"So I gave them up unto their own heart's lust: and they walked in their own counsels."—PSALMS LXXXI. 12.
In the meanwhile the stage-hands, the smiths and carpenters had been busily at work, setting the scene for the coming drama.
Huge gnarled tree-trunks were dragged into the arena, and so disposed as to afford shelter either for man or beast. By a mechanical device a stream of water some six foot wide was made to wind its course along the sands, and groups of tall reeds and other aquatic plants were skilfully arranged beside the banks of this improvised stream.
Soon the whole aspect of the arena was thus transformed into an open piece of country with trees here and there, and tufts of grass, mounds and monticules, with a stream and a reed-covered shore. The whole beautifully arranged and with due regard for realism.
The people watched, highly pleased; now that the Emperor's pet panther had appeared they were satisfied that a spectacle such as they loved was about to be unfolded before them.
But soon the workmen were engaged on other work, the purport of which could not at first be guessed. To understand it at all a vivid picture of the huge arena must appear before the mind.
Down below there was the artificial landscape, the trees, the stream, the sand and grass, and all around the massive marble walls rose to a height of some twelve feet to the lowest tier of the tribunes, beyond which sat row upon row in precipitous gradients two hundred thousand spectators.
At about four feet from the ground a narrow ledge—formed by the elaborate carving in the solid marble—ran right along the walls, and between this ledge and the top of the wall there was a low colonnaded arcade with deep niches set between the fluted columns.
From these niches the workmen now suspended short ladders of twisted crimson silk, of sufficient strength to bear the weight of a man. They affixed these to heavy steel rings imbedded in the bases of the columns, and when the ladders were in position, they hung down low enough, that a man—standing on the ledge below—could just contrive to seize the ends and to swing himself aloft, up into the niche.
The public watched these preparations with breathless interest, for soon their objects became evident. It was clear that those who were to be exposed to an encounter with the panther would be given a fair chance of escape. It was to be an even fight between man and beast.
A man hotly pursued by the brute could—if he were sufficiently agile—leap upon the narrow ledge, seize the rope-ladder and climb up it until he reached the safe haven of the niche, and could draw the ladder in after him. And fear of death doth lend a man wondrous agility.
It looked in fact as if the coming struggle were all to be in favour of the man and not of the beast, for the smooth surface of the walls and the narrow ledge above the carvings could not afford foothold to an enraged four-footed creature with sharp claws that would glance off the polished marble.
The public—realising this—waxed impatient. The novel spectacle did not, after all, promise to be to its liking. The panther would make but a sorry show if it was not given a helpless victim or two to devour.
Murmurs of dissatisfaction rose from every side as the work proceeded, and anon when all round the walls of the arena, the twelve ladders of safety were firmly fixed, seeming mutely to deride the excitement of the people, the murmur broke into angry cries.
But Caligula did not seem to heed either the murmur or those loud expressions of discontent which, at other times, would probably have maddened him with rage. He had watched the preparations with eager interest and had himself once or twice shouted directions to the workmen.
Now, when everything appeared complete, he turned to the tribune which was next to his own, and his small bloodshot eyes wandered over the assembly of patricians, of knights and of senators who were seated there.
He called my lord Hortensius Martius to him and appeared to be pointing out to him the advantages of the rope-ladders with obvious pride in the ingenuity of the device. Young Escanes too was bidden to admire the contrivance, which—it soon became evident—was the invention of the Cæsar himself.
The public—still feeling dissatisfied—watched desultorily for a while the doings in the imperial tribune. Then general interest was once more aroused, when the workmen—slaves and legionaries—having finished their preparations, hurried helter-skelter out of the arena.
The sliding doors of the panther's cage were being slowly drawn away.
For a few seconds the powerful brute remained wary, silent and cowering, then with one mighty, savage snarl it bounded into the arena.
Supple, graceful and splendid it walked round in solemn majesty, its flat head kept low to the ground, its sinuous body curving and winding as it walked, like that of a snake.
The public watched it, fascinated by the perfect grace of its movements and by the cruel ferocity of its tiny eyes.
Now at the eastern end of the Amphitheatre a small iron gate slowly swung upon its hinges, and in the dark recess beyond it a couple of men appeared. For a moment they stood there immovable, a closely huddled mass, shoulder to shoulder, with round open eyes dilated with fear and a cry of nameless terror still hovering unuttered on their lips.
They were hugely built men, with massive torso and legs bare, and tow-coloured hair brought straight up to the crown of the head and knotted there with a black band.
There was much shouting from the recess whence they had emerged, and anon some vigorous prodding and pushing from behind. But they dug their bare feet into the sand, refusing to move; arm against arm they made of themselves a wall which fear of death kept rigid and horror made unbreakable.
The public greeted them with mock applause. In them they had quickly recognised the German barbarians whom the Cæsar had brought back from his last expedition as prisoners of war; in truth they were hardened malefactors who had been offered a chance of life in exchange for the pitiable masquerade. But this the public did not know. To the two hundred thousand holiday-makers, craning their necks to see the miserable wretches, they were but the living proofs of the Cæsar's prowess in the field. With ironical cheers they were bidden to advance, even whilst at no great distance from them the black panther sitting on its haunches was surveying them with lazy curiosity, licking its mighty jaws.
Then the public grew impatient, and from the recess behind the two men persuasion became more vigorous. Through the darkness behind the gates there appeared the red glow of a brazier, there was a quick hissing sound, an awful double howl of pain and the smell of burnt flesh filled the air. The next moment the two men fell scrambling forward into the arena, and the iron gate closed behind them with a thud.