In a chair covered with furs sat a man of middle age, robust, fair-complexioned, with a keen look in his pale blue eyes and something of the wolfish about his mouth.

Bessas had long ago given proof of valour, and enjoyed repute as a general, but since his holding command in Rome, his vices, chief of which was avarice, showed much more prominently than the virtues which had advanced him; he used the Imperial authority chiefly to enrich himself, in this respect, it is true, merely acting in harmony with the Emperor's representative at Ravenna, and with: the other Greek generals scattered about Italy, but exhibiting in his methods a shrewdness and an inhumanity not easily rivalled.

Behind his chair stood several subordinates, and on a stool before him sat a noble recently arrived as envoy from Byzantium.
Having been previously instructed as to his behaviour in this redoubtable presence, Basil followed the example of Marcian in approaching with bent head to within a distance of three paces, then dropping to his knees, and bowing so as almost to touch the ground with his forehead.

He heard a gruff voice command him to rise.
'So this is the heir of the Senator Maximus,' said Bessas, much as he might have spoken of viewing a horse that interested him.

'What is his name ?' 'Basilius, my lord,' replied Marcian, with grave respect.
'And what is he doing?
Why does not a limber lad like that serve the Emperor ?' 'Your Magnanimity will recollect that the lord Basil had permission to attend Maximus into Campania, whence he is but now returned.' 'Can't he speak for himself ?' growled Bessas, turning sharply upon Marcian.