Just before sunset on this same day there was trampling of hoofs
along the road ascending to the villa, as two horsemen, with a dozen
followers, some on horses, some on mules, rode up. Summoned to the
atrium, Basil greeted the return of Marcian, and looked with
curiosity at the man standing beside him, who could be no other than
Venantius. A tall and comely man, wearing a casque and a light
breastplate, his years not more than thirty, rather slim, yet
evidently muscular and vigorous, he had a look of good-humoured
determination, and the tones in which he replied to Basil's welcome
were those of a born commander. In contrast with his host's
elaborate courtesy, the manners of Venantius might have been judged
a trifle barbarous, but this bluntness was no result of defective
breeding; had he chosen, he could have exchanged lofty titles and
superlatives of compliment with any expert in such fashionable
extravagances, but he chose a plainer speech, in keeping with his
martial aspect. First of all he excused himself for having arrived
with so many followers.
'But our good Marcian,' he added, clapping a hand on his companion's
shoulder, 'had a story to tell me of a fair lady and fairer
maiden--though not long to bear the name, she--who may belike need
protection as well as honourable attendance; whereas you, noble
Basil, have thought little of the use of arms, and probably keep no
very warlike retinue at command.
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