"What is your name?" asked the King, glancing hastily at the parchment.
"Bleda."
"How strong is your army in horsemen?"
"Go and count them."
"Friend Hun," said Thrasaric, in a threatening tone, "a king is speaking to you. Behave civilly, little wolf. Answer politely the questions you are asked, or--"
The prisoner glanced defiantly toward Gelimer, saying, "This gold disk was given to me by the great General with his own hands after our third victory over the Persians. Do you think I would betray Belisarius?"
"Lead him away," said Gelimer, waving his hand. "Bind up his wound. Treat him kindly."
The Hun cast another glance of mortal hate at Ammata, then he followed his guards.
Gelimer again looked at the parchment. "I thank you, my boy," he said, "I thank you. You have indeed brought us no trivial thing, the order of the enemy's march to-day. Follow me to my tent, my generals; there you shall hear my plan of attack. We need not wait for the arrival of the Moors. I think, if the Lord is not wrathful with us--but let us have no sinful arrogance--Oh, Ammata, how I rejoice to have you again alive! After your departure I had a terrible dream about you. God has restored you to me once--I will not tempt Him a second time." Going close to the boy and laying his hand on his shoulder, he said in his sternest tone: "Listen; I forbid you to fight in the battle to-day."
"What?" cried Ammata, furiously, turning deadly pale. "That is impossible! Gelimer, I beseech--"