But the murderer now thought it was not the high-towering form of the Presbyter. He bent down so that the black horse-tail of his high helmet fell forwards, and drew back the hood, and with it the head of the murdered man.

With a short scream he let it again fall.

"Irony of fate! The usurer! How comes he here? How in this disguise? Where is the priest?"

But before the Tribune could think about these questions, his whole attention was drawn towards the chief entrance of the church, by a noise of the most startling kind.

Leo had stationed his troops in the Forum of Hercules; had left them with the command there to await his return. He had dismounted, and put his 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, ZoË! 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 of Juvavum.