As he reached the last step of the stair, the door fell crashing inwards, and King Witichis was visible upon the threshold.
"Rome is mine!" cried Witichis, letting his axe fall and drawing his sword.
"You lie, Witichis! for the first time in your life!" cried Cethegus furiously, and, springing forward, he pressed the strong spike of his shield so firmly against the breastplate of the Goth, that the latter, surprised, fell back a step.
The Prefect took advantage of the movement and placed himself upon the threshold, completely blocking up the doorway.
"Where are my Isaurians!" he shouted. But the next moment Witichis had recognised him. "So we meet at last in single combat for Rome!" cried the King.
And now it was his turn to attack. Cethegus, who wished to close the passage, covered his left side with his shield; his right hand, armed only with a short sword, was insufficient for the protection of his right side.
The thrust of Witichis's long sword, weakly parried by Cethegus, cut through the latter's coat of mail and entered deeply into his right breast.
Cethegus staggered; he bent forward; but he did not fall.
"Rome! Rome!" he cried faintly; and convulsively kept himself upright.
Witichis had fallen back to gain space for a final thrust.