greed and left the room. As soon as he was alone, Basil
sprang up and dressed. He was aching from head to foot, and a parched
mouth, a hot hand, told of fever in his blood. On receipt of Marcian's
last letter, he had not delayed a day before setting forth; all was in
readiness for such a summons, and thirty well-mounted, well-armed men,
chosen from the slaves and freedmen on his Asculan estate in Picenum,
rode after him to join the King of the Goths. The journey was rapidly
performed; already they were descending the lower slopes of the
westward Apennine, when they had the ill-luck to fall in with that same
band of marauders which Marcian so narrowly escaped. Basil's first
thought was that the mounted troop coming towards him might hem the
Gothic service, but this hope was soon dispelled. Advancing with fierce
threats, the robbers commanded him and his men to alight, their chief
desire being no doubt to seize the horses and arms. Though outnumbered,
Basil shouted defiance; a conflict began, and so stout was the
resistance they met that, after several had fallen on either side, the
brigands drew off. Not, however, in final retreat; galloping on in hope
of succour, Basil found himself pursued, again lost two or three men,
and only with the utmost difficulty got clear away.

It was the young Roman's first experience of combat. For this he had
been preparing himself during the past months, exercising his body and
striving to invigorate his mind, little apt for warlike enterprise.
When the trial came, his courage did not fail, but the violent emotions
of that day left him so exhausted, so shaken in nerve, that he could
scarce continue his journey. He had come out of the fight unwounded,
but at nightfall fever fell upon him, and he found no rest. The loss of
some half dozen men grieved him to the heart; had the brave fellows
fallen in battle with the Greeks, he would have thought less of it; to
see them slain, or captured, by mere brigands was more than he could
bear. When at length he reached Aesernia, and there unexpectedly met
with Venantius, he fell from his horse like a dying man. A draught
given by the physician sent him to sleep, and from the second hour
after sunset until nearly noon of to-day he had lain unconscious.

What he now learnt from Venantius swept into oblivion all that he had
undergone. If it were true that Marcian had travelled in this direction
with a lady under his guard, Basil could not doubt for a mom