ving
conquered all the country between Ravenna and the Tiber--Petra and
Caesena fell without bloodshed--the AEmilia and both Tuscanies (the
Annonarian and the Sub-urbicarian), marched with a third army on the
Flaminian Way against the city of the Prefect.

On hearing of these movements, Cethegus was obliged to acknowledge that
the struggle would now begin in good earnest, and, like a dragon in his
den, he determined to defend himself to the death.

With a proud and contented look he viewed the ramparts and towers, and
said to his brothers-in-arms, who were uneasy at the approach of the
Goths:

"Be comforted! Against these invincible walls they shall be broken to
pieces for the second time!"

But at heart he was not so easy as his words and looks would seem to
indicate.

Not that he ever repented his past deeds or thought his plans
unachievable. But that when, after repeated reverses, he appeared to
have arrived at the point of success, he should be as far off the goal
as ever because of Totila's victories--this feeling had a great effect
upon even _his_ iron nerves.

"Water wears away a rock!" he said, when his friend Licinius once asked
him why he looked so gloomy. "And besides, I cannot sleep as I used to
do."

"Since when?"

"Since--Totila! That fair youth has stolen my slumbers!"

Though the Prefect felt so secure and so superior to all his enemies
and adversaries, Totila's bright and open nature, and his easily-won
success, irritated him so much, that his coolness often melted in the
heat of his passion; while Totila went to meet the universally feared
foe with a sense of victory which nothing could disquiet.

"He has luck, the downy-beard!" cried Cethegus, when he heard of the
easy conquest of Neapolis. "He is as fortunate as Achilles and
Alexander. But luckily such god-like youths never grow old! The soft
gold of such natures is quickly worn out. We lumps of native iron last
longer. I have seen the laurels and roses of the enthusiast, and it
seems to me that I shall soon see his cypresses. It cannot be that I
shall yield to this maiden soul! Fortune has borne him rapidly to a
dizzy height; she will hurl him down as rapidly and dizzily. Will she
first carry him over the ramparts of Rome?--Fly then, without effort,
young Icarus, in the brightest sunshine. I, through blood and strife,
step by step, climb up in the shade. But I shall stand on high when the
treacherous and burning kiss of Fortune has mel