nder Alboin as an
escort, for the roads are very unsafe. As, in all probability, an
attempt will be made by the Goths, to-day or tomorrow, to break through
our lines, and repeated foolhardy sallies on the part of my soldiers
have led to the loss of leaders and troops, I have ordered that no one
be permitted to leave the camp without my express permission, and have
entrusted the watch, even that of the tents, to my Longobardians."

Cethegus sprang to the entrance of his tent, and tore the curtains
open. His four Isaurians were just being led away. Twenty
Longobardians, under Autharis, drew up before the tent.

"I had thought of escaping to-night," he said to Syphax, turning back.
"It is now impossible. But it is better so, more dignified. Rather a
Gothic spear in my breast, than a Grecian arrow in my back. But I have
not yet read all that Narses writes."

He read on:

"If you will come to my tent, you will learn what measures I have taken
against the probably great bloodshed which will ensue if the barbarians
venture to sally, as they threaten. But I have still a painful
communication to make to you. News, which reached me yesterday evening
by sea from Rome, informs me that your tribunes and the greater part of
the Isaurians have been killed."

"Ah! Licinius, Piso, Julianus!" cried the Prefect, startled out of his
icy and defiant calmness by deep pain.

After a pause he controlled his emotion sufficiently to take up the
letter and read on:

"When they had been quietly admitted into the city (shamefully
decoyed!) they refused to take the oath of allegiance to the Emperor.
They tried, contrary to their promise, to use force. Lucius Licinius
attempted to take the Capitol by storm; Piso, the Porta Latina; Salvus
Julianus, the Mausoleum. They fell, each before the place which he
attacked. What remained of the Isaurians were taken prisoners."

"My second Julius follows the first!" cried Cethegus. "Well, I do not
need an heir, for Rome will never now be mine! It is over! The great
struggle for Rome is over! And brute force, small cunning, has
conquered the mind of Cethegus as it did the sword of the Goth. O
Romans, Romans! _You, too, my sons?_ You are my Brutus. Come, Syphax,
you are free. I go to meet death. Go back to your deserts."

"O master!" cried Syphax, sobbing passionately, as he crouched at the
feet of Cethegus. "Do not send me from you! I am not less faithful than
Aspa! Let me die with you!"

"Be it so,"