He finished putting on his armour, and, after vainly inquiring for Syphax of the Isaurian sentry, went with Johannes through his own and the central camp of Narses, and finally turned into that on the right wing--the camp of Johannes.
Upon the crown of the little hill mentioned by Johannes stood a great many officers, who were eagerly looking through a small gap in the lava into the portion of the Gothic encampment visible to them.
When Cethegus had looked for some time, he cried:
"There is no doubt about it! They are evacuating this easternmost part of their position; they are pushing the wagons, which were drawn together, apart, and dragging them farther to the right, to the west. That must mean concentration; perhaps a sally."
"What do you think, Johannes?" quietly asked a young captain, who had evidently only lately arrived from Byzantium, and who was a stranger to Cethegus, "what do you think? Could not the new catapults reach the barbarians from the point of that rock? I mean the last inventions of Martinus--such as my brother took to Rome."
"To Rome?" repeated Cethegus, and cast a sharp look at the questioner and at Johannes.
He felt himself suddenly turn hot and cold--a fright came over him, more terrible still than he had experienced when he had heard of the landing of Belisarius, of Totila's election, of Totila's march to Rome at Pons Padi, of Totila's entrance into the Tiber; or of the arrival of Narses in Italy. It seemed to him as if an iron hand were clutching his heart and brain. He saw that Johannes imposed silence on the young questioner with a furious frown.
"To Rome?" again repeated Cethegus in a low voice, and fixing his eyes, now upon the stranger, now upon Johannes.
"Well, yes, of course, to Rome!" at last answered Johannes. "Zenon, this man is Cethegus, the Prefect of Rome."
The young Byzantine bowed with the expression of one who sees for the first time some far-famed monster.