Then with the strength of terror they fell upon their task once more. When the second morning came they turned their gaze half in hope and half in dread toward the scene of their labors, only to have their worst fears confirmed. Once again there lay before them but a heap of ruins!
“We must use larger stones,” said one.
“We have no time to talk,” put in a second. “If our lives are to be spared we must work as we never worked before.”
So all through the long hours of the day they toiled in silence and in dread until the damage of the night had been repaired, only to find when morning came that, for the third time, their tower had crumbled to the ground.
“This is enchantment!” they then cried in despair. “We cannot build the tower. Let us go and throw ourselves before the King to plead for mercy!”
But when Vortigern, with his guilty conscience, heard that word “enchantment,” a greater dread fell upon his heart.
“Lead out these useless artificers,” he thundered, “and summon my wise men.”
And presently the great doors of the throne-room were thrown open and, one by one, in solemn procession, trailing their black robes, the astrologers, the wizards and the magicians of the realm filed in, until they stood in a silent semi-circle before the King.
At last Vortigern raised his eyes.