Sanballat immediately arose and looked around him, a sneer in place of his smile. No man better than he knew those with whom he was dealing.
“Romans,” he said, “another wager, if you dare! Five talents against five talents that the white will win. I challenge you collectively.”
They were again surprised.
“What!” he cried, louder. “Shall it be said in the Circus to-morrow that a dog of Israel went into the saloon of the palace full of Roman nobles—among them the scion of a Cæsar—and laid five talents before them in challenge, and they had not the courage to take it up?”
The sting was unendurable.
“Have done, O insolent!” said Drusus, “write the challenge, and leave it on the table; and to-morrow, if we find thou hast indeed so much money to put at such hopeless hazard, I, Drusus, promise it shall be taken.”
Sanballat wrote again, and, rising, said, unmoved as ever, “See, Drusus, I leave the offer with you. When it is signed, send it to me any time before the race begins. I will be found with the consul in a seat over the Porta Pompae. Peace to you; peace to all.”
He bowed, and departed, careless of the shout of derision with which they pursued him out of the door.
In the night the story of the prodigious wager flew along the streets and over the city; and Ben-Hur, lying with his four, was told of it, and also that Messala’s whole fortune was on the hazard.
And he slept never so soundly.