He was accompanied by a soldier, who lodged in the
same house, a man of Herculean build. When they set out it was near
dawn, but the moon shone as bright as day. Passing through the outskirts
of the town, they came amongst the tombs, which lined the highroad for
some distance. There the soldier made an excuse for retiring behind a
monument, and Niceros sat down to wait for him, humming a tune and
counting the tombstones to pass the time. In a little he looked round
for his companion, and saw a sight which froze him with horror. The
soldier had stripped off his clothes to the last rag and laid them at
the side of the highway. Then he performed a certain ceremony over them,
and immediately was changed into a wolf, and ran howling into the
forest. When Niceros had recovered himself a little, he went to pick up
the clothes, but found that they were turned to stone. More dead than
alive, he drew his sword, and, striking at every shadow cast by the
tombstones on the moonlit road, he tottered to his friend's house. He
entered it like a ghost, to the surprise of the widow, who wondered to
see him abroad so late. "If you had only been here a little ago," said
she, "you might have been of some use. For a wolf came tearing into the
yard, scaring the cattle and bleeding them like a butcher. But he did
not get off so easily, for the servant speared him in the neck." After
hearing these words, Niceros felt that he could not close an eye, so he
hurried away home again.
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