Volume Iii Part 46 (1/2)
But the animal was wounded, and the way was very steep. Nearer and nearer came the pursuers.
”Is it he?”
”Yes, it is he.”
”No, it is not. He is too short,” said the leader of the troop, who rode foremost.
”Would he fly alone?”
”That would be the best way to escape,” observed the leader.
”It is he most surely; I see the silver swan on his helmet!”
”And the white mantle!”
”But he rode a white horse,” said the leader.
”Yes, at first,” said one of the hors.e.m.e.n; ”but when it fell, struck by my spear, they lifted him--I was close by--upon that charger.”
”Enough,” said the leader, ”you are right. I recognise the horse.”
”A n.o.ble animal! How it keeps on, and up hill, too, although wounded.”
”Yes, he is a n.o.ble animal! And I will make him stop. Pay attention!
Halt, Pluto!” he shouted. ”On your knees!”
Snorting and trembling, the clever, obedient animal, in spite of spur and blows, stood stockstill, and slowly bent its fore-legs in the sand.
”It is ruin, barbarian, to ride the Prefect's horse! There, take that for the Forum! and that for the Capitol! and that for Julius!”
And the Prefect--for he it was--furiously hurled three spears one after the other, his own and two carried by Syphax, at the back of his victim, and with such force that they pa.s.sed completely through the fugitive's body.
Then Cethegus sprang from his horse, drew his sword, and taking the fallen man by the back of his helmet, dragged up his head from the earth.
”Julius!” he screamed in horror.
”You, O Cethegus!” Julius could just murmur.
”Julius! you must not, must not die!”
And Cethegus pa.s.sionately tried to stanch the blood that issued from the three wounds.
”If you love me,” said the dying man, ”save him--save Totila!” And his gentle eyes closed for ever.
Cethegus put his hand upon the heart of the dead man; he laid his ear upon the bared breast.
”All is over!” he then said, in a faint voice. ”O Manilia! Julius, I loved thee! And he died with _his_ name upon his lips! All is over!” he cried again, but this time in a voice of anger; ”the last bond which united me to human love I have myself cut, deceived by mocking accident! It was my last weakness! And now all tender feeling, be dead to me! Lift him on to the horse.--This, my Pluto, shall be your last service.--Take him--up there I see a chapel--take him there, and let him be buried with all ceremony by the priests. Merely say that he died as a monk--that he died for his friend. He deserves a Christian burial.