Volume Ii Part 75 (1/2)

”Yes, the water has disappeared--the moat is quite dry. Hark, what a cry! It is your Illyrians! They cry for help!”

”Let them cry!” said Cethegus. ”Is the moat really dry? Then give the signal to storm. Follow me with all the Isaurians that are still alive.”

And in the midst of thunder and lightning, which now again raged unceasingly, the Prefect hurried to the trenches where his Roman legions and the rest of the Isaurians stood under arms. He quickly counted them. There were far too few to take the city alone, but he knew that a moderate success would immediately cause Belisarius to join him.

”Lights! torches!” he cried, and stepped to the front of his Roman legions with a torch in his left hand. ”Forward!” he cried. ”Draw your swords!”

But not a hand was raised.

Dumb with astonishment and terror, the whole troop--even the leaders, even Licinius--looked at the demonic man, who, in the midst of all Nature's rebellion, thought only of his goal, and of using the strife of the elements and the terrors of the Almighty as means to prosecute his own ends.

”Well? which is your duty? To listen to the thunder, or to me!” he cried.

”General,” said a centurion, stepping forward, ”the men pray; for the earth quaked.”

”Do you think that Italy will devour her own children? No, Romans; see!

The very earth quakes at the tread of the barbarians. It rises, breaks its bonds, and their walls fall. Roma, Roma aeterna!”

His words took effect.

It was one of those Caesarian speeches which move men to great deeds.

”Roma, Roma aeterna!” cried, first Licinius, and after him thousands of Roman youths; and through night and storm, through thunder and lightning, they followed the Prefect, whose grand enthusiasm irresistibly carried them away.

Excitement lent wings to their feet. They were soon across the wide moat which usually they scarcely dared to approach.

Cethegus was the first to reach the opposite side.

The wind had extinguished the torches.

But he found his way in the dark.

”Here, Licinius!” he cried, ”follow me! Here must be the breach.”

He sprang forward, but ran against some hard body and staggered back.

”What is that!” asked Lucius Licinius behind him. ”A second wall?”

”No,” said a quiet voice, ”but a Gothic s.h.i.+eld!”

”That is King Witichis!” said the Prefect furiously, and with bitter hatred he looked at the dark figure before him.

He had counted upon a surprise. His hope was frustrated.

”If I but had him,” he said to himself, ”he should never hinder me again!”

Looking behind, he now saw many torch-lights and heard the flourish of trumpets. Belisarius was leading his troops to storm the walls.

Procopius reached the Prefect.

”Well, why do you stop? Do new walls keep you back?”