On his right was Jabaster, Scherirah on his left. A youth,
little his senior, but tall as a palm-tree, and strong as a young lion,
was the fourth captain. In the distance, some standing, some reclining,
were about fifty men completely armed.
'Are the people numbered, Abner?' inquired Alroy of the youth.
'Even so; three hundred effective horsemen, and two thousand footmen;
but the footmen lack arms.'
'The Lord will send them in good time,' said Jabaster; 'meanwhile let
them continue to make javelins.'
'Trust in the Lord,' murmured Scherirah, bending his head, with his eyes
fixed on the ground.
A loud shout was heard throughout the city. Alroy started from his
carpet. The messenger had returned. Pale and haggard, covered with sweat
and sand, the faithful envoy was borne into the amphitheatre almost upon
the shoulders of the people. In vain the guard endeavoured to stem the
passage of the multitude. They clambered up the tiers of arches,
they filled the void and crumbling seats of the antique circus, they
supported themselves upon each other's shoulders, they clung to the
capitals of the lofty columns. The whole multitude had assembled to
hear the intelligence; the scene recalled the ancient purpose of the
building, and Alroy and his fellow-warriors seemed like the gladiators
of some old spectacle.
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