unding, 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 hi