What kind of people they are, their method of warfare, how he is to reach them--he has no idea. Besides the soldiers have fallen back into their old fear of Genseric's fleet, and there is no Empress on board who might order some one to dream again. The limping trochees of the court poet are rarely sung; the men have grown disgusted with the verses; if any one strikes up the air half unwillingly, two others instantly drown his voice. Only the Huns and the Herulians--to the disgrace of the Romans, be it said--refrain from open lamentations; they remain sullenly silent. But our warriors, the Romans, do not shrink from loudly exclaiming that they would fight bravely enough on land, they are used to it; but if the enemy should assail them on the open sea, they would force the sailors to make off with sails and oars as fast as possible. They could not fight Germans, waves, and wind, all at the same time, upon rocking ships, and it was not in their contract for military service. Belisarius, however, feels most disturbed by his uncertainty concerning the plans of the enemy. Where is this universally dreaded fleet hiding? It is becoming mysterious now that we see and hear nothing of it. Is it lying concealed behind one of the neighboring islands? Or is it lurking, on the watch for us, upon the coast of Africa? Where and when shall we land? I said yesterday that he ought to have considered this somewhat earlier. But he muttered something in his beard, and begged me to atone for his errors to the best of my ability. I must go to Syracuse and, on the pretext of buying provisions from your Ostrogoth Counts, inquire everything about these Vandals, of whom he is ignorant and yet ought to know. So I have been here in Syracuse since yesterday, asking everybody about the Vandals, and they all laugh at me, saying: "Why, if Belisarius does not know, how should we? We are not at war with them." It seems to me that the insolent fellows are right. CHAPTER II Triumph, O Cethegus! Belisarius's former good fortune is fluttering over the pennons at our mast-heads: the gods themselves are blinding the Vandals; they are depriving them of their reason, consequently they must desire their destruction. Hermes is breaking the path for us, removing danger and obstacles from our way. The Vandal fleet, the bugbear of our valiant warriors, is floating harmless away from Carthage toward the north; while we, with all sails set--the east wind is filling them merrily--are flying from Sicily over the blue flood westward to Carthage. We cut the rippling waves as if on a festal excursion. No foe, no spy, far or near, to oppose us or give warning of our approach to the threatened Vandals, on whom we shall fall like a meteor crashing from a clear sky.