"We have never before trotted into anything so evil, my wolves!" he said.
He would have retreated, but now Gothic footmen issued likewise from the southern gate of Capræ, blocking the way back.
"There is nothing for it but to die merrily, Gisulf! Greet Rosimunda, if thou escapest!"
And he turned to meet one of the leaders of the Persian horsemen, who, distinguished by a richly-gilded open helm, had now reached the road, and was advancing straight upon him.
As he came up to Alboin, he of the gilded helmet cried:
"Turn, Longobardian! yonder stands our common foe! Down with the Goths!"
And he ran his sword through a Gothic horseman who was aiming a stroke at Alboin.
And now the Persian horsemen, galloping past the Longobardians, attacked the horrified Goths. For a moment the latter halted, taken by surprise. But when they saw that it was no mistake--that the ambush was against them, and not against the Longobardians--they cried, "Treachery, treachery! all is lost!" and, this time in unfeigned flight, rushed back to Taginæ, carrying everything along with them, even their own footmen, who were just issuing from the gate.
Even the King changed countenance when he saw the Corsican strike at the Goths at Alboin's side.
"Yes, it is treachery!" he cried. "Ha! the tiger! Down with him!"