torm?"

Cethegus had already reached the door of the room.

"Where does the King attack?"

"At the bolts on the river. He has sent fire-ships up the stream.
Floats with heavy towers on deck, full of resin, pitch, and sulphur.
The first bolt of masts and all the boats between are in flames!
Salvius Julianus is wounded and taken prisoner. There! you can see the
reflection of the flames in the south-east!"

"The bolt of chains--does it hold?"

"It holds still. But if it break--"

"Then I, as once before, am the bolt of Rome! Forward!"

Syphax led up the snorting horses.

Cethegus swung himself into the saddle.

"Away! Where is your brother Marcus?"

"At the bulwark by the Forum."

As Cethegus and Lucius were galloping off, they were met by a mass of
mercenaries, Isaurians and Abasgians, who fled from the river.

"Fly!" they cried. "Save the Prefect!"

"Where is Cethegus?"

"Here--to save you! Turn back. To the river!"

He galloped on. The reflection of the burning masts plainly showed the
way. Arrived at the river bank, Cethegus dismounted. Syphax placed his
horse out of harm's way in an empty storehouse.

"Torches!" cried Cethegus. "Into the boats! There lie a dozen ready.
Bowmen, into the boats! Follow me! Lucius, go into the second boat. Row
up to the chain. Place yourselves close to it. Whatever comes up the
river--shoot! They cannot land below the bolt, the walls are too high
and descend straight into the water. They _must_ come up here to the
chain!"

Already a few boats, filled with Goths, had ventured too near. Some
caught fire at the burning masts; others were upset in the crush and
confusion. One, which had approached within half an arrow's length of
the chain, drove helplessly down the stream again: all the crew had
been killed by the arrows of the Abasgians.

"Do you see! There goes a boat of corpses! Resist to the last man.
Nothing is lost! Bring torches and firebrands! Kindle the wharf there!
Fire against fire!"

"Look there, master!" cried Syphax, who never left the Prefect's side.

"Aye, now comes the struggle!"

It was a splendid sight.

The Goths had seen that the bolt of chains could never be forced by
small boats, so they had hewn away so much of the burning bolt of masts
that a space was left in the middle just broad enough to permit the
passage of a ship of war.

But to try to pass up the river, exposed to the arrows of the
Abasgians, between the flaming ends of the mast