Out of the Satronian mansion poured a small mob of footmen, lackeys and such house-slaves. But not one dared approach the two dogs. At a safe distance they watched the fight.
I seized the dogs, spoke to them, quieted them, separated them and when I ordered them, they lay down side by side under the litter.
I climbed in.
As my bearers shouldered the litter, the Satronian doorkeeper came forward and said truculently:
"That is our dog under your litter."
"Is he your dog?" I retorted. "Prove it! Take hold of him."
The doorkeeper tried and the Molossian snarled at him. He called the footmen to help him.
At that somehow, I both lost my temper and felt prankish.
"Chase 'em, Terror," I called. "Chase 'em, Fury!"
It was a wonder to see the Aquitanian obey, to see the Molossian obey was a portent.