"I know those tones," said Gelimer, anxiously, turning toward the entrance.
"Yes; it is our boy," cried Gibamund. "He seems very angry."
Even as he spoke young Ammata rushed in, dragging with him by his short hair and the open neck of his robe a lad considerably larger, clad in a richly ornamented tunic, who struggled vainly as the other jerked him with both hands through the entrance, which was closed only by a curtain. The dark eyes, clear-cut features, and round, short head of Ammata's foe indicated his Roman lineage.
"What is it, Ammata?"
"What has happened, Publius Pudentius?"
"No, no! I won't let you go," shouted the Vandal prince. "You shall repeat it in the presence of the King! And the King shall give you the lie! Listen, brother! We were playing in the vestibule; we were wrestling together. I threw him. He rose angrily, and, grinding his teeth, said, 'That doesn't count. The devil, the demon of your race, helped you.'
"'Who?' I asked.
"'Why, that Genseric, the son of Orcus. You Asdings boast of your descent from pagan gods; but these, so the priest taught us, were demons. That is the reason of his luck, his victories.'
"I laughed, but he went on: 'He said so himself. Once, when Genseric left the harbor of Carthage on his corsair ship and the helmsman asked where he should turn the prow, the wicked tyrant answered: "Let us drift with the wind and waves toward whomsoever God's anger is directed against."' Is that true, brother?"
"Yes, it is true!" retorted the young Roman. "And it is also true that Genseric was as cruel as a demon to the defenceless and the prisoners. From rage because he was defeated in an attack upon Taenarus he landed at Zacynthus, dragged away as captives five hundred noble men and women, and, when out at sea, ordered them the whole five hundred--to be hacked into pieces from the feet upward, and flung into the waves."