"The Gothic war is over--the stag is killed--now away with the wolves which hunted him to the death. How are the wounded leaders of the Longobardians?"
"Before I answer," said Basiliskos respectfully, "accept this laurel-wreath, which your army sends to you. It is laurel from Vesuvius; from the pass above; there is heroes' blood upon the leaves."
The first impulse of Narses was to push the wreath aside; but after a pause, he said:
"'Tis well; give it to me." But he laid it beside him in the litter.
"Autharis, Warnfrid, Grimoald, Aripert, Agilulf and Rotharis are dead," Basiliskos now reported. "Altogether the Longobardians have lost seven thousand men; Alboin and Gisulf, severely wounded, lie motionless in their tents."
"Good, very good! As soon as the Goths have embarked, let the Longobardians be led away. They are dismissed my service. And say to Alboin, as my parting words: 'After the death of Narses--perhaps; but certainly not before.' I will remain here in my litter; support me with the cushions--I cannot stand--but I must witness this wonderful spectacle."
And in truth it was a grand and moving sight to behold the last of the Goths, as they turned their backs upon Vesuvius and Italy, and embarked in the high-prowed ships which were to bear them away to the safe and sheltering north.
From the ravine, into which not a single enemy had succeeded in penetrating, was heard at intervals the solemn tones of the Gothic war-horns, accompanied by monotonous, grave, and touching strains from the men, women, and children--the ancient death-song of the Gothic nation.
Hildebrand and Adalgoth--the last chiefs, the hoary Past and the golden Future--had arranged the order of march.
Foremost went, full-armed, five hundred men, led by Wisand, the standard-bearer, who, in spite of his wounds, bravely opened the procession, leaning on his spear. Then followed, stretched upon his last shield, the spear of Cethegus still sticking in his breast, without helmet, his noble and pallid face framed by his long black locks--King Teja, covered with a purple mantle, and carried by four warriors. Behind him came Adalgoth and Gotho, and Adalgoth, softly striking his harp, sang in a low voice: