horse in charge of one of the troopers. He wished to reach the
priest's house on foot, by a circuitous route through narrow streets,
where he would be less observed.

He had been startled when half-way by seeing the flames rise, and
hearing in the distance the tumult of the revolted slaves. He stood
still.

A fleeing woman then hurried towards him, with covered head, he stopped
her.

"It is thou, Tribune!" cried the fugitive.

"What? Thou, Zoe! The Judge's wife! What has happened?"

"The slaves! Our house is burning! Save! help!"

"My troops are standing in the Forum of Hercules. I will return myself
immediately. Then will I help."

He had then hurried into the empty house of the priest, rushing through
it with sword drawn, he reached the Basilica, and instead of him he
sought, had struck dead his own confederate. He had hardly discovered
this, when there sounded in the direction of the portal the bugles and
trumpets of his horsemen, calling to the attack.

"They are in conflict with the rioters," thought the Tribune, and he
was going out through the doorway. "Rascals of slaves! while the
barbarians stand before the gates!"

But on the threshold he suddenly stopped: for quite a different sound
struck on his terrified ear--not the raging howl of frantic slaves; no,
a cry well known to him--the watch-cry, the war-cry, the cry of victory
of the Germans, and--it was close at hand.

"Germans in the town? Impossible!"

But, stepping carefully out from the door of the Basilica, he saw at
the corner of the great square whole swarms, yes, hundreds of Germans,
on foot--not the few horsemen whom they had so long observed--and they
were advancing straight towards the church.

"To fight one's way through! Impossible! Back! through the priest's
house!"

He fled through the nave of the church, past the still raised stone
slab into the house of Johannes. But the noise came towards him in that
direction also, loud laughing and shouting, and he saw approaching a
crowd of Germans with a stout Roman at their head, whom they had
heavily laden with wine-skins.

As quickly as his heavy armour would allow him, he turned back into the
Basilica, sprang--this seemed the only possible place of safety--into
the open vault, pulled down the stone slab, and immediately heard the
Germans pouring into the church through both entrances. Shouting and
exulting the conquerors greeted each other over the head of the
imprisoned commandant o