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!"