"Save the corpse, and spare his two gods!" he said briefly, and overthrew the ladder upon which Markja was standing; more he could neither say nor do, for already a new and more imminent danger attracted his attention.
Witichis, half thrown, half springing from his ladder, had remained standing close under the wall, amidst a hail of stone and metal, seeking for new means of attack.
For, since the first trial with the storming-ladders had been rendered futile by the unexpected and novel projectiles, he had scarcely any hope left of winning the wall.
While he was thus looking and waiting, the heavy marble pedestal of a "Mars Gradivus" fell close to his feet, rebounded and struck one of the slabs of the wall. And this slab, which seemed to be made of the hardest stone, broke into little pieces of lime and mortar.
In its place was revealed a small wooden door, which, loosely covered and concealed by the mortar, was used by the masons and workpeople as a means of exit and entrance when obliged to repair the immense edifice.
Witichis had scarcely caught sight of this wooden door, than he cried out exultingly:
"Here, Goths, here! Bring axes!" and he himself dealt a blow at the thin boards, which seemed anything but strong.
The new and singular sound struck the ear of the Prefect; he paused in his bloody work and listened.
"That is iron against wood, by Cæsar!" he said to himself, and sprang down the narrow stairway, which led on the inner side of the wall into the faintly illuminated interior of the Mausoleum.
There he heard a louder stroke than all which had preceded it; a dull crash; a sharp sound of splintered wood; and then an exultant cry from the Goths.