"What's the matter?" asked the Prefect, quietly taking the wreath of roses off his head.
"What's the matter!" repeated Scævola. "The fatherland trembles between Scylla and Charybdis! The Gothic Dukes, Thulun, Ibba, and Pitza----"
"Well?" asked Lucius Licinius.
"Are murdered!"
"Triumph!" shouted the young Roman, and let loose the dancer whom he held in his arms.
"A fine triumph!" said the jurist angrily. "When the news reached Ravenna, the mob accused the Queen; they stormed the palace--but Amalaswintha had escaped."
"Whither?" asked Cethegus, starting up.
"Whither! Upon a Grecian ship--to Byzantium."
Cethegus frowned and silently set down his cup.
"But the worst is that the Goths mean to dethrone her, and choose a King."