“Messala hath reached his utmost speed.
See him lean over his chariot rim, the reins loose as flying ribbons.
Look then at the Jew.”
The first one looked.
“By Hercules!” he replied, his countenance falling. “The dog throws all his weight on the bits.
I see, I see!
If the gods help not our friend, he will be run away with by the Israelite.
No, not yet.
Look!
Jove with us, Jove with us!”
The cry, swelled by every Latin tongue, shook the velaria over the consul’s head.
If it were true that Messala had attained his utmost speed, the effort was with effect; slowly but certainly he was beginning to forge ahead.
His horses were running with their heads low down; from the balcony their bodies appeared actually to skim the earth; their nostrils showed blood red in expansion; their eyes seemed straining in their sockets.
Certainly the good steeds were doing their best!
How long could they keep the pace?
It was but the commencement of the sixth round. On they dashed. As they neared the second goal, Ben-Hur turned in behind the Roman’s car.
The joy of the Messala faction reached its bound: they screamed and howled, and tossed their colors; and Sanballat filled his tablets with wagers of their tendering.
Malluch, in the lower gallery over the Gate of Triumph, found it hard to keep his cheer.
He had cherished the vague hint dropped to him by Ben-Hur of something to happen in the turning of the western pillars.
It was the fifth round, yet the something had not come; and he had said to himself, the sixth will bring it; but, lo! Ben-Hur was hardly holding a place at the tail of his enemy’s car.
Over in the east end, Simonides’ party held their peace.
The merchant’s head was bent low.
Ilderim tugged at his beard, and dropped his brows till there was nothing of his eyes but an occasional sparkle of light.
Esther scarcely breathed.
Iras alone appeared glad.
Along the home-stretch— sixth round— Messala leading, next him Ben-Hur, and so close it was the old story:
“First flew Eumelus on Pheretian steeds;
With those of Tros bold Diomed succeeds;
Close on Eumelus’ back they puff the wind,
And seem just mounting on his car behind;
Full on his neck he feels the sultry breeze, And, hovering o’er, their stretching shadow sees.” Thus to the first goal, and round it.
Messala, fearful of losing his place, hugged the stony wall with perilous clasp; a foot to the left, and he had been dashed to pieces; yet, when the turn was finished, no man, looking at the wheel-tracks of the two cars, could have said, here went Messala, there the Jew.
They left but one trace behind them.
As they whirled by, Esther saw Ben-Hur’s face again, and it was whiter than before.
Simonides, shrewder than Esther, said to Ilderim, the moment the rivals turned into the course,
“I am no judge, good sheik, if Ben-Hur be not about to execute some design.
His face hath that look.”
To which Ilderim answered,
“Saw you how clean they were and fresh?
By the splendor of God, friend, they have not been running!
But now watch!”
One ball and one dolphin remained on the entablatures; and all the people drew a long breath, for the beginning of the end was at hand.
First, the Sidonian gave the scourge to his four, and, smarting with fear and pain, they dashed desperately forward, promising for a brief time to go to the front.
The effort ended in promise.
Next, the Byzantine and the Corinthian each made the trial with like result, after which they were practically out of the race.
Thereupon, with a readiness perfectly explicable, all the factions except the Romans joined hope in Ben-Hur, and openly indulged their feeling.
“Ben-Hur!
Ben-Hur!” they shouted, and the blent voices of the many rolled overwhelmingly against the consular stand.
From the benches above him as he passed, the favor descended in fierce injunctions.
“Speed thee, Jew!”