re
assembled the leaders of the army and a great part of the troops.

"Listen," said the prisoner to one of his escort; "is old Hildebrand on
the Ting-place?"

"He is the head of the Ting."

"They are and will ever remain barbarians! Do me a favour, friend--I
will give thee this purple belt for it. Go to the old man; tell him
that I know that I must die, but I beg him to spare me, and still more
my family--dost thou hear? my _family_--the shame of the gallows. Beg
him to send me a weapon secretly."

The Goth, Gunthamund, went to seek Hildebrand, who had already opened
the court.

The proceedings were very simple. The old man first caused the law of
Regeta to be read aloud; then witnesses proved the taking of the
prisoner, and afterwards he was led forward. A woolsack still covered
his head and shoulders.

It was just about to be taken off, when Gunthamund reached Hildebrand
and whispered in his ear.

"No," cried Hildebrand, frowning; "tell him that the shame of his
family is his _deed_, not his punishment," And he called aloud: "Show
the face of the traitor! It is Hildebrand, son of Hildegis!"

A cry of astonishment and horror ran through the crowd.

"His own grandchild!"

"Old man, thou shalt not preside! Thou art cruel to thy flesh and
blood!" cried Hildebad, starting up.

"Only just; but to every one alike," answered Hildebrand, striking his
staff upon the ground.

"Poor Witichis!" whispered Earl Teja.

But Hildebad hurried away to the camp.

"What canst thou say for thyself, son of Hildegis?" asked Hildebrand.

The young man hastily stepped forward; his face was red, but with
anger, not with shame. He showed not a trace of fear. His long yellow
hair waved in the wind.

The crowd was moved with compassion.

The mere report of his brave resistance, the discovery of his name, and
now his youth and beauty, spoke powerfully in his favour.

With flashing eyes, he looked around at the crowd, and then fixed them
with a proud expression on the old man's face.

"I protest against this court-martial!" he cried, "Your laws do not
concern me. I am a Roman--no Goth! My father died before my birth; my
mother was a Roman, the noble Cloelia. I have never felt as if this
barbarous old man was my kinsman. I despised his severity as I did his
love. He forced his name upon me, the child, and took me away from my
mother. But I ran away from him as soon as I could. I have always
called myself Flavius Cloelius, ne