e steps of
his house. He was a vine-dresser, and, as the dry branch hung at his
door indicated, himself sold the produce of his vines. He glanced at
the threatening thundercloud.

"I wish it would rain," he sighed. "If it does not rain, it will hail,
and then all the fruit that has not been trampled by the enemy's horses
will be completely destroyed."

"Do you call the troops of our Emperor enemies?" whispered his son, a
Roman patriot. But he said it very softly, for just then a Gothic
patrol turned the corner of the Forum. "I wish Orcus would devour them
all, Greeks and barbarians! The Goths at least are always thirsty. See,
there comes that long Hildebadus; he is one of the thirstiest. I shall
be surprised if he has no desire to drink to-day, when the very stones
are cracking with heat!"

Hildebad had just set the nearest watch. He held his helmet in his left
hand; his lance was carelessly laid across his shoulder.

He passed the wine-house--to the great astonishment of its
owner--turned into the next street, and soon stood before a lofty
massive round tower--it was called the Tower of AEtius.

A handsome young Goth was walking up and down upon the wall in the
shadow of the tower. Long light locks curled upon his shoulders, and
the delicate white and red of his complexion, as well as his mild blue
eyes, gave him almost a girlish aspect.

"Hey! Fridugern," Hildebad called up to him. "Hey! How canst thou bear to
stay up there on that gridiron? With shield and breastplate too!
_Ouff_!"

"I have the watch, Hildebad," answered the youth gently.

"Bother the watch! Dost thou think that Belisarius will attack us in
this blazing heat? I tell you he is glad if he can get air; to-day he
will not thirst for blood. Come with me; I came to fetch thee. The
fat Ravennese in the Forum of Hercules has old wine and young
daughters--let us put both to our lips."

The young Goth shook his long ringlets and frowned.

"I have the watch, and no desire for girls. But thirsty I am,
truly--send me a cup of wine up here."

"Aha! 'tis true, by Freia, Venus, and Maria! Thou hast a bride across
the mountains! And thou thinkest that she will find it out and break
her promise if thou lookest too closely into a pair of black Roman
eyes! Oh, dear friend, how young thou art! No, no; no malice! It is all
right. Thou art nevertheless a very good fellow and wilt get older
by-and-by. I will send thee some old Massikian--then thou canst drink