Adalo's two companions also dismounted, tied the three horses to the nearest trees, and soon lay chatting with the Batavians. The bad Latin of the frontier, it is true, often had to aid the understanding of the different dialects around the watchfire. With great exertion it had now been rekindled, for it was growing very dark. Suddenly, from the forest path by which the envoys had come, a strange growling was heard which drew nearer and nearer. The whole group, including the two Alemanni, started up in surprise. "A bear?" "So near the fire?" "Slipped through our outposts?" They seized the spears which stood stacked together. Then a Batavian, laughing loudly, came around the bend of the narrow path, pointing behind him. "Look, comrades! A Sarmatian juggler with a tame she-bear! She dances to his big flute! It's very comical." A cry of surprise escaped the lips of one of the Alemanni, whose eyes and mouth opened in astonishment: "That's surely--" But his companion gave him a violent dig in the ribs with his elbow: "A she-bear! Yes. Didn't you ever see one?" A man in the Sarmatian costume--black sheepskin with the wool turned inside--now stepped into the firelight, leading by a leather thong a large she-bear. Behind him, also clad in sheepskin, limped his boy, probably carrying in his bundle provisions for their journey; he was a poor cripple, who made his way forward slowly with the help of a crutch, and doubtless found it hard either to stand or to walk; for when the third Batavian, shoving him with the handle of his spear, invited him to come nearer to the fire, the poor lad, with a low cry, fell on the grass. The soldiers, with Roman and German taunts, asked what _he_ could do. He did not stir. "You can talk to him a long while," said his master, laughing. "The boy is deaf, and he is sick with fever. He is afraid of people. Let him lie there!" The lad crept under the thickest underbrush, far away from the flames. He could scarcely be seen from the watchfire; all that was visible was his coal-black curly hair. Taking out a little earthen pot, he poured a few drops of some liquid on his lame foot and rubbed it with his hand. CHAPTER XXVII. To Adalo's impatience the time seemed very long--in his wrath he believed the delay intentional--during which he was led through the spacious camp till at last his guide stopped and removed the muffler from his head. He found himself in the Prefect's tent. Ausonius, Bissula's friend, he instantly recognized, with a thrill of anger. A number of other army leaders were standing and sitting around him. They had had plenty of time to assemble while the Barbarian was being guided in bewildering zigzag lines through the streets of tents.