Cethegus struck his fist fiercely on his forehead.
"'Will bind them more strictly than Pope Pelagius, their treaty, or their oath.' 'Their treaty and their oath?' asked Scævola. 'Yes,' answered Narses, 'their oath and treaty! They have sworn only to open their gates to the Prefect of Rome.' 'Well, and then?' asked Anicius. 'Well', they know, and they knew then, that now the Prefect of Rome is called--Narses. To me, not to him have, they sworn!'"
Cethegus threw himself upon his couch and hid his face in his purple-hemmed mantle. No loud complaint issued from his heaving chest.
"Oh, my dear master!" cried Syphax, "it will kill you! But I have not yet finished. You must know all. Despair will give you strength, as it does to the snared lion."
Cethegus raised his head.
"Finish," he said. "What I have still to hear is indifferent; it can only concern me, not Rome."
"But it concerns you in a fearful manner! Narses went on to say, after a few speeches which escaped me in the noise of the waves--that yesterday, at the same time as the long-expected news from Rome----"
"What news?" asked Cethegus.
"He did not mention what. He said, 'At the same time, Zenon brought me word to open the sealed orders which I carry from the Emperor; for the latter rightly judges that any day may bring about the destruction of the Goths. I opened and'--O master, it is dreadful----"
"Speak!"