Salammbo drew still nearer; the Barbarian knelt and a long arrow pierced
the hem of her cloak. Then as she stood motionless and shrieking, he
asked her what she wanted.
"To speak to Matho," she replied. "I am a fugitive from Carthage."
He gave a whistle, which was repeated at intervals further away.
Salammbo waited; her frightened horse moved round and round, sniffing.
When Matho arrived the moon was rising behind her. But she had a yellow
veil with black flowers over her face, and so many draperies about her
person, that it was impossible to make any guess about her. From the top
of the terrace he gazed upon this vague form standing up like a phantom
in the penumbrae of the evening.
At last she said to him:
"Lead me to your tent! I wish it!"
A recollection which he could not define passed through his memory. He
felt his heart beating. The air of command intimidated him.
"Follow me!" he said.
The barrier was lowered, and immediately she was in the camp of the
Barbarians.
It was filled with a great tumult and a great throng. Bright fires were
burning beneath hanging pots; and their purpled reflections illuminating
some places left others completely in the dark. There was shouting and
calling; shackled horses formed long straight lines amid the tents; the
latter were round and square, of leather or of canvas; there were huts
of reeds, and holes in the sand such as are made by dogs.
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