modern politics of the Empire, was considered by his companions as the
wit of the battalion to which he was attached.

'I like her figure,' growled Fritigern, a heavy, phlegmatic giant,
renowned for his imperturbable good humour and his prowess in drinking.
'What little there is of it looks so limp that Hermanric might pack her
into his light baggage and carry her about with him on his shoulders
wherever he goes!'

'By which process you would say, old sucker of wine-skins, that he will
attain the double advantage of always keeping her to himself, and
always keeping her warm,' interrupted Colias, a ruddy, reckless boy of
sixteen, privileged to be impertinent in consideration of his years.

'Is she Orthodox or Arian?' gravely demanded Athanaric, who piqued
himself on his theological accomplishments and his extraordinary piety.

'What hair she has!' exclaimed Suerid, sarcastically. 'It is as black
as the horse-hides of a squadron of Huns!'

'Show us her face! Whose tent will she visit next?' cried Witheric,
with an insolent laugh.

'Mine!' replied Fritigern, complacently. 'What says the chorus of the
song?

'Money and wine Make beauty mine!

I have more of both than any of you. She will come to my tent!'

During the delivery of these clumsy jests, which followed one upon
another with instantaneous rapidity, the scorn at first expressed in
Hermanric's countenance became gradually replaced by a look of
irrepressible anger. As Fritigern spoke, he lost all command over
himself, and seizing his sword, advanced threateningly towards the
easy-tempered giant, who made no attempt to recede or defend himself,
but called out soothingly, 'Patience, man! patience! Would you kill an
old comrade for jesting? I envy you your good luck as a friend, not as
an enemy!'

Yielding to the necessity of lowering his sword before a defenceless
man, Hermanric was about to reply angrily to Fritigern, when his voice
was drowned in the blast of a trumpet, sounding close by the tent. The
signal that it gave was understood at once by the group of jesters
still surrounding the young Goth. They turned, and retired without an
instant's delay. The last of their number had scarcely disappeared,
when the same veteran who had spoken with Hermanric, on the departure
of Goisvintha the evening before, entered and thus addressed him:--

'You are commanded to post yourself with the division that now awaits
you, at a place eastward of your p