was on guard duty one dark night beside a rushing stream.
On the opposite shore two men, with spears on their shoulders, were
riding to examine the neighborhood. My great-grandfather and his
companions slipped among the tall rushes and bent their bows, which
never failed. They took aim. 'Look, AEtius,' cried one, 'your spear is
shining.' 'And yours too, King of the Visigoths,' replied the other.
Our ancestors looked up, and, in truth, blue flames were dancing around
the spears of the enemy. Our people fled in terror, not daring to shoot
those whom the gods protected. And the day after Atta--"

"Atta, Atta, be not angry with us!" they again whispered, gazing in
terror up at the clouds.

"What then meant victory to the Germans and misfortune to their foes,"
replied Aigan, distrustfully, "may have the same meaning now. We will
wait. Wherever victory turns, we will turn too; that is why I chose
this hill for our station. From here we can see clearly the whole
course of the battle. Either straight across the brook on the Vandals'
left flank--"

"Or to the right on the Romans' centre--like a whirlwind!"

"I would rather plunder the Vandals' camp. It is said to be very rich
in yellow gold."

"And in white-bosomed women."

"But all Carthage has more gold than the Vandal Prince in his tent."

"But the best part is, the decision will probably come before the Lion
of the Romans arrives."

"You are right: I would not willingly spur my horse against the
wrathful lightning of his eyes."

"Patience. Wait quietly. Wherever I send an arrow, we will rush; and
Atta will hover, high in the air, above his children."

Removing his helmet of thick black sheepskin, he threw it upward,
singing softly:

"Atta, Atta, booty grant us,
Booty to thy much-loved children,
Yellow gold and shining silver,
And the red blood of the vineyard,
And the foeman's fairest women."

All, with bared heads, repeated the words in the deepest, most fervent
reverence. Then Aigan replaced his helmet:

"Silence! Let us separate."

CHAPTER XII

In the Vandal camp on the left bank of the stream, Genseric's great
banner floated from the royal tent, its folds often lifted by the night
wind, rustling softly in the warm, dark air. In a somewhat lower tent,
close beside the King's, Gibamund and Hilda sat silent, hand in hand,
upon a co