not. For I, the Lord, will aid thee in battle, and will force Africa
and its treasures beneath thy rule.'"

Then Justinian was no longer to be restrained. War was determined.
The opposing Prefect was thrown into prison. Belisarius was made
commander-in-chief. The priests proclaimed the pious Bishop's dream
from the pulpits of all the basilicas. The soldiers were ordered by
hundreds to the churches, where courage was preached to them. Court
officials told the dream in the streets, in the harbor, and on the
ships. By the command of the Empress, Megas, her handsomest court poet,
put it into Greek and Latin verses. They are astonishingly bad, worse
than even our Megas usually writes; but they are easy to learn, so by
day and night soldiers and sailors sing them in the streets and the
wine-shops, as children sing in the dark to keep their courage up; for
our heroes really do not yet feel very anxious to make the holy voyage
to Carthage. So we shout incessantly,--

"Christus came to the holy Bishop; Christus warned Justinian:
'Avenge Christus, Justinianus, on the wicked Arian.
Christus himself will slay the Vandals, Africa give to thy hand!'"

The poem has two merits: first, it can be repeated as often as you
please; secondly, it makes no difference with which verse you begin.
The Empress says--and of course she must know--that the Holy Ghost
inspired Megas.

We are working night and day. The shaggy little nags of the Huns are
neighing in the streets of Constantinople. Among these troops are six
hundred excellent mounted archers, commanded by the Hunnish chiefs,
Aigan and Bleda, Ellak and Bala. There are also six hundred Herulians,
led by Fara, a Prince of that people. They are Germans in Justinian's
pay; for "Only diamond cuts diamond," Narses says: "always Germans
against Germans is our favorite old game."

Strong bands of other Barbarians march also through our streets:
Isaurians, Armenians, and others, under their own leaders. We call them
our allies; that is, we "give" them money or grain, for which they pay
with the blood of their sons. Among the nations of our own empire, the
Thracians and Illyrians are the best soldiers. In the harbor the ships
are rocking, impatiently tugging at their anchors in the east wind,
their eager prows turned toward the west.

The army is gradually being placed on board of the fleet: eleven
thousand foot, five thousand horse, upon five hundred keels, with
twenty thousand sailo