'Leave me to find out the truth
for you. Send Sagaris here, Venantius, I entreat you.'
The captain appeared to hesitate, but, on Basil's beseeching him not
to delay, he agreed and left the room. As soon as he was alone,
Basil sprang up and dressed. He was aching from head to foot, and a
parched mouth, a hot hand, told of fever in his blood. On receipt of
Marcian's last letter, he had not delayed a day before setting
forth; all was in readiness for such a summons, and thirty
well-mounted, well-armed men, chosen from the slaves and freedmen on
his Asculan estate in Picenum, rode after him to join the King of
the Goths. The journey was rapidly performed; already they were
descending the lower slopes of the westward Apennine, when they had
the ill-luck to fall in with that same band of marauders which
Marcian so narrowly escaped. Basil's first thought was that the
mounted troop coming towards him might hem the Gothic service, but
this hope was soon dispelled. Advancing with fierce threats, the
robbers commanded him and his men to alight, their chief desire
being no doubt to seize the horses and arms.
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