s ride. The sun of
Africa, burning fiercely down, had wearied us also, but at the first
onset we broke through their ranks. They turned and fled. The King, who
tried to check them, was swept away by the rush, not to Carthage, not
even southwest to Byzacena, whence they had come, but towards the
northwest along the road leading to Numidia, to the plain of Bulla.

Whether they took that course by the King's command or without it and
against it, we do not yet know.

We wrought great slaughter among the fugitives; the chase did not end
until nightfall. When, as the darkness closed in, the torches and
watchfires were lighted, Fara and the Herulians came from the north,
Althias with the Huns and Thracians from the west, and we all spent the
night in Decimum celebrating three victories in a single day: over the
nobleman, over Prince Gibamund, and over the King.

CHAPTER VII

The flying Vandals, leaving Carthage far on the right, had struck into
the road which at Decimum turns toward the northwest, leading to
Numidia.

In this direction also the numerous women and children, who had left
Carthage many days before with the army, had gone from the camp on the
morning of the day before, under safe escort, to the little village of
Castra Vetera, half a day's march from the battlefield. Here, about two
hours before midnight, they met the fugitives from Decimum; the pursuit
had ceased with the closing in of darkness. The main body of troops lay
around the hamlet in the open air; the few tents brought by the women
from the other camp, and the huts in the village, were used to shelter
the many wounded and the principal leaders of the army. In one of these
tents, stretched on coverlets and pillows, was Gibamund; Hilda knelt
beside him, putting a fresh bandage on his foot. As soon as she had
finished, she turned to Gundomar, who was sitting on the other side of
the narrow space with his head propped on his hand. Blood was trickling
through his yellow locks. The Princess carefully examined the wound,
"It is not mortal," she said. "Is the pain severe?"

"Only slight," replied the Gunding, clenching his teeth. "Where is the
King?"

"In the little chapel with Verus. He is praying."

The words fell harshly from her lips.

"And my brother?" asked Gundomar. "How is his shoulder?"

"I cut the arrow-head out. He is doing well; he is in command of the
guards. But the King, too, is wounded."

"What?" a