ts over the gate.

"Here, archers and slingers! Follow me!" he cried. "Bring heavy stones.
Where is the next balista? Where the scorpions? That penthouse must
come down!"

But under it stood Gothic archers, who eagerly looked through the
apertures at the pinnacles of the battlements.

"It is useless, Haduswinth," grumbled young Gunthamund; "for the third
time I have aimed in vain. Not one of them will venture even his nose
above the battlements."

"Patience!" answered the old man; "only keep thy bow ready bent. Some
curious body will be sure to show himself. Lay a bow ready for me too,
and have patience."

"Patience! That is easier for thee with thy seventy years, than for me
with my twenty," grumbled Gunthamund.

Meanwhile Cethegus reached the wall over the gate, and cast a look
across the plain.

There he saw the King standing motionless in the distance with his
centre, upon the right bank of the Tiber.

This sight disturbed him.

"What does he intend? Has he learned that the commander-in-chief ought
not to fight? Come, Gajus," he cried to a young archer, who had boldly
followed him, "your young eyes are sharp. Look over the battlements.
What is the King doing there?"

And he bent over the bulwarks. Gajus followed his example, and both
looked out eagerly.

"Now, Gunthamund!" cried Haduswinth below.

Two strings twanged, and the two Romans started back.

Gajus fell, shot in the forehead; and an arrow fell rattling from the
Prefect's helmet.

Cethegus passed his hand across his brow.

"You live, my general!" cried Piso, springing towards him.

"Yes, friend. It was well aimed, but the gods need me yet. Only the
skin is scratched," said Cethegus, and set his helmet straight.

CHAPTER XI.

Just then Syphax appeared upon the wall.

His master had strictly forbidden him to take part in the fight. He
could not spare him.

"Woe--woe!" cried Syphax, so loudly, that it struck Cethegus--who knew
the Moor's usual self-control--strangely.

"What has happened?"

"A great misfortune! Constantinus is severely wounded. He led a sortie
from the Salarian Gate, and at once stumbled upon the Gothic ranks. A
stone from a sling hit him on the brow. With difficulty his people
saved him, and bore him back within the walls. There I received the
fainting man--he named you, the Prefect, as his successor. Here is his
general's staff."

"That is not possible!" shouted Bessas, who had