“Surely,” answered Sigurd. “Let me guide you to your places. They are of the best.” And he conducted her and her women to the tier where their seats had been set apart.
XVIII
ORDEAL OF BATTLE
By this time the vast amphitheatre, that was capable of seating twenty-four thousand people, if Syracuse had only had twenty-four thousand people to offer it, had swallowed up the eager crowds, and the arena lay bare, save for the little wooden platform with its scarlet stain. There was a flourish of royal music. Cries of “The King! The King!” ran from lip to lip; many soldiers marched across the arena from the royal gardens, and in their midst, on an open litter, was carried the likeness of the King, attended by a brilliant cloud of courtiers. As it seemed to all the thousand watching eyes, the King descended from his litter and mounted, amid salutations, to the enclosure on the amphitheatre where his throne was set up, and seating himself upon the throne gazed steadfastly at the arena, where now assistant executioners were piling the faggots close about the platform.
Not far from the King the court ladies babbled.
“Do they need so much wood to burn one little woman?” Messalinda asked, curiously, watching the executioners at their task.
Faustina chuckled maliciously.