Homily XVIII. is on the martyr Gordius, who was a native of Cæsarea, and was degraded from his rank of centurion when Licinius removed Christians from the army.  Gordius retired into the wilderness, and led the life of an anchorite.  One day there was a great festival at Cæsarea in honour of Mars.  There were to be races in the theatre, and thither the whole population trooped.  Not a Jew, not a heathen, was wanting.  No small company of Christians had joined the crowd, men of careless life, sitting in the assembly of folly, and not shunning the counsel of the evil-doers, to see the speed of the horses and the skill of the charioteers.  Masters had given their slaves a holiday.  Even boys ran from their schools to the show.  There was a multitude of common women of the lower ranks.  The stadium was packed, and every one was gazing intently on the races.  Then that noble man, great of heart and great of courage, came down from the uplands into the theatre.  He took no thought of the mob.  He did not heed how many hostile hands he met.…In a moment the whole theatre turned to stare at the extraordinary sight.  The man looked wild and savage.  From his long sojourn in the mountains his head was squalid, his beard long, his dress filthy.  His body was like a skeleton.  He carried a stick and a wallet.  Yet there was a certain grace about him, shining from the unseen all around him.  He was recognised.  A great shout arose.  Those who shared his faith clapped for joy, but the enemies of the truth urged the magistrate to put in force the penalty he had incurred, and condemned him beforehand to die.  Then an universal shouting arose all round.  Nobody looked at the horses—nobody at the charioteers.  The exhibition of the chariots was mere idle noise.  Not an eye but was wholly occupied with looking at Gordius, not an ear wanted to hear anything but his words.  Then a confused murmur, running like a wind through all the theatre, sounded above the din of the course.  Heralds were told to proclaim silence.  The pipes were hushed, and all the band stopped in a moment.  Gordius was being listened to; Gordius was the centre of all eyes, and in a moment he was dragged before the magistrate who presided over the games.  With a mild and gentle voice the magistrate asked him his name, and whence he came.  He told his country, his family, the rank he had held, the reason for his flight, and his return.  “Here I am,” he cried; “ready to testify by creed to the contempt in which I hold your orders, and my faith in the God in whom I have trusted.  For I have heard that you are inferior to few in cruelty.  This is why I have chosen this time in order to carry out my wishes.”  With these words he kindled the wrath of the governor like a fire, and roused all his fury against himself.  The order was given, “Call the lictors; where are the plates of lead?  Where are the scourges?  Let him be stretched upon a wheel; let him be wrenched upon the rack; let the instruments of torture be brought in; make ready the beasts, the fire, the sword, the cross.  What a good thing for the villain that he can die only once!” ἀλλὰ γὰρ οἷα κερδαίνει, φησὶν, ἅπαξ μόνον ἀποθνήσκων.  Garnier seems to have completely missed the force of this exclamation in the explanation in a note, “Judex hoc dicere volebat, quem fructum referet ex sua pertinacia, si semel mortuus fuerit; neque enim in hanc vitam rursus redibit, ejus ut gaudiis perfruatur, neque tamen ulla alia vita est.”  “Nay,” replied Gordius.  “What a bad thing for me that I cannot die for Christ again and again!”…