Behind the clamor, which set the streets in a commotion, causing the populace to roar with enthusiasm excited by the warlike display, came a group of girls holding a peplus of finest texture on which the principal Grecian women of the city had embroidered the combat of Minerva with the Titans. It was the offering which was to remain in the new temple of the goddess as a perpetual token of the festival.
Closing the procession, the sacred squadron advanced, the richest citizens, mounted on fiery horses, which, with their evolutions compelled the crowd to fall back against the walls. They presented a brave display, making their steeds rear on their hind feet, guided only by the bridle, riding bareback, pressing their knees into the horses' ribs. The eldest of the horsemen wore huge hats in the Athenian fashion. The young men wore the winged helmet of Mercury or went bareheaded, their short curls bound by a fire-colored ribbon. Alorcus wore the crown he had won, and Actæon, riding beside him on one of the Celtiberian's horses, smiled at the crowd, which regarded him with a certain respect as if he were Sónnica's husband and in possession of her enormous riches. The horsemen gazed with pride at the swords which hung at their sides and clanked against the flanks of their horses, and they took in with a glance the high Acropolis and the city lying at its feet, as if expressing confidence in their strength, and faith in the tranquility in which Saguntum might dwell, sure of protection.
The crowd fired with enthusiasm by the brilliant procession, acclaimed Sónnica. Surrounded by her slave women, she gazed down from the terrace of her great building in the ward of the merchants where she stored her merchandise. She was the organizer, the one who bore the cost of the peplus of Minerva, she it was who had transplanted to Saguntum the beautiful festival of Athens. Fragrant odors from the censers were flung upon the air; a shower of roses fell from the windows upon the maidens; arms glistened in the sunlight, and in moments when the people were silent the sounds of lyres and flutes floated on the breeze, accompanying with soft melodies the voices of the Homeric rhapsodists.
The crude Celtiberians, gathered to witness the festival, remained silent in astonishment at the procession which dazzled them with its glitter of arms and jewels and the multicolored confusion of costumes. The natives of Saguntum congratulated their fellow-citizens, the Greeks, admiring the splendor of the festival.
The festivity did not cease with the passing of the brilliant procession. In the afternoon the diversion of the populace, the festival of the poor, would take place. The race of the flaming torch would be held along the walls. Mariners, potters, laborers, all the free and poor people of the port and the country in wild career, would carry lighted torches in memory of Prometheus. He who accomplished the feat of making the round of the city, keeping his torch still burning, would be declared winner; those who let theirs go out, or who traveled slowly to protect the flames, would be greeted with hisses and blows by the crowd. Even the rich gave vent to enthusiasm over this popular festival which produced so much merriment.
Near the Acropolis, when the procession was wholly within its walls, Alorcus discerned among the people a Celtiberian mounted on a horse covered with foam and sweat, beckoning him to approach.
Alorcus, turning away from the troop of horsemen, trotted towards him.
"What do you want?" he asked, in the harsh language of his country.
"I am one of your tribe, and your father is my chief. I have just reached Saguntum after traveling three days to say to you; 'Alorcus, your father is dying, and he calls for you.' The ancients of your tribe have ordered me not to return without you."
Actæon had followed his friend, breaking away from the sacred squadron, and witnessed the dialogue without understanding a word, although he guessed something disagreeable by the Celtiberian's pale face.