In his student days von Harben had often imagined himself a citizen of Rome. He had delivered orations in the Forum and had addressed his troops in the field in Africa and in Gaul, but how different it all seemed now when he was faced with the actuality rather than the figment of imagination. His voice sounded strange in his own ears and his words came haltingly as he spoke to the tall black in the language of the Caesars.
"We are not enemies," he said. "We have come as friends to visit your country," and then he waited, scarce believing that the man could understand him.
"Are you a citizen of Rome?" demanded the black.
"No, but my country is at peace with Rome," replied von Harben.
The black looked puzzled as though he did not understand the reply. "You are from Castra Sanguinarius." His words carried the suggestion of a challenge.
"I am from Germania," replied von Harben.
"I never heard of such a country. You are a citizen of Rome from Castra Sanguinarius."
"Take me to your chief," said von Harben.
"That is what I intend to do. Get in here. Our masters will know what to do with you."
Von Harben and Gabula climbed into the dugout, so awkwardly that they almost overturned it, much to the disgust of the black warriors, who seized hold of them none too gently and forced them to squat in the bottom of the frail craft. This was now turned about and paddled along a winding canal, bordered on either side by tufted papyrus rising ten to fifteen feet above the surface of the water.