Volume Ii Part 63 (1/2)

”Ah--Cethegus!” gasped Kallistratos--and fell dead.

The Prefect saw him fall, and contracted his brows.

”Save the corpse, and spare his two G.o.ds!” he said briefly, and overthrew the ladder upon which Markja was standing; more he could neither say nor do, for already a new and more imminent danger attracted his attention.

Witichis, half thrown, half springing from his ladder, had remained standing close under the wall, amidst a hail of stone and metal, seeking for new means of attack.

For, since the first trial with the storming-ladders had been rendered futile by the unexpected and novel projectiles, he had scarcely any hope left of winning the wall.

While he was thus looking and waiting, the heavy marble pedestal of a ”Mars Gradivus” fell close to his feet, rebounded and struck one of the slabs of the wall. And this slab, which seemed to be made of the hardest stone, broke into little pieces of lime and mortar.

In its place was revealed a small wooden door, which, loosely covered and concealed by the mortar, was used by the masons and workpeople as a means of exit and entrance when obliged to repair the immense edifice.

Witichis had scarcely caught sight of this wooden door, than he cried out exultingly:

”Here, Goths, here! Bring axes!” and he himself dealt a blow at the thin boards, which seemed anything but strong.

The new and singular sound struck the ear of the Prefect; he paused in his b.l.o.o.d.y work and listened.

”That is iron against wood, by Caesar!” he said to himself, and sprang down the narrow stairway, which led on the inner side of the wall into the faintly illuminated interior of the Mausoleum.

There he heard a louder stroke than all which had preceded it; a dull crash; a sharp sound of splintered wood; and then an exultant cry from the Goths.

As he reached the last step of the stair, the door fell cras.h.i.+ng inwards, and King Witichis was visible upon the threshold.

”Rome is mine!” cried Witichis, letting his axe fall and drawing his sword.

”You lie, Witichis! for the first time in your life!” cried Cethegus furiously, and, springing forward, he pressed the strong spike of his s.h.i.+eld so firmly against the breastplate of the Goth, that the latter, surprised, fell back a step.

The Prefect took advantage of the movement and placed himself upon the threshold, completely blocking up the doorway.

”Where are my Isaurians!” he shouted. But the next moment Witichis had recognised him. ”So we meet at last in single combat for Rome!” cried the King.

And now it was his turn to attack. Cethegus, who wished to close the pa.s.sage, covered his left side with his s.h.i.+eld; his right hand, armed only with a short sword, was insufficient for the protection of his right side.

The thrust of Witichis's long sword, weakly parried by Cethegus, cut through the latter's coat of mail and entered deeply into his right breast.

Cethegus staggered; he bent forward; but he did not fall.

”Rome! Rome!” he cried faintly; and convulsively kept himself upright.

Witichis had fallen back to gain s.p.a.ce for a final thrust.

But at that moment he was recognised by Piso on the wall, who hurled a splendid sleeping Faun which lay near him down upon the King. It struck the King's shoulder, and he fell.

Earl Markja, Iffamer and Aligern bore him out of the fight.

Cethegus saw him fall, and then himself sank down upon the threshold of the door; the protecting arms of a friend received him--but he could recognise nothing; his senses failed him.