“Who is the old man talking to the general?”
“Paulinus the Stoic.—Once Valerian thought no more of his soul than another—”
“Ha! We begin!”
The five hundred dancing nymphs and fauns swirled from the arena like wind-blown coloured leaves and petals. A grating slid back, there came forth a hollow roar. Forth upon the sand walked a lion from Africa, a king among lions. Another gate opened; there stepped forth, naked, a yellow-headed giant. The games began.... Presently there were many beasts and many men.
Valeria sat with her hands in her lap, and for a long time had no thought save for the child that was going from her. Her will had bowed to that going. It was a great and honourable destiny, and many competed for the nomination for their daughters. Flavia did not pass from life. She, Valeria, would hear of her, see her, might visit her in the great, rich House of the Vestals. But the mother grieved that she would not see her every day, would no more lie beside her nor bear her in her arms. She was so sunken in the thought of the little one that she gave scant attention to the place in which she was, to the sloping wilderness where men and women took the place of trees, and down below, as in a vast pit, men fought with and like the beasts of the wood. Upon the slopes held breathlessness, a leaning forward and down as though bent by a wind. Down in the arena held heavy breathing, straining, bestial sounds of struggle, shouts, groans, cries of triumph and despair.... Flavia stepped aside in her mind. Out of mind went the other vestals, the emperor, all the great, and the massed people; aside stepped also Valerian. She had been to the games before, but she had not before felt woe and sadness like this. Her soul plunged into black depths, then rose. For the first time she hated the games; she found them smeared with guilt. It seemed to her that veils parted; she caught wider glimpses of life and its ways. How long she had lived, and how bent and crooked, here starved and here swollen, was living! These hateful games—Cæsar’s empurpled face—the multitude craving and lusting for the red, the loud, the suffering of another.... She felt for all a sick distaste. She wished to rise and go away, Flavia in her arms and beside her Valerian.... She went farther. Faint as first dawn in an old deep forest she experienced a sense of oneness with all within the range of perception, with the breathless tiers, with the panting, the groaning arena. Very faintly, she would have had all rise and go away, very faintly the whole rose and moved with her. But it was only like a breath of dawn; in a moment she thought again only of Flavia and Valerian. But it had been, and might be again. Down in the pit a man, struggling with a brute, gave a short cry of agony. A man and a woman, near her, leaning from marble seats, showed gloating faces, drew in their breath with a sound of delight. She felt again the wave of pain, resistance, the effort to lift and remove, the straining as against grave-clothes.
The day, short to the most but long and long to many, drew to an end. The huge spectacle given by Valerian closed with a final clanging feat, red colour and uproar. Forth went the emperor, forth the vestals, forth the prefect, senators, knights, the prætorians, the huge people. The Amphitheatre emptied by many ways, but without, in the columned space that fronted it, all orders blended. Patrician and plebeian pressed each against the other. In the seething colour and sound, Valerian and Valeria, with them many friends, came against a great knot and concourse of market-people. At cross-directions there occurred a momentary halting. The folk, recognizing Valerian, shouted his name. He, as donor of the show, must continue to exhibit good-will. What he showed he felt. He had been long in savage forests; returning, he felt Rome and the Romans warm about his heart. He greeted the folk as they greeted him, laughter and good words passed between them. Then Lais, the freedwoman, the flower-seller, pushed herself, or was pushed, toward the front. She had in her hand Iras her daughter. Together they came as fully as might be before Valerian and Valeria. Now Iras was a beautiful child. Valerian looked on Lais whom he remembered, but Valeria looked at Iras. “Hail, General!” chanted the flower-seller, and with deliberation pushed before her the child. “Hail, General! Did you see any fairer, out there among barbarians?”
If Valerian had or had not did not appear, for now others came between. In especial young men came, roisterers from the Palatine. These pushed against the market-folk, and one, curled and garlanded, threw his arms around Lais, who yet possessed beauty. When she released herself, Valerian and Valeria and their following had passed by.
That night was feasting in Valerian’s house in Rome. The next day was business in Cæsar’s house and elsewhere. The third day he went with Valeria to his country house in the Alban Hills.
At sunset the two paced the terrace, all the air sweet with flowers, spread beneath them the wide, darkling plain. They had not been alone together since the day of the games. Now they walked up and down in silence, husband and wife, in much understanding each the other, yet in much each to the other barbarian, loving much, yet at not a few points drawn widely apart. Outwardly, they were at rich, first prime, and both of them fair to the eye.
The west was crimson, their vineyards and olive trees caught the last bright light, white doves fluttered about a dovecote and walked the terrace with them.