CHAPTER XIII

Meanwhile the ships had reached the shore: they were moored in a broad
front, side by side, greeted with a loud burst of music from pipes and
drums in the balcony. Instantly all flung from their lofty prows
step-ladders, covered with rich rugs. Slaves scattered flowers
over the stairs, down which the bridal pair and their guests now
descended to the land, while, at the same moment, by similar steps the
spectators descended from the platforms. The two groups now formed
in a festal procession upon the shore, A handsome though somewhat
effeminate-looking young Vandal, with a winged hat on his fair locks
and winged shoes on his feet, hurried constantly to and fro, waving an
ivory staff twined with golden serpents. He seemed to be the manager of
the entertainment.

"Who is that?" asked Victor. "Probably the master of the beautiful
Aphrodite. He is nodding; and she smiles at him."

"Yes, that is Thrasabad," cried Laurus, angrily, clinching his fist,
yet lowering his voice timidly. "May Saint Cyprian send scorpions into
his bed! A Vandal writer! He is spoiling my trade. And I am the pupil
of the great Luxorius."

"Pupil? I think you were--"

"His slave, then freedman. I have covered whole ass's skins with copies
of his verses."

"But not as his pupil?"

"You don't understand. The whole art of composition consists of a dozen
little tricks, which are best learned by copying, because they are
constantly recurring. And this Barbarian composes gratis! Of course he
must be glad to have any one listen to him."

"He is leading the procession--as Mercury."

"Oh, the character just suits him. He understands how to steal. Only in
doing so they kill the owners. 'Feud' is what these noble Germans call
it."

"Look! he has given the signal; they are going to the Circus. Up! Let
us follow."

Mercury held out his hand to Aphrodite to help her to land.

"Do I have you again?" he whispered tenderly. "I have missed you two
long hours, fair one. Dearest, I love you fervently."

The girl smiled charmingly, raising her beautiful eyes to his with a
grateful, even tender expression.

"That is the only reason I still live," she murmured, instantly
lowering her long lashes sorrowfully.

"But so completely muffled, my Aphrodite?"

"I am not your Aphrodite; I am your Glauke."

Hand in hand with her, Thrasabad now led the procession, which, not
without occasional pauses, forced its way through the