At the beginning of the andabates' fight, slaves had taken their positions behind the inner barricade. A slave with a long pole was standing by each of the elephants tusks supporting the overhand net. Others stood ready with their hands on the planks running between the masts which supported the awning. At the Master of the Games' cry, the slaves with the poles lifted the net off hooks set in the tusks so the whole net came to the ground, like a great tennis net a hundred yards long. At the same time, the other slaves were slipping the planks out of their brackets on the sides of the masts. As the planks came loose, still other slaves seized them and rushed them out of the arena. As the last planks were removed, the net was grabbed and pulled back between the masts to be hurried after the planks. The spectators now had a much better view of the arena although the central ring of masts still remained.
Meanwhile, the construction and planning crews on the artificial mountain leaped to the group while gangs of slaves, possibly assisted by trained elephants pushing with their foreheads, moved the great mass forward on rollers. There were two empty spaces in the central ring of masts holding the overhead awning; one in front of the Gate of Life (over which was the imperial podium) and the other before the Gate of Death . . . the sag in the awning being supported by overhead guy ropes at these points. The mountain was rolled into the arena from the Gate of Death through one of these gaps.
The fight between the andabates was now just about over. Only two couples were left. These men had thrown away their shields, joined their left hands so as not to be parted, and were stabbing at each other with their swords. In one couple, the men killed each other. The arena slaves were rapidly and efficiently clearing out the remaining corpses and spreading fresh sand on the arena floor. At last, one of the two remaining andabates killed the other. A shout of "Peractum est!" went up and the surviving andabate was led from the arena. Now he had at least a few days' respite until another exhibition of andabates was forthcoming.
As the slaves raced from the arena carrying the last of the corpses, pipes set in the podium wall were turned on and began to flood the arena. The Master of the Games appeared on the podium and shouted that he had an important announcement to make. Actually, this announcement should have been made by the young editor but he had been drinking huge quantities of cold wine and could hardly stand, let alone address the crowd. The Master of the Games shouted:
"Romans, it has been said that we are not a cultural people.
Nothing could be farther from the truth. Simply because we are a strong, virile race and enjoy manly sports does not mean that we don't appreciate the finer things in life." He was interrupted by boos, catcalls, and unpleasant noises made by placing the tongue between the lips and blowing hard. Someone threw a wine skin which he dodged. “Yes, looking at your noble, intelligent faces, my friends, I know that the next act will deeply appeal to the artistic nature for which Romans are famous. We have with us today the distinguished Greek singer, Mezentius, who will sing that beautiful ode 'The Death of Orpheus' while accompanying himself on the lyre. As you know, Orpheus was the famous musician in Greek legend who could charm even wild animals with his music. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the great Mezentius!"
Amid bellows of indignant rage from the crowd, an artificial rock on the summit of the mountain swung open and out stepped Mezentius, draped in a white gown and carrying a golden lyre. While the furious crowd screamed: "We've been swindled! Back to Athens, you damn fruit! What is this, the games or a musical? Wreck the joint!" the musician bowed to right and left and then struck the opening chords of the song. There were now a couple of feet of water in the arena and the Master of the Games, who had been anxiously watching the plumb marks on the podium wall, gave a signal. A flat-bottomed barge covered with beautiful girls and hung with garlands of flowers floated out, the girls singing an accompaniment to the song. As the girls were naked except for tiny gauze aprons which the motion of the barge kept blowing aside or pressing against their plum young thighs, the crowd stopped booing and began to take an interest in the proceedings. Now that he could be heard, the musician redoubled his efforts and the girls sang for all they were worth, waving their arms in time to the music and keeping their shoulders well back so that their breasts with the nipples carefully rouged would stand out. Meanwhile, a new novelty was introduced. From crates and cages, slaves were slipping crocodiles and six hippopotami into the rapidly rising waters. The crowd began to applaud.
The barge, moved by paddlers hidden in the interior, drifted closer to the mountain where Orpheus sat among the flowers pouring out the words of the immortal ode. The water in the arena was so clear that the crowd could watch the animals swimming in it, the great crocodiles, fifteen feet long, gliding along like shadows and the ponderous hippos walking on the bottom as though on land. Occasionally one of the hippos would rise to the surface, blow two columns of spray into the air, and then sink again. The crowd watched with interest for a few minutes and then began to grow restless.
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.