said Cethegus quietly, and laying his hand upon the Moor's
head. "I have loved you, my panther! Then die with me. Give me my helm,
shield, sword, and spear."

"Whither go you?"

"First to Narses."

"And then?"

"To Vesuvius!"

CHAPTER XIII.

King Teja's intention was to throw himself at night with all his armed
men--except a few guards who would be left in the ravine--into the camp
of Narses, and there, favoured by the darkness and surprise, to commit
great carnage.

Then, when the last of his warriors had fallen, and--probably at
daybreak--the enemy prepared to assault the pass, the unarmed
people--at least those who did not prefer slavery to death--were to
seek an honourable grave in the neighbouring crater of Vesuvius, after
which the few remaining defendants of the pass would sally forth and
die fighting.

When the King called his people together, and left the alternative to
their choice, he was filled with pride and joy to find that not one
voice among the thousands of women and children--for all the boys from
ten years of age and all the old men were armed--was raised in favour
of dishonour rather than death. His hero soul rejoiced in the thought
that his whole race, by a deed unheard of in the history of nations,
would die a glorious and heroic death, and worthily seal the renown of
their great past.

However, the despairing idea of the grim hero was not to be carried
out. His dying eyes were to behold a brighter and more consoling
picture. Narses, ever watchful and wary, had noticed the mysterious
preparations of his enemies even sooner than Johannes and Cethegus, and
had called a meeting of generals, which was to be held in his tent at
the fifth hour, in order to explain to them his counter-measures.

It was a lovely September morning, full of shining light and shining
mist over land and sea; a golden glow, such as, even in Italy, is only
poured forth in like wondrous beauty over the Bay of Neapolis.

Into the clear sky curled the white cloud of smoke from the summit of
Vesuvius. Upon the curved line of the shore the smooth and gentle waves
rolled in a rhythmic measure. Close to the edge of the water--so close
that the ripples of the waves often wetted his steel-shod feet--a
lonely man walked slowly along, carrying his spear over his shoulder,
and apparently coming from the left wing of the Byzantine army. The sun
glistened upon his round shield, upon his splen