"I tried to rise, but could not; so, unable to aid, helpless myself, but covered by a dead horse behind which I had fallen, I saw the end. I will make the story brief. So long as he could move an arm, the faithful giant protected the boy with sword and spear; finally, when the spear-head was hacked off, the sword broken, he sheltered the boy with his own body. I saw how he spread the huge bearskin over him as a shield, and clasped both arms around the child's breast. "'Surrender, brave warrior,' cried the leader of the Herulians. But Thrasaric--hark! What was that?" "A groan? Yonder! Does your foot ache, my Gibamund?" "I made no sound. It was probably a night-bird--outside--before the tent." "But Thrasaric shook his huge head and hurled his sword-hilt into the face of the nearest Byzantine, who fell, shrieking. Then so many lances flew at the same instant that Ammata sank lifeless on the ground. Thrasaric did not fall, but stood bending forward, his arms hanging loosely. The Herulian leader went close to him. 'In truth,' he said, 'never have I seen anything like this. The man is dead; but he cannot fall, so many spears, with handles resting on the ground, are fixed in his breast.' He gently drew out several; the strong noble slid down beside Ammata. "Our men had fled as soon as they saw us both fall. Past me--I lay as though lifeless swept the foe in pursuit. Not until after a long time, when everything was still, did I succeed in raising myself a little. So I was found beside Ammata by the King, to whom I told the fate of both. The rest--how he lost the moment of victory, nay, threw away the victory already won, you know." "We know it," said Hilda, in a hollow tone. "And where is Ammata--where is Thrasaric buried?" questioned Gibamund. "Close beside Decimum, in two mounds. The land belongs to a colonist. According to the custom of our ancestors, our men placed three spears upright upon each hillock. The King's horsemen then carried me back, and placed me on a charger, which bore me through this pitiable flight. Shame on this Vandal people! They let their princes and nobles fight and bleed--alone! The masses have accomplished nothing but a speedy flight." CHAPTER VIII The intense darkness of the night was already yielding in the eastern sky to a faint gray glimmer of twilight, but the stars were still shining in the heavens, when a slender little figure glided noiselessly, but very swiftly, through the streets of the camp. The shaggy dogs watching their masters' tents growled, but did not bark; they were afraid of the creature slipping by so softly. A Vandal, mounting guard at a street-corner, superstitiously made the sign of the cross and avoided the wraith floating past. But the white form approached him. "Where is Decimum? I mean, in which direction?" it asked in low, hurried tones. "In the east, yonder." He pointed with his spear. "How far is it?"