"My Lord," they cried, "Thrasabad has disappeared. What shall be done? The festival--"
"Is over. Alas that it ever began!"
"But the races in the Circus opposite?"
"Will not take place! Lead the horses out! Return them to their owners."
"I will not take the stallion until after we have thrown the dice," cried Modigisel. "Ay, tremble with rage. I hold you to your word."
"And the wild beasts?" urged a freedman. "They are roaring for food."
"Leave them where they are! Feed them!"
"And the Moorish prisoner?"
He could not answer; for while the racehorses, the stallion among them, were being led from the Circus into the square between it and the Amphitheatre, loud shouts rang from the exits of the latter.
"The Moor! The captive! He has escaped! He is running away! Stop him!"