“Let us have nothing to do,” said the practical Julian, “with these Irish savages. They may cut their own throats, and welcome, without our helping them. The men, too, would rebel at the bare mention of Ierne. It is out of the world in their eyes, and I think they are about right. And as to the gold and pearls, I don’t believe in them.” “Perhaps you are right,” said Constans; “but it would be a great work to bring over a new nation to the orthodox faith.” Julian answered with a laugh. “My good brother, we are not all such zealous missionaries as you. I am afraid that preaching is not exactly the work which our friends the soldiers are looking out for.” “What does your Majesty say to an expedition to chastise those thieving Picts? They grow more insolent every day.” This was the suggestion of one of the tribunes. “What is to be got?” was Julian’s answer. “Glory!” answered the tribune. “Glory! What is that?—the men want pay and plunder. These bare-legged villains haven’t so much as a rag that you can take from them, and they have a shrewd way of giving at least as many hard blows as they take. No!—we will leave the Picts alone, and only too thankful if they will do the same for us!” “The Count of the Shore has not yet taken the oath to his Majesty,” said an officer who had not spoken before. “We might give some employment to the men in bringing him to reason.” Constantine spoke for the first time since the council had begun its sitting—“The Count is a good man and does his business well. Leave him alone.” Other suggestions were made and discussed without any sensible approach to a conclusion, and the council broke up, but with an understanding that it should meet again with as little delay as possible. On the afternoon of that very day an incident occurred which convinced every one—if further conviction was needed—that delay would certainly be fatal. A party of soldiers was practising javelin throwing, and Constantine, who had been particularly expert in this exercise in his youth, stood watching the game. He had stepped up to examine the mark made by one of the weapons on the wooden figure at which the men were throwing, when a javelin passed most perilously near his head and buried itself in the wood. It could not have been an accident; no one could have been so recklessly careless as to throw under the circumstances. Constantine was as imperturbable as usual. Without a sign of fear or anger, he said, “Comrades, you mistake; I am not made of wood,” and, signing to his attendants, walked quietly away. The incident, however, made a great impression upon him, and a still greater upon his sons. [Illustration: Javelin throwing.] The consultation was renewed and prolonged far into the night, and, as no conclusion was reached, continued on the next day. About noon an unexpected adviser appeared upon the scene.