ed by the Greek general as his public reception room. Its
size was not much less than that of the hall of audience; its
decoration in the same grandiose style. Enormous pillars of granite
supported the roof; statues stood, or had stood, all around; the
pavement, composed of serpentine, porphyry, and Numidian marble in many
hues, was a superb work of art. But Basil saw only the human figures
before him. In a chair covered with furs sat a man of middle age,
robust, fair-complexioned, with a keen look in his pale blue eyes and
something of the wolfish about his mouth. Bessas had long ago given
proof of valour, and enjoyed repute as a general, but since his holding
command in Rome, his vices, chief of which was avarice, showed much
more prominently than the virtues which had advanced him; he used the
Imperial authority chiefly to enrich himself, in this respect, it is
true, merely acting in harmony with the Emperor's representative at
Ravenna, and with: the other Greek generals scattered about Italy, but
exhibiting in his methods a shrewdness and an inhumanity not easily
rivalled. Behind his chair stood several subordinates, and on a stool
before him sat a noble recently arrived as envoy from Byzantium.

Having been previously instructed as to his behaviour in this
redoubtable presence, Basil followed the example of Marcian in
approaching with bent head to within a distance of three paces, then
dropping to his knees, and bowing so as almost to touch the ground with
his forehead. He heard a gruff voice command him to rise.

'So this is the heir of the Senator Maximus,' said Bessas, much as he
might have spoken of viewing a horse that interested him. 'What is his
name?'

'Basilius, my lord,' replied Marcian, with grave respect.

'And what is he doing? Why does not a limber lad like that serve the
Emperor?'

'Your Magnanimity will recollect that the lord Basil had permission to
attend Maximus into Campania, whence he is but now returned.'

'Can't he speak for himself?' growled Bessas, turning sharply upon
Marcian. 'You have a tongue, lord Basil? Do you only use it among the
wenches?'

A subdued laugh sounded behind the commander's chair. The envoy from
Byzantium showed more discreet appreciation of the jest. And Basil, his
head bowed, would fain have concealed a face burning with angry shame.

'I will do my best,' he replied in a steady voice, 'to answer any
question your excellence may put to me.'

'Come, that's be