rals, he proceeded by slow marches towards
Marcianopolis, the capital of the Lower Maesia, about seventy miles from
the banks of the Danube. On that fatal spot, the flames of discord and
mutual hatred burst forth into a dreadful conflagration. Lupicinus had
invited the Gothic chiefs to a splendid entertainment; and their martial
train remained under arms at the entrance of the palace. But the gates
of the city were strictly guarded, and the Barbarians were sternly
excluded from the use of a plentiful market, to which they asserted
their equal claim of subjects and allies. Their humble prayers were
rejected with insolence and derision; and as their patience was now
exhausted, the townsmen, the soldiers, and the Goths, were soon involved
in a conflict of passionate altercation and angry reproaches. A blow was
imprudently given; a sword was hastily drawn; and the first blood that
was spilt in this accidental quarrel, became the signal of a long
and destructive war. In the midst of noise and brutal intemperance,
Lupicinus was informed, by a secret messenger, that many of his soldiers
were slain, and despoiled of their arms; and as he was already inflamed
by wine, and oppressed by sleep he issued a rash command, that their
death should be revenged by the massacre of the guards of Fritigern and
Alavivus. The clamorous shouts and dying groans apprised Fritigern of
his extreme danger; and, as he possessed the calm and intrepid spirit of
a hero, he saw that he was lost if he allowed a moment of deliberation
to the man who had so deeply injured him. "A trifling dispute," said the
Gothic leader, with a firm but gentle tone of voice, "appears to have
arisen between the two nations; but it may be productive of the most
dangerous consequences, unless the tumult is immediately pacified by the
assurance of our safety, and the authority of our presence." At these
words, Fritigern and his companions drew their swords, opened their
passage through the unresisting crowd, which filled the palace, the
streets, and the gates, of Marcianopolis, and, mounting their horses,
hastily vanished from the eyes of the astonished Romans. The generals
of the Goths were saluted by the fierce and joyful acclamations of
the camp; war was instantly resolved, and the resolution was executed
without delay: the banners of the nation were displayed according to
the custom of their ancestors; and the air resounded with the harsh and
mournful music of the Barbarian