he parchment from the hand of
the Byzantine. "The document is very long," he said, glancing over it;
and then began to read.

"Haste, King," said Johannes.

"There is no time to read it," said Cethegus, with an indifferent
voice, and took a reed-pen from the table.

"Then there is no time to sign it," said the King. "You know I am the
'_Peasant_-King,' as the people call me. And a peasant never signs a
letter before he has read to what he commits himself. Let us go," and,
smiling, he gave the document to the Prefect and left the room.

Bessas and all present followed, except Cethegus. Cethegus crushed the
document in his hand.

"Wait!" he whispered furiously. "You shall yet sign!" And he slowly
followed the others.

The hall leading to the King's apartment was already empty. The Prefect
went into the vaulted gallery which ran round the quadrangle of the
first story of the palace. The Byzantine-Roman arches afforded a free
outlook into the large courtyard. It was filled with armed men. At all
the four doors were placed the Persian lance-bearers of Belisarius.

Cethegus leaned against an archway and, watching the course of events,
spoke to himself.

"Well, there are Byzantines enough to take a small army prisoner!
Friend Procopius is prudent. There! Witichis appears at the door. His
Goths are still far behind upon the staircase. The King's horse is led
forward. Bessas holds the stirrups. Witichis is close to it; he lifts
his foot. Now comes a blast of trumpets. The door of the staircase is
closed and the Goths shut into the palace! Procopius tears down the
Gothic flag on the roof. Johannes takes the King's right arm--bravo,
Johannes! The King defends himself valiantly--but his long mantle
hinders him--he staggers! He falls to the ground! There lies the
kingdom of the Goths!"

"There lies the kingdom of the Goths!" with these words Procopius also
concluded the sentences which he wrote down in his diary that night.

"To-day I have assisted in making an important piece of history," he
wrote, "and will take note of it to-night. When I saw the imperial army
enter the gates and the King's palace of Ravenna, I thought that indeed
it is not always merit, virtue, or number that ensures success. There
is a higher power, inevitable necessity. In number and heroism the
Goths were superior to us, and they did not fail in every possible
exertion. The Gothic women in Ravenna scolded their husbands to their
faces when they