The Master of the Games was an expert in timing. He sensed to the second when the crowd had had enough. He gave another signal.
Instantly a series of hidden doors on the sides of the mountain slid open and out wandered a number of wild beasts: leopards, bears, wolves and black panthers. Orpheus, absorbed in his singing, did not notice the animals until a panther strolled across the grassy turf directly in front of him. The horrified musician stared in astonishment but continued his song, looking around him desperately and trying to signal the Master of the Games that a horrible mistake had been made. The girls continued singing gaily, tossing rose petals toward Orpheus and urging him to let them hear more of his golden voice.
But the unfortunate singer was no longer interested in educating the Roman mob. He dropped his lyre and began to run wildly around the mountain, screaming for help. The crowd laughed until they were sick. It was well known that the elegant Greeks considered themselves superior to their Roman conquerors, and here was one of the effeminate creatures putting on a typical exhibition of cowardice. Also, this sudden twist had been completely unexpected, which is the basic element in all humour. A man shouted, "All right, you Greeks think you're so damn cultured, let's see you soothe these wild beasts with your high-toned music!" and the crowd went into another roar of laughter.
The unhappy Orpheus dashed around a rock and ran head on into a leopard. The frightened animal sprang back and then struck at the man. His claws caught in the Greek's robe and both man and beast went down together, the leopard mad with terror trying to disengage himself. At the sight of struggling figures, two wolves rushed in and began to maul the man. Now one of the bears, a trained man-eater, saw the fight and began to shuffle forward. He stood swaying his long neck back and forth and then made a sudden rush. He cuffed the nearest wolf away and grabbed the singer by the leg started to drag him off, snuffling and grunting to himself. The leopard, still caught by his claws, was pulled along also. The wolves followed hopefully. Another bear came in from the other side and grabbed the screaming musician by the arm. The two animals pulled the man apart while the wolves rushed in to finish the job. The leopard made another frenzied attempt to free himself and this time succeeded. He dashed up the side of the hill and collided with another bear who was coming down to see what the trouble was. The two animals instantly began to fight while some of the ever-present wolves bounded up to pull down the loser.
The musician was dead and the animals were fighting for the parts of his body strewn over the hillside. The crowd was weak from laughter and the girls on the barge were laughing too. The Master of the Games gave another signal.
This time nothing seemed to happen. Then one of the girls on the barge suddenly gave a shriek of terror. She was seated on the gunwale and the water in the arena was washing against her bare feet. The barge was sinking. The other girls took fright. Jumping up, they began screaming for help. A slave inside the barge had been watching through a knothole for the Master of the Games' signal. When it came, he gave orders to pull out the plugs and sink the vessel. The paddlers inside the barge had escaped through a hatch and were now feverishly swimming for the podium wall, praying that they could reach it before the crocodiles and hippos got them.
Hippos are by no means the big, good-natured pig-like creatures that they seem. These animals were all bulls and in a very bad temper. A slave happened to touch one of the creatures. Instantly the hippo swung around, making the water swirl around him, and plunged his great tusks into the man's body. As the red dye spread, the crocs began to thrash around, sometimes seizing a hippo by the leg and sometimes each other. The crowd rose to its feet as one man at this new spectacle. The barge full of screaming girls was now awash and some of the more determined girls had plunged into the water and were trying to swim to the mountain island or reach the podium.
Few of them made it for the Master of the Games had carefully selected girls who were non-swimmers. Those who reached the mountain were promptly attacked by the wild animals, now crazed by the scent of blood and the taste of the dead Greek. A few reached the podium wall and clung to it, screaming for mercy. The water around the barge was churned white as the crocs attacked the girls that still clung to the wreck. Two of the mighty reptiles seized one girl and began twisting in opposite directions. One wrung off a leg, the other an arm. One gigantic animal that must have weighed well over a ton reared out of the water and grabbed a girl standing on the gunwale. He submerged with her, carrying the shrieking girl as easily as an elephant carrying a carrot. Others of the enormous saurians were trying to knock the girls into the water with their tails. The barge, being made of wood, did not sink completely but there was no protection on it for the women.
Several of the hippos were approaching the barge, excited by the noise and the smell of blood. Although not carnivorous, the big brutes were as aggressive as bulls. Only their eyes and noses showed above the water as they floated studying the hysterical excitement on the remains of the barge. The crowd was furious. People yelled, "Go on there, you big slobs! Do something! Get the fire!" for bulls that would not perform were occasionally goaded into action by throwing burning javelins into them.
Then one of the hippos charged the barge. Lifting his head and shoulders out of the water and opening his huge mouth to its fullest capacity, he plunged his two tusks over the gunwale and began to worry the vessel like a terrier shaking a rat. The submerged wreck heaved and shook as two tons of enraged hippo struggled with it. The last of the screaming girls was flung into the water and the white bellies of the crocs flashed as they twisted in the water, trying to wring off pieces of their prey.
The mob was now uncontrollable. Women stood up in the stands drumming with their fists on the backs of people in the seats before them and screaming hysterically: "Kill! Kill! Kill!" Even before the games started, smart young men could spot women who would give way to this madness and make a point of sitting next to them. While in the grip of hysteria, the women were unconscious of everything else and the boys could play with them while they screamed and writhed at the bloody spectacle below them. Old men, long impotent, sat drooling gleefully. Even ordinarily normal men watched with mouths hanging half open, eyes staring eagerly to take in every detail, and then fought their way out through the crowd to take advantage of the prostitutes assembled in the arches under the building. Children shouted and danced on their seats, as much to relieve their nervous tension as with joy at the sight below them. Only in the lower ring of seats were there connoisseurs who watched with dispassionate interest, commenting to each other on the strength and ferocity of the animals and criticizing the girls' figures as they were dragged to their death.
From above the watertight barrier which had been hastily erected across the Gate of Death, rafts made of reeds and two-man boats of woven rushes were being launched. The rafts held six men each, Negroes from the cataracts of the Nile armed with harpoons. In each of the rush boats which had extravagantly high bows and sterns sat a single harpooner and one paddler. These curious craft were paddled toward the seething water around the remnants of the barge. One of the rafts silently glided toward a hippo and, at a given signal, the harpooners all plunged their harpoons into the massive back.
Now even the blasй occupants of the podium became interested. The whole arena was quickly converted into a mass of foam, blood, struggling reptiles, bellowing hippos and shouting men. Several light dugout canoes shot out. All but one headed for the mountain and a number of Egyptians stepped ashore. Bestiarii had already come out of the interior of the structure and were driving the animals back into their holes with the lashing, lead-tipped whips. The Egyptians lined up along the water's edge and stood with folded arms. They were magnificently built men, naked except for loincloths, and they stood motionless as images. They had brought several heavy nets which lay beside them carefully coiled.
In the remaining dugout was a lean, wiry man who from his colouring was probably half Egyptian and half Negro. His dugout was manned by four expert paddlers who made the light craft fly. He seemed to be directing the harpooning, peering down into the water and then ordering the harpooners to take that animal or spare the next. The crowd shouted furiously at him, "No! No!" but the man ignored them. When the angry cries of the mob rose to such a pitch that it seemed as though a riot threatened, Domitian turned to one of his aides and snapped an order. The aide vanished and returned in a few moments with the Master of the Games. He gave the emperor some explanation that seemed to satisfy him for he nodded and continued to watch the show.
The water level in the arena was dropping rapidly, for sluice gates had been opened and the water was pouring out even more swiftly than it had flowed in. All the hippos were dead now or in their death agonies and many of the crocs had been finished off by the harpooners. The lean man in the dugout had landed on the mountain and was giving orders to the others. They lifted the nets and began to wade into the water which was now not much above their waists. The crowd grew silent, sensing that something unusual was about to take place.
The water was now so clouded by blood that it was impossible to see through it but the men prodded about with long poles. Then they raised a shout. Splashing through the muck, they made a circle with the net and then began to drag it up the slope of the mountain. There was a violent underwater explosion and a great crocodile reared up in the centre of the net. The men dragged it ashore and their leader stepped forward. The croc was thrashing about fiercely striking at the men with his great tail and snapping his jaws together with a report that could be heard in the topmost tier of seats. Watching his chance, the Egyptian made a sudden plunge and, landing on the reptile's back, locked his arms around the saurian's neck.
The most sincere of all applause—a great gasp—went up from the crowd. Never had they seen anything like this. The croc began to roll and it was all the Egyptian's assistants could do to keep him from going back into the water. One man made the mistake of grabbing the gigantic creature by the tail and was knocked unconscious. Gradually the Egyptian locked his legs around the reptile and then, getting a half nelson on him, slowly turned him over. Then he quickly grabbed the croc by the muzzle, holding his jaws shut. At this incredible feat of strength, the crowd shrieked with astonishment and delight.
With the crocodile still on its back, the man carefully let go the jaws and then ran one hand down the animal's belly. He stood up, holding his hand palm down toward the reptile and making mystic passes in the air with the other. The huge creature lay motionless while the crowd held its breath. Then the Egyptian turned to take his bow.
He got his applause, full scale, although there were many who touched their amulets and made the sign of the evil eye, muttering, "Black Magic!" When the applause had died down, the Egyptian turned and touched the crocodile with his foot. After a kick or two, the reptile rolled over and turned on the man with open mouth but the men with the net were ready. The saurian was quickly swathed in the meshes and dragged out of the now dry arena while the slaves rushed in with teams of mules to remove the dead hippos and crocodiles.
Carpophorus had managed to persuade the doctor to let him up so he could see the completion of this performance. Shaky from his emotional outburst as well as from loss of blood, he walked slowly to the Gate of Death, putting his hand against the wall occasionally to support himself. No one paid any attention to him. The gladiators for the next turn were warming up by swinging their weapons and practising cuts at each other, blocks and pulleys were being fastened to the artificial mountain preparatory to pulling it from the arena, cages were being brought up to secure the animals still inside the great structure, slaves with wheelbarrows of dry sand were trying to force their way through the mob coming in from the arena, and the Master of the Games was directing the organized chaos. Carpophorus managed to force himself forward, occasionally losing his temper and cuffing a slave who jostled him, until he could see the upper tiers of seats and part of the awning framed in the curve of the gateway. Now that he was almost out of the tunnel, the full force of the crowd's yells reached him. Curiously, while fighting himself, Carpophorus never heard the crowd; he was always too intent on the business at hand. But he knew the high-pitched cries that meant the mob was really being carried out of itself and eagerly pushed his way forward.
He was first conscious of the odour of the damp sand mixed with the stench of the disemboweled animals. The venador was accustomed to the smell of death, but this was the first time he smelled it in conjunction with dampness. He saw the Egyptian wrestle the crocodile and was deeply interested, but with his technician's trained eye, he also saw that it was not nearly as dangerous as it seemed to the crowd. Although he had never seen crocodile wrestling, he knew that it had been exhibited in the Roman arena at the time of Augustus—in the Bestiarii School the teacher had read accounts of the feat from Pliny and Strabo. He watched attentively while three more of the Egyptian's team wrestled crocs after they had first been caught in the nets, each time to tremendous applause. When the Egyptians finally withdrew and the gladiators marched in, led by a band, Carpophorus made a point of meeting the Egyptian in the dressing room and standing him a cup of cooled wine.
The Egyptian was more affable than Carpophorus had feared he might be. Generally, a performer didn't care to discuss the technique of his routine; there was too much danger some ambitious rival would steal it. But this man was obviously flattered that a Roman—and although only a freeman, Carpophorus was a Roman—would deign to praise his act. After a couple of mugs of strong wine, the Egyptian relaxed.
"Well, it's a good act, a good act," he said modestly. "I'm from Tentyra—that's on the Nile in southern Egypt—and the traditional business in our village has always been hunting crocs for their skins." Carpophorus nodded. Nearly every small town had some traditional profession and crocodile skins brought a good price as leather. "Some of the young men used to wrestle eight and nine-foot crocs for fun. It's not as dangerous as it looks if you watch out for the tail and jaws. Crocs are pretty sluggish, you know, not like trying to tackle a leopard or a lioness as you do."
"Every man to his own. I'd hate to tackle a twenty-foot croc," said Carpophorus, filling his friend's cup again and already making plans to add crocodile wrestling to his repertoire.
"It takes practice, but with enough leverage you can turn one over on his back just as you would a man. Not one twenty feet long. That would weigh over a ton, and besides they don't come that big often. That one you saw me wrestle was fifteen feet long, and let me tell you, that's plenty of croc!"
"I could have sworn he was bigger," said Carpophorus flatteringly. "What was the magic charm you used to keep him on his back?"
"Oh, that was business for the crowd. They think we Egyptians are full of magic. Any croc will lie still if you turn him over on his back like that. I don't know why it is; they just da"
"But think of the strength it took to hold his mouth closed," Carpophorus exclaimed admiringly.
"Nothing to it. A croc's jaw power comes when he closes his jaws. They've got tremendous power there. But any good men can hold the jaws shut"
"Well, well, you certainly know your business," said Carpophorus. Privately, he was thinking, what a fool the man was to give away this information. At the next games, Carpophorus would put on his own exhibition of crocodile wrestling.
"The big problem is getting them tame," the Egyptian went on, holding out his cup for more wine. "Some of the sacred crocs get very tame. The priests can call them out of the water and feed them by hand. If a croc isn't tame, he won't eat in captivity, and also they're too nervous to attack swimming humans unless they see others start doing it"
"We have the same trouble with lions " Carpophorus told him. "You have to put a‘make-lion' who's a real man-eater in with a new bunch. Once they see the make-lion start killing, the others will join him."
"I had an idea that was the way you worked it. There's a big tame croc on a great lake in the heart of Africa. He is nearly twenty-five feet long and must weigh as much as an elephant. The natives use him as a combined judge and executioner. A suspected criminal is led to the lake shore and the priests call the croc by beating on drums. The croc knows what the drums mean and comes swimming across the lake and crawls up the bank. Then the victim is pushed toward him with long poles. If the croc eats the man, he's considered guilty. If for some reason the croc won't bother with him, he's set free. That croc's so old and feeble now that a native has to help him climb the bank by carrying his tail like a train. I'd love to get my hands on that animal. What a sensation he'd make in Rome!"
"Just how do you go about getting them tame in the first place?" asked Carpophorus casually, refilling the empty cup.
"That, dear friend, is my little secret," said the Egyptian calmly as he drained the cup and rose. "I've got to see how those four crocs are getting along that we saved. Those are our tame stock; we don't let them get killed. Thanks for the wine. Don't get drunk and start giving away secrets."
Black-bellied bastard,thought Carpophorus to himself as he watched the Egyptian's retreating back. Who does he think wants to steal his lousy act anyhow? That's the trouble with those Egyptians, always suspicious. I hope that damned croc of his eats him next week in Verona.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was after noon now. The gladiators who had gone out after the crocodile hunt were Meridiani, second string men who fought during the middle of the day when most of the patricians had gone home for lunch and only the mob remained. In the stands, baskets of food were opened, flasks of wine produced, and the mob picnicked while the unfortunates below them fought to the death.
During this slack period, the Master of the Games stopped long enough to speak to Carpophorus. "How are you holding up?" he asked, glancing at the mass of bloody bandages covering the venador's right side.
"I'm all right," said Carpophorus sullenly. As an experienced bestiarius, he hated to think of any animal, even a tiger, getting the best of him.
The Master of the Games considered. "Immediately after the noon period, we're going to have a holocaust of prisoners. They're to be killed by lions, but I want to save the good man-eaters until the next day. If the man-eaters are used today, they'll be gorged and won't work in the legendary pageants scheduled for tomorrow. But we don't want any hold-ups in the show. The new lions will have to attack the prisoners at once; no running around against the barrier or crouching down in the sand"
"What do you expect me to do?" snarled Carpophorus. "Wild lions won't attack people without trained man-eaters in the arena."
"Don't argue with me, just see that it's done," retorted the Master of the Games coldly. "Remember that there are five more days of these games ahead of us. Give me any more of your lip and I'll have you in there with another tiger and your hands tied behind you." The Master of the Games strode away.
After grumbling to himself Carpophorus began to think. It was not the Master of the Games' threat that bothered him; it was his own reputation as a bestiarius who could perform miracles. For a long while he sat with his head in his hands, snarling at the slaves dragging the dead Meridiana over his feet, but refusing to move from the passageway. Then he had an idea, and rising painfully, headed for the lower pits where the prisoners were kept.
He went down ramp after ramp. Because they were easier to move and also not so valuable, the prisoners condemned to death in the arena were kept in the lowest levels while the animals were in the upper cells. Carpophorus had seldom been down here and had to ask his way constantly of the guards stationed at intervals by the torches burning in brackets on the wall. Finally he reached the level he was seeking and after a long walk and many turns arrived in front of the oaken door where the captives to die that afternoon were kept.
They were Jews, taken prisoner during one of the many spasmodic uprisings in Palestine. Carpophorus vaguely remembered some account of the business. Three villages high in the Masada hills had revolted. Why, he couldn't recall. Either they had objected to the eagles on the legionnaires' standards, calling them graven images, or they had attacked a caravan because it was owned by Sarmatians or some such thing. Anyhow, it had taken a three months' campaign to unearth them from their forts in the cliffs and men, women and children had been sent to die in the arena. The Jews were always a troublesome people, but if it wasn't for them the Colosseum might never had been built. After the fall of Jerusalem in 72 a.d., twelve thousand Jewish prisoners had worked on the construction of the great building and later had been killed there in the inauguration ceremonies.
The guards at the door slid back the heavy bolts, eagerly asking him for tips on the regular gladiatorial contests coming up late that afternoon. Carpophorus knew little about the/gladiators, but he told them to back Negrimus against Priedens, and entered the dark room. At this level, the only air vents led to the floor above instead of to the outside and there was no light except that cast by a single torch in a wall bracket. The people were singing some sort of chant in a foreign language and Carpophorus looked them over. Mostly women, children and old men with long beards. Nearly all the young men must have been killed in the fighting. That suited Carpophorus' plans perfectly.
The crowd paid no attention to him and he had to shout to stop their singing. Finally the hymn ceased and Carpophorus called, "Do any of you speak Latin?"
No one answered so Carpophorus tried again in Greek.