"No, no, sire; all the granaries burn! The grain flies in myriads of sparks through the air."
"The granaries are burning!" cried Goths and Byzantines.
Witichis had no heart to ask questions.
"The lightning must have kindled the interior long ago. It is quite burnt out. Look! look!"
A stronger gust of wind fanned the fire, which flamed up higher than ever. The flames caught the nearest roofs, and, at the same time, the wooden ridge of the lofty building seemed to fall, for, after a heavy crash, the sparks shot up thicker than ever.
It was a sea of fire.
Witichis tried to lift his hand to give an order--but his arm fell, faint and powerless. Cethegus saw it.
"Now!" he cried; "now let us assault!"
"No; halt!" thundered Belisarius. "He who lifts his sword is the Emperor's enemy and dies! Back to the camp--all. Now Ravenna is mine! To-morrow it will fall without a struggle."
His troops obeyed him and drew back.