coping, thumb flat against the extended fingers. Brinnaria knew that she had won, that Aurelius had put her to the test before all Rome, that she had stood the test, that all Rome was witness. Her fingers clutched the handle of her fan. She could hardly feel it in her grasp. The big man took his foot from Almo’s chest. The audience broke into howls of applause, gust after gust of cheers, roaring like a storm wind in a forest. Brinnaria saw the arena, saw the spectators, through a film of mist, through a gray veil, through a fog of blackness. She realized that, for the first time in her life, she was on the verge of fainting. Mechanically she looked about her. Her glance fell on Meffia crumpled in her arm-chair. That steadied her. If Meffia had fainted, she would not, she would not. She did not faint. She fanned herself steadily as she watched the lanistas help Almo to hobble from the arena. When he was gone her attention returned to Meffia. Gargilia and Numisia were trying to rouse her. She remained crumpled, she collapsed, she slid off her chair to the floor of the box. She lay in a horrid heap unmistakable in its limpness. The excitement had been too much for Meffia. She was stone dead. BOOK III--THE REBELLION OF DESPERATION CHAPTER XV - REHABILITATION