"Romans stand at the entrance. They beg for a hearing. They say they know all about the death of the Princess."
"I demand that they be heard!" cried Arahad eagerly. "Not as complainants, but as witnesses of the complainant."
Hildebrand made a sign, and the soldier hastened to bring up the Romans through the curious throng.
Foremost came a man, bent with years, wearing a hair shirt, and a rope tied round his loins; the cowl of his mantle hid his features. Two men in the habit of slaves followed. Questioning looks were fixed upon the old man, whose bearing, in spite of simplicity and even poverty, was full of dignity and nobility.
When he reached Hildebrand's seat, Arahad looked closely into his face, and started back in surprise.
"Who is it," asked the judge, "whom thou callest as a witness to thy words? An unknown stranger?"
"No," cried Arahad, and threw back the old man's mantle. "A man whom you all know and honour--Marcus Aurelius Cassiodorus."
A cry of general surprise arose from the Ting-place.
"Such was my name," said the witness, "during the time of my worldly existence; now only Brother Marcus."
An expression of holy resignation beamed from his features.