"Ha! what is going on here?" thundered a voice from behind.
The Wallachians looked round.
A figure stood among them fully a head taller than all the rest. He wore a brass helmet, in which a deep cleft was visible, and held in his left hand a short Roumin sword. His features bore the ancient Roman character.
"The Decurio!" they murmured, making way for him.
"What is going on here?" he repeated; and seeing the fainting girl in the arms of a Wallachian, he ordered him to lay her down.
"She is one of our enemies," replied the savage insolently.
"Silence, knave! Does one of the Roumin nation seek enemies in women? lay her down instantly."
"Not so, leader," interrupted Lupuj; "our laws entitle us to a division of the spoil. This girl is our booty; she belongs to us after the victory."
"I know our laws better than you do, churl! Due division of spoil is just and fair; but we cast lots for what cannot be divided."
"True, leader: a horse or an ox cannot be divided, and for them we cast lots; but in this case"—