On a prancing black steed, by the side of the old woman, a young maiden was gaily riding along. Her skirts were looped up, and she also, seemed to feel herself perfectly at home in the saddle. Under her short little nose, there was a lovely pair of red lips; her dark eyes were bright and sparkling, and her long raven hair hung down in wavy tresses, interwoven with red ribbons, which merrily floated in the air, like the streamers of a ship. Over her loose bodice, bow and arrow were hanging, and thus she managed her horse, a true Hunnic Artemis. This was Erica, the flower-of-the-heath. She was not of Hunnic origin, having been picked up as an abandoned child, by some Hunnic riders on the Pannonian heaths. Thus she had accompanied the Huns and had grown up, hardly knowing how. Those whom she liked, she caressed, and those who displeased her, she bit in the arm. Botund the old Hunnic chieftain had loved her, and was killed for this reason by Irkund the young one. But when Irkund wanted to enjoy the fruit of this deed, Zobolsus' sharp lance did him the same service which Irkund had rendered Botund, without the latter asking for it. Thus Erica's fate had been varied, new ways! new countries! and new loves!--and she had become part and parcel of her troop. She was its good spirit and was held in high veneration. "As long as the flower-of-the-heath, blooms in our ranks, we shall conquer the world," said the Huns. "Forwards." Meanwhile, poor Heribald was still lying in his fetters at the monastery gate. His meditations were very sad. A big gad-fly, which he could not drive away with his bound hands, was buzzing round his head. "Heribald has behaved with dignity," thought he. "Like one of the old Romans he has sat at the gate to receive the enemy, and now he is lying bound on the stones, and the gad-fly may sit on his nose quite unmolested. That is the reward of dignified behaviour. Heribald will never again be dignified! Amongst hedgedogs, dignity is a most superfluous thing." Like a mountain-torrent when the flood-gate has been removed, the Hunnic tide now streamed into the cloister-yard. At this spectacle, the good Heribald began to feel really uncomfortable. "Oh, Camerarius," continued he in his meditation, "and if thou wouldst refuse me the next time even the shirt and habit, besides the shoe-leather, then should I fly nevertheless, a naked man!" Some of the vanguard then reported to Ellak in what state they had found the solitary monk. He made a sign for them to bring the prisoner up before him, upon which they loosened his cords, set him on his feet, and indicated the direction in which he was to go, by heavy blows. Slowly the poor wretch advanced, emitting a complaining grunt.