"And no Italian!" added Gunthamund.
"Look at his golden locks--it is a Goth!" observed Hunibad.
Hildebrand came forward--and started violently.
"Torches!" he cried; "light! Yes," he added gloomily, taking up his stone axe, "it is a Goth! And I--I have slain him," he concluded, with icy calmness.
But his hand trembled on the shaft of his axe.
"No, master," cried Aligern, "he lives. He was only stunned; he opens his eyes."
"He lives?" asked the old man, shuddering. "May the gods forbid!"
"Yes, he lives!" repeated the Goths, raising their prisoner.
"Then woe to him, and to me! But no! The gods of the Goths have delivered him into my power. Bind him upon thy horse, Gunthamund; but firmly. If he escape, it is at the peril of thy head, not his. Forward! To horse, and home!"
When they arrived at the camp, the escort asked the master-at-arms what they should prepare for their prisoner.