'I am not from Castra Sanguinarius.'
'Not from Castra Sanguinarius!' The officer laughed.
'That is the story he told me,' said the chief, who had been listening to the conversation.
'I suppose that he will be saying next that he is not a citizen of Rome ,' said the officer.
'That is just what he does say,' said the chief.
'But wait.' exclaimed the officer, excitedly. 'Perhaps you are indeed from Rome herself!'
'No, I am not from Rome ,' von Harben assured him.
'Can it be that there are white barbarians in Africa !' exclaimed the officer. 'Surely your garments are not Roman. Yes, you must be a barbarian unless, as I suspect, you are not telling me the truth and you are indeed from Castra Sanguinarius.'
'A spy, perhaps,' suggested Rufinus.
'No,' said von Harben. 'I am no spy nor am I an enemy,' and with a smile, 'I am a barbarian, but a friendly barbarian.'
'And who is this man?' asked the officer, indicating Gabula. 'Your slave?'
'He is my servant, but not a slave.'
'Come with me,' directed the officer. 'I should like to talk with you. I find you interesting, though I do not believe you.'
Von Harben smiled. 'I do not blame you,' he said, 'for even though I see you before me I can scarcely believe that you exist.'
'I do not understand what you mean,' said the officer, 'but come with me to my quarters.'
He gave orders that Gabula was to be confined in the guardhouse temporarily, and then he led von Harben back to one of the towers that guarded the entrance to the rampart.
The gate lay in a vertical plane at right angles to the rampart with a high tower at either side, the rampart curving inward at this point to connect with the tower at the inner end of the gate. This made a curved entrance that forced an enemy attempting to enter to disclose its right or unprotected side to the defenders upon the rampart, a form of camp fortification that von Harben knew had been peculiar to the ancient Romans.
The officer's quarters consisted of a single, small, bare room directly off a larger room occupied by the members of the guard. It contained a desk, a bench, and a couple of roughly made chairs.
'Sit down.' said the officer, after they had entered, 'and tell me something about yourself. If you are not from Castra Sanguinarius, from whence do you come? How did you get into our country and what are you doing here?'
'I am from Germania ,' replied von Harben.
'Bah!' exclaimed the officer. 'They are wild and savage barbarians. They do not speak the language of Rome at all; not even as poorly as you.'
'How recently have you come in contact with German barbarians?' von Harben asked.
'Oh, I? Never, of course, but our historians knew them well.'
'And how lately have they written of them?'
'Why, Sanguinarius himself mentions them in the story of his life.'
'Sanguinarius?' questioned von Harben. 'I do not recall ever having heard of him.'
'Sanguinarius fought against the barbarians of Germania in the 839th year of Rome .'
'That was about eighteen hundred and thirty-seven years ago,' von Harben reminded the officer, 'and I think you will have to admit that there may have been much progress in that time.'
'And why?' demanded the other. 'There have been no changes in this country since the days of Sanguinarius and he has been dead over eighteen hundred years. It is not likely then that barbarians would change greatly if Roman citizens have not. You say you are from Germania . Perhaps you were taken to Rome as a captive and got your civilization there, but your apparel is strange. It is not of Rome . It is not of any place of which I have ever heard. Go on with your story.'
'My father is a medical missionary in Africa ,' explained von Harben. 'Often when I have visited him I heard the story of a lost tribe that was supposed to live in these mountains. The natives told strange stories of a white race living in the depths of the Wiramwazi. They said that the mountains were inhabited by the ghosts of their dead. Briefly, I came to investigate the story. All but one of my men, terrified after we reached the outer slopes of the mountains, debited me. That one and I managed to descend to the floor of the canyon. Immediately we were captured and brought here.'
For a while the other sat in silence, thinking.
'Perhaps you are telling me the truth,' he said, at last. 'Your apparel is not that of Castra Sanguinarius and you speak our language with such a peculiar accent and with so great effort that it is evidently not your mother tongue. I shall have to report your capture to the Emperor, but in the meantime I shall take you to the home of my uncle, Septimus Favonius. If he believes your story he can help you, as he has great influence with the Emperor, Validus Augustus.'
'You are kind,' said von Harben, 'and I shall need a friend here if the customs of Imperial Rome still prevail in your country, as you suggest. Now that you know so much about me, perhaps you will tell me something about yourself.'
'There is little to tell,' said the officer. 'My name is Mallius Lepus. I am a centurion in the army of Validus Augustus. Perhaps, if you are familiar with Roman customs, you will wonder that a patrician should be a centurion, but in this matter as in some others we have not followed the customs of Rome . Sanguinarius admitted all his centurions to the patrician class, and since then for over eighteen hundred years only patricians have been appointed centurions.
'But here is Aspar,' exclaimed Mallius Lepus, as another officer entered the room. 'He has come to relieve me and when he has taken over the gate you and I shall go at once to the home of my uncle, Septimus Favonius.'
Chapter Seven
TARZAN OF THE APES looked at Lukedi in surprise and then out through the low doorway of the hut in an effort to see what it was that had so filled the breast of the youth with terror.
The little section of the village street, framed by the doorway, showed a milling mass of brown bodies, waving spears, terrified women and children. What could it mean?
At first he thought that Lukedi meant that the Bagegos were coming for Tarzan, but now he guessed that the Bagegos were being beset by troubles of their own, and at last he came to the conclusion that some other savage tribe had attacked the village.
But, whatever the cause of the uproar, it was soon over. He saw the Bagegos turn and flee in all directions. Strange figures passed before his eyes in pursuit, and for a time there was comparative silence, only a hurrying of feet, an occasional command and now and then a scream of terror.
Presently three figures burst into the hut—enemy warriors searching the village for fugitives. Lukedi, trembling, inarticulate, paralyzed by fright, crouched against the far wall. Tarzan sat leaning against the center pole to which he was chained. At sight of him, the leading warrior halted, surprise written upon his face. His fellows joined him and they stood for a moment in excited conversation, evidently discussing their find. Then one of them addressed Tarzan, but in a tongue that the ape-man could not understand, although he realized that there was something vaguely and tantalizingly familiar about it.
Then one of them discovered Lukedi and, crossing the hut, dragged him to the center of the floor. They spoke again to Tarzan, motioning him toward the door so that he understood that they were ordering him from the hut, but in reply he pointed to the chain about his neck.
One of the warriors examined the lock that secured the chain, spoke to his fellows, and then left the hut. He returned very shortly with two rocks and, making Tarzan lie upon the ground, placed the padlock upon one of the rocks and pounded upon it with the other until it broke.
As soon as he was released, Tarzan and Lukedi were ordered from the hut, and when they had come out into the open the ape-man had an opportunity to examine his captors more closely. In the center of the village there
