were not to shun, but
rather invite a skirmish with the outposts. He himself was to follow
the next day with the main body of the infantry and the five hundred
Illyrian horsemen. Only the few soldiers absolutely required to guard
the gates, towers, and walls remained in the city.

At Trikameron, about seventeen Roman miles--seventeen thousand
paces--west of Carthage, Althias met the foe.

The front ranks of both troops exchanged a few arrow-shots, and
returned to their armies with the report. The Byzantines pitched
their camp where they stood. Not far from them blazed the numerous
watch-fires of the Vandals. A narrow brook ran between the two
positions. The whole region was flat and treeless, with the exception
of one hill of moderate size that rose from the sandy soil very near
the stream on the left wing of the Romans.

Without waiting for Althias's command or permission, Aigan, the
principal leader of the Huns, dashed up the hill as soon as he heard
that the men were to encamp here to-day and fight on the morrow. The
other leaders and their bands darted after him with the speed of an
arrow. He sent a message to Althias that the Huns would spend the night
on the hill, and take their position the next day. Althias avoided
forbidding what he could not prevent without bloodshed. But the hill
dominated the surrounding neighborhood.

At a late hour of the night, the chieftains of the Huns met on the top
of the hill.

"Is there no spy near?" asked Aigan. "This Herulian Prince never leaves
us."

"My lord, I obeyed your commands. Seventy Huns are lying on guard in a
circle around our station; not a bird can fly over them unnoticed."

"What shall we do to-morrow?" asked a third, leaning against his
horse's shoulder and patting its shaggy mane. "I no longer trust the
word of Belisarius. He is deceiving us."

"Belisarius is not deceiving us. His master is deluding _him_."

"I saw a strange sign," the second leader began anxiously. "Just as
darkness closed in, little blue flames danced upon the points of the
Romans' spears. What does that mean?"

"It means victory," cried the third, greatly excited. "There is a
tradition in our tribe, my great-grandfather saw it himself, and it was
transmitted from generation to generation, before the terrible day in
Gaul when the scourge of the great Attila broke."

"Atta in the clouds, great Atta, be gracious to us," murmured all
three, bowing low toward the east.

"My ancestor