it no more. Give up this request and I will order a whole gladiatorial show to please you. But that such an insult to an emperor’s son should go unavenged! Tt is as impossible as that yonder Roman soldier in the arena should be overcome by one of these barbarian Thracians.
But Geta, with the small curly head of the slave child between his knees, looked anxiously to the arena. Any delay was to be welcomed.
“Wait, father; only wait till the games are finished,” he begged. “Let the boy stay safe with me till the games are over. Then, if a Roman soldier is still the victor, I will give him up.”
The emperor looked at his favorite son. It was hard to deny him. He made a sign to the soldiers who had dragged the child before him, and the swords were sheathed. Once more every eye was fixed upon the arena, and behold! across it came stalking the tallest barbarian that Rome had ever seen, a giant rudely clothed in skins, who besought an opportunity to wrestle with the champion.
“My son,” said the emperor,—and though he spoke to Geta his eyes were fixed upon scowling Caracalla,—“ art thou ready to risk this cause on the strength of this Thracian giant?”
“Yes, oh, yes,” cried Geta; and Caracalla, sure that no Roman soldier could be overcome by a barbarian, muttered a sullen assent.
Once more the trumpet sounded, and the long line of fresh combatants marched across the arena and bowed themselves before the emperor. High above the head and shoulders of the others towered the form of the Thracian giant Maximin, and even when he knelt he was as tall on his knees as the soldiers standing about him.
“I challenge all beholders. Come and wrestle with the power of Rome and learn how she lays her enemies low,” cried the champion. One after another advanced and received his fall, but Maximin stood leaning against a pillar with downcast eyes.
“He is afraid,” sneered Caracalla.
Then the herald, at a word from the challenger, advanced and announced that all who feared might withdraw from the contest. Maximin walked carelessly forward to the champion; the jeering crowd saw him make a slight motion, and the Roman soldier lay stretched at his feet. Another and another came forward to revenge the fall of their brother soldiers and in turn met defeat. Seventeen times in quick succession the Thracian giant wrestled with a Roman soldier, and seventeen times was easily victorious.
‘The life of the child at Geta’s feet was saved.
“This giant shall straightway go into my army,” said the emperor; and the Thracian left the arena, himself a soldier of Rome,
When the games were over and the emperor and his sons driving away, they saw the barbarian, high over the heads of his companions, leaping and exulting. As soon as he caught sight of them, he ran up to the emperor's chariot.
‘The horses were not slackened, but for mile after mile the giant ran beside them, and though they galloped at their greatest speed, he lost not an inch.
“Thracian,” said the emperor, astonished, “art thou disposed to wrestle after thy race? ”
“Most willingly, sir,” answered the unwearied Maximin; and thereupon overthrew seven of the strongest soldiers in the army.
“I should not like to wrestle with him,” laughed Geta. “Father, thou saidst a Roman soldier was never overcome by a barbarian.”
“Hush, my son, hush,” cried the emperor. “Is not this giant now a Roman soldier? Can he be overcome?”
Years afterward, when merry Geta had long been dead, this Thracian giant did overcome the power of Rome and became himself the emperor. But that is a story for which you will have to look in your history.
