"How do matters stand between him and the Goths?"
"Well for him and badly for the Barbarians. They are suffering terribly from hunger. His last letter declines, and right arrogantly, any assistance from Gratianus and our army."
"He doesn't wish to share the fame of the victory with his nephew," said the Tribune, mounting his horse and inviting his friend to ride up the mountain on the beautiful charger brought for his use. Nannienus swung himself into the saddle, and continued:
"A decisive battle is impending, Valens writes. He is marching upon Adrianople, where the Goths are encamped. Why, the horse is sinking here! Are there marshes so far up?"
"Yes, it is the ancient bottom of the lake. So, the die has probably already fallen yonder on the Ister! Well, our little campaign will probably soon be over too. How many helmets do you bring?"
"Thirteen hundred."
"More than enough. Early to-morrow morning we will divide our forces. Five hundred men will remain in the camp: You will march with the rest toward the northeast, I to the northwest, until we at last find and scatter these incomprehensible foes. Did you see nothing suspicious on your voyage across the lake?"
"Nothing at all. Not a sail, far or near."
"Now that we have ships, we can also search the two tracts of marshland overgrown with rushes, which stretch for leagues on the right and left. We once thought we saw a column of smoke rising in the western marsh."
"That shall be done to-morrow, before we march. A naval battle on Lake Venetia! It has scarcely happened since the days of Tiberius."