CHAPTER XXIV

Hilda flew to the threshold to meet her husband, and the young couple

tenderly embraced.

"Are you alone?" asked Gibamund, glancing around him. "I thought I saw

your little antelope at the window."

Hilda pointed silently to the curtains at the door of the adjoining

room; her husband nodded. "You will have a visitor presently," he said,

raising his voice. "Thrasaric wishes to speak to you. He has all sorts

of important things to say."

"He will be welcome."

"Have you finished the banner?"

"Oh, yes."

Seizing the pole, she raised the heavy standard aloft; the scarlet

cloth, more than five feet long and two and a half feet wide, flowed in

long heavy folds around the two slender figures. It was a beautiful,

solemn sight.

Gibamund took the banner from her. "I will place it on the battlements

of the loftiest tower, that it may wave a bloody welcome to our foes.

Oh, thou choicest jewel, shield of the Vandal fame, Genseric's

victorious standard, never shalt thou fall into the hands of the foe so

long as I draw breath!" he cried enthusiastically. "I swear it by the

head of the beloved wife over which thy folds are floating."

"Neither your eyes nor mine shall ever witness that. I, too, swear it,"

said Hilda, with deep earnestness, and a slight shiver ran through her

limbs as a gust of wind blew the scarlet cloth closely around her

shoulders and breast.

Gibamund kissed the fair brow and the beautiful eyes which were lifted

with a radiant light to his own, and hurried out of the room with the

banner. On the threshold he met Thrasaric. Hilda sat down again beside

the window.

"Welcome, Thrasaric!" she said loudly, as the curtain in the doorway of

the adjoining room waved to and fro. "I commend you. In full armor! It

suits you better than--other costumes. I hear that you have been made

commander of many thousand men. You are to fill Zazo's place until his

return. What brings you to me?"

These friendly words evidently soothed the embarrassment of the giant,

whose face had crimsoned when he entered the apartment. He cast a

searching glance around the room, hoping to discover some trace--some

article of clothing; but he did not find it. His whole soul was burning

with the desire to speak of Eugenia, to ask about her, to learn her

feelings. Yet he so feared to approach the subject. He did not know

whether his bride had told her friend of his heavy, heavy sin. He

feared it. Surely it was probable that the Princess had asked the girl

the cause of her terror; and why should Eugenia keep silence? Why

should she spare him? Had he deserved it? Had not the indignant girl,

with the utmost justice, cast him off forever? All these questions,

over which he had been pondering, now pressed at once on his bewildered

brain. He was so bitterly ashamed of himself, he would rather have

marched alone to meet Belisarius's entire army than talk now with this

noble woman; yet he had boldly encountered harder things. As he made no

reply, but merely stood with laboring breath, Hilda repeated the

question,--

"What brings you to me, Thrasaric?"

He must answer--he saw that. So he replied, but Hilda was almost

startled when he cried loudly, "A horse."

"A horse?" asked the Princess, slowly. "What am I to do with it?"

Thrasaric was glad to be able to speak, and at some length, of subjects

not connected with Eugenia. So he now answered, quickly and easily: "To

ride it."

"Yes," laughed Hilda, "I suppose so! But to whom does the horse

belong?"

"To you. I give it to you. Gibamund has permitted it. He commands you

to accept it from me. Do you hear? He commands."

"Well, well! I haven't refused yet. So I thank you cordially. What kind

of horse is it?"

"The best one on earth."

The answers now came with the speed of lightning.

"Gibamund and my brother-in-law said that of Cabaon's stallion."

"It is the very horse."

"That belongs to Modigisel."

"Not now."

"Why?"

"Oh, for many reasons. In the first place, it is now yours. Secondly,

the animal lately ran away from Modigisel at night, was carried off.

Thirdly, Modigisel is dead. And, fourthly, the stallion belongs to me."

These replies had come almost too rapidly. Hilda gazed at him without

understanding.

"Modigisel dead? Incredible!"

"But it is true. And really--except for himself--no great misfortune. A

short time ago, at night, I helped a young Moorish prisoner to escape.

I could not foresee that he would use the horse in doing so. But

afterwards I rejoiced over it, very, very deeply. Early this morning, a

Moor, not the fugitive, brought the stallion into my courtyard. The lad

I had saved was Sersaon, Cabaon's famous grandson. Cabaon, in his

gratitude, sent me the magnificent horse."

"But must not you return him to Modigisel?"

"Perhaps so. On no account--never, never--would I have kept the animal.

I would rather have the devil in my stable; I would rather ride the

steed of hell!"

"Why?"

"Why? Why? You ask why?" cried Thrasaric, joyously. "Then you do not

know?"

"If I knew, I would not ask," said Hilda, calmly.

But she was startled by the effect of these words; the gigantic man

threw himself on his knees before her, pressing her hands till she

could almost have screamed with pain, as he cried: "That is glorious,

that is divine!" But the next instant he sprang up again, saying

mournfully, "Alas! This is even worse. Now I must tell her myself.

Forgive me. No, I am not mad. Just wait. It is coming.--So I ordered

the horse to be led at once to Modigisel. The slave returned

immediately with the message that Modigisel was dead."

"Then it is true? The day before yesterday in perfect health! How is it

possible?"

"Astarte, of course. You know nothing about such creatures. His

freedwoman and friend; she lived in the next house. It is very strange.

The slaves say that after--after returning from the Grove of the Holy

Virgin," he stammered the words with downcast eyes, "Modigisel and

Astarte had a violent quarrel. That is, she did not make an outcry--she

said very little; but she demanded for the thousandth time her complete

freedom. Modigisel had reserved numerous rights. He refused, shouted,

and raged; he is said to have beaten her. But yesterday they made

friends again. Astarte and the Gundings dined with him. After the

banquet they strolled about the garden. Before their eyes Astarte broke

four peaches from a tree. She and the two Gundings ate three of them;

Modigisel the fourth. And, after eating it, he dropped dead at

Astarte's feet."

"Horrible! Poison?"

"Who dares to say so? The peach grew on the same tree with the others.

The Gundings bear witness to it; they do not lie. And the Carthaginian

is impenetrably calm, even now."

"You have seen her, have talked with her?"

The powerful warrior flushed crimson: "She came to my house at once,

from the dead man. But I--well--she went away again very soon. She was

hastening to take possession of the villa at Decimum, which Modigisel

bequeathed to her long ago."

"What a woman!"

"Nay, no woman,--a monster, but a beautiful one. So the horse remained

in my possession. But I--will not keep the animal. Then I thought that

of all the women of our nation you are the most glorious--I mean, the

best rider. And I believe war will soon break out, and, from what I

know of you, I believe that nothing will prevent you from going with

Gibamund to the field."

"There you are right," laughed Hilda, with sparkling eyes.

"Then I begged Gibamund--and so the stallion is yours, do you see? He

is just being led into the courtyard."

"A magnificent creature indeed! I thank you."

"So that is the story of the horse."

He spoke very sorrowfully, for he did not know what to say next.

Hilda came to his assistance.

"And your brother?" she asked.

"Unhappily he has disappeared. I have searched for him everywhere--in

his own villas and mine. There was not a trace. The body of the

beautiful Ionian who--died that night, could not be found either. There

was no sign of it in the city or country. It is possible that he left

Carthage by ship. So many have gone out of the harbor during these last

few days, even--" he suddenly turned pale--"even bound for Sicily."

"Yes," said Hilda, carelessly, glancing out of the window. "The horse

is a splendid animal."

"She is changing the subject," thought Thrasaric. "Then it is so."

"Several sailed also for Syracuse," he went on, watching her intently.

The Princess leaned from the casement. "Only one, so far as I know,"

she replied indifferently.

"Then it is true," cried the Vandal, suddenly, in despair. "She has

gone. She has gone to her father in Syracuse. She has deserted me

forever! O Eugenia! Eugenia!" Pressing his arm against the window-frame

in bitter anguish, he laid his face on it.

So he did not see how violently the curtains at the door of the next

room swayed to and fro.

"O Princess," he cried, controlling himself, "it is only just. I ought

not to blame you, I must praise you for having snatched her from my

arms on that wild night. Nor can I condemn her for casting me off. No,

do not try to comfort me. I know I am not worthy of her. It is my own

fault. Yet not mine alone; the women--that is, the maidens of our

nation--are also to blame. Do you look at me in wonder? Well, then,

Hilda, have you taken a single Vandal girl to your heart as a friend?

Eugenia, the Greek, the child of a plain citizen, is far more to you

than the wives and daughters of our nobles. I will not say--far be it

from me--that the Vandal women are as corrupt and degenerate as, alas,

most of us men. Certainly not! But under this sky, in three

generations, they, too, have deteriorated. Gold, finery, luxury, and

again gold, fill their souls. They long for wealth, for boundless

pleasure, almost like the Romans. Their souls have grown feeble. No one

understands or shares Hilda's enthusiasm."

"Yes, they are vain and shallow," said the Princess, sadly.

"Is it any wonder, then, that we men do not seek to wed these

pretentious dolls? Because I am rich, fathers and, still more, eager,

anxious mothers, and even--well, I will not say it! In short, I might

have married many dozen Vandal girls, had I desired to do so. But I

said, no. I loved no one of them. I cared only for this child, this

little Greek. Her I love ardently, from the very depths of my soul, and

faithfully too. For my whole life!"

Hilda's glance darted over him from her high seat to the swaying

curtains.

"And now--now, I love even more than ever the pearl I have lost. She

honors the love she once felt for me by sparing the unworthy man. She

has not told you the wrong I did her, the crime I committed. But--" he

straightened himself to his full height, his manly, handsome

countenance illumined by the loftiest feeling--"I have imposed it upon

myself as a penance, if she said nothing, to confess it to you with my

own lips. Write and tell her so; perhaps then she will think of me more

kindly. It is the heaviest punishment to tell you; for, Princess Hilda,

I revere you as I would a goddess, aye, the protecting goddess of our

people. The thought that you will now despise me is like death. But you

shall know! I have--so I am told; I do not know, but it is doubtless

true--I have Eugenia--I did it while intoxicated, after drinking an

ocean of wine--but I did it! And I am not worthy ever to see her again.

I have--"

"Not you, my beloved, it was the wine," cried an exultant voice, and a

slender figure clung passionately yet shyly to his broad breast, and,

while ardently embracing him with her right arm, she laid the little

fingers of her left hand upon his mouth to stay his words.

"Eugenia!" exclaimed the giant, flushing crimson. "You heard me? You

can forgive? You still love me?"

"Unto death! Unto the grave! No, beyond death. I would seek you in the

grave if I lost you! With you, in life and in death! For I love you!"

"And that is eternal," said Hilda, passing her hand lightly over the

young wife's hair. Then she floated out of the room, leaving the happy

lovers alone with their joy.

_BOOK TWO_

IN THE WAR

CHAPTER I

PROCOPIUS OF CAESAREA TO CORNELIUS CETHEGUS CAESARIUS:

There is no longer either sense or reason in concealing my name; the

bird would still be recognized by its song. And now I am almost certain

that these sheets will not be seized in Constantinople; for we shall

soon be swimming on the blue waves.

So it is war with the Vandals! The Empress has accomplished her design.

She treated her husband, after he hesitated, very coldly, even

insolently. That is always effectual. What motive urged and still

impels her to this war, Hell knows certainly, Heaven vaguely, and I not

at all.

Perhaps the blood of the heretics must again wash away a few spores of

her sins. Or she expects to gain the treasures brought to the capitol

in Carthage from every land by Genseric's corsair ships,--the riches of

the temple of Jerusalem are among them. In short, she wanted war, and

we have it.

A devout bishop from an Asiatic frontier city--his name is

Agathos--came to Constantinople. The Empress summoned him to a private

audience. I heard it from Antonina, the wife of Belisarius, who was the

only person present. Theodora showed him a letter which he had written

to the Persian King. The Bishop fell prostrate on the floor with

fright. She pushed him with the tip of her golden slipper. "Rise, O

Agathos, man of God," she said, "and dream to-night of what I now say

to you. If you do not tell this dream to the Emperor, before tomorrow

noon I will give him this letter to-morrow afternoon, and before

to-morrow evening, O most holy man, you will be beheaded."

The Bishop went out and dreamed as he had been commanded--probably

without sleeping. Before the early bath on the following day he sought

Justinian, and, in the utmost excitement,--which was not feigned,--told

him that Christ had appeared to him the night before in a dream and

said: "Go to the Emperor, O Agathos, and rebuke him for having

faint-heartedly given up the plan of avenging me upon these heretics.

Tell him: Thus saith Christ the Lord: 'March forth, Justinian, and fear

not. For I, the Lord, will aid thee in battle, and will force Africa

and its treasures beneath thy rule.'"

Then Justinian was no longer to be restrained. War was determined.

The opposing Prefect was thrown into prison. Belisarius was made

commander-in-chief. The priests proclaimed the pious Bishop's dream

from the pulpits of all the basilicas. The soldiers were ordered by

hundreds to the churches, where courage was preached to them. Court

officials told the dream in the streets, in the harbor, and on the

ships. By the command of the Empress, Megas, her handsomest court poet,

put it into Greek and Latin verses. They are astonishingly bad, worse

than even our Megas usually writes; but they are easy to learn, so by

day and night soldiers and sailors sing them in the streets and the

wine-shops, as children sing in the dark to keep their courage up; for

our heroes really do not yet feel very anxious to make the holy voyage

to Carthage. So we shout incessantly,--

"Christus came to the holy Bishop; Christus warned Justinian:

'Avenge Christus, Justinianus, on the wicked Arian.

Christus himself will slay the Vandals, Africa give to thy hand!'"

The poem has two merits: first, it can be repeated as often as you

please; secondly, it makes no difference with which verse you begin.

The Empress says--and of course she must know--that the Holy Ghost

inspired Megas.

We are working night and day. The shaggy little nags of the Huns are

neighing in the streets of Constantinople. Among these troops are six

hundred excellent mounted archers, commanded by the Hunnish chiefs,

Aigan and Bleda, Ellak and Bala. There are also six hundred Herulians,

led by Fara, a Prince of that people. They are Germans in Justinian's

pay; for "Only diamond cuts diamond," Narses says: "always Germans

against Germans is our favorite old game."

Strong bands of other Barbarians march also through our streets:

Isaurians, Armenians, and others, under their own leaders. We call them

our allies; that is, we "give" them money or grain, for which they pay

with the blood of their sons. Among the nations of our own empire, the

Thracians and Illyrians are the best soldiers. In the harbor the ships

are rocking, impatiently tugging at their anchors in the east wind,

their eager prows turned toward the west.

The army is gradually being placed on board of the fleet: eleven

thousand foot, five thousand horse, upon five hundred keels, with

twenty thousand sailors. Among them, as the best war-ships, are one

hundred and two swift-sailing galleys manned by two thousand rowers

from Constantinople; the other sailors are Egyptians, Ionians, and

Cilicians. The whole array presents a beautiful warlike spectacle which

I would rather gaze at than describe; but the most glorious part of it

is the hero Belisarius, surrounded by his bodyguard, the shield and

lance bearers, battle-tried men, selected from all the nations of the

earth.

* * * * *

Already half the voyage lies behind us. I am writing these lines to you

in the harbor of Syracuse.

Hitherto everything has been wonderfully successful; the goddess Tyche,

whom you Latins call Fortuna, is certainly blowing our sails. The

embarkation was completed by the end of June. Then the General's ship,

which was to convey Belisarius, was summoned to the shore in front of

the imperial palace. Archbishop Epiphanius of Constantinople appeared

on board; an Arian whom he had just baptized into the Catholic faith

was brought on deck as the last man; then he blessed the ship,

Belisarius, and all the rest of us, including the Pagan Huns, went down

into his boat again, and, amid the exulting shouts of thousands, led

the way, in advance of the General's vessel, for the whole fleet. We

are very pious people, all of us whom the Empress and the dutifully

dreaming Bishop and Justinian send forth to extirpate the heretics. It

is a holy war--we are fighting for the Christus. We have said it so

often that we now believe it ourselves.

Our course led past Perinthus--it is now called Heraclea--to Abydos.

There some drunken Huns began to fight among themselves, and two of

them killed a third. Belisarius instantly ordered both to be hung on a

hill above the city. The Huns, especially the kinsmen of the two who

were executed, made a great outcry: according to their law murder is

not punished with death. I suppose the justice of the Huns permits the

heirs of the murdered man to carouse with the murderers at their

expense till they all lie senseless on the ground together. And when

they wake, they kiss each other, and all is forgotten; for the Huns are

worse drinkers than the Germans--and that is saying a great deal. Their

pay contract only requires them to fight for the Emperor; he is not

permitted to deal with them according to the Roman law. Belisarius

assembled the Huns under the gallows from which the two were dangling,

surrounded them with his most loyal men, and roared at them like a

lion. I don't believe they understood his Latin, or rather mine, for I

taught him the speech; but he pointed often enough to the men on the

gallows: they understood that. And now they obey like lambs.

The voyage continued past Sigeum, Taenarum, Metone, where many of our

men died, for the commissary at Constantinople, instead of baking the

soldiers' bread twice, had lowered it, as raw dough, into the public

baths (how appetizing! but, to be sure, it cost nothing); and when it

was completely saturated with water, had it browned quickly on the

outside upon red-hot plates. So it weighed much heavier (the Emperor

pays for it by weight), and he gained several ounces in every pound.

But it gently melted into most evil-smelling mush, and five hundred of

our men died from it. The Emperor was informed; but Theodora interceded

for the poor commissary (he is said to have paid one-tenth of his

profits for her Christian mediation), and the man received only a

reprimand, so we heard later. From Metone we went past Zacynthos to

Sicily, where, at the end of sixteen days, we dropped anchor in an old

roadstead, now unused,--the place is called Caucana,--opposite Mount

AEtna.

Now heavy thoughts assailed the hero Belisiarius. He so thirsts for

battle that he dashes blindly wherever a foe is pointed out. Yet

anxiety is increasing. Not one of the numerous spies who were sent

from Constantinople to Carthage long before our departure has

returned--neither to Constantinople, nor to any of the stopping-places

on our route that were assigned to them. So the General knows as much

about the Vandals as he does of the people in the moon.

What kind of people they are, their method of warfare, how he is to

reach them--he has no idea. Besides the soldiers have fallen back into

their old fear of Genseric's fleet, and there is no Empress on board

who might order some one to dream again. The limping trochees of the

court poet are rarely sung; the men have grown disgusted with the

verses; if any one strikes up the air half unwillingly, two others

instantly drown his voice. Only the Huns and the Herulians--to the

disgrace of the Romans, be it said--refrain from open lamentations;

they remain sullenly silent. But our warriors, the Romans, do not

shrink from loudly exclaiming that they would fight bravely enough on

land, they are used to it; but if the enemy should assail them on the

open sea, they would force the sailors to make off with sails and oars

as fast as possible. They could not fight Germans, waves, and wind, all

at the same time, upon rocking ships, and it was not in their contract

for military service. Belisarius, however, feels most disturbed by his

uncertainty concerning the plans of the enemy. Where is this

universally dreaded fleet hiding? It is becoming mysterious now that we

see and hear nothing of it. Is it lying concealed behind one of the

neighboring islands? Or is it lurking, on the watch for us, upon the

coast of Africa? Where and when shall we land?

I said yesterday that he ought to have considered this somewhat

earlier. But he muttered something in his beard, and begged me to atone

for his errors to the best of my ability. I must go to Syracuse and, on

the pretext of buying provisions from your Ostrogoth Counts, inquire

everything about these Vandals, of whom he is ignorant and yet ought to

know. So I have been here in Syracuse since yesterday, asking everybody

about the Vandals, and they all laugh at me, saying: "Why, if

Belisarius does not know, how should we? We are not at war with them."

It seems to me that the insolent fellows are right.

CHAPTER II

Triumph, O Cethegus! Belisarius's former good fortune is fluttering

over the pennons at our mast-heads: the gods themselves are blinding

the Vandals; they are depriving them of their reason, consequently they

must desire their destruction. Hermes is breaking the path for us,

removing danger and obstacles from our way.

The Vandal fleet, the bugbear of our valiant warriors, is floating

harmless away from Carthage toward the north; while we, with all sails

set--the east wind is filling them merrily--are flying from Sicily over

the blue flood westward to Carthage. We cut the rippling waves as if on

a festal excursion. No foe, no spy, far or near, to oppose us or give

warning of our approach to the threatened Vandals, on whom we shall

fall like a meteor crashing from a clear sky.

That all this has come to the General's knowledge, and that he can make

instant use of it, is due to Procopius, or--to speak more honestly--to

blind chance, the capricious goddess Tyche. It seems to me, though I am

no philosopher, that she rather than Nemesis guides the destinies of

nations.

I wrote last that I was running about the streets of Syracuse, somewhat

helplessly, not without being laughed at by the mockers, asking all the

people whether no Vandals had been seen. One--this time it was a Gothic

count named Totila, as handsome as he was insolent--had just answered,

laughing and shrugging his shoulders: "Seek your enemies yourselves. I

would far rather go with the Vandals to find and sink you." I was

thinking how correctly this young Barbarian had perceived the advantage

of his people and the folly of his Regent, when, vexed with the Goths,

with myself, and most of all with Belisarius, I turned a street corner

and almost ran against some one coming from the opposite direction. It

was Hegelochus, my schoolmate from Caesarea, who, I knew, had settled as

a merchant, a speculator in grain, somewhere in Sicily, but I was

ignorant in which city.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, after the first exchange of

greetings.

"I?--I am only looking for a trifle," I answered rather irritably, for

I already heard in imagination his jeering laugh. "I am searching

everywhere for a hundred and fifty to two hundred Vandal war-ships. Do

you happen to know where they are?"

"Certainly I do," he replied, without laughing. "They are lying in the

harbor of Caralis in Sardinia."

"Omniscient grain-dealer," I cried, rigid with amazement, "where did

you learn that?"

"In Carthage, which I left only three days ago," he said quietly.

Then the questioning began. And often as I squeezed the shrewd,

sensible man like a sponge, a stream of news most important for us

flowed out.

So we have nothing to fear for our fleet from the Vandal war vessels.

The Barbarians as yet have no suspicion that we are advancing upon

them. The flower of their army has gone on the dreaded galleys to

Sardinia. Gelimer feels no anxiety for Carthage, or any other city on

the coast. He is in Hermione, in the province of Byzacena, four days'

journey from the sea. What can he be doing there, on the edge of the

desert? We are, therefore, safe from every peril, and can land in

Africa wherever wind, waves, and our own will may guide us.

During this conversation, and while I was constantly questioning him, I

had wound my arm around my friend's neck, and now asked him to come to

the harbor with me and look at my ship, which lay at anchor there. It

was a very swift sailer of a new model. The merchant agreed. As soon as

I had him safely on board, I drew my sword, cut the rope which moored

us to the metal ring of the harbor mole, and ordered my sailors to take

us swiftly to Caucana.

Hegelochus was startled; he scolded and threatened. But I soothed him,

saying: "Forgive this abduction, my friend; it is absolutely necessary

that Belisarius himself, not merely his legal adviser, should talk with

and question you. He alone knows everything that is at stake. And I

will not undertake the responsibility of having failed to inquire about

some important point or of having misunderstood some answer. Some god

who is angered against the Vandals has sent you to me; woe betide me if

I do not profit by it. You must tell the General everything you have

learned; you must accompany our ships, nay, guide them to Africa. This

one involuntary voyage to Carthage will bring you richer profits from

the royal treasures of the Vandals than sailing to and fro with wheat

many hundred times. And the reward awaiting you in Heaven for your

participation in the destruction of the heretics--I will not estimate."

He grinned, calmed down, then laughed. But the hero Belisarius smiled

far more joyously when he saw before him the man "just from Carthage,"

and could question him to his heart's content. How he praised me for

the accident of this meeting! The command to sail was given with the

blast of the tuba. How the sails flew aloft! How proudly our galleys

swept forward! Woe to thee, Vandalia! Woe to the lofty towers of

Genseric's citadel!

* * * * *

The swift voyage continued past the islands of Gaulos and Melita, which

divide the Adriatic from the Tyrrhenian Sea. At Melita the wind, as if

ordered by Belisarius, grew still fresher,--a strong east-southeast

gale which, on the following day, drove us upon the African coast at

Caput Vada, five days' march from Carthage. That is, for a swift walker

without baggage; we shall probably require a much longer time.

Belisarius ordered the sails to be lowered, the anchors dropped, and

summoned all the leaders of the troops to a council of war on his own

ship. It was now to be decided whether we should disembark the troops

and march against Carthage by land, or keep them on the fleet and

conquer the capital from the sea. Opinions were very conflicting.

* * * * *

The decision has been reached; we shall march against Carthage by land.

True, Archelaus, the Quaestor, protested, saying that we had no harbor

for the ships without men, no fortress for the men without ships. Every

storm might scatter them upon the open sea, or hurl them against the

cliffs along the shore. He also called attention to the lack of water

along the coast region, and the want of means to supply food. "Only let

no one ask me, as quaestor, for anything to eat," he cried angrily. "A

quaestor who has only the office, but no bread, cannot satisfy you with

his position." He advised hastening by sea to Carthage, to occupy the

harbor of Stagnum, which could hold the entire fleet, and was at that

time entirely undefended; thence to rush from the ships upon the city,

which could be taken at the first attack, if the King and his army were

really four days' march from the coast.

But Belisarius said: "God has fulfilled our most ardent desire; He has

permitted us to reach Africa without encountering the hostile fleet.

Shall we now remain at sea, and perhaps yet meet those ships before

which our men threaten to fly? As for the danger of tempests, it would

be better to have the galleys lost when they are empty, than while

filled with our troops. We have still the advantage of surprising the

unprepared foe; every delay will enable them to make ready to meet us.

Here we can land without fighting; elsewhere and later we must perhaps

battle against the wind and the enemy. So I say, we will land here.

Walls and ditches around the camp will supply the place of a fortress.

And have no anxiety about stores: if we defeat the foe, we shall also

capture his provisions." Thus spoke Belisarius. I thought that, as

usual, his reasoning was weak, but his courage strong. The truth is, he

always chooses the shortest way to the battle.

The council of war closed. Belisarius's will was carried out.

We brought the horses, weapons, baggage, and implements of war to land.

About fourteen thousand soldiers and nineteen thousand sailors began to

shovel, to dig, to drive stakes into the hot, dry sand; the General not

only threw out the first spadeful, but, working uninterruptedly, the

last. His perspiration abundantly bedewed the soil of Africa, and the

men were so spurred by his example that they vied with each other

valiantly. Before night closed in, the ditch, the wall, and the

palisade were completed around the entire camp. Only one-fifth of the

archers spent the night on the ships.

So far all was well. Our galleys still contained an ample store of

provisions, thanks to the hospitality of the Ostrogoths in Sicily.

These simpletons, by the learned Regent's command, almost gave us

everything an army needs for man and horse (the troublesome Totila, who

is no well-wisher of ours, was instantly recalled). In reply to our

amazed questions, they answered, by the learned Cassiodorus's

instructions: "You will pay us by avenging us upon the Vandals." Well,

Justinian will reward them. I wonder if the scholar knows the fable of

how the horse, because he hated the stag, carried the man upon his back

and hunted the stag to death? The free animal had taken the man on his

back for this ride only, but never again was he rid of his captor. But

the water is giving out. What we have with us is scanty, foul, and

putrid; and to march for days under the African sun with no water for

men and beasts--how will it end?

* * * * *

I shall really soon believe that we are God's chosen favorites--we, the

chaste-hearted warriors of Justinian the truthful and Theodora! Or have

the Vandals and their King called down upon themselves the wrath of

Heaven so heavily that miracles continually happen against these

Barbarians and in our favor?

Yesterday evening we all, from the General to the camel, were in sore

anxiety about water. To-day the slave Agnellus--he is a countryman of

yours, O Cethegus, and the son of a fisherman from Stabiae--brought to

my tent whole amphorae of the most delicious spring water, not only for

drinking, but amply sufficient for bathing. With the last strokes of

the spade our Herulians opened a large bubbling spring on the eastern

edge of the camp--an unprecedented thing in the Byzacena province,

between the sea and the "desert,"--so the people here call all the

country southwest of the great road along which we are marching, and

surely quite unjustly, for some of it is very fertile; yet it is old

desert ground and often merges imperceptibly into the real wilderness.

At any rate, this spring gushed forth for us from the surrounding dry

sand. The stream of water is so abundant that men and animals can

drink, boil, and bathe, pour out the foul water from the ships, and

replace it with the best. I hastened to Belisarius and congratulated

him, not only because of the actual usefulness of this discovery, but

because it is an omen of victory. "Water gushes out of the wilderness

for you. General," I exclaimed. "That means an effortless victory. You

are the favorite of Heaven." He smiled. We always like to hear such

things.

* * * * *

Belisarius commissioned me to compose an order to be read aloud at the

departure of each body of troops.

A few dozen of our precious Huns dashed out into the country and seized

some of the harvests just ripening in the fields, over which they

became involved in a discussion with the Roman colonists. As the

Huns, unfortunately, speak their Latin only with leather whips and

lance-thrusts, there were several dead men after the conference,--of

course only on the side of the wicked peasants, who would not let the

horses of the Huns eat their fill of their best grain. Our beloved Huns

cut off the heads of the men whom they had thus happily liberated from

the Vandal yoke, hung them to their saddles, and brought them to the

General for a dessert. Belisarius foamed with rage. He often foams; and

when Belisarius lightens, Procopius must usually thunder.

So it was now. So I wrote a proclamation that we were the saviors,

liberators, and benefactors of the provincials, and therefore would

neither consider their best grain-fields as litter for our horses nor

play ball with their heads. "In this case," I wrote convincingly, "such

conduct is not only criminal, but extremely stupid. Our little body of

troops could venture to land only because we expect that the

inhabitants of the provinces will be hostile to the Vandals and helpful

to us." But I appealed to our heroes still more impressively,

addressing not their honor or their conscience, but their stomachs! "If

ye die of hunger, O admirable men," I wrote, "the peasants will bring

us nothing to eat. If ye kill them, the dead will sell you nothing more

and the living almost less. You will drive the provincials to be the

allies of the Vandals--to say nothing of God and His opinion of you,

which is already somewhat clouded. So spare the people, at least for

the present, or they will discover too early that Belisarius's Huns are

worse than Gelimer's Vandals. When the Emperor's tax-officers once rule

the land, then, dear descendants of Attila, you will no longer need to

impose any constraint upon yourselves; then the 'liberated' will have

already learned to estimate their freedom. You cannot go as far as

Justinian's tax-collectors, beloved Huns and robbers." The proclamation

was of that purport, only dressed in somewhat fairer words. We are

marching forward. No sign of the Barbarians. Where are they hiding?

Where is this King of the Vandals dreaming? If he does not wake soon,

he will find himself without a kingdom.

* * * * *

We were still marching on. One piece of good fortune follows another.

A day's march westward from our landing place at Caput Vada on the road

to Carthage near the sea, is the city of Syllektum. The ancient walls,

it is true, had been torn down since the reign of Genseric, but the

inhabitants, to repel the attacks of the Moors, had again put nearly

the whole city in a state of defence. Belisarius sent Borais, one of

his bodyguard, with several shield-bearers, to venture a

reconnoissance. It was entirely successful. After nightfall the men

stole to the entrances (they could not be called gates, only openings

of streets), but found them barricaded and guarded. They spent the

night quietly in the ditch of the old fortifications, for there might

still be Vandals in the city. In the morning peasants from the

surrounding country came driving up in carts with racks: it was market

day. Our men threatened the terrified rustics with death if they

uttered a word, and forced the drivers to conceal them under the tilts.

The watchmen of Syllektum removed the barricades to admit the wagons.

Then our soldiers jumped down, took possession of the city without a

sword-stroke. There was not a Vandal in it. We occupied the Curia and

the Forum; we summoned the Catholic Bishop and the noblest inhabitants

of Syllektum,--they are remarkably stupid people,--and told them that

they were now free; happy also, for they were the subjects of

Justinian. At the same time, with swords drawn, our men asked for

breakfast. The Senators of Syllektum gave Borais the keys of their

city, but unfortunately the gates for them were missing; the Vandals or

Moors had burned them long ago. The Bishop entertained them in the

porch of the basilica. Borais said the wine was very good. At the end

of the repast, the Bishop blessed Borais, and asked him to restore the

true, pure faith quickly. The warrior, a Hun, is unfortunately a pagan;

so he had little comprehension of what was expected of him. But he

repeated to me several times that the wine was excellent. So we have

already saved one city in Africa. In the evening we all marched

through. Belisarius enjoined the most rigid discipline. Unfortunately,

a large number of houses burst into flames.

* * * * *

Beyond Syllektum we again made a lucky capture. The chief official of

the whole Vandal mail service, a Roman, had been sent out from Carthage

by the King several days before with all his horses, numerous wagons,

and many slaves, to carry the sovereign's commands in all directions

through his empire. On his way to the east he had heard of our landing,

and he sought us out with everything he still had in his possession.

All the letters, all the secret messages of the Vandals, are in the

hands of Belisarius--a whole basket of them, which I must read.

It really seems as if an angel of the Lord had led us into the

writing-room and the council hall of the Asdings. Verus, the Archdeacon

of the Arians, dictated most of the letters. But we were thoroughly

deceived in this priest. Theodora believed him to be her tool, yet he

has become Gelimer's chancellor. Strange that these secrets were

intrusted to a Roman for conveyance and protection, not to a Vandal.

Besides, must not Verus have known how near we were, when he sent the

papers, unguarded, directly to us.

True, the most important thing for us to know,--namely, where the King

and his army are at present,--does not appear in these letters, which

were written a week ago. Yet we learn from them at last what induced

him to remain so far from Carthage and the coast, on the edge of the

desert and within it. He has made contracts with many Moorish tribes,

and been promised thousands of foot-soldiers--almost equal in number to

our whole army. These Moorish auxiliaries are gathering in Numidia, in

the plain of Bulla. That is far, far west of Carthage, near the border

of the wilderness. Could the Vandal intend to abandon his capital and

all the tract of country for such a distance, without striking a single

blow, and await us there, at Bulla?

Belisarius--what a trick of chance!--is now sending to Gelimer by the

Vandal mail system Justinian's declaration of war, and despatching in

every direction to the Vandal nobles, army leaders, and officials an

invitation to abandon Gelimer. The summons is well worded (I composed

it myself): "I am not waging war with the Vandals, nor do I break the

compact of perpetual peace concluded with Genseric. We desire only to

overthrow your Tyrant, who has broken the law and imprisoned your

rightful King. Therefore help us! Shake off the yoke of such shameless

despotism, that you may enjoy liberty and the prosperity we are

bringing you. We call upon God to witness our sincerity."

Postscript, added after the close of the war: "Strange, yet it is

certainly noble. This appeal did not win a single Vandal to our side

during the entire campaign. These Germans have become enfeebled. But

there was not even _one_ traitor among them!"

CHAPTER III

Many days' march westward from the road which the Byzantines were

following toward Carthage, and a considerable distance south of Mount

Auras, the extreme limit of the Vandal kingdom in Africa, lay a small

oasis. It was within the sandy desert which extended southward into the

unknown interior of the hot portion of the globe. A spring of drinkable

water, a few date-palms in the circle around it, and, beneath their

shade, a patch of turf of salt grass, affording sufficient fodder for

the camels--that was all. The ground in the neighborhood was flat,

except that here and there rose waves of the yellow, loose, hot sand

swept together by the wind. Nowhere appeared shrub, bush, or hillock;

as far as the eye could rove in the brightest light of day, it found no

resting-place till, wearied by the quest, it sought some point close at

hand.

But it was night now, and wonderfully, indescribably magnificent was

the silent solitude. Over the whole expanse of the heavens the stars

were glittering in countless multitudes with a brilliancy which they

show only to the sons of the desert. It is easy to understand that

deity first appeared to the Moors in the form of the stars. In them

they worshipped the radiant, beneficent forces which contrasted

benignly with the desert's scorching heat, the desert's storms. From

the course, position, and shining of the stars, they augured the will

of the gods and their own future.

Around the spring were pitched the low goatskin tents of the nomad

Moors, only half a dozen of them, for the whole tribe had not gathered.

The faithful camels, carefully tethered by the feet among the tent

ropes, and covered with blankets to protect them from the stings of the

flies, were lying in the deep sand with their long necks outstretched.

In the centre of the little encampment were the noble racers, the

battle stallions, and the brood mares, confined in a circle made with

ropes and lances thrust into the sand. On the round top of one of the

tents towered a long spear, from whose point hung a lion's skin; for

this was the shelter of the chief.

The night wind, which blew refreshingly from the distant sea in the

northeast, played with the mane of the dead king of the wilderness,

sometimes tossing the skin of the huge paw, sometimes the tuft of hair

at the end of the tail. Fantastic shadows fell on the light sandy soil;

for though the moon was not in the sky, the stars shone bright. A deep,

solemn stillness reigned. Every living creature seemed buried in sleep.

Four huge fires, one at each of the four points of the compass, were

blazing, a bow-shot from the tents, to frighten the wild beasts from

the flocks; from them arose at long intervals the only sound that broke

the stillness; namely, the cry of some shepherd who thus kept himself

awake and warned his companions to be watchful. This solemn silence

continued for a long, long time.

At last a couple of stallions neighed, a weapon clanked outside from

the direction of the fires, and directly thereafter a light, almost

inaudible footstep came toward the centre of the camp,--toward the

"Lion Tent." Suddenly it paused; a slender young man stooped to the

ground before the entrance.

"What? Are you lying in front of the tent, grandfather?" he asked in

astonishment. "Are you asleep?"

"I was watching," a low voice answered.

"I should have ventured to rouse you. There is a fateful star in the

heavens. I saw it appear when I was keeping the eastern fire-watch. As

soon as I was relieved, I hastened to you. The gods are sending a

warning! But youth does not understand their signs; you do, wise

ancestor. Look yonder, to the right--the right of the last palm. Don't

you see it?"

"I saw it long ago. I have expected the sign for many nights, ay, for

years."

Awe and a slight sense of fear thrilled the youth. "For years? You knew

what would happen in the heavens? You are very wise, O Cabaon."

"Not I. My grandfather told my father, and he repeated the marvel to

me. It was more than a hundred years ago. The fair-faced strangers came

from the North across the sea in many ships, led by that King of

terrors with whose name our women still silence unruly children."

"Genseric!" said the youth, softly; his tone expressed both hate and

horror.

"At that time, from the same direction as the ships, a terrible star

mounted into the heavens--blood-red, like a flaming scourge with many

hundred thongs; it swung menacingly over our country and people. And my

grandfather, after he had seen the terrible war-king in the harbor of

Tsocium, said to my father and to our tribe: 'Unfasten the camels!

Bridle the noble racers, and set forth. Go southward, into the

scorching bosom of the protecting Mother! This King of Battles and his

war-loving nation are what the terrible star announced. For many, many

years, and tens of years, all who oppose them will be lost; the armies

of Rome and the galleys of Constantinople will be swept away by these

giants from the North, like the clouds which seek to oppose the star.'

And so it came to pass. The sons of our tribe, though they would far

rather have discharged their long arrows at the fair-haired giants,

obeyed the old man's counsel, and we escaped into the sheltering

desert. Bonifacius, the Roman General, fell. Our ancestor had foretold

it in the prophetic saying: 'G will destroy B. But,' he added, 'some

day, after more than a hundred years, a star will rise in the east, and

then B will overthrow G. Other tribes of our race who, with the

imperial troops, tried to resist the invaders, were mowed down like

them by Genseric, the son of darkness. And when they came howling to

our tents, raising the death-wail, and summoned us to a war of

vengeance, my grandfather and afterwards my father refused, saying:

'Not yet! They cannot yet be conquered. More than two or three

generations of men will pass, and no one will be able to stand before

the giants from the North, neither the Romans by sea, nor we sons of

the desert. But the children of the North cannot remain permanently in

the land of the sun! Many of those who came to our native country to

conquer and rule us, mightier warriors than we, have vanquished us, but

not this land, this sun, these deserts. Sand and sun and luxurious

idleness have lessened the strength of the strangers' arms, the might

of their will. So will also fare these tall, blue-eyed giants. The

vigor will leave their bodies, and the lust for battle their souls. And

then--then we will again wrest from them the heritage of our

ancestors.' So it was predicted, so it has been.

"For tens of years our archers, our spearmen could not withstand the

fierce foes; then their strength decayed, and we often drove them back

when they entered the sacred desert. When, some day, a star like this

returns, my ancestor declared, the reign of the strangers will be over.

Take heed whence a scourge-like star comes again; for from that

direction will come the foe that will hew down the yellow-haired men.

The star to-night came from the east; and from the east will come the

conquerors of Genseric's people!

"We have news that the Emperor has made war upon the Vandals, that his

army has landed in the far East! But it does not agree--the other sign!

G doubtless means Gelimer, the fair-haired King. But the Emperor of the

Romans is J, Justinian. Speak, have you chanced to hear the name of the

Roman. General?"

"Belisarius."

The old man started up. "And B will overthrow G,--Belisarius will

vanquish Gelimer! Look, how blood-red the scourge-like star is shining!

That means bloody battles. But we, son of my son, we will not interpose

when Roman sword and Vandal spear are clashing against each other. The

conflict may easily extend as far as the Auras Mountain; we will plunge

deeper into the wilderness. Let the aliens fight and destroy one

another. The Roman eagle, too, will not long have its eyrie here. The

star of misfortune will rise for them as well as for these tall

sea-kings. The intruders come--and pass away; we, the sons of the

country, will remain. Like the sand of our deserts we wander before the

wind, but we shall not pass away; we always return. The land of the sun

belongs to the sons of the sun. And, as the sand of the desert covers

and buries the proud stone buildings of the Romans, so shall we, ever

returning, bury the alien life which forces itself into our country,

where it can never thrive. We retire--but we return."

"Yet the fair King has obtained ten thousand of our men for the war.

What must they do?"

"Give back the money; leave the Vandal army, which the gods have

abandoned! Order my messengers to-morrow to dash with this command to

every tribe where I rule--with this advice, where I can counsel."

"Your counsel is a command wherever the desert sand extends. Only I

grieve for the man with the mournful eyes. He has shown favor to many

of our people, granted hospitality to many of our tribes; what return

shall they make to their friend?"

"Hospitality unto death! Not fight his battles, not share his booty;

but if he comes to them seeking shelter and protection, divide the last

date with him, shed the last drop of blood in his defence. Up, strike

the basin! We will depart ere the sun wakes. Untether the camels!"

The old man rose hastily.

The youth dealt the copper kettle that hung beside the tent a blow with

his curved scimetar. The brown-skinned men, women, and children were

astir like a swarm of ants. When the sun rose above the horizon, the

oasis was empty, desolate, silent as death.

Far in the south whirled upward a cloud of dust and sand which the

north wind seemed to be driving farther and farther inland.

CHAPTER IV

PROCOPIUS TO CETHEGUS:

We are still marching forward, and certainly as if we were in a

friendly country. Our heroes, even the Huns, have understood, thanks

less to my marching orders than to actual experience, that they cannot

steal as many provisions as the people will voluntarily bring if they

are to be paid instead of being robbed. Belisarius is winning all the

provincials by kindness. So the colonists flock from all directions to

our camp and sell us everything we need, at low prices. When we are

obliged to spend the night in the open fields we carefully fortify the

camp.

When it can be done we remain at night in cities, as, for instance, in

Leptis and Hadrumetum. The Bishop, with the Catholic clergy, comes

forth to meet us, as soon as our Huns appear. The Senators and the most

aristocratic citizens soon follow. The latter willingly allow

themselves to be "forced "; that is, they wait till we are in the

forum, so, in case we should all be thrown by our undiscoverable foes

into the sea before we reach Carthage, they can attribute their

friendliness to us to our cruel violence. With the exception of a few

Catholic priests I have not seen a Roman in Africa for whom I felt the

slightest respect. I almost think that they, the liberated, are even

less worthy than we, the liberators.

We march on an average about ten miles daily. To-day we came from

Hadrumetum past Horrea to Grasse, about forty-four Roman miles from

Carthage,--a magnificent place for a camp. Our astonishment increases

day by day, the more we learn of the riches of this African province.

In truth, it may well be beyond human power to maintain one's native

vigor beneath this sky, in this region. And Grasse! Here is a country

villa--to speak more accurately, a proud pillared palace of the Vandal

King--gleaming with marble, surrounded by pleasure-gardens, whose like

I have never seen in Europe or Asia. About it bubble delicious springs

brought through pipes from a distance, or up through the sand by some

magical discoverer of water. And what a multitude of trees! and not one

among them whose boughs are not fairly bending under the burden of

delicious fruit. Our whole army is encamped in this fruit grove,

beneath these trees; every soldier has eaten his fill and stuffed his

leather pouch, for we shall march on early to-morrow morning; yet one

can scarcely see a difference in the quantity. Everywhere, too, are

vines loaded with bunches of grapes. Many, many centuries before a

Scipio entered this country, industrious Ph[oe]nicians cultivated vines

here, between the sea and the desert, training them on rows of stakes a

few feet high. Here grows the best wine in all Africa; they say the

Vandals drink it unmixed, from their helmets. I only sipped the almost

purple liquor, to which Agnellus added half the quantity of water, yet

I feel drowsy. I can write no more. Good-night, Cethegus, far away in

Rome! Good-night, fellow-soldier! Just half a cup more; it tastes so

good. Pleasant dreams! Wine makes us good-natured, so pleasant dreams

to you, too. Barbarians! It is so comfortable here. The room assigned

to me (the slaves, all Romans and Catholics, have not fled, and they

serve us with the utmost zeal) is beautifully decorated with wall

paintings. The bed is so soft and easy! A cool breeze from the sea is

blowing through the open window. I will venture to take a quarter of a

cup more; and to-night, dear Barbarians, if possible, no attack. May

you sleep well. Vandals, so that I, too, can sleep sweetly! I almost

believe the African sickness--dread of every exertion--has already

seized upon me.

* * * * *

Four days' march from the wonder-land of Grasse. We are spending the

night in the open country. To-morrow we shall reach Decimum, less than

nine Roman miles from Carthage, and not one Vandal have we seen yet.

It is late in the evening. Our camp-fires are blazing for a long

distance, a beautiful scene! There is something ominous in the soft,

dark air. Night is falling swiftly under the distant trees in the west.

There is the blast of the shrill horns of our Huns. I see their white

sheepskin cloaks disappearing. They are mounting guard on all three

sides. At the right, on the northeast, the sea and our ships protect

us; that is, for to-day. To-morrow the galleys will not be able to

accompany our march as they have done hitherto, on account of the

cliffs of the Promontory of Mercury, which here extend far out from the

shore. So Belisarius ordered the Quaestor Archelaus, who commands the

fleet, not to venture as for as Carthage itself, but, after rounding

the promontory, to cast anchor and wait further orders. So to-morrow we

shall be obliged, for the first time, to advance without the protection

of our faithful companions, the ships; and as the road to Decimum is

said to lead through dangerous defiles, Belisarius has carefully

planned the order of marching and sent it in writing this evening to

all the leaders, to save time in the departure early in the morning.

* * * * *

The warlike notes of the tuba are rousing the sleepers. We are about to

start. An eagle from the desert in the west is flying over our camp.

It is reported that the first meeting with the enemy--only a few

mounted men--took place during the night at our farthest western

outpost. One of our Huns fell, and the commander of one of their

squadrons, Bleda, is missing. Probably it is merely one of the camp

rumors which the impatience of expectation has already conjured up

several times. To-night we shall reach Decimum; to-morrow night the

gates of Carthage. But where are the Vandals?

CHAPTER V

When Procopius wrote the last lines, those whom he was seeking were far

nearer than he imagined.

The first rays of the morning sun darted above the sea, glittered on

the waves, and shone over the yellowish-brown sand of the edge of the

desert, as a dozen Vandal horsemen dashed into the King's camp a few

leagues southwest of Decimum.

Gibamund, the leader, and the boy Ammata sprang from their horses.

"What do ye bring?" shouted the guards.

"Victory," answered Ammata.

"And a captive," added Gibamund.

They hastened to rouse the King. But Gelimer came in full armor out of

his tent to meet them.

"You are stained with blood--both. You, too, Ammata; are you wounded?"

His voice was tremulous with anxiety.

"No," laughed the handsome boy, his eyes sparkling brightly. "It is the

blood of the enemy."

"The first that has been shed in this war," replied the King, gravely,

"sullies your pure hand. Oh, if I had not consented--"

"It would have been unfortunate," Gibamund interrupted. "Our child has

done well. Go to the tent for Hilda, my lad, while I deliver the

report. So, chafing with impatience, we long endured your keeping us so

far away from the foe; we have followed their march at a great

distance, unsuspected even by their farthest outposts. When to-night

you finally permitted us to ride nearer to their flank than usual, in

order to discover whether they really intended to go to Decimum to-day

unprotected by the fleet, and to pass at noon through the Narrow Way,

you said that if we could obtain a captive without causing much

disturbance, it would be desirable. Well, we have not only a prisoner,

but more; we found an important strip of parchment on him. And it is

fortunate; for the man refuses to give any information. See, they are

bringing him yonder. There come Thrasaric and Eugenia; and Ammata is

already drawing Hilda here by the hand."

"Welcome," cried the young wife, hastening toward her beloved husband,

but she shrank in embarrassment from his embrace, for the captive was

already standing before the King. With hands bound behind his back, he

darted savage glances from beneath his bushy brows at the Vandals,

especially at Ammata. Blood trickled from his left cheek upon the white

sheepskin that covered his shoulders; his lower garment also--it

reached only to the knee--was of untanned leather; his feet were bare;

a huge spur was buckled with a thong on his right heel, and four gold

disks, bestowed by the Emperor and his generals in honor of brave deeds

(like our orders), were fastened on his heavy leather breastplate.

"So," continued Gibamund, "toward midnight, with only ten Vandals and

two Moors behind us, we rode out of camp toward the distant light of

the hostile campfires, cautiously concealing ourselves behind the long

mounds of sand, stretching for half a league, which the desert wind is

constantly heaping up and blowing away again, especially just on the

edge of the wilderness. Under the protection of this cover, we

advanced unseen so far eastward that we saw by the glare of a

watchfire--probably lighted to drive away the wild beasts--four

horsemen. Two sat crouching on their little nags, with their bows bent,

gazing intently toward the southwest, whence we had come; the other two

had dismounted and were leaning against the shoulders of their horses.

The points of their lances glittered in the flickering light of the

fire.

"I motioned to the two Moors, whom I had taken with us for this clever

trick. Slipping noiselessly from their steeds, they threw themselves

flat on the ground and were scarcely distinguishable in the darkness

from the surrounding sand. They crept on all fours in a wide circle,

one to the left, the other to the right, around the fire and the

sentinels, until they stood northeast and northwest of them. They had

soon vanished from our sight, for they glided as swiftly as lizards.

"Soon we heard, on the other side of the watchfire, toward the north,

the hoarse, menacing cry of the leopardess going out with her cubs on

the nocturnal quest of prey. The mother was instantly answered by the

beseeching cry of her young. The four horses of the sentinels shied,

their manes bristled; the scream of the leopardess came nearer,

and all four of the strangers--they had probably never heard such a

sound--turned in the direction of the noise. One of the horses reared

violently, the rider swayed, clinging to its mane; another, trying to

help him, snatched at the bridle, his bow falling from his hand.

Profiting by the confusion of the moment, we glided forward in perfect

silence from behind the sand-hill. We had wrapped cloth around the

horses' hoofs, and almost reached them unseen; not until we were close

by the fire did one of the mounted men discover us. 'Foes!' he shouted,

darting away. The other rider followed. The third did not reach the

saddle; I struck him down as he was mounting. But the fourth--this man

here, the leader--was on his horse's back in an instant; he ran down

the two Moors who tried to stop him, and would have escaped, but

Ammata--our child"--he pointed to the boy; the captive gnashed his

teeth furiously--"shot after him like an arrow on his little white

steed--"

"Pegasus!" Ammata interrupted. "You know, brother, you brought him to

me from the last Moorish war. He really goes as though he had wings."

"--reached him, and before any one of us could lend assistance, with a

swift double thrust--"

"You taught me, Gelimer!" cried Ammata, with sparkling eyes, for he

could no longer restrain himself.

"--of the short-sword, he thrust the enemy's long spear aside and dealt

him a heavy blow on the cheek. But the brave fellow, heedless of the

pain, dropped the spear and gripped the battle-axe in his belt. Then

our child threw the noose around his neck--"

"You know--the antelope cast!" Ammata exclaimed to Gelimer.

"And with a jerk dragged him from his horse."

Gibamund spoke in the Vandal tongue, but the captive understood

everything from the accompanying gestures, and now shrieked in the

Latin of the camp, "May my father's soul pass into a dog if that be not

avenged! I, the great-grandson of Attila--I--dragged from my horse by a

boy--with a noose! Beasts are caught thus, not warriors!"

"Calm yourself, my little friend," replied Thrasaric, approaching him.

"There is a good old motto among all the Gothic nations: 'Spare the

wolf rather than the Hun.' Besides, that royal bird, the ostrich, is

captured in the same way when he is overtaken. So it's no disgrace to

you." Laughing heartily, he straightened the heavy helmet with the

bear's head.

"We reached the two at once," Gibamund continued, "bound the man, who

fought like a wild boar, and snatched from his teeth this strip of

parchment which he was trying to swallow."

The prisoner groaned.

"What is your name?" asked the King, glancing hastily at the parchment.

"Bleda."

"How strong is your army in horsemen?"

"Go and count them."

"Friend Hun," said Thrasaric, in a threatening tone, "a king is

speaking to you. Behave civilly, little wolf. Answer politely the

questions you are asked, or--"

The prisoner glanced defiantly toward Gelimer, saying, "This gold disk

was given to me by the great General with his own hands after our third

victory over the Persians. Do you think I would betray Belisarius?"

"Lead him away," said Gelimer, waving his hand. "Bind up his wound.

Treat him kindly."

The Hun cast another glance of mortal hate at Ammata, then he followed

his guards.

Gelimer again looked at the parchment. "I thank you, my boy," he said,

"I thank you. You have indeed brought us no trivial thing, the order of

the enemy's march to-day. Follow me to my tent, my generals; there you

shall hear my plan of attack. We need not wait for the arrival of the

Moors. I think, if the Lord is not wrathful with us--but let us have no

sinful arrogance--Oh, Ammata, how I rejoice to have you again alive!

After your departure I had a terrible dream about you. God has restored

you to me once--I will not tempt Him a second time." Going close to the

boy and laying his hand on his shoulder, he said in his sternest tone:

"Listen; I forbid you to fight in the battle to-day."

"What?" cried Ammata, furiously, turning deadly pale. "That is

impossible! Gelimer, I beseech--"

"Silence," said the King, frowning, "and obey."

"Why," cried Gibamund; "I should think you might let him go. He has

shown--"

"Oh, brother, brother," exclaimed Ammata, tears streaming from his

eyes, "how have I deserved this punishment?"

"Is this his reward for to-night's deed?" warned Thrasaric.

"Silence, all of you," Gelimer commanded sternly. "It is decided. He

shall _not_ fight with us. He is still a boy."

Ammata stamped his foot angrily.

"And oh, my darling," Gelimer added, clasping the vehemently resisting

lad in his arms, "let me confess it. I love you so tenderly, with such

undue affection, that anxiety for you would not leave me for a single

instant during the battle, and I need all my thoughts for the foe."

"Then let me fight by your side; protect me yourself!"

"I dare not. I dare not think of you. I must think of Belisarius."

"Indeed, I pity him from my inmost soul," cried Hilda, in passionate

excitement. "I am a woman, and it is hard enough for me not to go with

you: but a boy of fifteen!"

Eugenia timidly pulled her back by the robe, stroking and kissing her

hand; but Hilda, smoothing the boy's golden locks, went on: "It is a

duty, it is a patriotic duty, that every man who can--especially a son

of the royal house--should fight for his people. This lad can fight; he

has proved it. So do not refuse him to his people. My ancestor taught

me that only he who is to fall will fall."

"Sinful paganism!" exclaimed the King, wrathfully.

"Well, then, let me address you as a Christian. Is this your trust in

God, Gelimer? Who in the two armies is as guiltless as this child? O

King, I am less devout than you, but I have confidence enough in the

God of Heaven to believe that he will protect this boy in our just

cause. Ay, should this purest, fairest scion of the Asding race fall,

it would be like a judgment of God, proclaiming that we are indeed

corrupt in His eyes!"

"Hold!" cried the King, in anguish. "Do not probe the deepest wounds of

my breast. If he _should_ fall now? If a judgment of God, as you called

it, should so terribly overtake us? Doubtless he is free from guilt as

far as human beings can be. But have you forgotten the terrible words

of menace--about the iniquity of the fathers? If I experienced _that_,

I should see in it the curse of vengeance fulfilled, and I believe I

should despair."

He began to pace swiftly up and down.

Then Gibamund whispered to his wife, who shook her proud head silently

but wrathfully, "Let him go. Such anxiety in the brain of the

commander-in-chief will do more harm than the spears of twenty boys can

render service."

"But arrows fly far," cried Ammata, defiantly. "If, like a miserable

coward, I remain behind your backs, I can fall here in the camp if the

foes conquer. I certainly will not be taken captive," he added

fiercely, seizing his dagger, and throwing back his head till his fair

locks floated over his light-blue armor. "Better put me in a church at

once--but a Catholic one; that would be a safe sanctuary, devout King."

"Yes, I _will_ lock you up, unruly boy," Gelimer now said sharply. "For

that insolent jeer, you will give up your weapons at once--at once.

Take them from him, Thrasaric. You, Thrasaric, will assail the foe in

the front, from Decimum. In Decimum stands a Catholic church; it will

be inviolable to the Byzantines. There you will keep imprisoned during

the battle the boy who desires to be a soldier and has not yet learned

to obey his King. In case of retreat, you will take him with you. And

listen, Thrasaric: that night--in the grove--you promised to atone for

the past--"

"I think he has done so," cried Hilda, indignantly.

"Whose troops are the best drilled?" added Gibamund. "Who has lavished

gold, weapons, horses, like him?"

"My King," replied Thrasaric, "hitherto I have done nothing. Give me

to-day an opportunity."

"You must find it. I rely upon you. Above all, that you will not

impetuously attack too soon and spoil my whole plan. And this

rebellious boy," he added tenderly, "I commend to your care. Keep him

out of the battle; bring him to me safe and unhurt after the victory,

on which I confidently rely. I also commit to your charge all the

prisoners, among them the hostages from Carthage; for, in case of

retreat, you will be at its goal--you will learn it at once, the first

man; therefore the captives will be most securely guarded with you. I

intrust to you Ammata, the apple of my eye, because, well--because you

are my brave, faithful Thrasaric." He laid both hands on the giant's

broad shoulders.

"My King," replied the Vandal, looking him steadfastly in the eyes,

"you will see the Prince again, living and unhurt, or you will never

see Thrasaric more."

Eugenia shuddered.

"I thank you. Now to my tent. Vandal generals, to hear the plan of

battle!"

CHAPTER VI

PROCOPIUS TO CETHEGUS:

We are actually still alive, and we are spending the night in Decimum,

but we have had a narrow escape from passing it with the sharks at the

bottom of the sea; never before, Belisarius says, was annihilation so

near him. This mysterious King brought us into the greatest peril by

his admirable plan of attack. And when it had already succeeded, he

alone, the King himself, cast away his own victory, and saved us from

certain destruction. I will tell you briefly the course of recent

events, partly from our own experiences, partly from what we have

learned through the citizens of Decimum and the Vandal prisoners.

The King, undiscovered by us, had accompanied our march from the time

of our landing. The place where he suddenly attacked us had been wisely

chosen long before. Belisarius says that not even his great rival,

Narses, could have made a better plan of battle. As soon as we left our

last camp outside of Decimum, we lost, as I wrote in my former letter,

the protection of our fleet. If a superior force assailed us here

from the west, it would hurl us, not--as along the whole previous

march--upon our sheltering galleys, but directly into the sea from the

road running along the steep hills close to the coast. Just before

Decimum this road narrows greatly; for lofty mountains tower at the

southwest along the narrow highway. Over the loose sand, heaped on the

mountains by the desert winds, neither man nor horse can pass without

sinking a foot deep. Here, attacked from all three sides at the same

moment, we were to be driven eastward into the sea at our right.

A brother of the King, Gibamund, was to rush with two thousand men from

the west upon our left flank; a Vandal noble with a still stronger

force was to attack us from Decimum in the front; the King, with the

main body, was to fall upon us in the rear from the South.

Belisarius had carefully planned the order of our march through this

dangerous portion of the way. He sent Fara with his brave Herulians and

three hundred picked men of the bodyguard two and a half Roman miles in

advance. They were to pass through the Narrow Way first alone, and

instantly report any danger back to the main body led by Belisarius. On

our left flank the Hun horsemen and five thousand of the excellent

Thracian infantry under Althias were thrown out to guard us from any

peril threatening in that quarter and report it to Belisarius, to

prevent a surprise of the main body during the march.

Then, to our great good fortune, it happened that the attack from the

north, from Decimum, came far too early. Prisoners say that a younger

brother of the King, scarcely beyond boyhood, taking part in the

battle against Gelimer's orders, dashed out of Decimum with a few

horsemen upon our ranks as soon as he saw us. The noble wished to save

him at any cost, so he also attacked with the small force at his

disposal,--four hours too soon,--only sending messengers back to

Carthage to hasten the march of his main body. The youth and the noble

made the most desperate resistance to the superior force. Twelve of

Belisarius's bravest bodyguard, battle-tried men of former wars,

were slain. At last both fell, and now, deprived of their leader,

the Vandals turned their horses, and, in a mad flight, ran down

and overthrew those who were advancing from Carthage to their

support,--true, in little bands of thirty and forty men. Fara with his

swift Herulians dashed after them in savage pursuit to the very gates

of Carthage, cutting down all whom he overtook. The Vandals, who had

fought bravely so long as they saw the Asdings and the nobles in their

van, now threw down their weapons and allowed themselves to be

slaughtered. We found many thousand dead bodies on the road and in the

fields to the left.

After this first onset of the Vandals had resulted in defeat, Gibamund,

knowing nothing of it, attacked with his troops the greatly superior

force of the Huns and Thracians. This happened at the Salt Field,--a

treeless, shrubless waste on the edge of the desert five thousand paces

west of Decimum. With no aid from Carthage and Decimum, he was

completely routed; nearly all his men were slain; their leader was seen

to fall, whether dead or living, no one knows.

Meanwhile, entirely ignorant of what had happened, we were marching

with the main body along the road to Decimum. As Belisarius found an

excellent camping-ground about four thousand paces from this place, he

halted. That the enemy must be in the neighborhood he suspected; the

disappearance of the two Huns during the night had perplexed him. He

established a well-fortified camp, and said to the troops, "The enemy

must be close at hand. If he attacks us here, where we lack the support

of the fleet, our escape will lie solely in victory. Should we be

defeated, there is no stronghold, no fortified city, to receive us; the

sea, roaring below, will swallow us. The intrenched camp is our only

protection, the camp and the long-tested swords in our hands. Fight

bravely! Life, as well as fame, is at stake."

He now ordered the infantry to remain in camp with the luggage as the

last reserve, and led the whole force of cavalry out toward Decimum. He

would not risk everything at once, but intended first to discover the

strength and plans of the Barbarians by skirmishing. Sending the

auxiliary cavalry in the van, he followed with the other squadrons and

his mounted bodyguard. When the advance body reached Decimum, it found

the Byzantines and Vandals who had fallen there. A few of the citizens

who had hidden in the houses told our troops what had happened; most of

them had fled to Carthage on learning that their village had been

chosen for the battleground.

A wonderfully beautiful woman,--she looks like the Sphinx at

Memphis,--the owner of the largest villa in Decimum, voluntarily

received our men. It was she who told us of the noble's death. He fell

before her eyes, just in front of her house.

The leaders now consulted, undecided whether to advance, halt, or

return to Belisarius. At last the whole body of cavalry rode about two

thousand paces west of Decimum, where they could obtain from the high

sand-hills a wider view in every direction. There they saw rising in

the south-southwest--that is, in the rear and on the left flank of

Belisarius--a huge cloud of dust, from which sometimes flashed the arms

and banners of an immense body of horsemen. They instantly sent a

message to Belisarius that he must hasten; the enemy was at hand.

Meanwhile the Barbarians, led by Gelimer, approached. They were

marching along a road between Belisarius's main body in the east and

the Huns and Thracians, our left wing, who had defeated Gibamund and

pursued him far to the west. But the high hills along the road

obstructed Gelimer's view, so that he could not see Gibamund's

battlefield. Byzantines and Vandals, as soon as they saw each other,

struggled to be first to reach and occupy the summit of the highest

hill in the chain which dominated the whole region. The Barbarians

gained the top, and from it King Gelimer rushed down with such power

upon our men, the auxiliary cavalry, that they were seized with panic,

and fled in wild confusion eastward, toward Decimum.

About nine hundred paces west of the village the fugitives met their

strong support, a body of eight hundred mounted shield-bearers, led by

Velox, Belisarius's bodyguard. The General and all of us who had

tremblingly witnessed the flight of the cavalry consoled ourselves with

the hope that Velox would check their flight and march back with them

to the enemy. But--oh, shame and horror--the weight of the Vandal

onslaught was so tremendous that the fugitives and the shield-bearers

did not even wait for it; the whole body, mingled together, swept back

in disorder to Belisarius.

The General said that at this moment he gave us all up for lost:

"Gelimer," he said at the banquet that night, "had the victory in his

hands. Why he voluntarily let it escape is incomprehensible. Had he

followed the fugitives, he would have pursued me and my whole army into

the sea, so great was the alarm of our troops and so tremendous the

force of the Vandal assault. Then the camp and the infantry would both

have been destroyed. Or if he had even gone from Decimum back to

Carthage, he could have destroyed without resistance Fara and his men,

for expecting no attack from the rear, they were scattered singly or in

couples along the streets and in the fields, pillaging the slain. And

once in possession of Carthage he could easily have taken our ships,

anchored near the city,--without crews,--and thus cut off from us every

hope of victory or retreat."

But King Gelimer did neither. A sudden paralysis attacked the power

which had just overthrown everything in its way.

Prisoners told us that, as he dashed down the hillside, spurring his

cream-colored charger far in advance of all his men, he saw in the

narrow pass at the southern entrance of Decimum the corpse of his young

brother lying first of all the bodies in the road. With a loud cry of

anguish, he sprung from his horse, threw himself upon the lifeless boy,

and thus checked the advance of his troops. Their foremost horses, held

back with difficulty by the riders that they might not trample on the

King and the lad, reared, plunged, and kicked, throwing those behind

into confusion, and stopped the whole chase. The King raised in his

arms the mangled and bloody body (for our horsemen had dashed over it);

then breaking again into cries of agony, he placed it on his charger

and ordered it to be buried by the roadside with royal honors. The

whole did not probably occupy fifteen minutes, but that quarter of an

hour wrested from the Barbarians the victory they had already won.

Meanwhile Belisarius rushed to meet our fugitives, thundered at them in

his resonant leonine voice his omnipotent "Halt," showed them, lifting

his helmet, his face flaming with a wrath which his warriors dreaded

more than the spears of all the Barbarians, brought the deeply shamed

men to a stand, arranged them, amid terrible reproaches, in the best

order possible in the haste, and, after learning all he could

concerning the position and strength of the Vandals, led them to the

attack upon Gelimer and his army.

The Vandals did not withstand it. The sudden, mysterious check of their

advance had bewildered, perplexed, discouraged them; besides, their

best strength had been exhausted in the furious ride. The sun of

Africa, burning fiercely down, had wearied us also, but at the first

onset we broke through their ranks. They turned and fled. The King, who

tried to check them, was swept away by the rush, not to Carthage, not

even southwest to Byzacena, whence they had come, but towards the

northwest along the road leading to Numidia, to the plain of Bulla.

Whether they took that course by the King's command or without it and

against it, we do not yet know.

We wrought great slaughter among the fugitives; the chase did not end

until nightfall. When, as the darkness closed in, the torches and

watchfires were lighted, Fara and the Herulians came from the north,

Althias with the Huns and Thracians from the west, and we all spent the

night in Decimum celebrating three victories in a single day: over the

nobleman, over Prince Gibamund, and over the King.

CHAPTER VII

The flying Vandals, leaving Carthage far on the right, had struck into

the road which at Decimum turns toward the northwest, leading to

Numidia.

In this direction also the numerous women and children, who had left

Carthage many days before with the army, had gone from the camp on the

morning of the day before, under safe escort, to the little village of

Castra Vetera, half a day's march from the battlefield. Here, about two

hours before midnight, they met the fugitives from Decimum; the pursuit

had ceased with the closing in of darkness. The main body of troops lay

around the hamlet in the open air; the few tents brought by the women

from the other camp, and the huts in the village, were used to shelter

the many wounded and the principal leaders of the army. In one of these

tents, stretched on coverlets and pillows, was Gibamund; Hilda knelt

beside him, putting a fresh bandage on his foot. As soon as she had

finished, she turned to Gundomar, who was sitting on the other side of

the narrow space with his head propped on his hand. Blood was trickling

through his yellow locks. The Princess carefully examined the wound,

"It is not mortal," she said. "Is the pain severe?"

"Only slight," replied the Gunding, clenching his teeth. "Where is the

King?"

"In the little chapel with Verus. He is praying."

The words fell harshly from her lips.

"And my brother?" asked Gundomar. "How is his shoulder?"

"I cut the arrow-head out. He is doing well; he is in command of the

guards. But the King, too, is wounded."

"What?" asked both the men, in startled tones. "He said nothing of it."

"He is ashamed--for his people. No foe; flying Vandals whom he stopped

and tried to turn hacked his arm with their daggers."

"Dogs," cried Gundomar, grinding his teeth; but Gibamund sighed.

"Gundobad, who witnessed it, told me; I examined the arm; there is no

danger."

"And Eugenia?" he asked after a pause.

"She is lying in the next house as if stupefied. When she heard of her

husband's death, she cried: 'To him! Into his grave! Sigrun--' (I once

told her the legend of Helgi) and tried to rush madly away. But she

sank fainting in my arms. Even after she had recovered her senses, she

lay on the couch as if utterly crushed. 'To him! Sigrun--into his

grave!--I am coming, Thrasaric!' was all that she would answer to my

questions. She tried to rise to obtain more news, but could not, and I

sternly forbade her to attempt it again. I will tell her cautiously all

that it is well for her to know--no more. But speak, Gundomar, if you

can; I know all the rest--except how Ammata, how Thrasaric--"

"Presently," said the Gunding. "Another drink of water. And your wound,

Gibamund?"

"It is nothing," replied the Prince, bitterly; "I did not reach the

enemy at all. I sent messenger after messenger to Thrasaric, as I did

not receive the promised report that he was leaving Decimum. Not one

returned; all fell into the hands of the foe. No message came from

Thrasaric. The time appointed by the King when I was to make the attack

had arrived; in obedience to the order I set forth, though perfectly

aware of the superior strength of the enemy, and though the main body

of the troops under Thrasaric had not come. When we were within an

arrow-shot, the horsemen, the Huns, dashed to the right and left, and

we saw behind them the Thracian infantry, seven ranks deep, who

received us with a hail of arrows. They aimed at the horses; mine, the

foremost, and all in the front rank instantly fell. Your brave brother

in the second rank, himself wounded by a shaft, lifted me with great

difficulty on his own charger--I could not stand--and rescued me. The

Huns now bore down upon us from both flanks; the Thracians pressed

forward from the front with levelled spears. Not a hundred of my two

thousand men are still alive." He groaned in anguish.

"But tell me how came Ammata,--against Gelimer's command, in spite of

Thrasaric's guard--?" asked Hilda.

"It happened in this way," said the Gunding, pressing his hand to the

aching wound in his head. "We had put the boy, unarmed, in the little

Catholic basilica at Decimum, with the hostages from Carthage, among

them young Publius Pudentius."

"Hilderic and Euages too?"

"No. Verus had them taken to the second camp near Bulla. Bleda, the

captured Hun, had been tied with a rope outside to the bronze rings of

the church doors; he lay on the upper step. On the square, in front of

the little church, were about twenty of our horsemen. Many, by

Thrasaric's command,--he rode repeatedly across the square, gazing

watchfully in every direction,--had dismounted. Thrusting their spears

into the sand beside their horses, they lay flat on the low roofs of

the surrounding houses looking toward the southwest to see the

advancing foe. I sat on horseback by the open window of the basilica.

From the corner one can see straight to the entrance of the main road

from Decimum, where Astarte's--formerly Modigisel's--villa stands. So I

heard every word that was spoken in the basilica. Two boyish voices

were disputing vehemently.

"'What?' cried one. 'Is this the loudly vaunted heroism of the Vandals?

You are placed here, Ammata, in the asylum of the church of the

much-tortured Catholics? Do you seek shelter here?' 'The order of the

King,' replied Ammata, choking with rage. 'Ah,' sneered the other; it

was Pudentius--I now recognized the tones--'I would not be commanded to

do that by king or emperor. I am chained hand and foot, or I would have

been outside long ago, fighting with the Romans.' 'The order of the

King, I tell you.' 'Order of cowardice. Ha, if _I_ were a member of the

royal house for whose throne men were fighting, nothing would keep me

in a church, while--Hark! that is the tuba. It is proclaiming a Roman

victory.'

"I heard no more; the Roman trumpets were blaring outside of Decimum."

Just at that moment the folds of the tent were pushed softly apart. A

pale face, two large dark eyes, gazed in, unseen by any one.

"At the same instant," continued the Gunding, "a figure sprang from the

very high window of the basilica,--I don't yet understand how the boy

climbed up to it,--ran past me, swung himself on the horse of one of

our troopers, tore the spear from the ground beside it, and with the

exulting shout, 'Vandals! Vandals!' dashed down the street to meet the

Byzantines.

"'Ammata! Ammata! Halt!' Thrasaric called after him. But he was already

far away. 'Follow him! Gundomar! Follow him! Save the boy!' cried

Thrasaric, rushing past me.

"I followed; our men--a slender little band--did the same. 'Too soon!

Much too soon!' I exclaimed, as I overtook Thrasaric.

"'The King commanded me to protect the lad!'

"It was impossible to stop him; I followed. We had already reached the

narrow southern entrance of Decimum. On the right was Astarte's villa,

on the left the high stone wall of a granary. Ammata, without helmet,

breastplate, or shield, with only the spear in his hand, was facing a

whole troop of mounted lancers, who stared in amazement at the mad boy.

"'Back, Ammata! Fly, I will cover the entrance here,' shouted

Thrasaric.

"'I will not fly! I am a grandson of Genseric,' was the lad's answer.

"'Then we will die here together. Here is my shield.'