With loud cries of victory the Gothic foot-soldiers followed, slaying their easy prey with arrows, slings, and spears; while Belisarius, in the rear, resisted with difficulty the unceasing attacks of Totila and the King.
"Help, Belisarius!" cried Aigan, the leader of the Massagetian mercenaries, as he rode up from among the scattered groups, wiping the blood from his face. "My countrymen swear they see the devil amidst the enemy. They will not stand. Help me! Usually they fear you much more than the devil!"
Grinding his teeth, Belisarius looked across at his right wing, which was flying in disorder over the fallows, pursued by the Goths.
"O Justinian, my imperial master," he exclaimed, "how badly I keep my word!"
And, entrusting the further defence of the retreat to the camp to Demetrius--for the uneven ground upon which they had now entered embarrassed the pursuit of the enemy's horse---he galloped across country with Aigan and his mounted guard to join the mercenaries.
"Halt!" he thundered; "halt, you cowardly dogs! Who flies, when Belisarius stands? I am with you; turn and win!" And he raised his visor, and showed them his majestic countenance.
And such was the power of his personality, so great the belief in his invincibility, that all who recognised the tall form of the commander on his roan, hesitated, halted, and with a cry of encouragement, turned once more to face the pursuing Goths.
Here, at least, the flight was at an end.
Up came a tremendous Goth, easily forcing his way.
"Ha, ha! I am glad you are tired of running, you swift-footed Greeks! I could no longer pant after you! Your legs are superior to ours; let us see if your arms be so too. Ha! why do you fall back, my lads? Because of him on the roan? What of him?"