'When occasion offers,' was the dry response.
On the Hun's countenance grew legible the calculation busying his
thought. At a glance he had taken the measure of Venantius, and
gauged the worth of the men behind him. A smile, which could not
mask its cunning, came on to his lips, and all of a sudden he
exchanged his truculence for amiability.
'Lord Venantius,' he said, laying an open palm on his own breast,
and then motioning with it towards the Roman, 'you and I, two men of
valour, can understand each other in few words. I am no talker'--
his narrow eyes glanced at Marcian--'nor are you. Tell me, if you
can, what has become of the lady Aurelia and of the Gothic maiden
who attended upon her.'
'Lord Chorsoman,' replied Venantius, 'I thought it was you who could
have answered that question. The ladies Aurelia and Veranilda have
this morning disappeared, and we judged it likely that they had been
enticed from the villa to be captured and borne to Cumae.'
'Who should have done that?'
'Emissaries of your own, we supposed.'
The Hun reflected.
'This man of words'--he nodded sideways at Marcian--'spoke of a
woman's malice.
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