“True, but saw you ever one more cool and assured?
And what an arm he has!”
“And what horses!” says a third.
“And for that,” a fourth one adds, “they say he has all the tricks of the Romans.”
A woman completes the eulogium:
“Yes, and he is even handsomer than the Roman.”
Thus encouraged, the enthusiast shrieks again,
“A hundred shekels on the Jew!”
“Thou fool!” answers an Antiochian, from a bench well forward on the balcony. “Knowest thou not there are fifty talents laid against him, six to one, on Messala?
Put up thy shekels, lest Abraham rise and smite thee.”
“Ha, ha! thou ass of Antioch!
Cease thy bray.
Knowest thou not it was Messala betting on himself?” Such the reply.
And so ran the controversy, not always good-natured.
When at length the march was ended and the Porta Pompae received back the procession, Ben-Hur knew he had his prayer.
The eyes of the East were upon his contest with Messala.
Chapter 13
About three o’clock, speaking in modern style, the program was concluded except the chariot-race.
The editor, wisely considerate of the comfort of the people, chose that time for a recess.
At once the vomitoria were thrown open, and all who could hastened to the portico outside where the restaurateurs had their quarters.
Those who remained yawned, talked, gossiped, consulted their tablets, and, all distinctions else forgotten, merged into but two classes— the winners, who were happy, and the losers, who were grum and captious.
Now, however, a third class of spectators, composed of citizens who desired only to witness the chariot-race, availed themselves of the recess to come in and take their reserved seats; by so doing they thought to attract the least attention and give the least offence.
Among these were Simonides and his party, whose places were in the vicinity of the main entrance on the north side, opposite the consul.
As the four stout servants carried the merchant in his chair up the aisle, curiosity was much excited.
Presently some one called his name.
Those about caught it and passed it on along the benches to the west; and there was hurried climbing on seats to get sight of the man about whom common report had coined and put in circulation a romance so mixed of good fortune and bad that the like had never been known or heard of before.
Ilderim was also recognized and warmly greeted; but nobody knew Balthasar or the two women who followed him closely veiled. The people made way for the party respectfully, and the ushers seated them in easy speaking distance of each other down by the balustrade overlooking the arena. In providence of comfort, they sat upon cushions and had stools for footrests.
The women were Iras and Esther.
Upon being seated, the latter cast a frightened look over the Circus, and drew the veil closer about her face; while the Egyptian, letting her veil fall upon her shoulders, gave herself to view, and gazed at the scene with the seeming unconsciousness of being stared at, which, in a woman, is usually the result of long social habitude.
The new-comers generally were yet making their first examination of the great spectacle, beginning with the consul and his attendants, when some workmen ran in and commenced to stretch a chalked rope across the arena from balcony to balcony in front of the pillars of the first goal.
About the same time, also, six men came in through the Porta Pompae and took post, one in front of each occupied stall; whereat there was a prolonged hum of voices in every quarter.
“See, see! The green goes to number four on the right; the Athenian is there.”
“And Messala— yes, he is in number two.”
“The Corinthian— ”
“Watch the white!
See, he crosses over, he stops; number one it is— number one on the left.”
“No, the black stops there, and the white at number two.”
“So it is.”
These gate-keepers, it should be understood, were dressed in tunics colored like those of the competing charioteers; so, when they took their stations, everybody knew the particular stall in which his favorite was that moment waiting.
“Did you ever see Messala?” the Egyptian asked Esther.
The Jewess shuddered as she answered no.
If not her father’s enemy, the Roman was Ben-Hur’s.
“He is beautiful as Apollo.”
As Iras spoke, her large eyes brightened and she shook her jeweled fan.
Esther looked at her with the thought,
“Is he, then, so much handsomer than Ben-Hur?”
Next moment she heard Ilderim say to her father,
“Yes, his stall is number two on the left of the Porta Pompae;” and, thinking it was of Ben-Hur he spoke, her eyes turned that way.
Taking but the briefest glance at the wattled face of the gate, she drew the veil close and muttered a little prayer.
Presently Sanballat came to the party.