roubled about the Men of the North." He squatted like a
hare in the heather, and looked over his shoulder.

'"I also," said Maximus, "or I should not be here."

'"Listen," said Allo. "Long and long ago the Winged Hats"--he meant the
Northmen--"came to our beaches and said, 'Rome falls! Push her down!' We
fought you. You sent men. We were beaten. After that we said to the
Winged Hats, 'You are liars! Make our men alive that Rome killed, and we
will believe you.' They went away ashamed. Now they come back bold, and
they tell the old tale, which we begin to believe--that Rome falls!"

'"Give me three years' peace on the Wall," cried Maximus, "and I will
show you and all the ravens how they lie!"

'"Ah, I wish it too! I wish to save what is left of the corn from the
millstones. But you shoot us Picts when we come to borrow a little iron
from the Iron Ditch; you burn our heather, which is all our crop; you
trouble us with your great catapults. Then you hide behind the Wall, and
scorch us with Greek fire. How can I keep my young men from listening to
the Winged Hats--in winter especially, when we are hungry? My young men
will say, 'Rome can neither fight nor rule. She is taking her men out of
Britain. The Winged Hats will help us to push down the Wall. Let us show
them the secret roads across the bogs.' Do _I_ want that? No!" He spat
like an adder. "I would keep the secrets of my people though I were
burned alive. My two children here have spoken truth. Leave us Picts
alone. Comfort us, and cherish us, and feed us from far off--with the
hand behind the back. Parnesius understands us. Let _him_ have rule on
the Wall, and I will hold my young men quiet for"--he ticked it off on
his fingers--"one year easily: the next year not so easily: the third
year, perhaps! See, I give you three years. If then you do not show us
that Rome is strong in men and terrible in arms, the Winged Hats, I tell
you, will sweep down the Wall from either sea till they meet in the
middle, and you will go. _I_ shall not grieve over that, but well I know
tribe never helps tribe except for one price. We Picts will go too. The
Winged Hats will grind us to this!" He tossed a handful of dust in the
air.

'"Oh, Roma Dea!" said Maximus, half aloud. "It is always one man's
work--always and everywhere!"

"And one man's life," said Allo. "You are Emperor, but not a God. You
may die."

'"I have thought of that too," said he. "Very good. If this wind holds,
I