men below
spent the day in the usual manner. The guards were not strengthened,
and after darkness closed in, the watchfires were neither increased nor
changed. At nightfall the besiegers also lighted their fires on the
northern side in the same places as before.

Shortly before midnight the little procession began its march. The
Moors, who were familiar with the way, went first provided with ropes
and iron braces. At every step the fugitives were obliged to feel their
way cautiously with the handles of their spears, testing the smooth,
crumbling surface of the rock to try whether it would afford a firm
foothold. Next followed Gibamund and Hilda; the Princess had folded
Genseric's great banner closely and tied it about the pole, which she
used as a staff; then came Gelimer, behind him Verus and the small
remaining band of Vandals. So they moved for about half an hour along
the summit of the mountain, until they reached the southern side, down
which the narrow path led. Each step was perilous to life; for they
dared not light torches.

As the little group began the descent, Gelimer turned. "Oh, Verus," he
whispered, "death may be very near to us all. Repeat a prayer--where is
Verus?"

"He hastened back some time ago," replied Markomer. "He wished to bring
a relic he had forgot. He bade us go on, saying that he would overtake
us at the next turn in the road before we descended the ravine."

The King hesitated, and began to murmur the Lord's Prayer.

"Forward!" whispered Sersaon, the leading Moor. "There is no more time
to lose. We need only pass quickly around the next projecting rock--Ha!
Torches, treason! Back to--"

He could say no more; an arrow transfixed his throat. Torches glared
with a dazzling light into the eyes of the fugitives just as they
turned the jutting cliff. Weapons flashed, and before the ranks of the
Herulians stood a man holding aloft a torch to light the group.

"There, the second one is the King," he cried. "Capture him alive." He
took a step forward.

"Verus!" shrieked Gelimer, falling back unconscious. Two Vandals caught
him and bore him up the height.

"On! Storm the mountain!" Fara ordered below. But it was impossible to
storm a height which could be climbed only by clinging with both hands
to the perpendicular cliff. Fara himself instantly perceived it when,
by the torchlight, he beheld the path and saw Gibamund standing with
levelled spear on the last broader ledge of rock which aff