His knees failed him; so, drawing the hood quickly over his head, he threw himself into the position in which he had found Johannes, with his arms encircling the relic shrine on the altar. At the same moment cold steel penetrated his neck. He was dead before he had heard the words, "Die, priest!"

CHAPTER XIII.

But the murderer now thought it was not the high-towering form of the Presbyter. He bent down so that the black horse-tail of his high helmet fell forwards, and drew back the hood, and with it the head of the murdered man.

With a short scream he let it again fall.

"Irony of fate! The usurer! How comes he here? How in this disguise?

Where is the priest?"

But before the Tribune could think about these questions, his whole attention was drawn towards the chief entrance of the church, by a noise of the most startling kind.

Leo had stationed his troops in the Forum of Hercules; had left them with the command there to await his return. He had dismounted, and put his horse in charge of one of the troopers. He wished to reach the priest's house on foot, by a circuitous route through narrow streets, where he would be less observed.

He had been startled when half-way by seeing the flames rise, and hearing in the distance the tumult of the revolted slaves. He stood still.

A fleeing woman then hurried towards him, with covered head, he stopped her.

"It is thou, Tribune!" cried the fugitive.

"What? Thou, Zoe! The Judge's wife! What has happened?"

"The slaves! Our house is burning! Save! help!"

"My troops are standing in the Forum of Hercules. I will return myself immediately. Then will I help."

He had then hurried into the empty house of the priest, rushing through it with sword drawn, he reached the Basilica, and instead of him he sought, had struck dead his own confederate. He had hardly discovered this, when there sounded in the direction of the portal the bugles and trumpets of his hors.e.m.e.n, calling to the attack.

"They are in conflict with the rioters," thought the Tribune, and he was going out through the doorway. "Rascals of slaves! while the barbarians stand before the gates!"

But on the threshold he suddenly stopped: for quite a different sound struck on his terrified ear--not the raging howl of frantic slaves; no, a cry well known to him--the watch-cry, the war-cry, the cry of victory of the Germans, and--it was close at hand.

"Germans in the town? Impossible!"

But, stepping carefully out from the door of the Basilica, he saw at the corner of the great square whole swarms, yes, hundreds of Germans, on foot--not the few hors.e.m.e.n whom they had so long observed--and they were advancing straight towards the church.

"To fight one's way through! Impossible! Back! through the priest's house!"

He fled through the nave of the church, past the still raised stone slab into the house of Johannes. But the noise came towards him in that direction also, loud laughing and shouting, and he saw approaching a crowd of Germans with a stout Roman at their head, whom they had heavily laden with wine-skins.

As quickly as his heavy armour would allow him, he turned back into the Basilica, sprang--this seemed the only possible place of safety--into the open vault, pulled down the stone slab, and immediately heard the Germans pouring into the church through both entrances. Shouting and exulting the conquerors greeted each other over the head of the imprisoned commandant of Juvavum.

CHAPTER XIV.

We will join the drinking Germans above, rather than the Tribune raging in impotent wrath below the marble floor.

"Welcome in victory, ye brave Bajuvaren!"

"For that we thank you, ye clever Alemanni!"

"Did we not entice them out well?" said another comrade in arms. "First of all we--that is, Liuthari, our famous king's famous son, and two of his followers--surprised a post of five Moorish hors.e.m.e.n, whom the Tribune of the Capitol had sent out against us as spies. But we know the forests better than those brown Africans. Four were dead, or prisoners, before they were aware of it. One escaped--alas! But it seems he was not able to tell much. Then a little company of us slipped across the river--an Alemannian horse can swim like a swan--and galloped to you Bajuvaren in the eastern mountains, in order that at the right time the call of the heron should be answered by the cry of the eagle."

"And this time you also, ye heavy-stepping Bajuvaren, contrary to your manner and custom, actually came at the right time," teased Suomar, another Alemannian.

Fiercely the Bajuvaren put his hand to the battle-axe in his girdle.

"What does that mean, thou Suevian blockhead? It is my opinion we have come early enough to cut you down--you as well as all others who wait long enough! Although you are so quick in thought and hasty in words, many times already you have not had limbs quick enough for flight, to escape from us, if we are slow."

Provoked thus, the other was going to answer angrily, but Vestralp, the first Alemannian, interposed soothingly: "Never mind, both of you; thou, my Suomar! and thou, brave Marcoman! Once there, the Bajuvaren fight so splendidly that they make up for lost time."

"They have often shown that!" cried Rando, a third Alemannian.

"The last time," continued Suomar, "just now, in the market-place, and on the steep path up to the citadel, against the cavalry of the Tribune."

"Listen! What was that?"

"Yes! did not a groan come out of the ground?"

"There!--at the left by the altar."

"Look! behind the altar! Perhaps some one wounded."

Two warriors hastened to the spot and looked behind the altar, but they found nothing.

"But what lies there in front--on the steps?"

"A dead man."

"A Roman?"

"A priest, as it seems."

"The slaves must have done that; the rioters who joined themselves to us when we had climbed the walls," said Helmbert, an aged leader of the Bajuvaren. "They are now the guides to the richest booty."

"Take the corpse away! On the stone steps is the best place to sit and drink," said Helmdag, his son.

"Dare to do it, thou blasphemer! That is the table of the most exalted Lord of Heaven," threatened Rando.

"It is not true," cried Helmdag. "Thou art a Catholic. This is a heretic church, more harmful than any abominations of heathenism. So my Gothic G.o.dfather, the Bishop of Novi, teaches me."

"Thou stinking Arian!" answered Rando. "Thou denier of Christ! I will teach thee to give to the Lord Christ equal honour with the Father. I will fill thy mouth with my fist, and with thine own teeth as well!"