"Three talents for the girl!" Phradates cried.
"Five talents!" Chares answered.
The spectators, who had long ago ceased to think of bidding against the Theban, drew a deep breath and looked from one contestant to the other. Maia alone seemed indifferent. A tress of her hair had fallen upon her shoulder. She twisted it back into place. Chares had not seen her face when the soldier lifted her veil and his attention was now centred upon his opponent.
"Seven talents!" Phradates shouted, fixing his eyes defiantly upon Chares.
"Eight!" the Theban answered, without hesitation.
This was more than all the other captives in the group had brought. The crowd began to hum with excitement. Phradates looked over his shoulder and saw Mena leading four slaves who carried bags of gold.
"Ten talents!" he cried.
"All bids must be paid in cash," the auctioneer said warningly.
Every face was turned toward Chares, who had called his steward and was consulting with him. "How much have we left?" the Theban asked. The man made a rapid calculation on his tablets.
"You have ten talents and thirty minæ," he replied. "That is the end."