iously upon the King
of the Goths, who was far in advance of his men.

"Down, madman!" he cried.

But the next moment he was slain by Witichis, who irresistibly,
trampled down all those who stood in his path.

Through the crowd of Hunnish cavalry, who, terrified at his look,
yielded to right and left, Witichis pursued Calpurnius.

The latter had recovered the mastery of his horse, and now sought
protection in the thickest press of his soldiers.

In vain.

Witichis did not lose sight of him for a moment, but followed him
closely.

However he might hide himself among his men, however rapidly he rode,
Calpurnius could not escape the King, who beat down all who stood
between him and the murderer of his son.

Group after group, knot after knot, dissolved before the terrible sword
of the revengeful father. The lines of the Huns were broken through by
the fugitive and his pursuer. They were not able to close again, for,
even before Totila could come up, the old standard-bearer, with horse
and foot, had broken their right flank, dividing it into two parts.

When Totila galloped up, he found only flying foes. The portion to the
right was soon taken between Totila and Hildebrand, and destroyed. The
greater part on the left fled back to Belisarius.

Meantime Calpurnius galloped over the field as if pursued by the
Furies.

He had a good start, for Witichis had been seven times obliged to hew
his way through the enemy.

But Boreas galloped bravely on, and carried Witichis ever nearer to his
victim.

The fugitive heard the call to stand and fight. He only spurred his
horse the faster.

All at once it fell beneath him, and before he could rise, Witichis
stood over him.

Springing from his saddle, Witichis now silently pushed the sword of
the fallen man, which had dropped from the latter's hand, towards him.

Then Calpurnius took courage--the courage of despair.

He rose to his feet, took up his sword, and sprang at the Goth with a
leap like that of a tiger.

But in the middle of his leap he fell prone to the ground; the sword of
Witichis had split his forehead open.

The King set his foot upon the breast of the corpse, and looked into
the distorted face. He sighed deeply.

"Revenge is sweet, but it will not bring back my child!"

With deep ire Belisarius had witnessed this unhappy commencement of the
battle. But his confidence and composure did not abandon him, even when
he saw the Armenians swept away, an