ed his face with both hands.
A terrible convulsion shook him. He seemed falling from the saddle.
Verus supported him, wheeled the King's horse so that his back was
toward the foe, and gave the animal a blow on the hind quarter with all
his strength. The charger dashed madly away. Sersaon and Markomer, the
leaders of the cavalry, supported the swaying figure on the right and
left.

"Help! help! I am being overcome, brother Gelimer!" Zazo's voice again
rose,--more urgently, nay, despairingly. But it was drowned by the
wild, frantic cries of the Vandals.

"Fly! fly! The King himself has fled! Fly! Save the women, the
children!" And the Vandals, by hundreds, now wheeled their horses and
dashed away toward the stream and the camp.

Then Hilda, now only a few paces from the tumult, saw Zazo's towering
figure disappear. His horse, pierced by a spear, fell; it was bleeding
from more than one wound. But the hero sprang up again.

Fara the Herulian reached him from the left, and cleft his
dragon-shield with his battle-axe. Zazo flung the pieces at the helmet
of the Herulian, stunning him so that he swayed in his saddle. Now
Barbatus, the Illyrian leader, his long lance levelled, pressed upon
Zazo from the right. With his last strength Zazo pushed it aside,
sprang to the right, the shieldless side of the rider, and thrust his
sword into his neck between the helmet and breastplate. Barbatus sank
slowly from the saddle toward the left. But, in springing back, Zazo
had fallen on his knees. Before he could rise, two horsemen with
levelled lances stood before him.

"Help, Gibamund!" called the kneeling Prince, raising his left arm
above his head in place of a shield. He looked around. Everywhere foes,
no Vandal. Yes,--one. Yonder still waved the scarlet banner. "Help,
Gibamund!" he cried.

One of his two assailants fell from his horse. Gibamund was at Zazo's
side. He had struck the man under the shoulder of his upraised arm with
the spear-point of the banner staff. But now Fara, who meanwhile had
recovered from Zazo's blow, dropping his bridle, grasped with his left
hand at the shaft of the scarlet standard. With great difficulty
Gibamund defended himself with his sword against the tremendous blows
the Herulian's right arm dealt with his battle-axe. And already the
other horseman, in front of Zazo, bent a leonine face toward him.

"Yield, brave man. Yield to me. I am Belisarius."

But Zazo shook his head. With failing strengt