"What is the matter, Meroë?"
"In climbing the tree, I've let my poniard drop. It must have worked out of the belt I was carrying it in, under my blouse."
"By Hesus; we must get that poniard back," said Albinik, retracing his steps toward the tree. "You have need of a weapon, and this one my brother Mikael forged and tempered himself. It will pierce a sheet of copper."
"Oh; I shall find it, Albinik. In that well-tempered little blade of steel one has an answer for all, and in all languages."
After some search up the foot of the oak, Meroë found her poniard. It was cased in a sheath hardly as long as a hen's feather, and not much thicker. Meroë fastened it anew under her blouse, and started again on the road with her husband. After some little travel along deserted paths, the two arrived at a plain. They heard far in the distance the great roar of the sea. On a hill they saw the lights of many fires.
"There, at last, is the camp of Caesar," said Albinik, stopping short, "the den of the lion."
"The den of the scourge of Gaul. Come, come, the evening is slipping away."
"Meroë, the moment has come."
"Do you hesitate now?"
"It is too late. But I would prefer a fair fight under the open heavens, vessel to vessel, soldier to soldier, sword to sword. Ah, Meroë, for us, Gauls, who despise ambuscade or cowardice, and hang brass bells on the iron of our lances to warn the enemy of our approach, to come here—traitorously!"