IN THE ROMAN ARENA.

Auckland Star, Volume LXI, Issue 103, 3 May 1930, Page 2 (Supplement)

IN THE ROMAN ARENA.

(ißy Marion Edith. Richardson, 28,. Great South Road, Remuera.) A sunny morning has "broken over Home to herald a public holiday, when all alike abandon themselves to the pursuit of pleasure. Long before noon tho narrow streets are a surging mass of people with one object in view, to reach yonder huge building which has long been the scene of their revelries —the Colosseum. Nearby one of its many entrances, holding their own by different methods, is a little company of three boys. "Glaucus is eager for a place," saya the smallest of the group, smiling half contemptuously at the struggling individual named. Glaucus, already hot with exertion, throws back at the speaker an evil glance. "Florio is a puler," he eaid. "Take him home, Marcus. The games are no place for him." But Marcus is too busy to do more than greet the command with a laugh. Another moment and they are through the door, and climbing a stone steps that lead, bend after bend, to the summit, where seats for the common people are situated. Here the three boys find themselves among a noisy company on the uppermost of a tier of marble seats which rqn entirely round the huge oval basin. One hundred and fifty feet below them lies the sanded floor of the arena, divided up its centre so as to form a course round which the coming chariot race will be run. It is a mavellous sight for their young eyes to look upon, and as they glance ' from side to side they are too preoccupied for further talk. Presently, however, the far from amiable Glaucus turns his eyes on Florio. "So the puler is here after all," he says. "What for, I wonder?" "To see a Christian win the laurels," laughs the good-tempered Marcus. "And does he think that Stephen, of Gaul, a detestable Christian, can ride down the fleetest charioteer that Rome has ever seen?" sneers Glaucus. "Poor, silly child! We must teach him more wisdom." "When your boasted champion," says he, "makes such frequent appeals to the wine bag, as Silenus does, you can put no faith in his power. The bibbing of wine will steal it away from him, for it works evil in all men." "And what of a Christian who pretends to turn up his pious nose at Roman games, yet comes to-day to show himself off in the arena?" cried Glaucus savagely. "A man will do much to win his freedom," answers Florio. "Bah!" is the other's retort. "You are no Roman to lend pity to a Christian." "Can it be that Florio is a Christian, too, Glaucus?" whispers Marcus with pretended alarm. "If I were not a true Roman," cries Florio, ignoring the speech, "I should not understand how precious freedom is, or take delight in seeing a man " But a sudden outburst from the vast assembly cuts short his words. Caesar and his suite have entered the theatre, and are seating themselves on the lowest tier under a gorgeous canopy. A minute later the games have begun. Into the arena comes the stately procession of chariots, each driven by a competitor in the coming races. One by one they guide their prancing steeds before. Caesar's throne, and, having saluted him, pass on to the starting place. "Yonder is Silenus," cries Glaucus, leaning forward from his perch. "How proudly he carries himself! His face, mark you, is flushed by the triumph that will soon be his own." "Or think you," says Marcus slyly, "that the colour is due to the wine he has swallowed this morning?" A bugle call rings out. It is followed by a cloud of dust; a thunder of galloping hoofs; wild cries from the charioteers, a louder uproar still from the multitude of onlookers. "Silenus! Silenus, to the front!" "Stephen of Gaul! 'Tie a bondman's race!" and similar shouts echo round the vast basin. But above all the clamour there suddenly resounds a mighty clash. Silenus has collided with the central barrier. His steed's are rolling in the dust and he among them; while free as the wind, Stephen of Gaul, whirls by, to win, not only the coveted crown of a charioteer, but the far more glorious crown of freedom. Glaucus glanced angrily at the place where Florio had been sitting. But Florio was gone. He had seen all he came to see in the Roman arena.