“I will take thy sestertii,” answered a Roman youth.
“Do not so,” interposed a friend.
“Why?”
“Messala has reached his utmost speed. See him[802] lean over his chariot-rim, the reins loose as flying ribbons, then look at the Jew!”
“By Hercules!” replied the youth, “I see, I see! If the gods help him not, he will be run away with by the Israelite. No; not yet! Look![803] Jove with us! Jove with us!”
If it were true that Messala had gained his utmost speed, he was slowly but certainly 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. 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[804] the Roman’s car. The joy of the Messala faction reached its bound. They screamed, and howled, and tossed[805] their colors, and Sanballat filled his tablets with their wagers.
Ben-Hur was hardly holding a place at the tail of his enemy’s car.
Along the home-stretch—sixth round—Messala leading; next him, pressing close, Ben-Hur. Thus to the first goal, and around it, Messala, fearful of losing his place, hugged the stony wall with perilous clasp; a foot to the left[806] and he had been dashed[807] to pieces; yet when the turn was finished, no man, looking at the wheel-tracks of the two cars, could have said, “Here[808] went Messala, there[809] the Jew.” They left but one trace behind them.
And now 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 they dashed[810] desperately forward, promising for an instant 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, all the factions except the Romans joined hope in Ben-Hur, and openly indulged their feeling.
“Ben-Hur! Ben-Hur!”[811] they shouted. “Speed thee,[812] Jew!”