The clever animal galloped straight back to the camp.
"Now forward, my Goths! forward, Earl Markja!" cried the King. "Over the river there! Leave the wall-breakers behind: take only shields and storming-ladders, and the axes. Forward!"
And at a run he reached the steep bank at the southern bend of the river, and descended the hill.
"No bridge. King, and no ford!" asked a Goth behind him.
"No, friend Iffamer; we must swim!"
And the King sprang into the dirty yellow water, which splashed, hissing, high above his helmet.
In a few moments he had reached the opposite bank, the foremost of his people with him.
Soon they stood close before the lofty outer wall of the Mausoleum, and the warriors looked up inquiringly and anxiously.
"Bring the ladders!" cried Witichis. "Do you not see? There are no defenders! Are you afraid of mere stones?"
The ladders were quickly raised, and the outer wall scaled. The few soldiers who had remained to defend this wall were overcome, the ladders drawn up and let down on the inner side.