of his captors, and caught some
words of Gallic in his half-throttled remonstrances.

"Bring him," he said shortly, with a motion of his staff, and the
freedman, who had been roughly pulled from his horse, was thrust
forward, his clothes hanging in tatters, and his face bruised and
bleeding from his efforts to break loose and guard his mistress from
intrusion or insult.

"Who is _she_, and who are you?" asked the chief, sternly; for his
eyes, now that they looked into those of a man and an inferior, had
regained all their wild fierceness.

Ligurius hesitated, partly from lack of wind and partly from a doubt as
to how much or what it would be wise to tell.

"Speak!" cried the other, impatiently.

Marcia threw aside the curtains which had been allowed to fall back in
their place, and leaned out. The scene looked critical; the Gaul's
face was working with nervous irritation, while his followers, scarcely
recovered from his sudden onslaught, stood around in a ring, some
fingering their swords, and with expressions whose wonder and stupidity
seemed fast giving place to the lust of blood and plunder. Caipor had
been knocked senseless at the beginning, and the driver was in the
hands of several soldiers.

Ligurius looked inquiringly at his mistress.

"He asks who we are," he said. "What shall I say?"

"Ah! you plot to deceive me," cried the Gaul, losing control of his
temper, and, before Marcia could answer, he struck the freedman down
with his staff. One of his followers shifted his sword belt, and, half
drawing the great weapon, stepped forward; but Marcia had sprung from
the rheda, and stood, with clenched hands and flashing eyes, above her
prostrate attendant.

"Bandits! Murderers!" she cried. "Does your general permit you to rob
and kill travellers that seek to enter a friendly city?"

Understanding the act rather than the words, the soldier halted, and
the chief's eyes began again to shift nervously; but soon an expression
of mingled lust and cunning came into them.

"You are beautiful," he said. "You shall not die, you shall dwell in
my hut."

Marcia shuddered at the glance and change of tone. He reached out his
arms, tattooed in blue designs, and made as if to advance. She drew a
dagger from her girdle. Infuriated by the sight of what he took to be
a hostile weapon, the barbarian's sword was out in an instant. Then he
perceived that the dagger was directed not at his breast, but at the
woman'