ently has abandoned them. All taste for war was thoroughly extirpated by the departed hero, Valentinian, and our bold young Emperor, his son. My pupil!" he added complacently. "I am quite sure that all danger to the Empire from the Germans is over."
His companion silently shook his head. Just at that moment a captain of the mailed horsemen, a man numbering about five and twenty years, dashed forward from the centre of the Roman column. Tangled locks hung from beneath his helmet, and his features were ignoble in form and disagreeable in expression.
"Must we cross that accursed cliff. Tribune?" he exclaimed, abruptly checking his horse.
"We must," replied the Illyrian quietly. "I have just learned that our left wing has again found the morass in the forest bottomless, and is approaching along this, our only road. And the waves of the lake are dashing at our right."
The young man cast a doubtful glance at the cliff. "H'm," he muttered, "it will cost us many men. But that's no