and right arrogantly, any
assistance from Gratianus and our army."

"He doesn't wish to share the fame of the victory with his nephew,"
said the Tribune, mounting his horse and inviting his friend to ride up
the mountain on the beautiful charger brought for his use. Nannienus
swung himself into the saddle, and continued:

"A decisive battle is impending, Valens writes. He is marching upon
Adrianople, where the Goths are encamped. Why, the horse is sinking
here! Are there marshes so far up?"

"Yes, it is the ancient bottom of the lake. So, the die has probably
already fallen yonder on the Ister! Well, our little campaign will
probably soon be over too. How many helmets do you bring?"

"Thirteen hundred."

"More than enough. Early to-morrow morning we will divide our forces.
Five hundred men will remain in the camp: You will march with the rest
toward the northeast, I to the northwest, until we at last find and
scatter these incomprehensible foes. Did you see nothing suspicious on
your voyage across the lake?"

"Nothing at all. Not a sail, far or near."

"Now that we have ships, we can also search the two tracts of marshland
overgrown with rushes, which stretch for leagues on the right and left.
We once thought we saw a column of smoke rising in the western marsh."

"That shall be done to-morrow, before we march. A naval battle on Lake
Venetia! It has scarcely happened since the days of Tiberius."

"But I am glad to know that you are here on land with your men: Welcome
once more to the Barbarian country and to my camp."

With these words the two commanders, followed by a glittering train of
Nannienus's officers and the Tribune's mailed riders, passed through
the Porta Decumana, which now stood wide open; for the Tribune's men
were pouring out, down the mountain side and through the damp meadows
and bogs of the half league of country to the shore, to greet their
comrades on the fleet.

Bissula had crouched and made herself as small as possible, that she
might slip out unseen like a little mouse from her hiding-place east of
the lake gate. But the Illyrian guards were rigidly trained: two
gigantic Thracians--one on each side of the threshold--held their
spears crossed before the opening, and scanned sharply every one who
went in or out. The young girl had crept successfully between the
outstretched legs of one, when she struck her head against the shaft of
the other's spear. The man's attention was attracted;