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 Roman sword. His features bore the ancient Roman character.
"The Decurio!" they murmured, making way for him.
"What is going on here?" he repeated; and seizing 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 Lupey; "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—"
"I have said it cannot, and I should like to know who dares to say it can!"
Lupey knew the Decurio too well to proffer another syllable, and the rest turned silently from the girl; one voice alone was heard to exclaim, "It can!"