"Jupiter!" he cried, "lend me thy lightnings! Why dost thou hold them so idly? Up, my men! shatter the statues and hurl them at the enemy!"
Before he could finish his sentence, his example was followed.
The hard-pressed defenders fell upon the gods and heroes with hammers and axes, and in a moment the lovely forms were shattered.
It was a frightful sight. There lay a grand Hadrian, an equestrian statue, man and horse split in two; there a laughing Aphrodite fell upon its knees; there the beautiful head of an Antinous fell from the trunk, and hurled by two hands, fell crashing upon a Gothic shield of buffalo-hide. And far and wide upon the ramparts fell fragments and pieces of marble and bronze, of iron and gold.
Down from the ramparts, thundering and crashing, fell the mighty weight of metal and stone, and shattered the helms and shields, the armour and limbs of the attacking Goths, and the ladders which bore them.
Cethegus looked with horror at the work of destruction which his words had called into action.
But it had saved them.
Twelve, fifteen, twenty ladders stood empty, although a moment before they had swarmed with men like ants; just as many lay broken at the foot of the wall.
Surprised by this unexpected hail of bronze and marble, the Goths fell back for a space.
But presently Markja's horn called them to the attack. And again the tons of marble thundered through the air.