ors fled almost
without a blow from the hordes of wild dwarfish horsemen. The Ostrogoths
became the servants of their conquerors, and the heathens of Athanaric
found a refuge in the recesses of the Transylvanian forests. But
Fritigern was a Christian. Rome had helped him once before, and Rome
might help him now. A whole nation of panic-stricken warriors crowded to
the banks of the Danube. There was but one inviolable refuge in the
world, and that was beneath the shelter of the Roman eagles. Only let
them have some of the waste lands in Thrace, and they would be glad to
do the Empire faithful service. When conditions had been settled, the
Goths were brought across the river. Once on Roman ground, they were
left to the mercy of officials whose only thought was to make the
famished barbarians a prey to their own rapacity and lust. Before long
the Goths broke loose and spread over the country, destroying whatever
cultivation had survived the desolating misgovernment of the Empire.
Outlaws and deserters were willing guides, and crowds of fresh
barbarians came in to share the spoil. The Roman generals found it no
easy task to keep the field.

[Sidenote: Battle of Hadrianople (Aug. 9, 378).]

First the victories of Claudius and Aurelian, and then the statesmanship
of Constantine, had stayed for a century the tide of Northern war, but
now the Empire was again reduced to fight for its existence. Its rulers
seemed to understand the crisis. The East was drained of all available
troops, and Sebastian the Manichee, the old enemy of Athanasius, was
placed in command. Gratian hurried Thraceward with the Gaulish legions,
and at last Valens thought it time to leave his pleasant home at Antioch
for the field of war. Evil omens beset his march, but no omen could be
worse than his own impulsive rashness. With a little prudence, such a
force as he had gathered round the walls of Hadrianople was an overmatch
for any hordes of barbarians. But Valens determined to storm the Gothic
camp without waiting for his Western colleague. Rugged ground and tracts
of burning grass delayed his march, so that it was long past noon before
he neared the line of waggons, later still before the Gothic trumpet
sounded. But the Roman army was in hopeless rout at sundown. The Goths
came down 'like a thunderbolt on the mountain tops,' and all was lost.
Far into the night the slaughtering went on. Sebastian fell, the Emperor
was never heard of more, and full two-th