But Totila whirled his lance round, and contented himself with giving his adversary such a thrust in the left side with the shaft end, that Alboin fell headlong out of his saddle on the right side of his horse. Totila quietly rode back to his troop, waving his spear over his head in triumph.
Alboin had remounted, and now led his troop against the thin ranks of the Goths.
But just before the shock of meeting, the King cried, "Fly! fly into the town!" turned his horse's head, and galloped away towards Capræ.
His horsemen followed him.
For one moment Alboin halted in perplexity. But the next he cried:
"It is nothing else; it is a pure flight! There they run into the gate! Yes, feats of horsemanship are one thing, and fighting is another. After them, my wolves! into the town!"
And the Longobardians galloped forwards to Capræ, burst open the northern gate--which had been closed, but not bolted, by the flying Goths--and rushed through the long street towards the southern gate, through which the last Goth was just disappearing.
Narses had till now stood upright in his litter with difficulty, observing all that passed.
"Halt!" he angrily cried. "Halt! Blow the trumpets! Sound the retreat! It is the most clumsy trap in the world! But this Alboin thinks that if any one runs away from him, it must be in earnest!"
But the trumpeters blew in vain.