It was just about to be taken off, when Gunthamund reached Hildebrand and whispered in his ear. "No," cried Hildebrand, frowning; "tell him that the shame of his family is his _deed_, not his punishment," And he called aloud: "Show the face of the traitor! It is Hildebrand, son of Hildegis!" A cry of astonishment and horror ran through the crowd. "His own grandchild!" "Old man, thou shalt not preside! Thou art cruel to thy flesh and blood!" cried Hildebad, starting up. "Only just; but to every one alike," answered Hildebrand, striking his staff upon the ground. "Poor Witichis!" whispered Earl Teja. But Hildebad hurried away to the camp. "What canst thou say for thyself, son of Hildegis?" asked Hildebrand. The young man hastily stepped forward; his face was red, but with anger, not with shame. He showed not a trace of fear. His long yellow hair waved in the wind. The crowd was moved with compassion. The mere report of his brave resistance, the discovery of his name, and now his youth and beauty, spoke powerfully in his favour. With flashing eyes, he looked around at the crowd, and then fixed them with a proud expression on the old man's face. "I protest against this court-martial!" he cried, "Your laws do not concern me. I am a Roman--no Goth! My father died before my birth; my mother was a Roman, the noble Cloelia. I have never felt as if this barbarous old man was my kinsman. I despised his severity as I did his love. He forced his name upon me, the child, and took me away from my mother. But I ran away from him as soon as I could. I have always called myself Flavius Cloelius, never Hildebrand. My friends were Romans; Roman was my every thought; Roman my life! All my friends joined Belisarius and Cethegus; could I remain behind? Kill me--you can and you will! But confess that it is a murder, and not an act of justice! You judge no Goth; you murder a conquered Roman, for Roman is my soul!" The crowd had listened to his defence silently and with mixed feelings. But the old man rose furiously from his seat; his eyes flashed fire; his hands trembled with rage. "Miserable boy," he cried, "thou hast confessed that thou art the son of a Goth! Then art thou a Goth thyself; and if thy heart is Roman, thou deservest death for that alone. Soldiers, away with him to the gallows!" Once more the prisoner advanced to the foot of the judgment-seat. "Then be accursed," he cried, "you rude and savage people! May your nation be accursed! And, most of all, thou, old man with the wolf's heart! Do not think that your savagery and cruelty will do you any service! You shall be wiped away from the surface of this lovely land, and not a trace of you shall be left behind!" At a sign from Hildebrand, the ban-officers again threw the cover over the prisoner's head, and led him away to a hill upon which stood a sturdy yew-tree, deprived of its boughs and leaves.