e had become security, he had
set forth himself; and it was well he had done so, for he had
overtaken the messenger at what was reckoned as three days' journey
from Bordigala. He had ridden ever since without rest, only
dismounting to change his steed, scarcely snatching even then a
morsel of food, and that morning neither he nor the horse he rode
had relaxed for a moment the desperate speed with which he rode
against time; so that he had no cause for the shame and vexation
that he felt at his utter collapse before the barbarians. King
Euric himself declared that he wished he had a Goth who could
perform such a feat of endurance.

While Marcus slept, AEmilius and the two young men offered their
heartfelt thanks in the Catholic church of Bordigala, and then Euric
would not be refused their presence at a great feast of
reconciliation on the following day, two of Verronax's speedy-footed
followers having been sent off at once to bear home tidings that his
intelligence had been in time.

The feast was served in the old proconsular house, with the Roman
paraphernalia, arranged with the amount of correct imitation that is
to be found at an English dinner-party in the abode of an Indian
Rajah. It began with Roman etiquette, but ended in a Gothic revel,
which the sober and refined AEmilii could hardly endure.

They were to set off on their return early on the morrow, Meinhard
and Odo with them; but when they at length escaped from the
barbarian orgies, they had little expectation that their companions
would join them in the morning.

However, the two Goths and their followers were on the alert as soon
as they, and as cool-headed as if they had touched no drop of wine.

Old Odo disdained a mule, and would let no hand save his own guide
his horse. Verronax and Lucius constituted themselves his guides,
and whenever he permitted the slightest assistance, it was always
from the Arvernian, whom he seemed to regard as a sort of adopted
son.

He felt over his weapons, and told him long stories, of which
Verronax understood only a word or two here and there, though the
old man seemed little concerned thereat. Now and then he rode along
chanting to himself an extemporary song, which ran somewhat thus--

Maids who choose the slain,
Disappointed now.
The Hawk of the Mountain,
The Wolf of the West,
Meet in fierce combat.
Sinks the bold Wolf-cub,
Folds his wing the Falcon!
Shall the soft priestling
Step before him to Va