Our course led past Perinthus--it is now called Heraclea--to Abydos. There some drunken Huns began to fight among themselves, and two of them killed a third. Belisarius instantly ordered both to be hung on a hill above the city. The Huns, especially the kinsmen of the two who were executed, made a great outcry: according to their law murder is not punished with death. I suppose the justice of the Huns permits the heirs of the murdered man to carouse with the murderers at their expense till they all lie senseless on the ground together. And when they wake, they kiss each other, and all is forgotten; for the Huns are worse drinkers than the Germans--and that is saying a great deal. Their pay contract only requires them to fight for the Emperor; he is not permitted to deal with them according to the Roman law. Belisarius assembled the Huns under the gallows from which the two were dangling, surrounded them with his most loyal men, and roared at them like a lion. I don't believe they understood his Latin, or rather mine, for I taught him the speech; but he pointed often enough to the men on the gallows: they understood that. And now they obey like lambs. The voyage continued past Sigeum, Tænarum, Metone, where many of our men died, for the commissary at Constantinople, instead of baking the soldiers' bread twice, had lowered it, as raw dough, into the public baths (how appetizing! but, to be sure, it cost nothing); and when it was completely saturated with water, had it browned quickly on the outside upon red-hot plates. So it weighed much heavier (the Emperor pays for it by weight), and he gained several ounces in every pound. But it gently melted into most evil-smelling mush, and five hundred of our men died from it. The Emperor was informed; but Theodora interceded for the poor commissary (he is said to have paid one-tenth of his profits for her Christian mediation), and the man received only a reprimand, so we heard later. From Metone we went past Zacynthos to Sicily, where, at the end of sixteen days, we dropped anchor in an old roadstead, now unused,--the place is called Caucana,--opposite Mount Ætna. Now heavy thoughts assailed the hero Belisiarius. He so thirsts for battle that he dashes blindly wherever a foe is pointed out. Yet anxiety is increasing. Not one of the numerous spies who were sent from Constantinople to Carthage long before our departure has returned--neither to Constantinople, nor to any of the stopping-places on our route that were assigned to them. So the General knows as much about the Vandals as he does of the people in the moon.