a, stormed it. The half of your Isaurians fell on the way
to the Capitol. The rest still keep the doors, and the half-bulwark in
front of your house. I can no more. Teja's axe penetrated through my
shield and entered my ribs. Farewell, O great Cethegus! Save the
Capitol. But--look there! Teja is quick!"

And he fell to the ground.

From the Capitoline Hill flames rose high into the night.

"There is nothing more to be done here," the Prefect said with
difficulty, for he was losing blood fast and becoming rapidly weak. "I
will save the Capitol! To you, Piso, I leave the barbarian King. Once
before you have wounded a Gothic King upon the threshold of Rome. Now
wound a second, but this time mortally! You, Lucius, will revenge your
brother. Do not follow me!"

As he spoke he cast one more furious glance at the King, at whose feet
kneeled his Abasgians, and sighed deeply.

"You tremble, master!" said Syphax sadly.

"_Rome_ trembles!" cried Cethegus. "To the Capitol!"

Lucius Licinius pressed the hand of his dying brother.

"I shall follow him notwithstanding," he said, "for he is wounded."

While Cethegus, Syphax, and Lucius Licinius disappeared in the
distance, Piso crouched behind the columns of a Basilica close to which
the street led upwards from the river.

Meanwhile the King had placed the Abasgians under the guard of his
soldiers. He went a few steps up the bank of the river and pointed with
his sword to the flames which arose from the Capitol.

Then he turned to the Goths who were landing.

"Forward!" he cried. "Make haste! The flames up there must be
extinguished. The fight is over. Now, Goths, protect and preserve Rome,
for it is yours!"

Piso took advantage of the moment.

"Apollo!" he exclaimed; "if ever my satires hit their mark, help now my
sword!"

And he sprang from behind the column towards the King, who stood with
his back turned to him. But before he could deal a blow, he let his
sword fell with a loud cry. A sturdy stroke from a stick had lamed his
hand.

Immediately a young shepherd sprang upon him and pulled him to the
ground, kneeling on his breast.

"Yield, thou Roman wolf!" cried a clear boyish voice.

"Ah! Piso.... the poet He is thy prisoner, boy," said the King, who now
turned. "He shall ransom himself with a goodly sum. But who art thou,
young shepherd?"

"He is the saviour of your life, sire," interposed old Haduswinth. "We
saw the Roman rush at you, but we were too fa