The gladiator laid aside his silver helmet, unloosed his short sword and ordered light refreshment from the proprietor who came himself to serve so noted a guest.
Had some great philosopher entered, he would have been greeted with respect but would not have aroused anything like so much interest or enthusiasm as did the victorious gladiator. Even the boys in the streets knew his name and tried to imitate him.
For some time, while he had satisfied a very hearty appetite, Lycias did not open a conversation, and Alyrus, a little awed, had hesitated to speak.
Apparently for the first time, the gladiator examined the Moor's face.
Springing to his feet, he saluted in a military fashion.
"Your pardon, my lord, I knew not that I had ventured to presume upon the kindness of Claudius Auranus, governor of Carthage."
Alyrus stammered.
"Be seated, sir, I—I am not his excellency the governor of Carthage.
I am a much humbler man, a chieftain of Tripoli."
"Ah! I knew that you were some distinguished person, from your bearing and dress."
When Alyrus smiled, he was uglier than ever.