wo; there a laughing Aphrodite fell
upon its knees; there the beautiful head of an Antinous fell from the
trunk, and hurled by two hands, fell crashing upon a Gothic shield of
buffalo-hide. And far and wide upon the ramparts fell fragments and
pieces of marble and bronze, of iron and gold.

Down from the ramparts, thundering and crashing, fell the mighty weight
of metal and stone, and shattered the helms and shields, the armour and
limbs of the attacking Goths, and the ladders which bore them.

Cethegus looked with horror at the work of destruction which his words
had called into action.

But it had saved them.

Twelve, fifteen, twenty ladders stood empty, although a moment before
they had swarmed with men like ants; just as many lay broken at the
foot of the wall.

Surprised by this unexpected hail of bronze and marble, the Goths fell
back for a space.

But presently Markja's horn called them to the attack. And again the
tons of marble thundered through the air.

"Unhappy man, what have you done?" cried Kallistratos, full of grief,
and staring at the ruin.

"What was necessary!" cried Cethegus, and hurled the trunk of the
Jupiter-statue over the wall. "Did you see it strike? two barbarians at
one blow." And he looked down with great content.

At that moment he heard the Corinthian cry:

"No, no; not this one. Not the Apollo!"

Cethegus turned and saw a gigantic Isaurian raising his axe over the
head of the statue.

"Fool, shall the Goths come up?" asked the mercenary, and raised his
arm again.

"Not my Apollo!" repeated the Greek, and embraced the statue with both
arms, protecting it with his body.

Earl Markja saw this movement from his stand upon the nearest ladder,
and believing that Kallistratos was about to hurl the statue at him, he
cast his spear and hit the Greek in the breast.

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

The Prefect saw him fall, and contracted his brows.

"Save the corpse, and spare his two gods!" 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