es to end
forever by a treaty not only this campaign but the whole war with you,
which for generations has been burning or at least smouldering: we wish
not a truce, but peace with Rome."

"Is this your idea, youth?" asked Saturninus, searchingly.

"I have already said it is the choice of our wise leaders, among whom I
am not numbered. But I, too, perceive that intercourse with you across
the frontiers, when the spears are leaning in the hall, will bring to
our people many benefits. We have already learned much from watching
you; we must learn still more."

"But why," interposed Ausonius, "if you perceive this, have you for
centuries broken every armistice, every treaty? You Germans boast of
fidelity as one of the virtues of your race, and we must praise the
loyal service of your mercenaries under our standards. Why, here on the
frontiers, are all your tribes of many names, Alemanni and Franks,
Goths and Quadi and Marcomanni, the same in this unfaithfulness? Why,
year after year, do you continually break peace and compact? Our
cohorts, constantly compelled to wade through your forest marshes,
upbraid you with fierce hatred as the falsest of the peoples. Why do
you continually break over our frontiers, like a forest stream?"

"Like a forest stream! You have uttered the right words, though
probably without knowing it. I will not answer that often we are not
the breakers of the treaties, but, perhaps against the Emperor's will,
your army leaders, your frontier officials. In defiance of the treaty
they build citadels on our free land, and the supplies which, according
to the treaties, you owe us, are withheld: especially the grain."

"Why," asked Saturninus eagerly, rising from his seat, "do you not
raise for yourselves the grain you need?"

"We cannot. There is not land enough for our increasing population. The
gods multiply our numbers wonderfully: it must be their will that we
should grow and overflow our boundaries. Hundreds, nay, thousands of
our young men emigrate every year to serve you as mercenaries and
frontier guards. We often send forth a third of our young people,
chosen by lot, to seek a new home where the flight of the birds and the
will of the gods directs them: but all this does not avail."

"Then," Saturninus questioned, speaking more to himself than to the
envoy, "it is not mere wantonness?"

"Do you think that mere wantonness would have driven, from the days of
our earliest ancestors (the legend