r yet unfound, perhaps perishing?
Impossible!

Suddenly the train of his thoughts was changed perforce:--

'Come! come and see! There's a fight in the streets,' called one of the
damsels down the stairs, at the highest pitch of her voice.

'I shan't go,' yawned a huge fellow, who was lying on his back on a
sofa.

'Oh come up, my hero,' said one of the girls. 'Such a charming riot, and
the Prefect himself in the middle of it! We have not had such a one in
the street this month.'

'The princes won't let me knock any of these donkey-riders on the
head, and seeing other people do it only makes me envious. Give me the
wine-jug--curse the girl! she has run upstairs!'

The shouting and trampling came nearer; and in another minute Wulf came
rapidly downstairs, through the hall into the harem-court, and into the
presence of the Amal.

'Prince--here is a chance for us. These rascally Greeks are murdering
their Prefect under our very windows.'

'The lying cur! Serve him right for cheating us. He has plenty of
guards. Why can't the fool take care of himself?'

'They have all run away, and I saw some of them hiding among the mob. As
I live, the man will be killed in five minutes more.'

'Why not?'

'Why should he, when we can save him and win his favour for ever? The
men's fingers are itching far a fight; it's a bad plan not to give
hounds blood now and then, or they lose the knack of hunting.'

'Well, it wouldn't take five minutes.'

'And heroes should show that they can forgive when an enemy is in
distress.'

'Very true! Like an Amal too!' And the Amal sprang up and shouted to his
men to follow him.

'Good-bye, my pretty one. Why, Wulf,' cried he, as he burst out into the
court, 'here's our monk again! By Odin, you're welcome, my handsome boy!
come along and fight too, young fellow; what were those arms given you
for?'

'He is my man,' said Wulf, laying his hand on Philammon's shoulder,
'and blood he shall taste.' And out the three hurried, Philammon, in his
present reckless mood, ready for anything.

'Bring your whips. Never mind swords. Those rascals are not worth it,'
shouted the Amal, as he hurried down the passage brandishing his heavy
thong, some ten feet in length, threw the gate open, and the next moment
recoiled from a dense crush of people who surged in--and surged out
again as rapidly as the Goth, with the combined force of his weight
and arm, hewed his way straight through them, felling a wretch