"Victory is certain," exclaimed Adalo.
"Do you think so?" replied the old man reprovingly. "I do not. Not yet," he corrected himself.
"Lead us to the attack on the Roman camp! Our men are pouring here in dense throngs since you sent the blood-red arrow from house to house."
"There are not yet enough. The army still lacks many men from distant provinces situated far away toward the north and the east: Alpgau, Albwins-Bar, Wisentgau, and Draggau."
"Do not calculate! Dare!"
"I am doing so; but I also consider the firmness of the Roman camp."
"But meanwhile our foes are strengthening themselves too. Their proud galleys already lie anchored opposite in Arbor; they will soon bring fresh cohorts over."
"Let them do so." The old Duke laughed softly; his look expressed a grim, mysterious joy. "Meanwhile," he added after a pause, "I will send an envoy to the foe to-morrow."
"Send me!" exclaimed Ebarbold eagerly.
"No. Adalo, you will go."