"You led us to assault that younker, whom you know; and when we would have set upon him, and finished his business easily, he blew a hunting horn, and fifteen or sixteen stout fellows in full armor came down the bank from behind and shut up the cave’s mouth—you know as well as I do." "So far I do, most certainly," replied the conspirator, "but what then?" "Why, then, thou wouldest not hear reason; but, though the youth swore he would not betray thee, must needs lay on, one man against sixteen; and so, as was like, gottest thine head broken by a blow of a boar-spear from a great double-handed Thracian. For my part, I wondered he did not put the spear-head through and through you. It was a great pity that he did not; it would have saved us all, and you especially, a world of trouble." "And you, cowardly dogs, forsook me; and held back, when by a bold rush we might easily have slain him, and cut our way through the dastard slaves." "No! no! we could not; they were all Thracians, Dacians, and Pannonians; and were completely armed, too. We might have killed him, very likely, but we could never have escaped ourselves." "And he, he? what became of him when I had fallen?" "He bade us take you up," replied the German, "and carry you home, and tell you ’to fear nothing, he would betray no man, least of all you.’ He is a fine young fellow, in my judgment; for he might just as well have killed us all, as not, if he had been so minded; and I can’t say but that it would have served us rightly, for taking odds of four to one upon a single man. That is, I know, what you Romans call fighting; beyond the Rhine we style it cowardly and murder! Then, after that he went off with his men, leaving us scratching our heads, and looking as dastardly and crest-fallen as could be. And then we brought you home hither, after it had got late enough to carry you through the streets, without making an uproar; and then Lydon and Chærea put you to bed; and I, and Geta, and Ardaric, as for us, we got drunk, seeing there was no more work to do last night, and not knowing what might be to do, to-day. And so it is all well, very well, as I see it." "Well, call you it, when he has got off unscathed, and lives to avenge himself, and betray me?" "But he swore he would do neither, Catiline," answered the simple-minded son of the forest. "Swore!" replied the conspirator, with a fell sneer. "Ay did he, master! swore by all that was sacred he would never betray any man, and you least of all; and I believe he will keep his promise." "So do I," answered Catiline, bitterly, "I swear he shall; not for the lack of will, but of means to do otherwise! You are a stupid brute, Arminius; but useful in your way. I have no need of you to-day, so go and tell the butler to give you wine enough to make all three of you drunk again; but mind that ye are sound, clear-headed, and alert at day-break to-morrow." "But will he give it to me at my bidding?"