ce of the landscape, the sky, and the sea.

It was October; but the season had seemed for weeks to have altered its
laws. For almost two months it had never rained. Not a cloud, not a
stripe of mist had been seen in this usually so humid part of the
country. But now, quite suddenly--it was towards sunset--Cethegus
remarked in the east, above the sea horizon, a single, dense, and
coal-black cloud.

The setting sun, although free from mist, shed no rays.

Not a breath of air rippled the leaden surface of the sea; not the
smallest wavelet played upon the strand.

Not an olive-leaf moved in all the wide plain; not even the
easily-shaken reeds in the marshy ditches trembled.

No cry of an animal, no flight of a bird could be heard or perceived;
and a strange choking smell, as if of sulphur, seemed to lie
oppressively over land and sea, and to check respiration. The mules and
horses in the camp kicked uneasily against the posts to which they were
tied. A few camels and dromedaries, which Belisarius had brought with
him from Africa, buried their heads in the sand.

The wanderer heaved a deep breath, and looked about him in surprise.

"How sultry! Just as it is before the 'wind of death' arises in the
deserts of Egypt," he said to himself. "Sultry everywhere--outside and
inside. Upon whose head will the long-withheld fury of Nature and
Passion be let loose?"

He entered his tent.

Syphax accosted him.

"Sir, if I were at home, I should think that the poisonous breath of
the God of the Desert was coming over us." And he handed a letter to
the Prefect.

It was the answer of the King of the Franks. Hastily Cethegus tore open
the great shining seal.

"Who brought it?"

"An ambassador, who, as he did not find you, immediately asked to be
conducted to Belisarius. He desired to go the shortest way--through the
camp."

So thus Cethegus had missed him.

He read eagerly:

"'Theudebald, King of the Franks, to Cethegus, the Prefect of Rome.

"'You have addressed to us wise words, and still wiser words you have
not trusted to the letter, but have sent to us through our Major Domus.
We are not disinclined to act accordingly. We accept your advice, and
the gifts which accompany it. Their misfortunes have dissolved our
treaty with the Goths. They may blame their evil fate and not our
withdrawal. Whom Heaven forsakes, men, if they be pious and wise,
should forsake also. It is true that the Goths have paid beforehand the