It was Wachis and Adalgoth--heaps of shields and spears had been brought to the spot from the royal treasure--who continually handed to Teja fresh weapons.
At last the courage of the Romans, Persians, and Thracians sank as they saw all their efforts wrecked against this living shield of the Goths, and all their bravest men slain by the spears of the King. They wavered--the Italians called anxiously upon Cethegus--they turned and fled. Then Cethegus started up from his long stupor.
"Syphax, a fresh spear! Halt! Stand, Romans! Roma, Roma eterna!" And raising himself with an effort, he advanced against Teja.
The Romans recognised his voice. "Roma, Roma eterna!" they shouted, as they ceased their flight and halted. But Teja had also recognised the voice. His shield bristled with twelve lances--he could hold it no longer; but when he recognised the adversary who was advancing, he thought no more of changing it.
"No shield! My battle-axe! Quick!" he cried.
And Wachis handed to him his favourite weapon.
Then King Teja dropped his shield, and, swinging his axe, rushed out of the pass at Cethegus.
"Die, Roman!" he cried.
Once again the two great enemies looked each other in the face. Then spear and axe whizzed through the air. Neither thought of parrying the stroke, and both fell. Teja's axe had pierced Cethegus's left breast through shield and armour.
"Roma, Roma eterna!" once more cried Cethegus, and fell back dead.