The fight for the city, in spite of the expiration of the armistice, was scarcely renewed.
About a week after this the King, who was only now able to leave his bed of pain, took his first walk through the lines of tents, accompanied by his friends.
Three of the seven camps, formerly crowded with soldiers, were completely desolated and abandoned; and the other four were but sparsely populated.
Tired to death, without complaint, but also without hope, the famished soldiers lay before their tents.
No cheer, no greeting, rejoiced the ears of their brave King upon his painful way; the warriors scarcely raised their tired eyes at the sound of his approaching footsteps.
From the interior of the tents sounded the loud groaning of the sick and dying, who succumbed to wounds, hunger, and pestilence. Scarcely could healthy men enough be found to occupy the most necessary posts.
The sentries dragged their spears behind them, too weak to carry them upright or to lay them across their shoulders.
The leaders arrived at the outwork before the Aurelian Gate; in the trench lay a young archer, chewing the bitter grass.
Hildebad called to him:
"By the hammer, Gunthamund! what is this? Thy bow-string has sprung; why dost thou not bend another?"