"Sir, that must be a King among the southerners; one can hardly bear the glance of his angry eye."
"That would indeed be curious. Ah! that must be Belisarius! I am glad to meet thee, thou bold hero!" he cried across to Belisarius. "Dismount, and let us measure the strength of our arms. Look, I too am on foot. Thou wilt not?" he cried angrily. "Must I fetch thee down from thy hack?"
And he swung his immense spear in his right hand.
"Turn, sir, avoid him!" cried Aigan: "that giant hurls small masts!"
"Turn, general," repeated the hypaspistes anxiously.
But Belisarius, raising his short sword, rode quietly a horse's length nearer to the Goth. Whizzing came the mighty spear, straight at his breast.
But just before it touched, a swift stroke of his short Roman sword, and the spear fell harmless on one side.
"Hail to Belisarius, hail!" cried the Byzantines, and they pressed forward anew.
"A famous stroke!" laughed Hildebad angrily. "Let us see if thy fence can parry this!"
And, bending forward, he lifted from the ploughed field an old jagged boundary-stone, swung it in both hands backward and forward, lifted it above his head, and hurled it with all his might at the advancing hero.