"It is certain!" cried another voice from the entrance--it was Calpurnius, who had followed close upon Albinus. "And, more than this, the war has commenced. Belisarius has landed in Sicily, at Catana; Syracusæ and Messana have surrendered; Panormus he has taken with the fleet. He has crossed to Italy, from Messana to Regium; he is upon Italian soil!" "Freedom!" cried Marcus Licinius. "Everywhere the population joins him. The Goths, taken by surprise, fly from Apulia and Calabria. Belisarius presses on without pause, through Bruttia and Lucania, to Neapolis." "It is all lies--lies!" cried Cethegus, more to himself than to the others. "You do not seem pleased at the success of the good cause! But the messenger rode three horses to death. Belisarius has landed with thirty thousand men." "Who still doubts is a traitor!" cried Scævola. "Now let us see," said Silverius to Cethegus sarcastically, "if you will keep your word. Will you be the first to join Belisarius?" At this bitter moment a whole world--_his_ world--sank before the eyes of Cethegus. So, then, all had been in vain; worse than that--what he had done, had been done for a hated enemy. Belisarius in Italy with a strong army, and he deceived, powerless, conquered! Any other man would have given up all further effort. But not a shadow of discouragement crossed the mind of the Prefect. His gigantic edifice was shattered; the noise of its fall still deafened him, and yet at the same moment he had already resolved to begin again. His world was destroyed, and he had no time even to sigh, for the eyes of all were fixed upon him. "Well, what will you do?" repeated Scævola. Cethegus disdained to look at him. He turned to the assembly, and spoke in a quiet voice: "Belisarius has landed," he said; "he is now our leader. I shall at once go to his camp." With this he walked, with measured steps and a composed countenance, past Silverius and his friends towards the exit. Silverius would have whispered a word of sarcasm, but he was startled at the glance which the Prefect cast upon him. "Do not rejoice too soon, priest," it seemed to say; "you will repent this hour!" And Silverius, the victor, was dumb. CHAPTER IX. The landing of the Byzantines had taken both Goths and Italians by surprise; for the last move of Belisarius to the east had misled both parties. Of all our Gothic friends, Totila alone was in South Italy. He had, in his office as commodore and Count of the Harbour of Neapolis, in vain warned the Government of Ravenna of the impending danger, and begged for the power and means of defending Sicily. We shall see how he had been deprived of all possibility of preventing the catastrophe which threatened to overwhelm his nation, and which was to throw the first shadow upon the brilliant path of his own life, and tear the web of good fortune which a happy fate had, until now, woven about this favourite of the gods.