had procured them
admittance, scattered in groups about the halls and corridors.

In the once noisy banqueting-hall the young leaders of the Gothic
hundreds and thousands stood together, silent and sorrowing, or
whispering their anxious inquiries, while here and there an elderly
man--a companion-at-arms of the dying hero--leaned in the niche of a
bow-window, seeking to hide his ungovernable sorrow. In the middle of
the hall stood--pressing his head against a pillar and weeping
loudly--a rich merchant of Ravenna. The King, now on the point of
death, had once pardoned him for joining in a conspiracy, and had
prevented his goods from being plundered by the enraged Goths.

Cethegus passed by them all with a cold glance of contempt.

In the next room--a saloon intended for the reception of foreign
embassies--he found a number of distinguished Goths--dukes, earls, and
other nobles--who evidently were assembled together to consult upon the
succession, and the threatened overthrow of all existing conditions.

There was the brave Duke Thulun, who had heroically defended the town
of Arles against the Franks; Ibba, the conqueror of Spain; and Pitza,
who had been victorious over the Bulgarians and Gepidians--all mighty
warriors, proud of their nobility, which was little less than that of
the royal house of Amelung; for they were of the house of Balthe,
which, through Alaric, had won the crown of the Visigoths; and no less
proud of their services in war, which had protected and extended the
kingdom.

Hildebad and Teja were with them. They were the leaders of the party
which had long since desired a more severe treatment of the Italians,
whom they at once hated and shunned; but had been forced, against their
will, to give way to the milder opinions of the King.

What looks of hatred shot from their eyes upon the aristocratic Roman
who now came to witness the death of the great Gothic hero!

Cethegus walked quietly past them, and lifted the heavy woollen curtain
that divided this from the next apartment--the ante-chamber of the
sick-room.

On entering, he greeted with a profound inclination a tall and queenly
woman, enveloped in a black mourning veil, who, grave and silent, but
composed and without tears, stood before a marble table covered with
records. It was Amalaswintha, the widowed daughter of Theodoric.

A woman above thirty years of age, she was still extremely, though
coldly, beautiful. She wore her rich dark hair pa