as a saviour to the
sanctuary of his sister!"

The citizens of Capua begged him to impress the first gold coins of his
reign with the inscription, "_Capua revindicata_."

Thus it continued until he reached Neapolis; the very same road he had
once passed as a wounded fugitive.

The commander of the Armenian mercenaries in Neapolis, who had a very
brave but small troop, did not dare to trust the fidelity of the
population in case of a siege.

He therefore led his lance-bearers and the armed citizens to meet the
King outside the gates.

But before the battle commenced, a man on a white horse rode out of the
lines of Goths, took his helmet from his head, and cried:

"Have you forgotten me, men of the Parthenopaeian city? I am Totila. You
loved me when I was commander of your harbour. You shall bless me as
your King. Do you not recollect how I saved in my ships your wives and
children from the Huns of Belisarius? Listen. These very wives and
children are again in my power; not as fugitives, but as prisoners. To
protect them from the Byzantines (perhaps from me also), you sent them
into the strong fortress of Cumae. But know that Cumae has surrendered,
and all the fugitives are in my power. I have been advised to keep them
as hostages in order to compel you to capitulate. But that is repugnant
to my feelings. I have set them at liberty; the wives of the Roman
senators I have sent to Rome. But your wives and children, men of
Neapolis, I have brought with me; not as my hostages, not as my
prisoners, but as my guests. Look how they stream out of my tents! Open
your arms to receive them--they are free! Will you now fight against
me? I cannot believe it! Who will be the first to aim at this breast?"
and he opened wide his arms.

"Hail to King Totila the Good!" was the universal acclamation.

And the warm-hearted men threw down their weapons, rushed forward, and
greeted with tears of joy their liberated wives and children, kissing
the hem of Totila's mantle.

The commander of the mercenaries rode up to him.

"My lancers are surrounded and too weak to fight alone. Here, O King,
is my sword. I am your prisoner."

"Not so, brave Arsakide! Thou art unconquered--therefore no prisoner.
Go with thy troop whither thou wilt."

"I _am_ a prisoner, conquered by your magnanimity and the splendour of
your eyes. Permit us henceforward to fight under your flag."

In this manner a chosen troop, who stood by him faithfully, was won