they wore a short sleeveless tunic, swathed round the body with wide
bands, as if to brace their muscles and add to their strength. The reins
were fastened around the hips so as to leave the hands free, not only to
hold them but also to ply the whip and use the goad. Each charioteer had
a knife in his girdle, to enable him to release himself, in case of
accident, from a bond that might prove fatal.

Before long the bay team was leading alone. Behind were two Christian
drivers, followed by three red chariots; Marcus was last of all, but it
was easy to see that it was by choice and not by necessity that he was
hanging back. He was holding in his fiery team with all his strength and
weight--his body thrown back, his feet firmly set with his knees against
the silver bar of the chariot, and his hands gripping the reins. In a
few minutes he came flying past Dada and his brother, but he did not see
them. He had not even caught sight of his own mother, while the
professional charioteers had not failed to bow to Cynegius and nod to
their friends. He could only keep his eyes and mind fixed on his horses
and on the goal.

The multitude clapped, roared, shouted encouragement to their party,
hissed and whistled when they were disappointed--venting their utmost
indignation on Marcus as he came past behind the others; but he either
heard them not or would not hear. Dada's heart beat so wildly that she
thought it would burst. She could not sit still; she started to her feet
and then flung herself back on her cushions, shouting some spurring words
to Marcus in the flash of time when he might perhaps hear them. When he
had passed, her head fell and she said sadly enough: "Poor fellow!--We
have bought our wreaths for nothing after all, Demetrius!"

But Demetrius shook his head and smiled.