CHAPTER I.

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Transcriber's Notes:

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2. The diphthong OE and oe are represented by [OE] and [oe].

A STRUGGLE FOR ROME.

BY

FELIX DAHN.

_T R A N S L A T E D F R O M T H E G E R M A N_

BY

LILY WOLFFSOHN.

"If there be anything more powerful than Fate,

It is the courage which bears it undismayed."

GEIBEL.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. I.

LONDON:

RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON.

1878.

[_All Rights Reserved._]

PREFACE.

These pictures of the sixth century originated in my studies for the

following works:

"The Kings of the Goths," vol. ii., iii., iv. Munich and Wuerzburg,

1862-66.

"Procopius of Caesarea:" a contribution to the historiography of the

migration of nations and the decay of the Roman Empire. Berlin, 1865.

By referring to these works, the reader may distinguish the details and

changes which the romance has added to the reality.

In history the events here described filled a period of almost thirty

years' duration. From reasons easily understood, it was necessary to

shorten, or at least to disguise, this long interval.

The character of the Roman hero of the story, Cethegus Caesarius, is a

pure invention. That such a person existed is, however, known.

The work was begun at Munich in 1859, continued at Ravenna, Italy, and

concluded at Koenigsberg in 1876.

FELIX DAHN.

Koenigsberg: _January_, 1876.

A STRUGGLE FOR ROME.

BOOK I.

THEODORIC.

"Dietericus de Berne, de quo cantant rustici usque hodie."

CHAPTER I.

It was a sultry summer night of the year five hundred and twenty-six,

A.D.

Thick clouds lay low over the dark surface of the Adrea, whose shores

and waters were melted together in undistinguishable gloom; only now

and then a flash of distant lightning lit up the silent city of

Ravenna. At unequal intervals the wind swept through the ilexes and

pines on the range of hills which rise at some distance to the west of

the town, and which were once crowned by a temple of Neptune. At that

time already half ruined, it has now almost completely disappeared,

leaving only the most scanty traces.

It was quiet on the bosky heights; only sometimes a piece of rock,

loosened by storms, clattered down the stony declivity, and at last

splashed into the marshy waters of the canals and ditches which belted

the entire circle of the sea-fortress; or a weather-beaten slab slipped

from the tabled roof of the old temple and fell breaking on to the

marble steps--forebodings of the threatened fall of the whole building.

But these dismal sounds seemed to be unnoticed by a man who sat

immovable on the second step of the flight which led into the temple,

leaning his back against the topmost step and looking silently and

fixedly across the declivity in the direction of the city below.

He sat thus motionless, but waiting eagerly, for a long time. He heeded

not that the wind drove the heavy drops which began to fell into his

face, and rudely worried the full long beard that flowed down to his

iron belt, almost entirely covering his broad breast with shining white

hair.

At last he rose and descended several of the marble steps: "They come,"

said he.

The light of a torch which rapidly advanced from the city towards the

temple became visible; then quick and heavy footsteps were heard, and

shortly after three men ascended the flight of steps.

"Hail, Master Hildebrand, son of Hilding!" cried the advancing

torch-bearer, as soon as he reached the row of columns of the Pronaos

or antehall, in which time had made some gaps. He spoke in the Gothic

tongue, and had a peculiarly melodious voice. He carried his torch in a

sort of lantern--beautiful Corinthian bronze-work on the handle,

transparent ivory forming the four-sided screen and the arched and

ornamentally-perforated lid--and lifting it high, put it into the iron

ring that held together the shattered centre column.

The white light fell upon a face beautiful as that of Apollo, with

laughing light-blue eyes; his fair hair was parted in the middle of his

forehead into two long and flowing tresses, which fell right and left

upon his shoulders. His mouth and nose, finely, almost softly

chiselled, were of perfect form; the first down of a bright golden

beard covered his pleasant lip and gently-dimpled chin. He wore only

white garments--a war-mantle of fine wool, held up on the right

shoulder by a clasp in the form of a griffin, and a Roman tunic of soft

silk, both embroidered with a stripe of gold. White leather straps

fastened the sandals to his feet, and reached, laced cross-wise, to his

knees. Two broad gold rings encircled his naked and shining white arms.

And as he stood reposing after his exertion, his right hand clasping a

tall lance which served him both for staff and weapon, his left resting

on his hip, looking down upon his slower companions, it seemed as if

there had again entered the grey old temple some youthful godlike form

of its happiest days.

The second of the new-comers had, in spite of a general family

likeness, an expression totally different from that of the

torch-bearer.

He was some years older, his form was stouter and broader. Low down

upon his bull-neck grew his short, thick, and curly brown hair. He was

of almost gigantic height and strength. There were wanting in his face

the sunny shimmer, the trusting joy and hope which illumined the

features of his younger brother. Instead of these, there was in his

whole appearance an expression of bear-like strength and bear-like

courage; he wore a shaggy wolf-skin, the jaws of which shaded his head

like a cowl, a simple woollen doublet beneath, and on his right

shoulder he carried a short and heavy club made of the hard root of an

oak.

The third comer followed the others with a cautious step; a middle-aged

man with a dignified and prudent expression of countenance. He wore the

steel helmet, the sword, and the brown war-mantle of the Gothic

footmen. His straight light-brown hair was cut square across the

forehead--an ancient Germanic mode of wearing the hair, which one often

sees represented on Roman triumphal columns, and which has been

preserved by the German peasant to this day. The regular features of

his open face, his grey and steady eyes, were full of reflective

manliness and sober repose.

When he, too, had reached the cella of the temple, and had greeted the

old man, the torch-bearer cried in an eager voice:

"Well, old Master Hildebrand, a fine adventure must it be to which thou

hast bidden us on such an inhospitable night, and in this wilderness of

art and nature! Speak--what is it?"

Instead of replying, the old man turned to the last comer and asked:

"Where is the fourth whom I invited?"

"He wished to go alone. He shunned us all. Thou knowest his manner

well."

"There he comes!" cried the beautiful youth, pointing to another side

of the hill. And, in fact, a man of very peculiar appearance now drew

near.

The full glare of the torch illumined a ghastly-pale face that seemed

almost bloodless. Long and shining black locks, like dark snakes, hung

dishevelled from his uncovered head. Arched black brows and long lashes

shaded large and melancholy dark eyes, full of repressed fire. A

sharply-cut eagle nose bent towards the fine and smoothly-shaven mouth,

around which resigned grief had traced deep lines.

His form and bearing were still young; but pain seemed to have

prematurely ripened his soul.

He wore a coat of mail and greaves of black steel, and in his right

hand gleamed a battle-axe with a long lance-like shaft. He merely

greeted the others with a nod of the head, and placing himself behind

the old man, who now bade them all four step close to the pillar on

which the torch was fixed, began in a suppressed voice:

"I appointed you to meet me here to listen to earnest words, which must

be spoken, unheard, to faithful men. I have sought for months in all

the nation, and have chosen you. You are the right men. When you have

heard me, you will yourselves feel that you must be silent about this

night's meeting."

The third comer, he with the steel helmet, looked at the old man with

earnest eyes.

"Speak," said he quietly, "we hear and are silent. Of what wilt thou

speak to us?"

"Of our people; of this kingdom of the Goths, which stands close to an

abyss!"

"An abyss!" eagerly cried the fair youth. His gigantic brother smiled

and lifted his head attentively.

"Yes, an abyss," repeated the old man; "and you alone can hold and save

it."

"May Heaven pardon thee thy words!" interrupted the fair youth with

vivacity. "Have we not our King Theodoric, whom even his enemies call

the Great; the most magnificent hero, the wisest prince in the world?

Have we not this smiling land Italia, with all its treasures? What upon

earth can compare with the kingdom of the Goths?"

The old man, without heeding his questions, continued:

"Listen to me. The greatness and worth of King Theodoric, my beloved

master and my dear son, are best known by Hildebrand, son of Hilding.

More than fifty years ago I carried him in these arms, a struggling

boy, to his father, and said: 'There is an offspring of a strong

race--he will be a joy to thee.' And when he grew up I cut for him his

first arrow, and washed his first wound. I accompanied him to the

golden city of Byzantium, and guarded him body and soul. When he fought

for this lovely land, I went before him, foot by foot, and held the

shield over him in thirty battles. He may possibly, since then, have

found more learned advisers and friends than his old master-at-arms,

but hardly wiser, and surely not more faithful. Long ere the sun shone

upon thee, my young falcon, I had experienced a thousand times how

strong was his arm, how sharp his eye, how clear his head, how terrible

he could be in battle, how friendly over the cup, and how superior he

was even to the Greekling in shrewdness. But the old Eagle's wings have

become heavy. His battle-years weigh upon him; for he and you, and all

your race, cannot bear years like I and my play-fellows; he lies sick

in soul and body, mysteriously sick, in his golden hall down there in

the Raven-town. The physicians say that though his arm be yet strong,

any beat of his heart may kill him with lightning-like rapidity, and

with any setting sun he may journey down to the dead. And who is his

heir? who will then uphold this kingdom? Amalaswintha, his daughter;

and Athalaric, his grandson; a woman and a child!"

"The Princess is wise," said he with the helmet and the sword.

"Yes, she writes Greek to the Emperor, and speaks Latin with the pious

Cassiodorus. I doubt that she even thinks in Gothic. Woe to us, if she

should hold the rudder in a storm!"

"But I see no signs of storm, old man," laughed the torch-bearer, and

shook his locks. "From whence will it blow? The Emperor is again

reconciled, the Bishop of Rome is installed by the King himself, the

Frank princes are his nephews, the Italians are better off under our

shield than ever before. I see no danger anywhere."

"The Emperor Justinus is only a weak old man," said he of the sword,

assentingly. "I know him."

"But his nephew, who will soon be his successor, and is already his

right arm--knowest thou him? Unfathomable as the night and false as the

sea is Justinian! I know him well, and fear that which he meditates. I

accompanied the last embassy to Byzantium. He came to our camp; he

thought me drunk--the fool! he little knows what Hilding's child can

drink!--and he questioned me about everything which must be known in

order to undo us. Well, he got the right answer from me! But I know as

well as I know my name, that this man will again get possession of

Italy; and he will not leave in it even the footprint of a Goth!"

"If he can," grumblingly put in the brother of the fair youth.

"Right, friend Hildebad, if he can. And he can do much. Byzantium can

do much."

The other shrugged his shoulder

"Knowest thou _how_ much?" asked the old man angrily. "For twelve long

years our great King struggled with Byzantium and did not prevail. But

at that time thou wast not yet born," he added more quietly.

"Well," interposed the fair youth, coming to his brother's help, "but

at that time the Goths stood alone in the strange land. Now we have won

a second half. We have a home--Italy. We have brothers-at-arms--the

Italians!"

"Italy our home!" cried the old man bitterly; "yes, that is the

mistake. And the Italians our allies against Byzantium? Thou young

fool!"

"They were our King's own words," answered the rebuffed youth.

"Yes, yes; I know these mad speeches well, that will destroy us all. We

are as strange here to-day as forty years ago, when we descended from

the mountains; and we shall still be strangers in the land after

another thousand years. Here we shall be for ever 'the barbarians.'"

"That is true; but why do we remain barbarians? Whose fault is it but

ours? Why do we not learn from the Italians?"

"Be silent," cried the old man, trembling with wrath, "be silent,

Totila, with such thoughts; they have become the curse of my house!"

Painfully recovering himself, he continued: "The Italians are our

deadly enemies, not our brothers. Woe to us if we trust them! Oh that

the King had followed my counsel after his victory, and slain all who

could carry sword and shield, from the stammering boy to the stammering

old man! They will hate us eternally. And they are right. But we, we

are the fools to trust them."

There ensued a pause; the youth had become very grave, and asked:

"So thou holdest friendship to be impossible 'twixt them and us?"

"No peace between the sons of Gaul and the Southern folk! A man enters

the gold cave of a dragon--he holds the head of the dragon down with an

iron fist; the monster begs for life. The man feels compassion because

of his glittering scales, and feasts his eyes on the treasures of the

cavern. What will the poisonous reptile do? As soon as he can he will

sting him stealthily, so that he who spared him dies."

"Well then, let them come, the despicable Greeks!" shouted the gigantic

Hildebad; "let the race of vipers dart their forked tongues at us. We

will beat them down--so!" And he lifted his club and let it fall

heavily, so that the marble slab split into pieces, and the old temple

resounded with the blow.

"Yes, they shall try!" cried Totila, and from his eyes shone a martial

fire that made him look still more beautiful; "if these unthankful

Romans betray us, if the false Byzantines come," he looked with loving

pride at his strong brother, "see, old man, we have men like oaks!"

The old master-at-arms nodded, well pleased:

"Yes, Hildebad is very strong, though not quite as strong as Winither,

Walamer and others, who were young with me. Against North-men strength

is a good thing. But this Southern folk," he continued angrily, "fight

from towers and battlements. They carry on war as they might make a

reckoning, and at last they reckon a host of heroes into a corner,

where they can neither budge nor stir. I know one such arithmetician in

Byzantium, who is himself no man, but conquers men. Thou, too, knowest

him, Witichis?" So asking, he turned to the man with the sword.

"I know Narses," answered Witichis reflectively. He had become very

grave. "What thou hast said, son of Hilding, is, alas! too true. Such

thoughts have often crossed my mind, but confusedly, darkly, more a

horror than a thought. Thy words are undeniable; the King is at the

point of death--the Princess has Grecian sympathies--Justinian is on

the watch--the Italians are false as serpents--the generals of

Byzantium are magicians in art, but"--here he took a deep breath--"we

Goths do not stand alone. Our wise King has made friends and allies in

abundance. The King of the Vandals is his brother-in-law, the King of

the West Goths his grandson, the Kings of the Burgundians, the

Herulians, the Thuringians, the Franks, are related to him; all people

honour him as their father; the Sarmatians, even the distant Esthonians

on the Baltic, send him skins and yellow amber in homage. Is all

that----"

"All that is nothing! It is flattering words and coloured rags! Will

the Esthonians help us against Belisarius and Narses with their amber?

Woe to us, if we cannot win alone! These grandsons and sons-in-law

flatter as long as they tremble, and when they no more tremble, they

will threaten. I know the faith of kings! We have enemies around us,

open and secret, and no friends beyond ourselves."

A silence ensued, during which all gravely considered the old man's

words; the storm rushed howling round the weather-beaten columns and

shook the crumbling temple.

Then, looking up from the ground, Witichis was the first to speak:

"The danger is great," said he, firmly and collectedly, "we will hope

not unavoidable. Certainly thou hast not bidden us hither to look

deedless at despair. There must be a remedy, so speak; how, thinkest

thou, can we help?"

The old man advanced a step towards him and took his hand:

"That's brave, Witichis, son of Waltari. I knew thee well, and will not

forget that thou wert the first to speak a word of bold assurance. Yes,

I too think we are not yet past help, and I have asked you all to come

here, where no Italian hears us, in order to decide upon what is best

to be done. First tell me your opinion, then I will speak."

As all remained silent, he turned to the man with the black locks:

"If thy thoughts are ours, speak, Teja! Why art thou ever silent?"

"I am silent because I differ from you."

The others were amazed. Hildebrand spoke:

"What dost thou mean, my son?"

"Hildebad and Totila do not see any danger; thou and Witichis see it

and hope; but I saw it long ago, and have no hope."

"Thou seest too darkly; who dare despair before the battle?" said

Witichis.

"Shall we perish with our swords in the sheath, without a struggle and

without fame?" cried Totila.

"Not without a struggle, my Totila, and not without fame, I am sure,"

answered Teja, slightly swinging his battle-axe. "We will fight so that

it shall never be forgotten in all future ages; fight with highest

fame, but without victory. The star of the Goths is setting."

"Meseems, on the contrary, that it will rise very high," cried Totila

impatiently. "Let us go to the King; speak to him, Hildebrand, as thou

hast spoken to us. He is wise; he will devise means."

The old man shook his head:

"I have spoken to him twenty times. He listens no more. He is tired and

will die, and his soul is darkened, I know not by what shadows. What is

thy advice, Hildebad?"

"I think," answered Hildebad, proudly raising his head, "that as soon

as the old lion has closed his tired eyes, we arm two hosts. Witichis

and Teja lead the one before Byzantium and burn it down; with the other

I and my brother climb the Alps and destroy Paris, that dragon's nest

of the Merovingians, and make it a heap of stones for ever. Then there

will be peace in East and West."

"We have no ships against Byzantium," said Witichis.

"And the Franks are seven to one against us," said Hildebrand. "But thy

intentions are valiant, Hildebad. Say, what advisest thou, Witichis?"

"I advise a league--weighted with oaths, secured with hostages--of all

the Northern races against the Greeks."

"Thou believest in fidelity, because thou thyself art true. My friend,

only the Goths can help the Goths. But they must be reminded that they

_are_ Goths. Listen to me. You are all young, love all manner of

things, and have many pleasures. One loves a woman, another weapons, a

third has some hope or some grief which is to him as a beloved one. But

believe me, a time will come--it may be during your young days--when

all these joys and even pains will become worthless as faded wreaths

from yesterday's banquet.

"Then many will become soft and pious, forget that which is on earth,

and strive for that which is beyond the grave. But that neither you nor

I can do. I love the earth, with mountain and wood and meadow and

rushing stream; and I love life, with all its hate and long love, its

tenacious anger and dumb pride. Of the ethereal life in the wind-clouds

which is taught by the Christian priests, I know, and will know,

nothing. But there is one possession--when all else is gone--which a

true man never loses. Look at me. I am a leafless trunk. I have lost

all that rejoiced my life; my wife is dead long since; my sons, my

grandchildren are dead: except one, who is worse than dead--who has

become an Italian.

"All, all are gone, and now my first love and last pride, my great

King, descends tired into his grave. What keeps me still alive? What

gives me still courage and will? What drives _me_, an old man, up to

this mountain in this night of storm like a youth? What glows beneath

my icy beard with pure love, with stubborn pride, and with defiant

sorrow? What but the impulse that lies indestructible in our blood,

the deep impulsion and attraction to my people, the glowing and

all-powerful love of the race that is called Goth; that speaks the

noble, sweet, and homely tongue of my parents! This love of race

remains like a sacrificial fire in the heart, when all other flames are

extinguished; this is the highest sentiment of the human heart; the

strongest power in the human soul, true to the death and invincible!"

The old man had spoken with enthusiasm--his hair floated on the

wind--he stood like an old priest of the Huns amongst the young men,

who clenched their hands upon their weapons.

At last Teja spoke: "Thou art in the right; these flames still glow

when all else is spent. They burn in thee--in us--perhaps in a hundred

other hearts amongst our brothers; but can this save a whole people?

No! And can these fires seize the mass, the thousands, the hundred

thousands?"

"They can, my son, they can! Thanks to the gods, that they can!--Hear

me. It is now five-and-forty years ago that we Goths, many hundred

thousands, were shut up with our wives and children in the ravines of

the Haemus. We were in the greatest need.

"The King's brother had been beaten and killed in a treacherous attack

by the Greeks, and all the provisions that he was to bring to us were

lost. We lay in the rocky ravines and suffered such hunger, that we

cooked grass and leather. Behind us rose the inaccessible precipices;

before, and to the left of us, the sea; to the right, in a narrow pass,

lay the enemy, threefold our number. Many thousands of us were

destroyed by famine or the hardships of the winter; twenty times had we

vainly tried to break through the pass.

"We almost despaired. Then there came a messenger from the Emperor to

the King, and offered us life, freedom, wine, bread, meat--under one

condition: that, separated from each other, four by four, we should be

scattered over the whole Roman Empire; none of us should ever again woo

a Gothic woman; none should ever again teach his child our tongue or

customs; the name and being of Goth should cease to exist, we should

become Romans.

"The King sprang up, called us together, and reported this condition

to us in a flaming speech, and asked at the end, whether we would

rather give up the language, customs and life of our people, or die

with him? His words spread like wildfire, the people shouted like a

hundred-voiced tumultuous sea; they brandished their weapons, rushed

into the pass; the Greeks were swept away as if they had never stood

there, and we were victors and free!"

His eyes glittered with pride; after a pause he continued:

"It is this alone which can save us now as then; if once the Goths feel

that they fight for their nationality, and to protect the secret jewel

that lies in the customs and speech of a people, like a miraculous

well-spring, then they may laugh at the hate of the Greeks and the

wiles of the Italians. And, first of all, I ask you solemnly: Do you

feel as strongly convinced as I do, that this love of our people is our

highest aim, our dearest treasure, our strongest shield? Can you say

with me: My people is to me the highest, all else is nothing; to my

people I will sacrifice all that I have and am. Will you say this, and

can you do it?"

"We will; we can!" cried the four men.

"'Tis well," continued the old man. "But Teja is right, all Goths do

not feel this as we do, and yet, if it is to be of any use, all _must_

feel it. Therefore swear to me, to fill with the spirit of this hour

all those with whom you live and act, from now henceforward. Too many

of our folk have been dazzled by the foreign splendour; many have

donned Grecian clothing and Roman thoughts; they are ashamed to be

called barbarians; they wish to forget, and to make it forgotten, that

they are Goths--woe to the fools! They have torn their hearts out of

their bosoms, and yet wish to live; they are like leaves that have

proudly loosened themselves from the parent stem. The wind will come

and blow them into the mire and dirt to decay; but the stem will still

stand in the midst of the storm, and will keep alive whatever clings to

it faithfully. Therefore awaken and warn the people. Tell the boys the

legends of their forefathers, relate the battles of the Huns, the

victories over the Romans; show the men the threatening danger, and

that nationality alone is our shield; warn your sisters that they may

embrace no Roman and no would-be Roman; teach your wives and your

brides that they must sacrifice everything, even themselves and you, to

the fortune of the good Goths, so that when the enemy come, they may

find a strong, proud, united people, against which they shall break

themselves like waves upon a rock. Will you aid me in this?"

"Yes," they cried, "we will!"

"I believe you," continued the old man; "I believe you on your mere

word. Not to bind you faster--for what can bind the false?--but because

I cling to old custom, and because _that_ succeeds best which is done

after the manner of our forefathers--follow me."

CHAPTER II.

Hildebrand took the torch from the column, and went across the inner

space, past the cella of the temple, past the ruined high altar, past

the bases of the statues of the gods--long since fallen--to the

porticum or back of the edifice. Silently his companions followed the

old man, who led them down the steps into the open field.

After a short walk they stopped under an ancient holm, whose mighty

boughs held off storm and rain like a roof.

A strange sight presented itself under this oak, which, however, at

once reminded the old man's Gothic companions of a custom of ancient

heathen times in their distant Northern home.

Under the oak a strip of thick turf, only a foot broad, but several

yards long, had been cut loose from the ground; the two ends of the

strip still lay in the shallow ditch thus formed, but in the middle it

was raised over and supported by three long spears of unequal length,

which were fixed into the ground, the tallest spear being in the

middle, so that the whole arrangement formed a triangle, under which

several men could stand commodiously between the shafts of the spears.

In the ditch stood a brazen cauldron filled with water, near it lay a

pointed and sharp butcher's knife, of extremely ancient form; the haft

was made of the horn of the ure-ox, the blade of flint.

The old man came forward, stuck the torch into the earth close to the

cauldron, and then stepped, right foot foremost, into the ditch; he

turned to the east and bent his head, then he beckoned to his friends

to join him, putting his finger to his lip in sign of silence. Without

a sound the four men stepped into the ditch beside him, Witichis and

Teja to his right, the two brothers to his left, and all five joined

hands in a solemn chain.

Then the old man loosened his hands from those of Witichis and

Hildebad, who stood next to him, and knelt down. First he took up a

handful of the black mould and threw it over his left shoulder; then he

dipped his other hand into the cauldron and sprinkled the water to the

right behind him. After this he blew into the windy night-air that

rustled in his long beard; and, lastly, he swung the torch from right

to left over his head. Then he again stuck it into the earth and spoke

in murmuring tones:

"Hear me, ancient earth, welling water, ethereal air, flickering flame!

Listen to me well and preserve my words. Here stand five men of the

race of Graut, Teja and Totila, Hildebad and Hildebrand, and Witichis,

Waltari's son.

"We stand here in a quiet hour

To bind a bond between blood-brethren,

For ever and ever and every day.

In closest communion as kindred companions.

In friendship and feud, in revenge and right.

One hope, one hate, one love, one lament,

As we drop to one drop

Our blood as blood-brethren."

At these words he bared his left arm, the others did the same; close

together they stretched their five arms over the cauldron, the old man

lifted the sharp flint-knife, and with one stroke scratched the skin of

his own and the others' forearms, so that the blood of all flowed in

red drops into the brazen cauldron. Then they retook their former

positions, and the old man continued murmuring:

"And we swear the solemn oath,

To sacrifice all that is ours,

House, horse, and armour,

Court, kindred, and cattle,

Wife, weapons, and wares,

Son, and servants, and body, and life,

To the glance and glory of the race of Gaut,

To the good Goths.

And who of us would withdraw

From honouring the oath with all sacrifices--"

here he, and at a sign, the others also, stepped out of the ditch from

under the strip of turf--

"His red blood shall run unrevenged

Like this water under the wood-sod--"

he lifted the cauldron, poured its bloody contents into the ditch, and

then took it out, together with the other implements--

"Upon his head shall the halls of Heaven

Crash cumbrous down and crush him,

Solid as this sod."

At one stroke he struck down the three supporting lance-shafts, and

dully fell the heavy turf-roof back into the ditch. The five men now

placed themselves again on the spot thus covered by the turf, with

their hands entwined, and the old man said in more rapid tones:

"Whosoever does not keep this oath; whosoever does not protect his

blood-brother like his own brother during his life, and revenge his

death; whosoever refuses to sacrifice everything that he possesses to

the people of the Goths, when called upon to do so by a brother in case

of necessity, shall be for ever subject to the eternal and infernal

powers which reign under the green grass of the earth; good men shall

tread with their feet over the perjurer's head, and his name shall be

without honour wherever Christian folk ring bells and heathen folk

offer sacrifices, wherever mothers caress their children and the wind

blows over the wide world. Say, companions, shall it be thus with the

vile perjurer?"

"Thus shall it be with him," repeated the four men.

After a grave pause, Hildebrand loosened the chain of their hands, and

said:

"That you may know why I bade you come hither, and how sacred this

place is to me, come and see."

With this he lifted the torch and went before them behind the mighty

trunk of the oak, in front of which they had taken the oath. Silently

his friends followed, and saw with astonishment, that, exactly in a

line with the turfy ditch in which they had stood, there yawned a wide

and open grave, from which the slab of stone had been rolled away. At

the bottom, shining ghastly in the light of the torch, lay three long

white skeletons; a few rusty pieces of armour, lance-points, and

shield-bosses lay beside them.

The men looked with surprise; now into the grave, now at Hildebrand. He

silently held the torch over the chasm for some minutes. At last he

said quietly:

"My three sons. They have lain here for more than thirty years. They

fell on this mountain in the last battle for the city of Ravenna. They

fell in the same hour; to-day is the day. They rushed with joyous

shouts against the enemies' spears--for their people."

He ceased. The men looked down with emotion. At last the old man drew

himself up and glanced at the sky.

"It is enough," said he, "the stars are paling. Midnight is long since

past. You three return into the city. Thou, Teja, wilt surely remain

with me; to thee, more than to any other, is given the gift of sorrow,

as of song; and keep with me the guard of honour beside the dead."

Teja nodded, and sat down without a word at the foot of the grave, just

where he was standing. The old man gave Totila the torch, and leaned

opposite Teja against the stone slab. The other three signed to him

with a parting gesture. Gravely, and buried in deep thought, they

descended to the city.

CHAPTER III.

A few weeks after this midnight meeting near Ravenna an assembly took

place in Rome; just as secret, also under protection of night, but held

by very different persons for very different aims.

It took place on the Appian Way, near the C[oe]meterium of St.

Calixtus, in a half-ruined passage of the Catacombs; those mysterious

underground ways, which almost make a second city under the streets and

squares of Rome.

These secret vaults--originally old burial-places, often the refuge of

young Christian communities--are so intricate, and their crossings,

terminations, exits, and entrances so difficult to thread, that they

can only be entered under the guidance of some one intimately

acquainted with their inner recesses.

But the men, whose secret intercourse we are about to watch, feared no

danger. They were well led. For it was Silverius, the Catholic

archdeacon of the old church of St. Sebastian, who had led his friends

direct from the crypt of his basilica down a steep staircase into this

branch of the vaults; and the Roman priests had the reputation of

having studied the windings of these labyrinths since the days of the

first confessor.

The persons assembled also seemed not to have met there for the first

time; the gloom of the place made little impression upon them.

Indifferently they leaned against the walls of the dismal semi-circular

room, which, scantily lighted by a hanging lamp of bronze, formed the

termination of the low passage. Indifferently they heard the drops of

damp fall from the roof to the floor, or, when their feet now and then

struck against white and mouldering bones, they calmly pushed them to

one side.

Besides Silverius, there were present a few other orthodox priests, and

a number of aristocratic Romans, nobles of the Western Empire, who had

remained for centuries in almost hereditary possession of the higher

dignities of the state and city.

Silently and attentively they observed the movements of the archdeacon;

who, after having mustered those present, and thrown several searching

glances into the neighbouring passages--where might be seen, keeping

watch in the gloom, some youths in clerical costume--now evidently

prepared to open the assembly in form.

Yet once again he went up to a tall man who leaned motionless against

the wall opposite to him, and with whom he had repeatedly exchanged

glances; and when this man had replied to a questioning gesture by a

silent nod, he turned to the others and spoke.

"Beloved in the name of the triune God! Once again are we assembled

here to do a holy work. The sword of Edom is brandished over our heads,

and King Pharaoh pants for the blood of the children of Israel. We,

however, do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the

soul, we fear much more those who may destroy both body and soul in

hell-fire. We trust, during the terrors of night, to His help who led

His people through the wilderness, in the day by a cloud of smoke, at

night by a pillar of fire. And to this we will hold fast: that what we

suffer, we suffer for God's sake; what we do, we do to the honour of

His name. Thanks to Him, for He has blest our zeal. Small as those of

the Gospel were our beginnings, but we are already grown like a tree by

the fresh water-springs. With fear and trembling we first assembled

here; great was our danger, weak our hope; noble blood of the best has

been shed; to-day, if we remain firm in faith, we may boldly say that

the throne of King Pharaoh is supported on reeds, and that the days of

the heathen are counted in the land."

"To business!" interrupted a young man with short curly black hair and

brilliant black eyes. Impatiently he threw his _sagum_ (or short cloak)

back over his right shoulder, so that his broad sword became visible.

"To business, priest! What shall be done to-night?"

Silverius cast a look at the youth, which, with all its unctuous

repose, could not quite conceal his lively dissatisfaction at such bold

independence. In a sharp tone of voice he continued:

"Those who do not believe in the holiness of our aim, should not, were

it only for the sake of their own worldly aims, try to disturb the

belief of others in its sanctity. But to-night, my Licinius, my hasty

young friend, a new and highly welcome member is to be added to our

league; his accession is a visible sign of the grace of God."

"Who will you introduce? Are the conditions fulfilled? Do you answer

for him unconditionally, or have you other surety?" So asked another of

those present, a man of ripe years with regular features, who, a staff

between his feet, sat quietly on a projection of the wall.

"I answer for him, my Scaevola; besides, his person? is sufficient----"

"Nothing of the sort. The statutes of our league demand surety, and I

insist upon it," said Scaevola quietly.

"Good, good; I will be surety, toughest of all jurists!" repeated the

priest with a smile.

He made a sign towards one of the passages to the left.

From thence appeared two young _ostiarii_ (doorkeepers), leading a man

into the middle of the vault, upon whose covered head all eyes were

fixed. After a pause, Silverius lifted the cover from the head and

shoulders of the new comer.

"Albinus!" cried the others, in surprise, indignation, and anger.

Young Licinius grasped his sword; Scaevola slowly rose; confused

exclamations sounded from all sides.

"What! Albinus, the traitor?"

The reviled man looked shyly about him; his relaxed features announced

inborn cowardice; as if beseeching help he turned his eyes towards the

priest.

"Yes, Albinus!" said the latter quietly, thus appealed to. "Will any

one of the colleagues speak against him? Let him speak."

"By my Genius!" cried Licinius, before any one could reply, "needs it

to be told? We all know who and what Albinus is. A cowardly shameful

traitor"--anger suffocated his voice.

"Invectives are no proof," interposed Scaevola. "But I ask himself; he

shall confess here before us all. Albinus, was it you, or was it not,

who, when the existence of our league was betrayed to the tyrant and

you alone were accused, looked quietly on and saw the noble Boethius

and Symmachus, our confederates, because they defended you against the

tyrant, despoiled of their fortune, persecuted, taken prisoners and

executed; while you, the really accused, saved yourself by taking a

shameful oath that you would never more trouble yourself about the

state, and by suddenly disappearing? Speak, was it you for whose sake

the pride of our fatherland fell?"

A murmur of indignation went through the assembly. The accused remained

dumb and trembled; even Silverius lost countenance for a moment.

Then the man who was leaning against the wall opposite, raised himself

and took a step forward; his mere vicinity seemed to embolden the

priest, who again began:

"Friends, what you say has happened, but not as you say it. Before all

things, know this: Albinus is the _least_ to blame. What he did, he did

by my advice."

"By your advice!"

"You dare to confess it?"

"Albinus was accused through the treachery of a slave, who had

deciphered the secret writing in the letters to Byzantium. All the

tyrant's suspicion was aroused; every appearance of resistance or of

connection would increase the danger. The impetuosity of Boethius and

Symmachus, who courageously defended Albinus, was noble but foolish,

for it revealed to the barbarians the sentiments of the whole of the

Roman aristocracy; and showed that Albinus did not stand alone. They

acted against my advice, and alas! have suffered death for so doing.

But their zeal was superfluous; for the hand of the Lord suddenly

bereft the slave of life before further revelations, and the secret

writings of Albinus had been successfully destroyed before his arrest.

"But do you believe that Albinus would have been silent under torture,

under the threat of death, if naming his co-conspirators could have

saved him? You do not believe it, Albinus himself did not believe it.

Therefore it was necessary, before all else, to gain time and to

prevent the use of torture. This was accomplished by his oath.

Meanwhile, it is true, Boethius and Symmachus suffered; they could not

be saved; but of their silence, even under torture, we were sure.

"Albinus was freed from his prison by a miracle, like St. Paul at

Philippi. It was said that he had escaped to Athens, and the tyrant was

contented with prohibiting his return. But the triune God has prepared

a refuge for him here in His temple until the hour of freedom

approaches. In the solitude of His sacred asylum the Lord has touched

his heart in a wonderful manner, and, undismayed by the danger of

death, which once before had so nearly overtaken him, he again enters

into our circle, and offers to the service of God and the fatherland

his whole immense fortune. Listen: he has made over all his property to

the church of St. Maria Majoris for the uses of our league. Would you

despise him and his millions?"

A pause of astonishment ensued; at last Licinius cried:

"Priest, you are as wise as----as a priest. But such wisdom pleases me

not."

"Silverius," said the jurist, "you may take the millions. It is fitting

that you should do so. But I was the friend of Boethius; it is not

fitting that I should have anything in common with that coward. I

cannot forgive him. Away with him!"

"Away with him!" sounded from all sides. Scaevola had given utterance to

the sentiment of all present. Albinus grew pale; even Silverius quailed

under this general indignation. "Cethegus!" whispered he, claiming

assistance.

This man, who, until now, had remained silent and had only regarded the

speakers with cool superiority, now stepped into the middle of the

assembly.

He was tall and lean, but powerful, with a broad breast and muscles of

pure steel.

A purple hem on his toga and delicate sandals betrayed riches, rank and

taste, but a long brown soldier's mantle hid the remainder of his

underclothing. His head was one of those which, once seen, are never

again forgotten. His thick and still glossy black hair was cut short,

after Roman fashion, round his lofty, almost too prominent forehead and

nobly-formed temples. Deep under his finely-arched brows were hidden

his narrow eyes, in whose undecided dark-grey colour lay a whole ocean

of sunken passions and a still more pronounced expression of the

coolest self-control. Round his sharply cut and beardless lips lurked a

trait of proud contempt of God and His whole creation.

As he stepped forward, and, with quiet distinction, allowed his eyes to

wander over the excited assembly; as he commenced his insinuating yet

commanding speech, every one felt his superiority, and few could remain

in his presence without a consciousness of subordination.

"Why do you wrangle," he said coldly, "about things that must be done?

Who wills the end, must will the means. You will not forgive? As you

please! That is of little consequence. But you must and you can forget.

I also was a friend of the dead, perhaps their dearest. And yet--I

will forget. I do so just because I was their friend. _He_ loves

them, Scaevola, and he alone, who avenges them. For the sake of

revenge---- Albinus, your hand!"

All were silent, awed more by the personality than convinced by the

reasons of the speaker.

But the jurist still objected:

"Rusticiana, the influential woman, the widow of Boethius, the daughter

of Symmachus, is favourable to our league. Will she remain so if this

man enters it? Can she ever forget and forgive? Never!"

"She can. Do not believe me, believe your eyes."

With these words Cethegus quickly turned and entered one of the

side-passages, whose opening had been hidden until now by his own

person.

Close to the entrance a veiled figure stood listening; he caught her

hand:

"Come," whispered he, "come now."

"I cannot! I will not!" was the almost inaudible answer of the

resisting woman. "I curse him! I cannot look at him, the wretch!"

"It must be. Come; you can and you shall--for I will have it so." He

threw back her veil; one look, and she followed as if deprived of the

power of will.

They turned the corner of the entrance:

"Rusticiana!" cried the whole assembly.

"A woman in our meeting!" exclaimed the jurist. "It is against the

statutes, the laws."

"Yes, Scaevola; but the laws are made for the league, not the league for

the laws. And you would never have believed from _me_, that which you

now see with your own eyes."

He laid the widow's hand within the trembling right hand of Albinus.

"Look! Rusticiana forgives! Who will now resist?"

Vanquished and overruled, all remained silent. For Cethegus all further

proceedings seemed to have lost interest. He retired into the

background with Rusticiana. But the priest now said:

"Albinus is a member of the league."

"And the oath that he swore to the tyrant?" hesitatingly asked Scaevola.

"Was forced, and he is absolved from it by Holy Church. But now it is

time to depart. Let us only conclude the most pressing business. Here,

Licinius, is the plan of the fortress of Neapolis: you must have it

copied by to-morrow; it goes to Belisarius. Here, Scaevola, letters from

Byzantium, from Theodora, the pious wife of Justinian: you must answer

them. Here, Calpurnius, is an assignment of half a million _solidi_

from Albinus: you will send them to the Frankish major domus; he has

great influence with his king. Here, Pomponius, is a list of the

patriots in Dalmatia; you know men and things there, take notice if

important names are omitted. And be it known to all of you, that,

according to news received to-day from Ravenna, the hand of the Lord

lies heavy on the tyrant. Deep melancholy, too tardy remorse for all

his sins, oppresses him, and the consolations of the true faith have

not yet penetrated into his soul. Have patience but a little while; the

angry voice of the Judge will soon summon him; then comes the day of

freedom. At the next Ides, at the same hour, we shall meet here again.

The blessing of the Lord be with you!"

A motion of his hand dismissed the assembly; the young priests came out

of the side-passage with torches, and led the members, each one singly,

in different directions, to the secret exits of the Catacombs.

CHAPTER IV.

Silverius, Cethegus, and Rusticiana went together up the steps which

led to the crypt of the basilica of St. Sebastian. From thence they

passed through the church into the adjoining house of the archdeacon.

On arriving there, Silverius convinced himself that all the inhabitants

of the house were asleep, with the exception of an old slave, who was

watching in the atrium near a half-extinguished lamp. At a sign from

his master he lighted a silver lamp which stood near him, and pressed a

secret spring in the marble wainscot of the room.

A slab of marble turned on its hinges and allowed the priest who had

taken up the lamp to pass, with his two companions, into a small, low

chamber, and then quickly and noiselessly closed behind them, leaving

no trace of an opening.

The small chamber, now simply adorned by a tall wooden crucifix, a

fall-stool, and a few plain Christian symbols on a golden background,

had evidently, as the cushioned shelf which ran round the walls showed,

served for those small banquets of one or two guests, whose

unrestrained comfort Horace has so often celebrated in song. At the

time of which I speak it was the private chamber in which the

archdeacon brooded over his most secret priestly or worldly plans.

Cethegus silently seated himself on the _lectus_ (a small couch),

throwing the superficial glance of a critic at a Mosaic picture

inserted into the opposite wall. While the priest was occupied in

pouring wine from an amphora with large curving handles into some cups

which stood ready, and placing a metal dish of fruit on the bronze

tripod table, Rusticiana stood opposite Cethegus, measuring him with an

expression of astonishment and indignation.

Scarcely forty years of age, this woman showed traces of a rare--and

rather manly--beauty, which had suffered less from time than from

violent passions. Here and there her raven-black braids were streaked

with white, not grey, and strong lines lay round the mobile corners of

her mouth.

She leaned her left hand on the table, and meditatively stroked her

brow with her right, while she gazed at Cethegus. At last she spoke.

"Tell me, tell me, Cethegus, what power is this that you have over me?

I no more love you. I ought to hate you. I do hate you. And yet I must

involuntarily obey you, like a bird under the fascinating eye of a

snake. And you place my hand, _this_ hand, in that of that miserable

man! Say, you evil-doer, what is this power?"

Cethegus was inattentively silent. At last, leaning back, he said:

"Habit, Rusticiana, habit."

"Truly, 'tis habit! The habit of a slavery that has existed ever since

I can remember. It was natural that as a girl I should admire the

handsome son of our neighbours; that I believed in your love was

excusable, did you not kiss me? And who could--at that time--know that

you were incapable of loving anything--even yourself? That the wife of

Boethius did not smother the mad passion which, as if in sport, you

again fanned into a flame, was a sin; but God and the Church have

forgiven it. But that I should still, after knowing for years your

utter heartlessness, when the glow of passion is extinguished in my

veins, that I should still most blindly follow your demoniac will--that

is folly enough to make me laugh aloud."

And she laughed wildly, and pressed her right hand to her brow.

The priest stopped in his domestic occupations and looked stealthily at

Cethegus. He was intensely interested.

Cethegus leaned his head back against the marble moulding, and with his

right hand grasped the drinking-cup which stood before him.

"You are unjust, Rusticiana," he said quietly, "and confused. You mix

the sports of Eros with the works of Eris and the Fates. You know that

I was the friend of Boethius, although I kissed his wife. Perhaps just

for that reason. I see nothing particular in that. And you--well,

Silverius and the saints have forgiven you. You know further, that I

hate these Goths, mortally hate them; that I have the will and--more

than all others--the power to carry through that which is now your

greatest wish, to revenge your father, whom you loved, and your

husband, whom you honoured, on these barbarians.

"Therefore you obey my instigations, and you are wise in so doing; for

you have a decided talent for intrigue, but your impetuosity often

clouds your judgment. It spoils your finest plans. Therefore it is well

that you follow cooler guidance. That is all. But now go. Your slave is

crouching, drunk with sleep, in the vestibule. She believes that you

are in the confessional with friend Silverius. The confession must not

last too long. And we also have business to transact. Greet Camilla,

your lovely child, for me, and farewell."

He rose, took her hand, and led her gently to the door. She followed

reluctantly, nodded to the priest at parting, looked once more at

Cethegus, who appeared not to observe her inward emotion, and went out,

slightly shaking her head.

Cethegus sat down again and emptied his cup of wine.

"A strange struggle in this woman's nature," remarked Silverius, and

sat down by Cethegus with stylus, wax-tablets, letters and documents.

"It is not strange. She wishes to atone for having wronged her husband

by avenging him," said Cethegus. "And that she can accomplish this by

means of her former lover, makes the sacred duty doubly sweet. To be

sure, she is not conscious of it.--But what have we to do?"

The two men now began their business: to consider such points of the

conspiracy as they did not judge advisable to communicate to all the

members of the league.

"At present," began the archdeacon, "it is above all things necessary

to ascertain the amount of this fortune of Albinus, and decide upon its

appropriation. We assuredly require money, much money."

"Money affairs are your province,"--said Cethegus, drinking. "I

understand them, of course, but they annoy me."

"Further," continued Silverius, "the most influential men in Sicilia,

Neapolis, and Apulia must be won over to our cause. Here is the list of

their names, with notes annexed. There are men amongst them who are not

to be allured by the usual means."

"Give it to me," said Cethegus, "I will manage that," And he cut up a

Persian apple.

After an hour's hard work, the most pressing business was settled, and

the host replaced the documents, in a secret drawer in the wall behind

the crucifix.

The priest was tired, and looked with envy at his companion, whose

powerful frame and indefatigable spirit no late hours or exertion

seemed able to exhaust.

He expressed something of the sort, as Cethegus again filled the silver

cup.

"Practice, friend, strong nerves, and," added Cethegus, smiling, "a

good conscience; that is the whole secret."

"Yes, but in earnest, Cethegus, you are a riddle to me in other

respects."

"I should hope so."

"Oh ho! do you consider yourself such a superior being that I cannot

fathom you?"

"Not at all. But still sufficiently deep to be to others no less a

riddle than--to myself. Your pride in your knowledge of mankind may be

at ease. I am no wiser about myself than you are. Only fools are

transparent."

"In fact," said the priest, expatiating on the subject, "the key to

your nature must be difficult to find. For example, look at the members

of our league. It is easy to say what motives have led them to join us.

The hot young courage of a Licinius; the pig-headed but honest sense of

justice of a Scaevola; as for myself and the other priests--our zeal for

the honour of God."

"Naturally," said Cethegus, drinking.

"Others are induced by ambition, or are in hopes that they may cut off

the heads of their creditors in a civil war; or they are tired of the

orderly condition of this country under the Goths, or have been

offended by one of these foreigners. Most of them have a natural

repugnance to the barbarians, and are in the habit of seeing in the

Emperor alone the master of Italy. But none of these reasons apply to

you, and----"

"And," interrupted Cethegus, "that is very uncomfortable, is it not?

For by knowledge of their motives one can govern men. Well, I am sorry,

reverend friend, but I cannot help you. I really do not know myself

what my motive is. I am so curious about it, that I would gladly tell

it to you--and allow myself to be governed--if I could only find it

out. Only one thing I feel--that these Goths are my antipathy. I hate

these full-blooded fellows, with their broad flaxen beards. I cannot

bear their brutal good humour, their ingenuous youthfulness, their

stupid heroism, their unbroken natures. It is the impudence of chance,

which governs the world, that this country, after such a history,

possessing men like--like you and me--should be ruled by these Northern

bears!"

He tossed his head indignantly, closed his eyes, and sipped a small

quantity of wine.

"That the barbarians must go, we are agreed," said Silverius, "and with

this, all is gained as far as I am concerned. For I only await the

deliverance of the Church from these heretical barbarians, who deny the

divinity of Christ, and make Him a demi-god. I hope that the primacy of

all Christendom will, as is fitting, incontestably fall to the share of

the Roman Church. But as long as Rome is in the power of the heretics,

while the Bishop of Byzantium is supported by the only orthodox and

legitimate Emperor----"

"The Bishop of Rome cannot be the first Bishop of Christendom, nor the

master of Italy; and therefore the Roman Apostolic See, even when

occupied by a Silverius, cannot be what it ought to be--the highest.

And yet that is what Silverius wishes."

The priest looked up in surprise.

"Do not be uneasy, reverend friend. I knew this long ago, and have kept

your secret, although you did not confide it to me. But further----" He

again filled his cup. "Your Falernian has been well stored, but it is

too sweet.--Properly speaking, you can but wish that these Goths may

evacuate the throne of the Caesars, and not that the Byzantines should

take their place; for in that case the Bishop of Rome would have again

a superior bishop and an emperor in Byzantium. You must therefore,

instead of the Goths, wish--not for an Emperor--Justinian--but--what

else?"

"Either," eagerly interrupted Silverius, "a special Emperor of the

Western Empire----"

"Who, however," said Cethegus, completing the sentence, "would be only

a puppet in the hands of the holy Petrus----"

"Or a Roman republic, a State of the Church----"

"In which the Bishop of Rome is master, Italy the principal country,

and the barbarian kings in Gaul, Germany, and Spain the obedient sons

of the Church. All very fine, my friend. But first the enemy must be

annihilated, whose spoils you already divide. Therefore let us drink an

old Roman toast: 'Woe to the barbarians!'"

He rose and drank to the priest.

"But," he added, "the last night-watch creeps on, and my slaves must

find me in the morning in my bedchamber. Farewell!"

With this he drew the _cucullus_ (hood) of his mantle over his head and

departed.

His host looked after him. "A very important tool!" he said to himself.

"It is a good thing that he is only a tool. May he always remain so!"

Cethegus walked away from the Via Appia in a north-westerly direction,

towards the Capitol, beneath which, at the northern end of the Via

Sacra, his house was situated, to the north-east of the Forum Romanum.

The cool morning air played refreshingly over his brow. He threw open

his mantle and deeply inflated his strong broad chest.

"Yes, I am a riddle," he said to himself. "I join in a conspiracy and

go about by night, like a republican or a lover at twenty. And

wherefore? Who knows why he breathes? Because he must. And so I do what

I must. But one thing is certain, this priest may--perhaps must--become

Pope; but he must not remain so long, else farewell my scarcely-avowed

thoughts, which are yet but dreams and cloud-mists. Perhaps it may be

that from them will arise a storm that will decide my fate. See, it

lightens in the east! 'Tis well; I accept the omen!"

With these words he entered his house.

In his bed-chamber he found a letter on the cedar table before his bed,

tied with a silken string, and sealed with the royal seal. He cut the

string with his dagger, opened the double waxen tablets, and read:

"To Cethegus Caesarius, the Princeps Senatus, Marcus Aurelius

Cassiodorus, Senator.

"Our lord and king lies on his death-bed. His daughter and heiress,

Amalaswintha, wishes to speak with you before his end.

"You are to undertake the most important office in the kingdom.

"Hasten at once to Ravenna."

CHAPTER V.

Over the King's palace at Ravenna, with all its gloomy splendour and

inhospitable spaciousness, lay an air of breathless anxiety.

The old castle of the Caesars had suffered many disfiguring changes in

the course of centuries, and since the Gothic kings, with all their

Germanic courtiers, had taken the place of the emperors, it had

assumed a very inharmonious aspect, for many chambers, intended

for the peculiar customs of Roman life, stood, still retaining

the old magnificence of their arrangements, unused and neglected.

Cobwebs covered the mosaic of the rich baths of Honorius, and in the

toilet-chamber of Placidia the lizards climbed over the marble frames

of the silver mirrors on the walls. On the one side, the necessities of

a more warlike court had obliged the removal of many walls, in order to

change the small rooms of the ancient building into wider halls for

arsenals, banqueting and guard-rooms, and, on the other, neighbouring

houses had been joined to the palace by new walls, so as to create a

stronghold in the middle of the city.

In the dried-up _piscina maxima_ (large fish-pond) fair-haired boys now

romped, and in the marble halls of the _palaestra_[1] neighed the horses

of the Gothic guards. So the extensive edifice had the dismal

appearance partly of a scarcely-preserved ruin, and partly of a

half-finished new erection; and thus the palace of the present ruler

seemed a symbol of his Roman-Gothic kingdom, and of his whole

half-finished, half-decayed political creation.

On the day, however, on which Cethegus, after years of absence, once

again entered the house, there lay heavy upon it a cloud of anxiety,

sorrow and gloom, for its royal soul was departing from it.

The great man, who here had guided, for the space of a man's life, the

fate of Europe; who was wondered at, with love or with hate, by West

and by East; the hero of his age; the powerful Theodoric of Verona, of

whose name--even during his lifetime--Legend had possessed herself; the

great Amelung, King Theodoric, was about to die.

So said the physicians--if not to himself, yet to his nearest

relations--and the report soon spread in the great and populous city.

Although such an end to the secret sufferings of the aged King had been

long held possible, the news that the blow was at hand now filled all

hearts with the greatest excitement.

The faithful Goths were anxious and grieved, and a dull fear was the

predominating feeling even of the Roman population, for here in

Ravenna, in the immediate vicinity of the King, the Italians had had

frequent opportunities of admiring his mildness and generosity, and of

experiencing his beneficence.

And besides, it was feared that after the death of this King, who,

during his lifetime--with the single exception of the last contest with

the Emperor and the Senate, when Boethius and Symmachus bled--had

protected the Italians from the harshness and violence of his people--a

new rule of severity and oppression would commence on the part of the

Goths.

And, finally, another and more noble influence was at work; the

personality of this hero-King had been so grand, so majestic, that even

those who had often wished for the destruction of himself and his

kingdom, could not--at the moment when this luminary was about to be

extinguished--revel in a feeling of malicious joy, and were unable to

overcome a deep depression.

So, since early morning--when servants from the palace had been seen

rushing in all directions, and special messengers hurrying to the

houses of the most distinguished Goths and Romans--the town had been in

a state of great excitement.

Men stood together by pairs or in groups in the streets, squares and

baths, questioning or imparting to each other what they knew; trying to

detain some person of importance who came from the palace, and talking

of the grave consequences of the approaching catastrophe. Women and

children, urged by curiosity, crouched on the thresholds of the houses.

As the day advanced, even the populations of the nearest towns and

villages--principally consisting of sorrowing Goths--streamed into the

gates of the city to hear the news.

The counsellors of the King, pre-eminently the pretorian prefect,

Cassiodorus, who earned great praise for preserving order in those

days, had foreseen this excitement, and perhaps expected something

worse.

At midnight all the entrances to the palace had been closed, and

guarded by Goths. In the Forum Honorum, before the palace, a troop of

cavalry had been placed. On the broad marble steps that led up to the

grand colonnade of the principal entrance, lay, in picturesque groups,

strong companies of Gothic foot-soldiers, armed with shield and spear.

Only there, according to the order of Cassiodorus, could admittance

be gained to the palace, and only the two leaders of the

infantry--Cyprian, the Roman, and Witichis, the Goth, were allowed to

grant permission to enter.

It was to the first of these persons that Cethegus applied.

As he took the well-known way to the King's apartments, he found all

the Goths and Romans whose rank or importance had procured them

admittance, scattered in groups about the halls and corridors.

In the once noisy banqueting-hall the young leaders of the Gothic

hundreds and thousands stood together, silent and sorrowing, or

whispering their anxious inquiries, while here and there an elderly

man--a companion-at-arms of the dying hero--leaned in the niche of a

bow-window, seeking to hide his ungovernable sorrow. In the middle of

the hall stood--pressing his head against a pillar and weeping

loudly--a rich merchant of Ravenna. The King, now on the point of

death, had once pardoned him for joining in a conspiracy, and had

prevented his goods from being plundered by the enraged Goths.

Cethegus passed by them all with a cold glance of contempt.

In the next room--a saloon intended for the reception of foreign

embassies--he found a number of distinguished Goths--dukes, earls, and

other nobles--who evidently were assembled together to consult upon the

succession, and the threatened overthrow of all existing conditions.

There was the brave Duke Thulun, who had heroically defended the town

of Arles against the Franks; Ibba, the conqueror of Spain; and Pitza,

who had been victorious over the Bulgarians and Gepidians--all mighty

warriors, proud of their nobility, which was little less than that of

the royal house of Amelung; for they were of the house of Balthe,

which, through Alaric, had won the crown of the Visigoths; and no less

proud of their services in war, which had protected and extended the

kingdom.

Hildebad and Teja were with them. They were the leaders of the party

which had long since desired a more severe treatment of the Italians,

whom they at once hated and shunned; but had been forced, against their

will, to give way to the milder opinions of the King.

What looks of hatred shot from their eyes upon the aristocratic Roman

who now came to witness the death of the great Gothic hero!

Cethegus walked quietly past them, and lifted the heavy woollen curtain

that divided this from the next apartment--the ante-chamber of the

sick-room.

On entering, he greeted with a profound inclination a tall and queenly

woman, enveloped in a black mourning veil, who, grave and silent, but

composed and without tears, stood before a marble table covered with

records. It was Amalaswintha, the widowed daughter of Theodoric.

A woman above thirty years of age, she was still extremely, though

coldly, beautiful. She wore her rich dark hair parted and waved in the

fashion of the Greeks. Her high forehead, her large, open eyes, her

straight nose, the pride expressed in her almost manly features, and

the majesty of her full form, gave her an imposing dignity, and, clad

in a garment folded in true Grecian style, she resembled a Juno of

Polycletus which had descended from its pedestal. Her arm, more

supporting than supported, was laid within that of a youth of about

seventeen years of age--Athalaric, her son, the heir of the kingdom of

the Goths.

He did not resemble his mother, but had the nature of his unhappy

father, Eutharic, whom a wasting heart disease had hurried to the grave

in the bloom of life. For this reason, Amalaswintha saw with sorrow

that her son grew daily more like his father; and it was no longer a

secret at the court of Ravenna that all the signs of the disease were

already visible in the young man.

Athalaric was as beautiful as all the other members of this royal

house, descended from the gods. Heavy black eyebrows and long eyelashes

shaded his beautiful dark eyes, that now melted with an expression of

dreamy reverie, and now flashed with intellectual brilliancy. Dark

brown tangled locks hung over his pale temples, on which, when he was

excited, the blue veins swelled convulsively. On his noble brow

physical pain or sad resignation had traced deep lines, strange to see

on his youthful countenance. Marble paleness and vivid red quickly

alternated in his transparent cheeks. His tall but bent-frame generally

seemed to hang, so to speak, on its hinges, as if tired, and only at

times he drew himself up with startling suddenness.

He did not notice Cethegus, for, leaning on his mother's breast, he had

in his sadness flung his Grecian mantle over that young head, which was

soon destined to wear a crown.

At some distance from these two figures, near an open window that

afforded a view of the marble steps upon which lay the Gothic warriors,

stood, lost in thought, a woman--or was it a girl?--of surprising and

dazzling beauty; it was Mataswintha, the sister of Athalaric.

She resembled her mother in height and nobleness of form, but her more

sharply-cut features were filled with fiery and passionate life, which

was only slightly concealed under an aspect of artificial coldness.

Her figure, in which blooming fulness and delicate slenderness were

harmoniously blended, reminded one of that Artemis in the arms of

Endymion, in the group sculptured by Agesander, which, as legend

reports, was banished from the town by the Council of Rhodes because

the marble representation of the most perfect maidenly beauty and

highest sensuousness had driven the youths of the island to madness and

suicide. The magic of ripe virgin beauty trembled over the whole form

of Mataswintha. Her rich waving hair was of a dark-red colour, with a

glimmering metallic light upon it, and had such an extraordinary effect

that it had procured for the Princess, even amongst her own nation,

whose women were celebrated for their splendid golden locks, the

appellation of "Beautiful-hair." Her nose was finely-shaped, with

delicately-chiselled nostrils, which quivered at the slightest emotion;

and freshly bloomed the full and rosy lips of her lovely mouth. But the

most striking feature of this extraordinary beauty was the grey eye,

not so much on account of its changing colour as from the wonderful

expression with which, though generally lost in reverie, it could

sometimes flash with burning passion.

Indeed, as she stood there leaning against the window, in the

half-Hellenic, half-Gothic costume, which her fancy had combined, her

full white arm wound round the dark column of porphyry, and gazing

thoughtfully out into the evening air, her seductive beauty resembled

that of those irresistible wood or water-nymphs, whose enchanting power

of love has always been celebrated in Northern legend.

And so great was the power of this beauty, that even the burnt-out

bosom of Cethegus, who had long known the Princess, was moved to new

admiration as he entered.

But his attention was immediately claimed by Cassiodorus--the learned

and faithful minister of the King, the first representative of that

benevolent but hopeless policy of reconciliation, which had been

practised in the Gothic Kingdom for many years--who was standing near

Amalaswintha.

This old man, whose venerable and mild features were no less filled

with an expression of sorrow at the loss of his royal friend than by

anxiety for the future of the kingdom, rose, and went with tottering

steps towards Cethegus, who reverently bent his head.

The aged man's eyes rested upon him for some moments, swimming in

tears; at last he sank sighing upon the cold breast of Cethegus, who

despised him for this weakness.

"What a day!" complained Cassiodorus.

"A fateful day," said Cethegus gravely. "Strength and presence of mind

are necessary."

"You say truly, patrician, and speak like a Roman," said the Princess,

leaving Athalaric--"welcome!"

She gave him her hand, which did not tremble. Her eye was clear and

tearless.

"The disciple of the Stoics preserves, even on this day, the wisdom of

Zeno and her own composure," said Cethegus.

"Say, rather, that the grace of God wonderfully upholds her soul," said

Cassiodorus reprovingly.

"Patrician," began Amalaswintha, "the praetorian prefect has proposed you

to me for the performance of an important business. His word would be

sufficient, even had I not known you so long. You are the self-same

Cethegus who transposed the first two songs of the? 'AEneid' into

Grecian hexameters?"

"Infandum renovare jubes, regina, dolorem. A youthful sin, Queen," said

Cethegus, smiling. "I bought up all the copies and burnt them on the

day on which Tullia's translation appeared."

Tullia was the pseudonym of Amalaswintha. Cethegus knew it, but the

Princess had no suspicion of his knowledge. She was flattered in her

weakest point, and continued:

"You know how it stands with us. My father's moments are counted;

according to the report of the physicians, he may, although yet strong

and active, die at any moment. Athalaric here is the heir to his crown.

But until he has reached the proper age, I shall conduct the regency,

and act as his guardian."

"Such is the will of the King, and Goths and Romans have long since

agreed to this wise arrangement," said Cethegus.

"They did so, but the mob is fickle. The rough men despise the

government of a woman"--and at this thought Amalaswintha knit her brow

in anger.

"It is certainly contrary to the political principles both of Goths and

Romans," said Cassiodorus apologetically. "It is quite a new thing that

a woman----"

"Whatever may be thought about it, it is a fact," interposed the

Princess. "Nevertheless, I count on the fidelity of the Goths in

general, though single aristocratic individuals may aim at the crown. I

also fear nothing from the Italians here in Ravenna, nor in most towns.

But I fear--Rome and the Romans!"

The attention of Cethegus was arrested. His whole being was suddenly

excited, but his countenance remained impassive.

"Rome will never accustom herself to the rule of the Goths; she will

always resist us--how can it be otherwise?" added Amalaswintha.

It seemed as if the daughter of Theodoric had a Roman soul.

"Therefore we fear," concluded Cassiodorus, "that, at the news of the

vacancy of the throne, a movement may break out in Rome against the

regency, be it for annexation to Byzantium, be it for the election of

an Emperor of the Western Empire."

Cethegus, as if in reflection, cast down his eyes.

"For this reason," quickly interposed the Princess, "everything must be

done before the news reaches Rome. A faithful, energetic man must

receive the oaths of the garrison for me--I mean for my son; must take

possession of the most important gates and squares, intimidate the

Senate and the nobles, win the people to my cause, and irrevocably

confirm my dominion before it is menaced. And to effect this,

Cassiodorus has proposed--you. Speak; will you undertake it?"

At this moment the golden stylus which she held happened to fell to the

ground.

Cethegus stooped to pick it up.

He had only this one moment for the crowding thoughts that passed

through his mind on hearing this proposal.

Was the conspiracy in the Catacombs betrayed? Was he himself betrayed?

Was this a snare laid by the crafty and ambitious woman? Or were the

fools really so blind as to press this offer upon him? And if it were

so, what should he do? Should he seize the occasion? Should he strike

at once, in order to win Rome? And for whom? For Byzantium or for an

Emperor of the West? And who should it be? Or were things not yet ripe?

Should he, for this once, seemingly practise fidelity?

To resolve these and many other questions, he had only the one moment

in which he stooped.

But his quick mind needed no more. He had seen, while in the act of

stooping, the unsuspicious, trusting look of Cassiodorus, and, giving

the stylus to the Princess, he spoke with decision:

"Queen, I undertake the business."

"That is well," said the Princess.

Cassiodorus pressed his hand.

"When Cassiodorus proposed me for this office," continued Cethegus, "he

gave another proof of his deep knowledge of mankind. He has seen the

kernel through the shell."

"What do you mean?" asked Amalaswintha.

"Queen, appearances might have deceived him. I confess that I do not

like to see the barbarians--pardon, the Goths--reigning in Italy."

"This frankness honours you, and I pardon the feeling in a Roman."

"Besides that, I have taken no interest in public affairs for some

years. After having experienced varied passions, I now live in the calm

and retirement of my country villas, cultivating the sportive muse,

enjoying my books, and untroubled by the cares of kings."

"Beatus ille qui procul negotiis," quoted the learned lady, sighing.

"But, because I honour science, because I, a scholar of Plato, desire

that the wise should govern, I wish that a Queen should reign over my

fatherland who is only a Goth by birth, but in her soul a Greek, and by

her virtues a Roman. For her sake I will sacrifice my leisure to hated

business. But only on condition that this shall be my last office of

state. I will undertake your commission, and answer for Rome with my

head."

"Good; here you will find the legal documents which you will need."

Cethegus looked rapidly through the records.

"This is the manifesto of the young King to the Romans, with your

signature. _His_ is still wanting."

Amalaswintha dipped the Cnidian reed-pen into the vessel filled with

crimson ink, which was used by the Amelungs as well as by the Roman

Emperors.

"Come, write thy name, my son," she said.

Athalaric, standing and leaning with both arms on the table, had keenly

observed Cethegus during the above conversation. Now he stood erect. He

was accustomed to act with the usual arrogance of a Crown Prince and

the petulancy of an invalid.

"No," he said impatiently; "I will not write. Not only because I do

not trust this cold Roman--I do not trust you in the least, you proud

man--but it is revolting that, while my noble father still breathes,

you already quarrel about his crown. You dwarfs! About the crown of a

giant! Shame on your insensibility! Behind those curtains the greatest

hero of the century is dying, and you think already of the partition of

his garment!"

He turned his back upon them and went slowly to the window, where he

passed his arm round his lovely sister, and stroked her shining hair.

He stood there for some time; she did not notice him.

Suddenly she started from her reverie.

"Athalaric," she whispered, hastily grasping his arm, and pointing at

the marble staircase, "who is that man in the blue steel helmet, who is

just coming round that pillar? Say, who is it?"

"Let me see," said the youth, bending forward. "That? Oh! that is Earl

Witichis, the conqueror of the Gepidae, a famous hero."

And he told her of the deeds and triumphs of the Earl in the last war.

Meanwhile Cethegus had looked inquiringly at the Princess and the

minister.

"Let him alone," sighed Amalaswintha. "If he will not, no power on

earth can make him."

Further questions on the part of Cethegus were cut short, for the

three-fold curtain, that shut out all the noise of the ante-chamber

from the King's bedroom, was parted.

It was Elpidios, the Greek physician, who, lifting the heavy folds, now

entered, and announced that the sick man, just awakened from a long

sleep, had sent him away, in order to be alone with old Hildebrand, who

never stirred from his side.

CHAPTER VI.

Theodoric's bed-chamber, which had served the same purpose under the

Emperors, was decorated with the heavy splendour of late Roman style.

The superabundant reliefs of the walls and the gilded ornamentation of

the ceiling still pictured the victories and triumphal processions of

Roman consuls and emperors. Heathen gods and goddesses floated proudly

above. Everywhere reigned the same oppressive magnificence.

The extreme simplicity of the Gothic King's couch formed a remarkable

contrast to all this pomp.

The oval frame of unpolished oak was raised scarcely a foot from the

ground, and contained few cushions. Only the costly crimson cover

which hid the King's feet, and the lion's skin with golden claws

that lay before the bed--a present from the King of the Vandals, in

Africa--betrayed the royalty of the sick man. All the other furniture

of the room was simple, plain, and almost barbarously clumsy.

On a pillar in the background hung the iron shield and broad-sword of

the King, which had not been used for many years. At the head of the

bed stood the old master-at-arms, with his eyes bent down, anxiously

examining the features of the patient, who, leaning on his left arm,

turned his majestic countenance towards him.

The King's sparse hair, rubbed off on the temples by years of friction

caused by his heavy helmet, was still of a bright brown colour, and

without a trace of grey. His heavy brow, sparkling eyes, large nose,

and the deep lines in his cheeks, spoke of great tasks and great

strength to accomplish them.

The expression of his face was commanding and even sublime; but

the benevolent softness of his mouth, in spite of the grim and

slightly-grey beard, gave evidence of the mildness and peaceful wisdom

by means of which he had raised his kingdom to such a flourishing

condition that it had already become a proverb and celebrated in story.

His golden-brown and piercing eyes rested for some time upon his

gigantic sick-nurse, with an expression of love and favour.

At last he stretched out his thin, but nervous, right hand.

"Old friend," said he, "we must now take leave of each other."

The old man sank upon his knees and pressed the King's hand to his

broad breast.

"Come, my friend, rise! Must I comfort _thee_?"

But Hildebrand remained upon his knees, and only lifted his head so

that he could look the King in the face.

"See," said the King, "I know that thou, son of Hilding, hast received

from thy ancestors and thy father a deeper knowledge of the ailings of

mankind and their healing than all these Grecian physicians and Lydian

quack-salvers. And, more than that, thou art sincere. Therefore, I beg

thee honestly to confirm me in what I feel to be true. Tell me, must I

not die to-day--even before the night?" And he looked at him in a

manner that would brook no deception.

But Hildebrand did not wish to deceive him; he had regained his natural

composure.

"Yes, King of the Goths, heir of the Amelungs, thou must die; the hand

of Death has passed across thy brow. Never again wilt thou see the

sun's setting."

"It is well," said Theodoric, without blenching. "Seest thou, the Greek

whom I dismissed has lied to me all the day long. And yet time is

precious to me."

"Wilt thou again send for the priests?" asked Hildebrand reluctantly.

"No; they can do me no good. I need them no more."

"Sleep has strengthened thee, and lifted the veil from thy soul. Hail!

Theodoric, son of Walamer! thou wilt die like a hero!"

"I know," said the King, smiling, "that it was repugnant to thy

feelings to see the priests near my couch. Thou art in the right. They

cannot help me."

"And now--who or what has helped thee now?"

"God and myself. Hear! And what I am about to say are my parting words.

In gratitude for thy fifty years' faithful service, I confide to thine

ear alone--not to my daughter, and not to Cassiodorus--that which has

so long troubled me. Tell me, what is reported among the people? What

is believed was the cause of the melancholy which suddenly overcame me,

and originated this disease?"

"The Italians say that it was remorse for the death of Boethius and

Symmachus."

"Didst thou believe this?"

"No; I could not believe that the death of traitors could so affect

thee."

"Thou art in the right. Perhaps, according to law, they were not

deserving of death; and I loved Boethius much. But they were traitors a

thousand times! Traitors in their thoughts, traitors to my trust, to my

heart. I prized these Romans more than the best of my people. And they

showed their gratitude by wishing that my crown were the Emperor's;

they wrote flattering letters to the Byzantines; they preferred a

Justinus and a Justinian to the friendship of a Theodoric! I am not

sorry for them; I despise them. Guess again. What didst thou believe?"

"King, thy heir is a youth, and enemies encompass thy throne."

The sick man frowned.

"This time thou art nearer the mark. I always knew the weakness of my

kingdom. When at the evening banquet I have shown the proud face of

confidence to the foreign ambassadors, at night I have anxiously sighed

at its inward disease. Old man, I know that thou hast often considered

me all too confident. But none might see me tremble, neither friend nor

foe. Else my throne had trembled. I sighed only when alone, and have

borne my care in solitude."

"Thou art wisdom itself, my King, and I was a fool!" cried the old man.

"Thou seest," continued the King, stroking the old man's hand, "that I

knew in what I displeased thee. I knew also thy blind hatred of these

Italians. Believe me, it _is_ blind, as was, perhaps, my love of them."

Here he stopped and sighed.

"Why wilt thou distress thyself?"

"No, let me continue! I know that my kingdom--the work of my glorious

and toilsome life--may easily fall. Perhaps owing to my generosity to

these Romans. Be it so! No work of man is eternal, and the error of

over-kindness is easily borne!"

"My great King!"

"But, Hildebrand, one night, as I was lying awake, anxious about the

danger of my kingdom, there rose before my soul the ghost of another

sin! Not of too much kindness, but of bloody force! And woe, woe to me,

if my nation is to be destroyed in expiation of the crime of Theodoric!

His, _his_ image rises before me!"

The sick man spoke with difficulty, and lay for a moment overwhelmed

with emotion.

"Whose image? of whom dost thou speak?" asked the old man softly,

bending over him.

"Odoacer!" whispered the King, and Hildebrand bowed his head.

At last Theodoric broke the painful silence.

"Yes, old friend, this right hand, as thou knowest, struck down the

mighty hero--my guest--at the banquet-table. His hot blood splashed

into my face, and an ardent hate flashed upon me from his filming eyes.

A few months past, during the night I speak of, his bloody, pale and

angry form rose before me like an avenging god. My heart was

contracted, my pulses beat with fever. The fearful conviction came over

me that my kingdom would fall and my nation decay, because of this my

bloody deed."

This time, after a short pause, Hildebrand, looking up defiantly, said:

"King, why dost thou fret like a woman? Hast thou not struck down

hundreds with thine own arm, and thy people thousands at thy behest?

Have we not descended from the mountains into this land in more than

thirty battles, wading ankle-deep in blood? What is the blood of _one_

man to all this? And remember the circumstances. For four years he had

defied thee as the ure-ox defies the bear. Twice he had driven thee and

thy folk to the brink of destruction. Hunger, sword, and pestilence

carried off thy Goths. At last, at last, stubborn Ravenna fell, forced

by famine. The deadly enemy lay at thy feet. Then a warning came that

he contemplated treason; that he would renew the fearful strife; that

he would attack thee and thine that night. What couldest thou do? Call

him openly to account? If he were guilty, that could do no good,

therefore thou wert beforehand with him, and did that to him in the

evening which he intended doing to thee at night. That _one_ deed saved

thy people, and prevented the renewal of a fearful strife. Thou

forgavest all his followers, and for thirty years caused Goths and

Italians to live as if in Paradise. And now thou wilt torment thyself

with vain remorse? Two nations will ever thank thee for this deed! I--I

would have killed him seven times over!"

The old man ceased; his eyes flashed; he looked like an angry giant.

But the King shook his head.

"That is nothing, old warrior! I have repeated the same thing to myself

a hundred times, and put it into more flattering forms than is possible

to thy rude tongue. All in vain! He was a hero--the only one of my

kind--and I murdered him without proof of his guilt, for I was jealous,

suspicious, aye, it must be said, I was _afraid_--afraid that I should

be compelled again to strive with him. It was, and is, and ever will

be a sin! I have found no peace in self-excuses. Since that night

his image has followed me unceasingly. At the banquet and in the

council-chamber; at the hunt, in the church, waking and sleeping. Then

Cassiodorus sent the priests and bishops to me. They could not help me.

They heard my confession, saw my grief and my faith, and absolved me

from all my sins. But peace came not, and though they forgave me, I

could not forgive myself. I know not whether it be the old manner of

thought inherited from my heathen ancestors, but I cannot hide myself

behind the Cross from the ghost of the murdered man! I cannot believe I

am freed from my bloody deed by the blood of an innocent God who died

upon the Cross!"

Hildebrand's face was suddenly lit up with joy.

"Thou knowest," he whispered in the King's ear, "that I could never

believe the priests of the Cross. Speak, oh, speak! dost thou still

believe in Thor and Odin? Have _they_ helped thee?"

The King smiled and shook his head.

"No, thou incorrigible old heathen! Thy Walhalla is nothing for me.

Hear how I was helped. Yesterday I sent the bishops away, and retired

into the recesses of my own heart. I thought and wrestled and entreated

God, and I became calmer, and, behold! in the night a deep slumber came

upon me, such as I had not known for long months. When I awoke, no

fever of torture shook my limbs; I felt composed, and my mind clearer;

I felt that no grace or miracle of God could undo the deed that I had

committed. I knew that if God be indeed a God of vengeance, He could

punish me and my house unto the seventh generation, and I dedicated

myself and my kingdom to His eternal vengeance. But, if God be just, He

cannot visit the sins committed by their King upon the people of the

Goths. No, He will not do that. And if ever this people decay, I feel

that it will not be owing to my deed; and thus peace hath entered into

my soul, and I can die with courage."

He was silent, but Hildebrand bowed his head and kissed the hand which

had killed Odoacer.

"These are my parting words to thee, my legacy and thanks for a whole

life of fidelity. Now let us dedicate the remaining time to the Goths.

Come, assist me to rise, I cannot die amid these cushions. There hang

my weapons! Give them to me! No objections! I will, and I can!"

Hildebrand was obliged to obey. With his help the sick man rose, and

threw a purple mantle over his shoulders, girded on his sword, set the

low helmet-crown on his head, and supporting himself on the shaft of

his heavy lance, leaned his back against the thick Doric column in the

middle of the room.

"Now call my daughter, and Cassiodorus, and whoever else may be

outside."

CHAPTER VII.

The King remained quietly standing, while Hildebrand threw back the

curtains of the door on both sides, so that bed-chamber and ante-room

now formed one undivided apartment. All those assembled outside--for

many Goths and Romans had entered meanwhile--drew near to the King in

astonished and reverent silence.

"My daughter," said the King, "are the letters written which are to

announce my death and the succession of my grandchild to Byzantium?"

"Here they are," answered Amalaswintha.

The King rapidly ran through the rolls of papyrus.

"To Emperor Justinus.--A second: to his nephew, Justinianus. 'Tis true,

he will soon wear the crown, and is already the master of his masters.

I see by the fine similes that Cassiodorus has written these letters.

But hold!" A cloud passed across his face. "'Recommending my youth to

your imperial protection!' Protection! That is too much. Alas! if ever

you should be obliged to depend on the protection of Byzantium!

'Recommending myself to your _friendship_, is enough from the grandson

of Theodoric." And he gave the letters back. "Still a third letter to

Byzantium? To whom? 'To Theodora, the noble spouse of Justinianus?'

What! to the dancer of the circus? To the shameless daughter of the

lionkeeper?"

His eye flashed.

"She has great influence upon her husband," interposed Cassiodorus.

"No, no. My daughter shall write to no female who has dishonoured the

name of her sex."

And he tore the roll of papyrus into pieces and threw them on the

floor. Then, walking over the fragments, he advanced towards the Goths

who stood in the middle of the hall.

"My brave Witichis, what will be thy office after my death?"

"I shall review our foot at Tridentum."

"None could do it better! Never yet hast thou claimed the favour which

was granted to thee beforehand, when thou wert victorious over the

Gepidae. Hast thou no wish even now?"

"I _have_ a wish, my King."

"At last!--that pleases me. Speak."

"A poor jailer, for refusing to apply the torture and for striking at a

lictor, is himself condemned to be put to the torture to-day. Sire, set

the man free! To torture is shameful, and----

"The jailer is free; and from this moment torture is abolished in the

kingdom of the Goths. Look to it, Cassiodorus! Brave Witichis, give me

thy hand. To show to all how much I honour thee, I bequeath thee

Wallada, my chestnut charger, in remembrance of this parting hour. And

if ever thou art in danger, or--" here he lowered his voice, "would

avoid it, whisper my name into the horse's ear. Who will watch over

Neapolis? Duke Thulun was too rough. Those gay people must be won by

gentle looks."

"Yes. Young Totila will be Count of the Harbour there," answered

Cassiodorus.

"Totila! a sunny youth! a Siegfrid; a favourite of the gods! No heart

can withstand him. But truly, the hearts of these Italians--" He

sighed, and then continued, "Who will assure us of Rome and the

Senate?"

"Cethegus Caesarius," said Cassiodorus, with a motion of his hand, "this

noble Roman."

"Cethegus? I know him well. Look at me, Cethegus."

Cethegus, thus addressed, reluctantly raised his eyes, which he had

quickly cast down before the steady look of the King. But now,

collecting himself, he quietly bore the eagle glance which seemed to

penetrate his soul.

"It was a sickly whim, Cethegus, which made a man of your kind withhold

himself so long from affairs of state; and from us. Or it was

dangerous. Perhaps it is still more dangerous that you--_now_--again

take an interest in politics."

"It was not my wish, O King."

"I will answer for him!" cried Cassiodorus.

"Peace, friend! On earth no one can answer for another!--scarcely for

himself! But," he continued with a searching look, "this proud

intellect--this Caesar-like intellect--will not betray Italia to the

Greeks."

Cethegus had to endure one more sharp look from the golden eagle-eyes.

Then the King suddenly grasped his arm, and whispered in his ear:

"Listen to my warning. No Roman will ever again flourish on the throne

of the Western Empire. Peace! no contradiction. I have warned you. What

noise is that outside?" he asked, quickly turning to his daughter; who,

in a low voice, was speaking with a Roman messenger.

"Nothing, my King; nothing of importance, my father."

"What! secrets from me? By my crown! Wilt thou govern while I still

breathe? I hear the sound of strange tongues outside. Open the doors!"

The doors which divided the outer hall from the ante-room were thrown

open. There, in the midst of a number of Goths and Romans, were to be

seen several strange and dwarfish forms, clothed in a curious costume,

with doublets of wolfskin, pointed caps, and shaggy sheep-skins hanging

down their backs. Surprised and impressed by the sudden apparition of

the King, they sank upon their knees.

"Ah, messengers from the Avarians! Those robber border-ruffians on our

eastern boundaries! Have you brought the owing yearly tribute?"

"Sire, once again we bring it: skins, woollen carpets, swords, shields.

There they hang--there they lie. But we hope that next year--we will

see----"

"You will see whether the aged Theodoric has become a dotard? You hoped

that I was dead? You think that you can refuse the tribute to my

successor? You err, spies!"

And he took up, as if proving its worth, one of the swords which the

messengers had laid at his feet, together with its sheath, held it

firmly by hilt and point, and with a slight effort snapped the steel in

two, and threw the pieces on the ground.

"The Avari carry worthless swords," he said quietly. "Come, Athalaric,

heir to my kingdom. They do not believe that thou canst bear the weight

of my crown. Show them how thou canst throw my spear."

The youth bounded to him. The scarlet hue of ambition flushed his pale

face. He swung the heavy spear of his grandfather, and hurled it with

such force at a shield which the messengers had leaned against one of

the wooden pillars, that it completely pierced it and penetrated deeply

into the wood.

The King laid his left hand on the head of his grandchild, and said

proudly to the messengers:

"Now go, and tell at home what you have seen."

He turned away; the outer doors were closed, and shut out the amazed

Avarians.

"Give me a cup of wine. It may possibly be the last! No, unmixed! In

Germanic fashion--" he repulsed the Grecian physician. "Thanks, old

Hildebrand, for this draught, so faithfully given. I drink prosperity

to the Goths!"

He slowly emptied the goblet; and with a hand yet firm and strong he

replaced it on the marble table.

But suddenly, like a flash of lightning, that which the physicians had

long expected took place. He staggered, pressed his hand to his heart,

and fell backwards into Hildebrand's arms; who, slowly kneeling down,

let him gently slide on to the marble pavement, supporting his

helm-crowned head.

For one moment all present held their breath; but the King did not

move, and, with a loud cry, Athalaric threw himself upon the corpse.

CHAPTER VIII.

There was another man, besides Cassiodorus, who played a most

important, and, as it seemed to the Regency, a very deserving part, in

those days of transition. This was no other than Cethegus. He had

undertaken the momentous office of Prefect of Rome. As soon as the King

had closed his eyes for ever, Cethegus had instantly hurried to his

place of trust, and had arrived there before the news of the event had

reached that city.

Before daybreak, he had collected the senators together in the

_Senatus_, that is, in the closed hall of Domitian, near the temple of

Janus Geminus, on the right of the arch of Septimus Severus, and had

surrounded the building with Gothic troops. He informed the surprised

senators (many of whom he had only recently met in the Catacombs, and

had incited to the expulsion of the barbarians) of the already

accomplished succession to the throne. He had also, not without many

mild hints as to the spears of the Gothic hundreds, which might easily

be seen from the hall, taken their oaths of allegiance to Athalaric

with a rapidity that brooked no contradiction.

Then he left the "Senatus," where he kept the conscript fathers locked

up, until, with the support of the strong Gothic garrison, he had held

a meeting of the assembled Romans which he had called in the Flavian

amphitheatre, and had won the hearts of the easily-moved "Quirites" for

the young King.

He enumerated the generous deeds of Theodoric, promised the same

beneficence from his grandson, who was, besides, already acknowledged

by all Italy and the provinces, and also by the fathers of the city;

announced a general feast for the Roman population, with the gift of

bread and wine, as the first act of the new government; and concluded

with the proclamation of seven days of games in the Circus (races

between twenty-four Spanish four-horsed chariots), with which he

himself would celebrate the accession of Athalaric, and his own

entrance into office.

At once a thousand voices shouted, with loud huzzas, the names of the

Queen-Regent and her son; and still more loudly the name of Cethegus.

Then the people joyously dispersed, the imprisoned senators were

released, and the Eternal City was won for the Goths.

The Prefect hurried to his house at the foot of the Capitol, locked

himself up, and eagerly wrote his report to the Queen-Regent.

But he was soon disturbed by a violent knocking upon the iron door of

the house. It was Lucius Licinius, the young Roman whom we have already

met in the Catacombs. He struck with the hilt of his sword against the

door till the house echoed.

He was followed by Scaevola, the jurist, with portentously frowning

brow, who had been amongst the imprisoned senators; and by Silverius,

the priest, with doubtful mien.

The ostiarius looked prudently through a secret aperture in the wall,

and, on recognising Licinius, admitted them.

Licinius rushed impetuously before the others through the well-known

vestibule and the colonnade of the atrium to the study of Cethegus.

When Cethegus heard the hastily-approaching footsteps, he rose from the

lectus upon which he was lying writing, and put his letters into a

casket with a silver lid.

"Ah, the saviours of the fatherland!" he said, smiling, and advanced

towards the door.

"Vile traitor!" shouted Licinius, his hand on his sword--anger impeded

further speech; he half drew his sword from the sheath.

"Stop! first let him defend himself, if he can," panted Scaevola,

holding the young man's arm, as he hastened into the room.

"It is impossible that he can have deserted the cause of the Holy

Church," said Silverius, as he also entered.

"Impossible!" laughed Licinius. "What! are you mad, or am I? Has he not

caused us to be confined in our houses? Has he not shut the gates, and

taken the oaths of the mob for the barbarians?"

"Has he not," continued Cethegus, "caught the noble fathers of the

city, three hundred in number, and kept them in the Curia, like so many

mice in a trap; three hundred aristocratic mice?"

"He dares to mock us? Will you suffer that?" cried Licinius. And

Scaevola turned pale with anger.

"Well, and what would you have done had you been allowed to act?" asked

the Prefect quietly, crossing his arms on his broad breast.

"What should we have done?" cried Licinius. "What we, and you with us,

have a hundred times decided upon. As soon as the news of the tyrant's

death had arrived, we should have killed all the Goths in the city,

proclaimed a Republic, and chosen two consuls----"

"Of the names of Licinius and Scaevola; that is the first thing. Well,

and then? What then?"

"What then? Freedom would have conquered!"

"Folly would have conquered!" broke out Cethegus in a thundering voice,

which startled his accusers. "Well for us that your hands were bound;

you would have strangled Hope for ever. Look here, and thank me upon

your knees!"

He took some records from another casket, and gave them to his

astonished companions.

"There; read! The enemy had been warned, and had thrown the noose round

the neck of Rome in a masterly manner. If I had not acted as I did,

Earl Witichis would be standing at this moment before the Salarian Gate

in the north with ten thousand Goths; to-morrow young Totila would have

blockaded the mouth of the Tiber on the south with the fleet from

Neapolis; and Duke Thulun would have been approaching the Tomb of

Hadrian and the Aurelian Gate from the west, with twenty thousand men.

If, this morning early, you had touched a hair of a Goth's head, what

would have happened?"

Silverius breathed again. The others were ashamed and silent. But

Licinius took heart.

"We should have defied the Goths behind our walls," he said, with a

toss of his handsome head.

"Yes, when these walls are restored as I will restore them--for

eternity, my Licinius: as they are now--not for a day."

"Then we had died as free citizens," said Scaevola.

"You might have done that in the Curie three hours ago," laughed

Cethegus, shrugging his shoulders.

Silverius stepped forward with open arms, as if to embrace

him--Cethegus drew back.

"You have saved us all, you have saved Church and fatherland! I never

doubted you!" exclaimed the priest.

But Licinius grasped the hand of the Prefect, who willingly abandoned

it to him.

"I _did_ doubt you," he said with charming frankness. "Forgive me, you

great Roman! This sword, with which I would have penetrated into your

very heart, is henceforward at your service. And when the day of

freedom dawns, then no consul, then _salve_, Dictator Cethegus!"

He hurried out with flashing eyes. The Prefect cast a satisfied glance

after him.

"Dictator, yes; but only until the Republic is in full security," said

the jurist, and followed Licinius.

"To be sure," said Cethegus, with a smile; "then we will wake up

Camillus and Brutus, and take up the Republic from the point at which

they left it a thousand years ago. Is it not so, Silverius?"

"Prefect of Rome," said the priest, "you know that I was ambitious to

conduct the affairs of the fatherland as well as of the Church. After

this, I am so no more. You shall lead, I will follow. Swear to me only

one thing: the freedom of the Roman Church--free choice of a Pope."

"Certainly," said Cethegus; "but first Silverius must have become Pope.

So be it."

The priest departed with a smile upon his lips, but with a weight upon

his mind.

"Go," said Cethegus, after a pause, looking in the direction taken by

his three visitors. "You will never overthrow a tyrant--you need one!"

This day and hour were decisive for Cethegus. Almost against his will,

he was driven by circumstances to entertain new views, feelings, and

plans, which he had never, until now, put to himself so clearly,

or confessed to be more than mere dreams. He acknowledged that

at this moment he was sole master of the situation. He had the

two great parties of the period--the Gothic Government and its

enemies--completely in his power. And the principal motive-power in the

heart of this powerful man, which he had for years thought paralysed,

was suddenly aroused to the greatest activity. The unlimited

desire--yes, the necessity--to _govern_, made itself all at once

serviceable to all the powers of his rich nature, and excited them to

violent emotion.

Cornelius Cethegus Caesarius was the descendant of an old and immensely

rich family, whose ancestor had founded the splendour of his house as a

general and statesman under Caesar during the civil wars; it was even

rumoured that he was the son of the great Dictator.

Our hero had received from nature various talents and violent passions,

and his immense riches gave him the means to develop the first and

satisfy the last to the fullest extent. He had received the most

careful education that was then possible for a young Roman noble. He

practised the fine arts under the best teachers; he studied law,

history, and philosophy in the famous schools of Berytus, Alexandria,

and Athens with brilliant success. But all this did not satisfy him. He

felt the breath of decay in all the art and science of his time. In

particular, his study of philosophy had only the effect of destroying

the last traces of belief in his soul, without affording him any

results. When he returned home from his studies, his father, according

to the custom of the time, introduced him to political life, and his

brilliant talents raised him quickly from office to office.

But all at once he abandoned his career. As soon as he had made himself

master of the affairs of state, he would no longer be a wheel in the

great machine of a kingdom from which freedom was excluded, and which,

besides, was subject to a barbarian King.

His father died, and Cethegus, being now his own master and possessor

of an immense fortune, rushed into the vortex of life, enjoyment, and

luxury with all the passion of his nature.

He soon exhausted Rome, and travelled to Byzantium, into Egypt, and

even as far as India.

There was no luxury, no innocent or criminal pleasure, in which he did

not revel; only a well-steeled frame could have borne the adventures,

privations, and dissipations of these journeys.

After twelve years of absence, he returned to Rome.

It was said that he would build magnificent edifices. People expected

that he would lead a luxurious life in his houses and villas. They were

sadly deceived.

Cethegus only built for himself the convenient little house at the foot

of the Capitol, which he decorated in the most tasteful manner; and

there he lived in populous Rome like a hermit.

He unexpectedly published a description of his travels, characterising

the people and countries which he had visited. The book had an

unheard-of success. Cassiodorus and Boethius sought his friendship, and

the great King invited him to his court.

But on a sudden he disappeared from Rome.

What had happened remained a mystery, in spite of all malicious,

curious, or sympathetic inquiries.

People told each other that one morning a poor fisherman had found

Cethegus unconscious, almost dead, on the shores of the Tiber, outside

the gates of the city.

A few weeks later he again was heard of on the north-east frontier of

the kingdom, in the inhospitable regions of the Danube, where a bloody

war with the Gepidae, Avari, and Sclavonians was raging. There he

fought the savage barbarians with death-despising courage, and followed

them with a few chosen troops, paid from his private means, into their

rocky fortresses, sleeping every night upon the frozen ground. And

once, when the Gothic general entrusted to him a larger detachment of

troops in order to make an inroad, instead of doing this, he attacked

and took Sirmium, the enemy's fortified capital, displaying no less

good generalship than courage.

After the conclusion of peace, he travelled into Gaul, Spain, and again

to Byzantium; returned thence to Rome, and lived for years in an

embittered idleness and retirement, refusing all the military, civil,

or scientific offices and honours which Cassiodorus pressed, upon him.

He appeared to take no interest in anything but his studies.

A few years before the period at which our story commences, he had

brought with him from Gaul a handsome youth, to whom he showed Rome and

Italy, and whom he treated with fatherly love and care. It was said

that he would adopt him. As long as his young guest was with him he

ceased his lonely life, invited the aristocratic youth of Rome to

brilliant feasts in his villas, and, accepting all invitations in

return, proved himself the most amiable of guests.

But as soon as he had sent young Julius Montanus, with a stately suite

of pedagogues, freedmen, and slaves, to the learned schools of

Alexandria, he suddenly broke off all social ties, and retired into

impenetrable solitude, seemingly at war with God and the whole world.

Silverius and Rusticiana had, with the greatest difficulty, persuaded

him to sacrifice his repose, and join in the conspiracy of the

Catacombs. He told them that he only became a patriot from tedium. And,

in fact, until the death of the King, he had taken part in the

conspiracy--the conduct of which, however, was wholly in his and the

archdeacon's hands--almost with dislike.

It was now otherwise.

Until now, the inmost sentiment of his being--the desire to test

himself in all possible fields of intellectual effort; to overcome all

difficulties; to outdo all rivals; to govern, alone and without

resistance, every circle that he entered; and, when he had won the

crown of victory, carelessly to cast it aside and seek for new

tasks--all this had never permitted him to find full satisfaction in

any of his aims.

Art, science, luxury, office, fame. Each of these had charmed him. He

had excelled in all to an unusual degree, and yet all had left a void

in his soul.

To govern, to be the first, to conquer opposing circumstances with all

his means of superior power and wisdom, and then to rule crouching men

with a rod of iron; this, consciously and unconsciously, had always

been his aim. In this alone could he find contentment.

Therefore he now breathed proudly and freely. His icy heart glowed at

the thought that he ruled over the two great inimical powers of the

time, over both Goths and Romans, with a mere glance of his eye; and

from this exquisite feeling of mastery, the conviction arose with

demonic force, that there remained but one goal for him and his

ambition that was worth living for; but one goal, distant as the sun,

and out of the reach of every other man. He believed in his descent

from Julius Caesar, and felt the blood rush through his veins at the

thought--Caesar, Emperor of the West, ruler of the Roman Empire!

A few months ago, when this thought first flashed across his mind--not

even a thought, not a wish, only a shadow, a dream--he was startled,

and could not help smiling at his own boundless assurance.

_He_, Emperor and regenerator of the Empire! And Italy trembled under

the footsteps of three hundred thousand Goths! And the greatest of all

barbarian kings, whose fame filled the earth, sat on his powerful

throne in Ravenna!

Even if the power of the Goths were broken, the Franks and Byzantines

would stretch their greedy hands over the Alps and across the sea to

seize the Italian booty. Two great kingdoms against a single man! For,

truly, he stood alone amid his people. How well he knew, how utterly he

despised his countrymen, the unworthy descendants of great ancestors!

How he laughed at the enthusiasm of a Licinius or a Scaevola, who

thought to renew the days of the Republic with these degenerate Romans!

He stood alone.

But the feeling only excited his ambition, and, at that moment, when

the conspirators had left him, when his superiority had been more

plainly proved than ever before, the thoughts which had been a

flattering amusement of his moody hours, suddenly ripened and formed

themselves into a clear resolve.

Folding his arms across his mighty chest, and measuring the apartment

with heavy steps, like a lion in his cage, he spoke to himself in

abrupt sentences:

"To drive out the Goths and prevent Franks and Greeks from entering,

would not be difficult, with a brave host at one's back; any other man

could do it. But alone, quite alone, more hindered than helped by these

knaves without marrow in their bones; to accomplish the impossible; to

make these cowards heroes; these slaves, Romans; these servants of the

priests and barbarians, masters of the world; that, _that_ is worth the

trouble. To create a new people, a new time, a new world, with the

power of his single will and the might of his intellect, is what no

mortal has yet accomplished--that would be greater than Caesar!--_he_

led legions of heroes! and yet, it can be done, for it can be imagined.

And I, who can imagine it, can do it. Yes, Cethegus, that is an aim for

which it is easy to think, to live, to die! Up, and to work! and

henceforward, no thought, no feeling, except for this one thing!"

He stood still at last before a colossal statue of Caesar, sculptured in

Parian marble, which--a masterpiece of Arkesilaus, and, according to

family tradition, given by Julius Caesar himself to his son--stood

before the writing-divan, the most sacred treasure of the house.

"Hear me, divine Caesar! great ancestor!" exclaimed Cethegus, "thy

descendant dares to rival thee! There is still something higher than

anything which thou hast reached; even to soar at a higher quarry than

thou, is immortal; and to fall--to fall from such a height--is the most

glorious death. Hail! Once again I know why I live!"

He passed the statue, and threw a glance at some military maps of the

Roman Empire, which lay unrolled upon the table.

"First trample upon these barbarians: Rome! Then once more subdue the

North: Paris! Then reduce the rebellious East to its old subjection to

the Caesar-city: Byzantium! and farther, even farther, to the Tigris, to

the Indus; farther than Alexander; and back to the West, through

Scythia and Germania, to the Tiber; the path, Caesar, which Brutus'

dagger cut off for thee. And so to be greater than thou, greater than

Alexander----hold, my thought! Enough!"

And the heart of the icy Cethegus flamed and glowed; the veins of his

temples throbbed violently; he pressed his burning forehead against the

cold marble breast of Julius Caesar, who majestically looked down upon

him.

CHAPTER IX.

The day of the King's death was not only decisive for Cethegus, but

also for the conspiracy in the Catacombs, for Italy, and for the Gothic

kingdom.

Although the intrigues of the patriots--led by different men, who were

not agreed upon the means, nor even upon the aims of their plots--had,

till now, made slow and doubtful progress, this state of things was

completely altered from the moment when Cethegus took the conduct of

affairs into his own strong hands. Only then did the conspiracy become

really dangerous to the Goths.

Cethegus untiringly sought to undermine the security of their kingdom.

With his great capacity for winning and governing men, and penetrating

their motives, he was able daily to increase the number of important

members and the means of success. He understood how to avoid the

suspicion of the Goths on the one hand, and to prevent any untimely

rebellion on the other. For it would have been easy to attack the

barbarians in all the towns of the Peninsula on some special day, and

to call upon the Byzantines--who had long since been on the watch for

such a crisis--to complete the conquest. But in this way the Prefect

would not have been able to carry out his secret plans. He would merely

have put Byzantine tyranny in the place of Gothic rule. And we know

that he had very different intentions. In order to fulfil them, he

wished first to create for himself a power in Italy, greater than any

other man possessed. Before the foot of a Byzantine was set upon

Italian soil, he must become--although in secret--the mightiest man in

the country. All must be so prepared that the barbarians should be

driven away by Italy itself, that is, by Cethegus, with the least

possible help from Byzantium; so that, after the victory, the Emperor

could not avoid giving the dominion over the country to its saviour,

even if only as a governor. Then he would soon gain time and

opportunity to excite the national pride of the Romans against the rule

of the "Greek-lings," as they contemptuously called the Byzantines.

For, although for two hundred years--since the days of the great

Constantine--the glory of the Empire of the world had been removed from

widowed Rome to the golden town on the Hellespont, and the sceptre of

the sons of Romulus seemed to have passed over to the Greeks; though

East and West formed _one_ state of antique culture opposed to the

barbarian world; yet even now the Romans hated and despised the Greeks

as much as in the days when Flaminius declared humbled Hellas to be a

freedman of Rome. The old hate was now increased by envy.

Therefore Cethegus was sure of the enthusiasm and support of all Italy,

which, after the removal of the barbarians, would also banish the

Byzantines from the country; and the crown of Rome, the crown of the

Western Empire, would be his certain reward.

And if he succeeded in exciting the newly-awakened national feeling to

an offensive war on the other side of the Alps, when he had again

erected the throne of the Roman Empire on the ruins of the Frankish

Kingdom at Orleans and Paris, then the attempt would not be too rash

once again to subdue the Eastern Empire and continue the Empire of the

World in the Eternal City from the point at which Trajan and Hadrian

had left it.

In order to reach this distant and shining goal, every step on the

dizzy path must be taken with the greatest prudence; any stumble might

precipitate him into an abyss. In order to gain his end, Cethegus must

first of all make sure of Rome; on Rome alone could his plans be based.

Therefore the new Prefect bestowed the greatest care upon the city that

had been entrusted to him. He wished to make Rome, morally and

physically, his surety of dominion, belonging alone to him, and not to

be wrested from him.

His office gave him the best pretext for carrying out his plans. Was it

not the duty of the _Praefectus Urbi_ to care for the well-being of the

populace, and for the preservation and security of the city? He

understood perfectly well how to use the rights of his office for the

furtherance of his own aims. He easily won the sympathies of all ranks;

the nobles honoured in him the head of the conspiracy; he governed the

clergy through Silverius, who was the right hand of the pope, and, by

public opinion, appointed his successor, and who showed to the Prefect

a devotion that was even surprising to its object. He gained the common

people, not only by occasional gifts of bread, and games in the Circus,

but also by promoting great undertakings, which, at the cost of the

Gothic Government, provided work and sustenance for thousands.

He persuaded Amalaswintha to give orders that the fortifications of

Rome, which had suffered much more since the reign of Honorius from the

inroads of time and the selfishness of Roman architects, than from the

Visigoths and Vandals, should be quickly and completely restored "to

the honour of the Eternal City, and," as she imagined, "for protection

against the Byzantines."

Cethegus himself, and, as was afterwards proved by the unsuccessful

sieges of the Goths and Byzantines, with great strategic genius, made

the plan of the magnificent works. With the greatest zeal he set about

the gigantic task of transforming the immense city, with its

circumference of many miles, into a stronghold of the first rank. The

thousands of workmen, who well knew to whom they owed their well-paid

employment, applauded the Prefect whenever he showed himself upon the

ramparts, to examine what progress had been made, or excite to new

industry, and, sometimes, to put his own hand to the work. And the

deceived Princess assigned one million _solidi_ after another for the

expenses of fortifications, against which the whole power of her people

was shortly to be wrecked and annihilated.

The most important point of these fortifications was the Tomb of

Hadrian, known now under the name of Castle St. Angelo. This

magnificent edifice, built of blocks of Parian marble, which were laid

one upon the other without any uniting cement, lay, at that time, about

a stone's-throw from the Aurelian Grate, the flanking walls of which it

by far overtopped.

Cethegus had seen at a glance that this incomparably strong building,

which until now had been designed for offence _against_ the city,

might, by very simple means, be converted into a powerful bulwark of

defence _for_ the city; he caused two walls to be built from the

Aurelian Grate towards and around the Mausoleum.

And soon the towering marble castle formed an assault-proof rampart for

the Aurelian Grate, so much the more because the Tiber formed a natural

fosse close before it. On the top of the wall of the Mausoleum stood

about three hundred of the most beautiful statues of bronze, marble,

and iron, mostly placed there by Hadrian and his successors. Amongst

them were that of the Divus Hadrianus; his beautiful favourite

Antinous; a Jupiter of Soter; a Pallas "town-protectress;" and many

others. Cethegus rejoiced at the fulfilment of his ideas, and became

exceedingly fond of this place, where he used to wander every evening

with his beloved Rome spread out at his feet, examining the progress of

the works. He had even caused a number of beautiful statues from his

own villas to be added to those already existing, in order to increase

the splendour of his creation.

CHAPTER X.

Cethegus was obliged to be more prudent in the execution of a second

plan, not less necessary for the success of his projects. In order to

be able to defy the Goths, and, if needful, the Greeks, from within

_his_ Rome, as he loved to call it, he was in want--not only of walls,

but of soldiers to defend them.

At first he thought of mercenaries, of a body-guard such as had been

often kept by high officials, statesmen and generals in those times,

such as Belisarius and Narses possessed in Byzantium.

It would have been very easy for him, by means of his riches and the

connections he had formed during his travels in Asia, to hire brave

troops of the savage Isaurian mountain people, who then played the part

of the Swiss of the sixteenth century; but this procedure had two very

straitened limits. On the one side he could not, without exhausting the

means that were indispensable for other purposes, keep more than a

comparatively small band, the kernel of an army, not an army itself. On

the other side it was impossible to bring these mercenaries in larger

numbers to Italy or Rome, without arousing suspicion. He was obliged to

smuggle them over with much cunning--by pairs, singly, or in small

groups, to his scattered villas and estates, as his slaves, freedmen,

clients, or guests; and to employ them as sailors and ship-officials in

the harbour of Ostia, or as workmen in Rome.

Lastly, the Romans themselves would, after all, have to save and defend

Rome, and all his plans urged him to re-accustom his fellow-citizens to

the use of arms. But Theodoric had wisely excluded the Italians from

the army--exceptions were only made in favour of persons who were

considered as particularly reliable and in the late unquiet times of

his reign, during the process against Boethius, he had issued orders

for the general disarming of all Romans. This measure had certainly

never been strictly carried out, but still Cethegus dared not hope that

the Queen-Regent would allow him, against the expressed will of her

august father and the evident interests of the Goths, to form any

considerable forces of Italians.

He contented himself with representing to her, that, by means of a very

innocent concession, she could procure for herself the merit of having

cancelled Theodoric's hateful measure by a noble trust; proposing to

her that she should allow him to drill and keep under arms only two

thousand Roman citizens as a guard for the city; the Romans would be

for ever grateful to her that the city did not appear to be solely

protected by barbarians.

Amalaswintha, who was enthusiastic about Rome, and whose dearest wish

was to gain the love of the Romans, gave her consent, and Cethegus

began to form his militia, as we should call it. In a proclamation,

which sounded like a trumpet-call, he "bid the sons of Scipio take up

their old weapons." He promised to double the pay fixed upon by the

Princess from his own pocket, to any Roman who voluntarily presented

himself. From the thousands who pressed forward he chose the most able.

He armed the poor; gave to those who distinguished themselves in the

service, Gallic helmets and Spanish swords from his own collections;

and, as the most important step, he regularly discharged those who were

sufficiently drilled as soon as possible, leaving them their weapons,

and enlisted new recruits, so that although at no time more were on the

service than the number allowed by Amalaswintha, yet, in an incredibly

short space of time, many thousands of armed and practised Romans were

at the disposal of their adored leader.

While Cethegus added in this manner to the strength of his future

capital and formed his future pretorians, he put off his

co-conspirators, who constantly urged him to strike, and comforted them

with the hope that the proper moment would soon arrive, which, however,

he alone could determine. At the same time he kept up constant

communication with Byzantium. He wanted to make sure of assistance

thence, which could appear upon the scene of action at any hour in

which he might desire it, but which would not come without a call, or

in such force that it could not easily be again removed. He wished for

a good general from Byzantium, who, however, must not be a great

statesman; bringing an army sufficiently powerful to support the

Italians, but not strong enough to gain the victory without them, or to

remain in the country against their will.

We shall see later how, with regard to this, much occurred in

accordance with the Prefect's wishes, but just as much against them.

As to the Goths--who at this time were in undisturbed possession of the

booty for which Cethegus already mentally quarrelled with the Emperor--

all his endeavour was to rock them into unsuspicious security, to

split them into parties, and to uphold a weak government at their head.

The first task was not difficult; for that strong Teutonic race

despised, with barbarian pride, all open and secret foes--we have

already seen how difficult it was to convince such a youth as Totila,

who was otherwise sharp-sighted and clear-headed, of the approach of

danger--and the stubborn trust of Hildebrand fully expressed the

general disposition of the Goths.

Party spirit was also not wanting in this people.

There were the proud race of the Balthe, with their widely-spread

kindred; at their head the three Dukes, Thulun, Ibba, and Pitza. The

rich Woelfungs, under the two brothers, Duke Guntharis and Earl Arahad;

and many others, who were not much inferior to the Amelungs in the

splendour of their ancestry, and jealously guarded their position near

the throne. There were also many who endured the guardianship of a

woman and the rule of a boy with strong dislike, and who would gladly,

according to the ancient rights of the nation, have passed over the

royal line, and chosen one of the tried heroes of the nation for their

King, But the Amelungs counted many blindly-devoted adherents, who

abhorred such sentiments as treasonable.

And, lastly, the whole nation was divided into two parties, one of

which, long discontented with the clemency shown to the Italians by

Theodoric and his daughter, would gladly have retrieved the mistake

which, as they thought, had been made when the country was conquered,

and punished the Italians for their secret hate with open violence. The

number of those who held milder and nobler opinions--who, like

Theodoric himself, were more susceptible to the higher culture of the

subjected Italians, and desirous to raise themselves and their people

to the same level--was naturally much smaller. At the head of this

party stood the Queen.

This woman Cethegus now sought to uphold in the possession of power;

for her feminine, weak, and divided government was calculated to

undermine the strength of the nation, to excite party spirit and

discontent, and to exclude all augmentation of national feeling.

Cethegus trembled at the thought that he might see an energetic man

unite the strength of the whole nation. And often the traits of

sublimity which occasionally were to be seen in Amalaswintha, and,

still more, the fiery sparks of repressed feeling which sometimes

blazed out in Athalaric's soul, caused him serious uneasiness. Should

mother and son betray such feelings more frequently, then, certainly,

he would be compelled to overthrow their government as zealously as he

had hitherto upheld it.

Meanwhile he rejoiced in the unlimited command which he possessed over

the mind of Amalaswintha. It had been easy for him to gain it; not only

because he, with great subtlety, took advantage of her predilection for

learned discussions--in which he was so often vanquished by the

seemingly superior knowledge of the Princess that Cassiodorus, who was

a witness of their arguments, could not refrain from regretting that

the genius of Cethegus, once so brilliant, had rusted for want of

practice--but he had touched the proud woman on a much more sensitive

subject.

Her great father had been blessed with no son; only this one daughter

had been born unto him. The wish for a male heir had been often heard

in the mouths of the King and of his people, and had penetrated to the

daughter's ears in her childish years. It outraged the feelings of the

highly-gifted girl that, merely on account of her sex, she should be

put lower than a possible brother, who, as a matter of course, would be

more capable and more worthy of governing. So, when a child, she often

wept bitter tears because she was not a boy. Of course, as she grew up,

she only heard the offensive wish from the lips of her father; every

other mouth praised the wonderful talent, the manly spirit and courage

of the brilliant Princess. And these praises were not flattery;

Amalaswintha was, indeed, a wonderful creature. The strength of her

will, the power of her intellect, her love of authority, and cold

abruptness of manner, far exceeded the limits which generally bound the

sphere of feminine grace. The consciousness that when her hand was

bestowed, the highest position in the kingdom, and perhaps the crown

itself, would be given with it, did not contribute to render her more

modest; and her deepest, strongest sentiment was no longer the wish to

be a man, but the conviction that, even as a woman, she was as capable

of performing all the duties of life and of government as the most

gifted man--much more capable than most men--and that she was fated to

refute the general prejudice, and to prove the equality of her sex.

The married life of this cold woman with Eutharic, a member of another

branch of the family, a man of a genial temperament and high intellect,

was of short duration--in a few years Eutharic fell a victim to

disease--and not at all happy. She had unwillingly obeyed her husband,

and, as a widow, gloried in her freedom. She burnt with the desire to

verify her favourite theory in her position as Queen-regent and

guardian of her son. She would govern in such a manner, that the

proudest man must acknowledge her superiority. We have seen how the

anticipation of ruling had enabled her to bear the death of her great

father with considerable equanimity. She assumed her high office with

the greatest zeal and the most untiring activity. She wished to do

everything alone. She thrust aside the aged Cassiodorus, for he was

unable to keep pace with the eagerness of her spirit. She would endure

no man's advice, and jealously watched over her absolute monarchy.

To none but one of her servants did she willingly and frequently lend

her ear: to him who often and loudly praised the manly independence of

her mind, and still more often seemed to admire it in secret, and who

appeared incapable of conceiving the desire to govern any of her

actions: she trusted Cethegus alone.

For he constantly evinced only _one_ ambition--that of carrying out all

the ideas and plans of the Queen with the most zealous care. He never

opposed her favourite endeavours, like Cassiodorus and the heads of the

Gothic parties, but supported her therein. He helped her to surround

herself with Greeks and Romans; to exclude the young king, as far as

possible, from all share in the government; gradually to remove from

the court the old Gothic friends of her father, who, in the

consciousness of their services and according to old custom, often took

upon themselves to speak a word of open blame; to use the money which

was intended for men-of-war, horses, and the armament of the Gothic

forces, for art and science, or for the embellishment, preservation,

and security of Rome; in short, he aided her in every act that would

estrange her from her people, or render her government an object of

hatred, and her kingdom defenceless.

And if he himself had a plan he always knew how to give his

transactions with the Queen such a turn, that she considered herself

the promoter of every scheme, and ordered him to execute his most

secret wishes as _her_ commands.

CHAPTER XI.

In order to gain and support this influence, it can easily be

understood that Cethegus was forced to be more at court, and oftener

absent from Rome, than was advantageous for his interests in that city.

He therefore endeavoured to bring persons into close connection with

the Queen, who would, in part, take his place, warmly defend his

interests, and keep him _au fait_ of all that passed in the court of

Ravenna.

Many Gothic nobles had left the court in anger, and it was necessary to

replace their wives in their office near the Queen; and Cethegus

determined to use this opportunity to bring Rusticiana, the daughter of

Symmachus and wife of Boethius, once more to court. It was no easy

task. For the family of Boethius, who had been executed as a traitor,

had been banished the capital. Before anything could be done, the

feeling which the Queen entertained towards this family must be

completely altered. Cethegus, however, soon succeeded in appealing to

the compassion and magnanimity of Amalaswintha, who possessed a noble

heart. At the same time she had never really believed in the unproved

guilt of the two noble Romans, one of whom, the husband of Rusticiana,

she had honoured as an extremely learned man, and, in some points, as

her teacher. Cethegus proved to her that by showing favour to this

family, either as an act of grace or of justice, she would touch the

hearts of all her Roman subjects, and he thus easily persuaded her to

pardon the deeply degraded family.

It was much more difficult to persuade the proud and passionate widow

of the murdered man to accept this favour, for her whole soul was

filled with bitterness against the royal house, and thirst for revenge.

Cethegus even feared that when she was in the presence of the

"tyrants," her ungovernable hatred might betray itself. In spite of the

great influence he had over her, she had repeatedly rejected this plan.

Matters had come to this pass, when, one day, Rusticiana made a

discovery which shortly led to the fulfilment of the Prefect's wish.

Rusticiana had a daughter of scarcely sixteen years of age, named

Camilla. She was a lovely girl, with a face of the true Roman type,

with nobly-formed features and chiselled lips. Intense feeling beamed

from her dark eyes; her figure, slender almost to delicacy, was elegant

and light as that of a gazelle, and all her movements were agile and

graceful. She had loved her unhappy father with all the energy of

filial devotion. The stroke that had laid his beloved head low had

entered deeply into her own young life; and inconsolable and sacred

grief, mixed with passionate admiration for his heroism, filled all her

youthful thoughts. A welcome guest at court before her father's death,

she had fled with her mother after the catastrophe over the Alps to

Gaul, where they had found an asylum with an old friend, while Anicius

and Severinus, Camilla's brothers, who had been also condemned, but who

were afterwards reprieved and sent into banishment, hastened at once to

the court at Byzantium, where they tried to move heaven and earth

against the barbarians.

When the first heat of persecution had abated, the two women had

returned to Italy, and led a retired life in the house of one of their

faithful freedmen at Perusia, whence, as we have seen, Rusticiana had

easily found means to join the conspiracy in Rome.

It was in June, that season of the year when the Roman

aristocracy--then as at this day--fled the sultry air of the towns, and

sought a refuge in their cool villas on the Sabine mountains, or at the

sea-coast. The two noble women, used to every luxury, felt extremely

ill at ease in the hot and narrow streets of Perusia, and thought with

regret of their beautiful villas in Florence and Neapolis, which,

together with all the rest of their fortune, had been confiscated by

the Gothic Government.

One day, their faithful servant, Corbulo, came to Rusticiana with a

strangely embarrassed expression of countenance, and explained to her

"how, having long since noticed how much the 'Patrona' suffered

under his unworthy roof, and had to endure much annoyance from his

handiwork--he being a mason--he had bought a small, a very small,

estate, with a still smaller house, in the mountains near Tifernum.

However, she must not compare it with the villa near Florentia; but

still there ran a little brook near it, which never dried up, even

under the dog-star; oaks and cornel-trees gave broad and pleasant

shade; ivy grew luxuriantly over a ruined Temple of Faunus; and in the

garden he had planted roses, lilies, and violets, such as Donna Camilla

loved; and so he hoped that they would mount their mules or litter, and

go to their villa like other noble dames."

The ladies, much touched by their old servant's fidelity, gratefully

accepted his kindness, and Camilla, who rejoiced like a child in the

anticipation of a little change, was more cheerful and animated than

she had ever been since her father's death.

Impatiently she urged their departure, and hurried off beforehand the

very same day, with Corbulo and his daughter, Daphnidion, leaving her

mother to follow as soon as possible with the slaves and baggage.

The sun was already sinking behind the hills of Tifernum when Corbulo,

leading Camilla's mule by the bridle, reached an open place in the

wood, from whence they first caught sight of the little estate. He had

long pleased himself with the thought of the young girl's surprise when

he should show her the prettily situated villa.

But he suddenly stood still, struck with surprise; he held his hand

before his eyes, fancying that the evening sun dazzled him; he looked

around to see if he were really in the right place; but there was no

doubt about it! There stood, on the ridge where wood and meadow met,

the grey border-stone, in the form of the old frontier-god Terminus,

with his pointed head. It was the right place, but the little house was

nowhere to be seen; where it should have been, was a thick group of

pines and plantains; and besides this, the whole place was changed;

green hedges and flowerbeds stood where once cabbages and turnips grew;

and where sandpits and the high-road had, till now, marked the limits

of his modest property, rose an elegant pavilion.

"The Mother of God and all the superior gods save me!" Cried the mason;

"some magic must be at work!"

His daughter hastily handed him the amulet that she carried at her

girdle; but she was no wiser than he, for it was the first time that

she had visited the new property; and so there was nothing left but to

drive the mules forward as fast as possible. Father and daughter,

leaping from stone to stone, accompanied the trotting mules to the

bottom of the declivity with cries of encouragement.

As they approached, Corbulo certainly discovered the house that he had

bought behind the group of trees, but so changed, renewed, and

beautified, that he scarcely recognised it.

His astonishment at the transformation of the whole place tended to

increase his superstitious fears. His mouth opened wide, he let the

reins fall, stood stock-still, and he was beginning another wonderful

speech, intermixed with heathen and Christian interjections, when

Camilla, equally astounded, called out:

"But that is the garden where we once lived, the Viridarium of Honorius

at Ravenna! The same trees, the same flower-beds, and, by the lake, the

little Temple of Venus, just as it once stood on the sea-shore at

Ravenna! Oh, how beautiful! What a faithful memory! Corbulo, how did

you manage it?" and tears of grateful emotion filled her eyes.

"The devil and all the Lemures take me, if I had anything to do with

it! But there comes Cappadox with his club foot; he at least is not

bewitched. Speak, then, Cyclops, what has happened here?"

Cappadox, a gigantic, broad-shouldered slave, came limping along with

an uncouth smile, and after many questions, told a puzzling tale.

About three weeks ago, a few days after he had been sent to the estate

to manage it for his master, who had gone to the marble quarries of

Luna, there came from Tifernum a noble Roman with a troop of slaves and

workmen and heavily-packed wagons. He inquired if this was the estate

bought by the sculptor Corbulo of Perusia for the widow of Boethius.

Upon being answered in the affirmative, he had introduced himself as

the Hortulanus Princeps, that is, the superior intendant of the gardens

at Ravenna. An old friend of Boethius--who wished not to tell his name,

for fear of the Gothic tyrants--desired to care for his family in

secret, and had given orders that their summer residence should be

improved and embellished with all possible art. He (Cappadox) was by no

means to spoil the intended surprise, and, half-kindly, half by force,

they had kept him fast in the villa. Then the intendant had immediately

made his plan, and set his men to work. Many neighbouring fields were

bought at a high price; and there began such a pulling-down and

building-up, such a planting and digging, hammering and knocking, such

a cleaning and painting, that it had made him both blind and deaf. When

he ventured to meddle or ask questions the workmen laughed in his face.

"And," concluded Cappadox, "it went on in this way till the day before

yesterday. Then they had finished, and went away. At first I was

afraid, and trembled when I saw all these splendid things growing out

of the earth. I thought, if Master Corbulo has to pay for all this,

then mercy on my poor back! and I wanted to come and tell you. But they

would not let me go; and besides, I knew you were not at home. And when

I saw what a ridiculous amount of money the intendant had with him, and

how he threw the gold pieces about, as children throw pebbles, I got

easier by degrees, and let things go on as they would. Now, master, I

know well that you can set me in the stocks, and have me whipped with

the vine-branch or even with the scorpion; for you are the master, and

Cappadox the servant. But, master, it would scarcely be just! By all

the saints and all the gods! For you set me over a few cabbage-fields,

and see! they have become an Emperor's garden under my care!"

Camilla had long since dismounted and disappeared, when the servant

ended his account.

Her heart beating with joy, she hurried through the garden, the bowers,

the house; she flew as if on wings; the active Daphnidion could

scarcely follow her. Repeated cries of astonishment and pleasure

escaped her lips. Whenever she turned the corner of a path, or round a

group of trees, a new picture of the garden at Ravenna met her

delighted eyes.

But when she entered the house, and in it found a small room painted,

furnished, and decorated exactly like the room in the Imperial Palace,

in which she had played away the last days of her childhood, and

dreamed the first dreams of her maidenhood; the same pictures upon the

hempen tapestry; the same vases and delicate citrean-wood[2] boxes;

and, upon the same small tortoise-shell table, her pretty little harp

with its swan's wings; overpowered by so many remembrances, and still

more by the feeling of gratitude for such tender friendship, she sank

sobbing on the soft cushions of the lectus.

Scarcely could Daphnidion calm her.

"There are still noble hearts in the world; there are still friends of

the house of Boethius!" and she breathed a prayer of deep thankfulness

to Heaven.

When her mother arrived the next day, she was scarcely less moved by

the strange surprise. She wrote at once to Cethegus in Rome, and asked:

"In which of her husband's friends she should seek this secret

benefactor?" Within her heart she hoped that it might turn out to be

himself.

But the Prefect shook his head over her letter and wrote back: "He knew

no one of whom this delicate mode of proceeding reminded him. She

should carefully watch for every trace that might lead to the solving

of the riddle."

It was not long ere it was solved. Camilla was never tired of

traversing the garden, and continually discovering resemblances to its

well-known original.

She often extended her rambles beyond the park into the neighbouring

wood. She was generally accompanied by the merry Daphnidion, whose

similar youth and faithful affection soon won her confidence.

Daphnidion had repeatedly remarked to her that they must be followed by

a wood-sprite, for it often snapped in the branches and rustled in the

grass near them, and yet there nowhere was a man or an animal to be

seen.

But Camilla laughed at her superstition, and often persuaded her to

venture out again, far away under the green shadows of the elms and

plantains.

One hot day, as the two girls penetrated deeper and deeper into the

greenwood they discovered a clear-running spring, that issued copiously

from a dark porphyry rock. But it had no decided channel, and the

thirsty maidens with difficulty collected the single silvery drops.

"What a pity!" cried Camilla, "the delicious water! You should have

seen the fountain of the Tritons in the Pinetum[3] at Ravenna. How

prettily the water rushed from the inflated cheeks of the bronze

sea-god, into the wide shell of brown marble! What a pity!" And they

passed on.

Some days after they both came again to the same place. Daphnidion, who

was walking in front, suddenly stood still with a loud scream, and

silently pointed at the spring.

The woodland streamlet had been enclosed. From a bronze Triton's head

the water fell, in a bright stream, into a delicate shell of brown

marble. Daphnidion, now firmly believing in some magic, turned to fly

without further ado; her hands pressed over her eyes, so as not to see

the wood-sprite, which was considered to be extremely dangerous, she

fled towards the house, calling loudly to her mistress to follow her.

But a thought flashed through Camilla's mind. The spy who had lately

followed them was certainly in the vicinity, revelling in their

astonishment.

She looked carefully about her. The blossoms of a 'wild rose-bush fell

from its shaking boughs to the earth. She quickly stepped towards the

thicket, and lo! a young hunter, with spear and game-bag, advanced

towards her from out the bushes.

"I am discovered," he said, in a low, shy voice. He looked very

handsome in his embarrassment.

But, with a cry of fear, Camilla started back.

"Athalaric!" she stammered, "the King!"

A whole sea of thoughts and feelings rushed through her brain and

heart, and, half fainting, she sank upon, the grassy bank beside the

spring.

The young King, alarmed and delighted, stood for a few moments

speechless before the tender figure lying at his feet. Thirstily his

burning eye dwelt upon the beautiful features and noble form. A vivid

flush shot like lightning over his pale face.

"Oh, she--she is my death!" he breathed, pressing both hands to his

beating heart. "To die now--to die with her!"

Camilla moved her arm, which movement brought him to his senses; he

kneeled down beside her, and wetted her temples with the cool water of

the spring. She opened her eyes.

"Barbarian! murderer!" she cried shrilly, thrust his hand away, sprang

up, and fled like a frightened doe.

Athalaric made no attempt to follow her.

"Barbarian! murderer!" he murmured to himself, in great grief, and

buried his glowing forehead in his hands.

CHAPTER XII.

Camilla came home in such extreme excitement, that Daphnidion would not

be convinced that she had not seen the nymphs, or even the venerable

sylvan god, Picus, himself.

But the maiden threw herself with wild emotion into the arms of her

alarmed mother. The strife of confused feelings within her resolved

itself into a flood of hot tears, and only later was she able to answer

Rusticiana's anxious questions.

A terrible struggle was taking place in the soul of this child. At the

court of Ravenna it had not escaped the growing girl that the dark eyes

of the beautiful Athalaric often rested upon her with a strange and

dreamy expression, and that he eagerly listened to every tone of her

voice. But a suspicion of deeper affection had never entered into her

mind. The Prince, reserved and shy, cast down his eyes whenever she met

his look with an unembarrassed and inquisitive glance. Were they not

both at that time almost children?

She did not know how to interpret Athalaric's manner--he scarcely could

do so himself--and it had never occurred to her to reflect why she so

gladly lived near him; why she liked to follow the bold flights of his

thoughts and imaginations, differing so much from those of all other

playfellows; why she loved to wander silently through the quiet gardens

in the evening-light by the side of the silent boy, who often, in the

midst of his reverie, addressed her with abrupt, but always

significant, words; whose poetical feelings--the feelings of

enthusiastic youth--she so completely understood and appreciated.

The tender tissue of this budding inclination was violently torn by the

catastrophe of her father's death, and not only gentle sorrow for the

murdered man, but glowing hatred of his murderers, took possession of

the passionate Roman girl's soul.

At all times Boethius, even when in the height of his favour at court,

had displayed a haughty condescension to the barbarism of the Goths,

and, since the catastrophe, all Camilla's companions--her mother, her

two brothers (who thirsted for vengeance), and the friends of the

house--breathed hatred and contempt, not only for the bloody murderer

and tyrant, Theodoric, but for all Goths, and particularly for the

daughter and grandson of the King, who, in their eyes, shared his guilt

because they had not hindered it.

So the maiden had almost ceased to think of Athalaric, and if he were

named, or if, as often happened, his picture entered into her dreams,

her hatred of the barbarians was concentrated in a feeling of the

greatest abhorrence towards him, perhaps just because, in the depths of

her heart, there lurked an involuntary suspicion of the secret

inclination which she nourished for the handsome and noble youth.

And now--now he had dared to lay a snare for her unsuspicious heart!

No sooner had she seen him step from the bushes--no sooner did she

recognise him, than she at once understood that it was he who had not

only enclosed the spring, but caused the alteration of the whole

estate. He, the hated enemy; he, the offspring of the cursed race which

had shed the blood of her father: the King of the Goths!

The joy with which, during the last few days, she had examined house

and garden, was now changed into bitterness. The deadly enemy of her

people, of her race, had dared to enrich her; to give her pleasure; to

make her happy; for him she had breathed thankful prayers to Heaven! He

had been bold enough to follow her steps, to listen to her words, to

fulfil her lightest wish; and at the bottom of her soul lay the

dreadful certainty that he loved her! The barbarian was insolent enough

to show it. The tyrant of Italy dared to hope that the daughter of

Boethius---- Oh, it was too much! and, sobbing violently, she buried

her head in the cushions of her couch, to which she had retired, until

deep sleep of exhaustion overcame her.

Not long after, Cethegus, who had been hastily sent for, came to visit

the troubled woman.

Rusticiana would fain have followed her own and Camilla's first

impulse, to fly from the villa and the hated vicinity of the King, and

hide her child on the other side of the Alps. But Camilla's condition

had, till then, prevented their departure, and as soon as the Prefect

entered the house, the flame of their excitement seemed to sink before

his cold glances.

He took Rusticiana alone with him into the garden. Leaning his back

against a laurel-tree, and supporting his chin on his hand, he listened

quietly and attentively to her passionate recital.

"And now, speak," she concluded; "what shall I do? How shall I save my

poor child? Whither shall I take her?"

"Whither shall you take Camilla?" he repeated. "To the court, to

Ravenna."

Rusticiana started. "Why this ill-timed joke?"

But Cethegus quickly stood erect. "I am in earnest. Be quiet and

listen. Fate, that wills the destruction of the barbarians, could have

laid no more gracious gifts upon our path. You know how completely I

rule the Queen-regent, but you do not know how powerless I am over that

obstinate enthusiast, Athalaric. It is enigmatical. The sick youth is,

amongst all the nation, the only one who suspects, if he does not see

through, me; and I do not know whether he most fears or hates me. That

would be a matter of indifference to me if the audacious fellow did not

very decidedly and very successfully act against me. Naturally, his

opinion weighs heavily with his mother; often more than mine; and he

will always grow older, riper, and more dangerous. His spirit exceeds

his years; he takes a grave part in the councils of the Regency, and

always speaks against me; he often prevails. 'Twas but lately that,

against my will, he succeeded in giving the command of the Gothic

troops in Rome, in _my_ Rome, to that bilious Teja. In short, the young

King becomes highly dangerous. Until now I have not the shadow of

authority over him. He loves Camilla to his peril; through her we will

rule the unruly one."

"Never!" cried Rusticiana; "never as long as I breathe! _I_ at the

court of the tyrants! My child, Boethius's daughter, the beloved of

Athalaric! Her father's bloody ghost would----"

"Would you avenge that ghost? Yes. Would you ruin the Goths? Yes.

Therefore you must consent to everything which will lead to this end."

"Never, by my oath!"

"Woman, do not irritate me, do not oppose me! You know me. By your

oath? Have you not sworn blind and unconditional obedience to me,

calling down curses on yourself and your children should you break that

oath? Caution is necessary when dealing with women! Obey, or tremble

for your soul!"

"Fearful man! Shall I sacrifice all my hatred to you and your

projects?"

"To me? who speaks of me? I plead _your_ cause, I complete _your_

revenge. The Goths have done nothing to _me_. _You_ disturbed me from

my books, _you_ called upon me to aid you in destroying these Amelungs;

do you repent? Very well. I will return to Horatius and the Stoics.

Farewell!"

"Remain, remain! But must Camilla be sacrificed?"

"Folly! Athalaric will be the victim. She shall not love him, she shall

only influence him--or," he added, looking sharply at her, "do you fear

for her heart?"

"May your tongue be paralysed! _My_ daughter love _him_! Rather would I

strangle her with these hands!"

But Cethegus had become thoughtful. "It is not for the girl's sake," he

thought, "that would not matter--but should she really love him?--the

Goth is handsome, intellectual, enthusiastic--Where is your daughter?"

he asked aloud.

"In the women's apartment. Even should I wish it, she will never

consent--never!"

"We will attempt it. I will go to her."

And they went into the house.

Rusticiana would have entered the room with Cethegus, but he repulsed

her.

"I must have her alone," he said, and passed through the curtain.

On seeing him, the beautiful girl rose from the cushions on which she

had been resting, lost in helpless reverie. Accustomed to find in this

wise and commanding man, her father's old friend, a constant adviser,

she greeted him trustfully, as a patient greets his physician.

"You know, Cethegus?"

"Everything!"

"And you bring me help and comfort?"

"I bring you revenge, Camilla!"

That was a new and startling idea! Hitherto to fly, to save herself

from this torturing position, had been her only thought. At the most,

an angry rejection of the royal gift. But now, revenge! Compensation

for all the pain she had suffered! Revenge upon the murderers of her

father! Her heart was deeply wounded, and in her veins boiled the hot

blood of the south. She rejoiced at the words of her tempter.

"Revenge? Who will revenge me? You?"

"You will revenge yourself; that will be sweeter."

Her eyes flashed.

"On whom?"

"On him. On his house. On all your enemies."

"How can I, a weak and timid girl?"

"Listen to me, Camilla. To you only, to the noble daughter of the noble

Boethius, will I unfold what I would trust to no other woman on earth.

There exists a powerful league of patriots, who have sworn to extirpate

the barbarians from the face of this country. The sword of revenge

hangs trembling over the heads of the tyrants. The fatherland and the

shade of your father call upon you to cause it to fall."

"Upon me? _I_--revenge my father? Speak!" cried the maiden, her face

glowing as she stroked back the dark locks from her temples.

"There must be a sacrifice. Rome demands it."

"My blood, my life! Like Virginia will I die!"

"No; you shall live to triumph in your revenge. The King loves you. You

must go to Ravenna, to court. You shall destroy him by means of his

love. We have no power over him, but you will gain the mastery over his

soul."

"Destroy him!"

She seemed strangely moved as she spoke thus in a low voice. Her bosom

heaved; her voice trembled with the force of her opposing feelings.

Tears burst from her eyes, she buried her face in her hands.

Cethegus rose from his seat.

"Pardon me," he said, "I will go. I knew not--that you _loved_ the

King."

A scream of anger, like that of physical pain, escaped the maiden's

lips; she sprang up and grasped his arm.

"Man! who said so? I hate him! Hate him more than I ever knew I could

hate!"

"Then prove it, for I do not believe it."

"I will prove it!" she cried; "he shall die!"

She threw back her head; her eyes sparkled fiercely; her dark tresses

fell over her shoulders.

"She loves him," thought Cethegus; "but it matters not, for she does

not know it. She is only conscious of hating him. All is well."

"He shall not live," repeated Camilla. "You shall see," she added with

a wild laugh--"you shall see how I love him! What must I do?"

"Obey me in everything."

"And what do you promise in return? What shall he suffer?"

"Unrequited love."

"Yes, yes, that he shall!"

"His kingdom and his race shall be ruined," continued Cethegus.

"And he will know that it is through _me_!"

"I will take care that he shall know that. When shall we start for

Ravenna?"

"To-morrow! No; to-day, this instant." She stopped and grasped his

hand. "Cethegus, tell me, am I beautiful?"

"Yes, most beautiful!"

"Ah!" she cried, tossing back her flowing hair, "Athalaric shall love

me and perish! Away to Ravenna! I will and must see him!"

And she rushed out of the room.

Her whole soul was thirsting to be with the object of her love and

hate.

CHAPTER XIII.

That same day the inhabitants of the villa entered upon their journey

to Ravenna.

Cethegus sent a courier forward with a letter from Rusticiana to the

Queen-regent. Therein the widow of Boethius declared, "that by the

mediation of the Prefect of Rome, she was now ready to accept the

repeated invitation to return to court. She did not accept it as an act

of pardon, but of conciliation; as a sign that the heirs of Theodoric

wished to make amends for the injustice done to the deceased."

This proud letter was written from Rusticiana's very heart, and

Cethegus knew that such a step would do no harm, and would only exclude

any suspicious construction that might be laid upon the sudden change

in her sentiments.

Half-way the travellers were met by a messenger bearing the Queen's

answer, which bade them welcome to her court.

Arrived in Ravenna, they were received by the Queen with all honours,

provided with a retinue, and led into the rooms which they had formerly

occupied. They were warmly welcomed by all the Romans at court.

But the anger of the Goths--who abhorred Symmachus and Boethius as

ungrateful traitors--was greatly excited by this measure, which seemed

to imply an indirect condemnation of Theodoric. The last remaining

friends of that great King indignantly left the Italianised court.

Meanwhile, time, the diversions of the journey, and the arrival at

Ravenna, had softened Camilla's excitement. Her anger had the more time

to abate, as many weeks elapsed before she met Athalaric; for the young

King was dangerously ill.

It was said at court, that while on a visit to Aretium, whither he had

gone to enjoy the mountain air, the baths, and the chase, he had drank

from a rocky spring in the woods of Tifernum while heated with hunting,

and had thereby brought on a violent attack of his former malady. The

fact was, that his followers had found him lying senseless by the side

of the spring where he had met Camilla.

The effect of this story upon Camilla was strange. To the hate she bore

to Athalaric was now added a slight feeling of compassion, and even a

sort of self-reproach. But on the other side, she thanked Heaven that,

by this illness, the meeting was postponed, which, now that she was in

Ravenna, she feared no less than she had longed for it while far away

in Tifernum.

And as she wandered in the wide-spread grounds of the magnificent

palace-gardens, she was repeatedly reminded of the anxious care with

which Corbulo's little estate had been fashioned after this model.

Days and weeks passed. Nothing was heard of the patient except that he

was convalescent, but forbidden to leave his rooms. The physicians and

courtiers who surrounded him often expressed to Camilla their

admiration of his patience and strength of mind while suffering the

most acute pains, his gratitude for the slightest service, and the

noble mildness of his disposition.

But when she caught herself listening with pleasure to these words of

praise, she frowned angrily, and the thought arose within her: "And he

did not oppose the murder of my father!"

One hot July night, after long and restless wakefulness, Camilla

towards daybreak had sunk into an uneasy slumber.

Anxious dreams disturbed her.

It seemed to her as if the ceiling of the room, with all its

bas-reliefs, were sinking down upon her. Directly over her head was a

beautiful young Hypnos, the gentle God of Sleep, modelled by the hand

of a Greek.

She dreamed that the drowsy god assumed the earnest, sorrowful features

of his pale brother Thanatos.

Softly and slowly the God of Death bent his countenance above her. He

approached nearer and nearer. His features became more and more

distinct. She already felt his breath upon her forehead. His beautiful

lips almost touched her mouth. Then she recognised with affright the

pale features--the dark eyes. It was Athalaric! With a scream she

started up.

The silver lamp had long since burnt out. The room was dim.

A red light gleamed faintly through the window of spar-gypsum. She rose

and opened it. The cocks were crowing, the first rays of the sun gently

stole over the sea, of which, beyond the garden, she had a full view.

She could no longer bear to remain in the close chamber.

She threw a mantle over her shoulders and hurried softly out of the

still silent palace, down the marble steps, and into the garden; across

which the fresh morning wind from the neighbouring sea blew towards

her.

She hastened towards the sun and the sea, for, to the east, the high

walls of the palace gardens rose directly out of the blue waves of the

Adriatic.

A gilded lattice-gate, and, beyond it, ten broad steps of white

Hymettus marble, led to the little garden-harbour, in which rocked the

light-oared gondolas with their lateen sails of purple linen-cloth,

fastened with silver chains to the ornamental rams'-heads fixed right

and left upon the marble quay.

At the side of the lattice-gate towards the garden, the grounds ended

in a spacious rotunda, which was surrounded with broad and shady pines.

The ground was laid out with carefully-tended grassplots, intersected

by neat paths, and diversified by gay beds of sweet-scented flowers. A

spring, ornamentally enclosed, ran down the declivity into the sea. In

the centre of this place was a small and antique Temple of Venus,

overtopped by a single palm-tree, while burning-red saxifrage grew

in the now empty niches of its outer walls. At the right of its

long-closed door stood a bronze statue of AEneas. The Julius Caesar to

the left had fallen centuries ago. Theodoric had placed upon its

pedestal a bronze statue of Amala, the mythic forefather of his house.

Between these statues, from the steps of the little fane, was a

splendid view through the lattice-gate over the sea, with its woody

lagoon-islands, and a group of jagged rocks, called "the Needles of the

Amphitrites."

This had been a favourite resort of Camilla's childhood. And it was

hither that she now bent her steps, lightly brushing the plentiful dew

from the high grass as, with slightly-lifted garments, she hastened

along the narrow pathway. She wished to behold the sun rise glowing

from the sea.

She advanced from behind the temple, passed to the estrade on the left,

and had just set her foot upon the first step which led from the front

of the temple to the lattice-gate, when she caught sight of a white

figure reclining on the second step, with the head leaning against the

balustrade and the face turned towards the sea.

She recognised the black and silky hair; it was the young King.

The meeting was so unexpected that there was no possibility of avoiding

it. As if rooted to the ground, she stood still upon the first step.

Athalaric sprang up and quickly turned. His pallid face was illumined

by a vivid flush. But he was the first to recover himself, and said:

"Forgive, Camilla. I could not expect you to come here at this hour. I

will go; and leave you alone with the rising sun."

And he flung his white mantle over his shoulder.

"Remain, King of the Goths. I have no right to scare you away--and no

intention," she added.

Athalaric came a step nearer.

"I thank you. And I beg one favour," he added, smiling. "Do not betray

me to my physicians nor to my mother. All day long they shut me up so

carefully, that I am obliged to escape before sunrise. For the fresh

air, the sea-breeze, does me good; I feel that it cools me. You will

not betray me?"

He spoke so quietly. He looked so unembarrassed. This freedom from

embarrassment confused Camilla. She would have felt more courageous if

he had been more moved. She observed his coolness with pain, but not

because she really cared for the Prefect's plans. So, in answer, she

only shook her head in silence, and cast down her eyes.

At that moment the rays of the sun reached the spot on which the pair

were standing.

The old temple and the bronze of the statues shone in the rosy light;

and from the east a broad path of trembling gold was laid upon the

smooth flood.

"See, how beautiful!" cried Athalaric, carried away by his admiration.

"Look at that bridge of light and glory!"

She joined in his admiration, and looked out over the sea.

"Do you remember, Camilla," he continued slowly, as if lost in

recollection, and not looking at her, "do you remember how we played

here when we were children? How we dreamed? We said that the golden

path painted on the waters by the sun, led to the Islands of the

Blessed."

"To the Islands of the Blessed!" repeated Camilla. In secret she was

wondering at the delicacy and ease with which, avoiding every allusion

to their last meeting, he conversed with her in a manner, which

completely disarmed her.

"And look, how the statues glitter, that wonderful pair, AEneas

and--Amala! Listen, Camilla, I have something to beg pardon for."

Her heart beat rapidly. He was going to speak of the rebuilding of the

Villa and the fountain. The blood rose to her cheeks. She remained

silent in painful expectation.

But the youth continued quietly:

"You know how often--you the Roman, and I the Goth--vied with each

other here in praises of the glory and fame and manners of our people.

Then you stood under the statue of AEneas, and told me of Brutus and

Camillus, of Marcellus and the Scipios. And I, leaning against the

shield of my ancestor Amala, praised Ermanaric and Alaric and

Theodoric. But you spoke more eloquently than I. And often, when the

glory of your heroes threatened to outshine mine, I laughed at your

dead greatness, and cried, 'The living present and the glowing future

belong to my people!'"

"Well, and now?"

"I speak so no more. You have won, Camilla!"

But even while he spoke thus, he looked prouder than ever.

And this expression of superiority revolted the Roman girl. Besides

that, she was irritated by the unapproachable coolness with which the

King, upon whose passion for her such plans were being founded, stood

before her. She did not understand this tranquillity. She had hated him

because he had dared to show her his love, and now her hate revived

because he was able to conceal it. With the intention to hurt his

feelings she slowly said:

"So you acknowledge, King of the Goths, that your barbarians are

inferior to the civilised nations?"

"Yes, Camilla," he answered quietly; "but only in one thing: in good

luck. In the favours of Fate as well as of Nature. Look at that group

of fishermen, who are hanging up their nets on the olive-trees upon the

strand. How beautiful are their forms! In motion and repose, in spite

of their rags, they are complete statues! Look at that girl with the

amphora on her head. And there, at that old woman, who, leaning her

head on her arm, lies upon the sand and gazes out dreamily over the

sea. Each beggar amongst them looks like a dethroned king. How

beautiful they are! At one with themselves and happy! The glory of

uninterrupted happiness lies upon them, as it does upon children, or

upon noble animals! This is wanting to us barbarians!"

"Is that alone wanting to you?"

"No, Fate is not gracious to us--my poor, glorious people! We have been

carried away into a strange world, in which we do not flourish. We

resemble the flower of the high Alps, the Edelweiss, which has been

carried by the stormy wind to the hot sands of the low-levels. We

cannot take root here. We fade and die." And overcome with noble

sadness, he turned away and looked over the blue waves.

But Camilla was not in the humour to reflect upon these prophetic words

spoken by a king of his people.

"Why did you overstep the mountains which God set as an eternal

boundary between your people and ours?" she asked. "Say, why?"

"Do you know," answered Athalaric, without looking at her, almost as if

thinking aloud, "do you know why the dark moth flies to the bright

flame? Again and again! Warned by no pain, until it is devoured by the

beautiful but dangerous element? From what motive? From a sweet

madness! And it is just such a sweet madness that has enticed my

fellow-Goths away from the fir and the oak to the laurel and the olive.

They will burn their wings, the foolish heroes, and will not cease to

do so. Who can blame them for it? Look around you! How deeply blue the

sky! How deeply blue the sea! And in it are reflected the summits of

the pines and the white glitter of the marble temples! And away in the

distance arise blue mountains; and out in the waters swim green

islands, where the vine clings to the elm. And, above all, the soft,

warm and caressing air that illumines the whole with a magic light.

What wonders of form and colour does the eye drink, and what sweetness

do the delighted senses breathe! This is the magic charm which will for

ever entice and undo us!"

The deep emotion of the young King did not fail to make an impression

upon Camilla. The tragic force of his words affected her; but she

_would_ not be moved. She defended herself against the increasing

softness of her feelings. She said coldly:

"A whole nation enchanted by this magic, in spite of reason and

judgment?" and she looked at him incredulously.

But she was startled; for like lightning flashed the eyes of the youth,

and his long-withheld passion broke out suddenly without restraint.

"Yes, I tell thee, maiden! a whole people can nourish a foolish

passion, a sweet destructive madness, a deadly longing, as well as--as

well as a single man! Yes, Camilla, there is a power in the heart,

which, stronger than reason and will, forcibly draws us with open eyes

to destruction. But thou knowest it not, and mayst thou never

experience it. Never! Farewell!"

He quickly turned away and entered a bowery walk of climbing vines to

the right of the temple, which immediately hid him from Camilla, as

well as from the windows of the palace. The girl remained standing in

deep reflection. His last words echoed strangely in her ears. For a

long time she looked out dreamily over the open sea, and at last

returned to the palace, filled with strangely conflicting feelings, and

in an altered mood.

CHAPTER XIV.

On the same day Cethegus paid a visit to the two ladies. He had

come over from Rome on important business, and had just left the

privy-council which had been held in the invalid King's room. His

energetic features were full of repressed anger.

"To work, Camilla!" he cried. "You are too long about it. This

impertinent boy becomes more and more unmanageable. He defies me and

Cassiodorus, and even his mother. He is intimate with dangerous people.

With old Hildebrand and Witichis and their friends. He sends and

receives letters behind our backs. He has managed that the Queen may

never hold a council of the regency except in his presence. And in the

council he crosses all our plans. This must cease. In one way or

another."

"I have no more hope of influencing the King," said Camilla gravely.

"Why? Have you already seen him?"

The girl reflected. She had promised Athalaric not to allow his

disobedience to come to the ears of his physicians; and besides, it

went against her feelings to desecrate and betray their meeting. So she

avoided the question and said:

"If the King refuses to obey his mother, the Queen-regent, he is not

likely to suffer himself to be controlled by a young girl."

"What sweet simplicity!" laughed Cethegus. And he dropped the

conversation as long as the girl remained in the room. But afterwards,

in private, he forced from Rusticiana a promise to manage matters so

that her daughter in future might frequently see and speak to the King.

It was possible to do this, for Athalaric's health rapidly improved. He

became daily more manly and more decided. It seemed as if his

opposition to Cethegus strengthened him both bodily and mentally.

In a very short time he again spent many hours of the day in the

extensive pleasure-grounds. It was here that his mother and the family

of Boethius frequently met him in the evening.

And while Rusticiana appeared to receive the gracious courtesies of the

Queen with answering friendship, listening attentively to her

confidential remarks, in order afterwards to report them, word for

word, to the Prefect, the two young people walked before them through

the shady paths of the garden. Often this select company entered one of

the light gondolas in the little harbour, and Athalaric rowed them

himself over the blue sea to one of the small wooded isles which lay

not far away. On the return home, the purple sails were spread, and the

fresh breeze, which always arose at sunset, carried them gently and

idly back. Camilla and the King, accompanied by Daphnidion, frequently

enjoyed this trip over the waves alone.

Amalaswintha naturally saw the danger of increasing by such freedom the

inclination of her son for Camilla, which had not escaped her notice;

but, above all other considerations, she was thankful for the

favourable influence which this companionship evidently exercised upon

her son. In Camilla's presence he was quieter and more cheerful; and at

the same time more gentle in his manner to herself, which had often

been abrupt and violent. He also controlled his feelings with a mastery

which was doubly surprising in such an irritable invalid. And, lastly,

the Queen-regent, supposing that his inclination should indeed ripen to

earnest love, would not be averse to an alliance which promised

completely to win the Roman aristocracy, and erase all memory of a

cruel deed.

In Camilla a wonderful change was going forward. Day by day, as she

more and more clearly saw the noble tenderness, the gifted soul, and

the deep and poetical feelings of the young King develop, she felt her

hate melt away. With difficulty she recalled to her memory the fate of

her father, as an antidote to this sweet poison; she learnt better to

distinguish justly which of the Goths and Amelungs had contributed to

that fate, and, with growing certainty, she felt that it was unjust to

hate Athalaric for a misfortune which he had merely not opposed, and

indeed would hardly have been able to prevent. She would have liked,

long ago, to speak to him openly, but she mistrusted her own weakness;

she shunned it as a sin against father, fatherland, and her own

freedom; she trembled as she felt how indispensable this noble youth

had become to her, how much she thirsted to hear his melodious voice,

and look into his dark and thoughtful eyes. She feared this sinful

love--which she could now scarcely conceal from herself--and she would

not part with the only weapon that remained to her: the reproach of his

passive acquiescence in her father's death.

So she fluctuated from feeling to feeling; all the more hesitatingly,

the more mysterious Athalaric's strange reserve became. After all that

had happened, she could not doubt that he loved her; and yet--

Not a syllable, not a look betrayed this love. The exclamation with

which he had left her at the Temple of Venus was the most important,

the only important speech that had escaped him. She could not suspect

what the youth had suffered before his love had become not

extinguished, but self-denying. And still less in what new feeling he

had found manly strength enough for such renunciation.

Her mother, who watched Athalaric with all the keenness of hate, and,

in doing so, forgot to observe her own child, appeared even more

astonished at his coldness.

"But patience," she said to Cethegus, with whom she often consulted

behind Camilla's back. "Patience! soon, in three days' time, you will

see him alter."

"It is high time," answered Cethegus. "But upon what grounds do you

build?"

"Upon a means which has never yet failed me."

"You will not, surely, mix a love-philtre for him?" asked the Prefect,

smiling.

"Certainly I shall. I have done so already."

He looked at her mockingly.

"And are you, then, so superstitious, you, the widow of the great

philosopher, Boethius? Upon my word, in love affairs all women are mad

alike!"

"It is neither madness nor superstition," replied Rusticiana quietly.

"Our family has possessed this secret charm for more than a hundred

years. An Egyptian woman once gave it to one of my female ancestors on

the Nile, and it has always proved its power. No woman of my family has

ever loved without requital."

"That required no magic," observed the Prefect. "You are a handsome

race."

"Spare your sarcasm. The love-philtre is unfailing, and if it has not

yet taken effect----"

"So you have really---- What imprudence! How could you, unobserved----"

"Every evening, when he returns from a walk or a row with us, Athalaric

takes a cup of spiced Falernian. The physicians ordered it. There are

some drops of Arabian balsam in it. The cup always stands ready upon

the marble table in front of the temple. Three times I have succeeded

in pouring in my potion."

"Well," observed Cethegus, "until now it has done no particular good."

"That is only owing to my impatience. The herbs must be gathered during

the new moon. I knew it well enough; but, hurried by your insistence, I

tried it during the full moon, and, you see, it was not effectual."

Cethegus shrugged his shoulders.

"But yesterday," she went on, "it was new moon. I was not idle with my

golden scissors, and when he drinks now----"

"A second Locusta! Well, _my_ comfort is Camilla's beautiful eyes! Does

she know of your arts?"

"Not a word to her! She would never suffer it. Silence! She comes!"

The girl entered in great excitement; her oval cheeks were red; a plait

of her hair had got loose, and floated over her lovely neck.

"Tell me," she cried, "you who are wise and experienced, tell me what

to think! I come from the boat. Oh, he has never loved me, the haughty

man! He pities, he is sorry for me! No, that is not the right word. I

cannot explain it." And bursting into tears, she hid her face upon her

mother's neck.

"What has happened, Camilla?" asked Cethegus.

"Very often before," she began, with a heavy sigh, "an expression played

about his mouth, and filled his eyes, as if _he_ had been deeply

offended by _me_, as if _he_ had to forgive, as if _he_ had made a

great sacrifice for me----"

"Raw boys always imagine it to be a sacrifice, when they are in love."

At this Camilla's eyes flashed; she tossed her head, and turned quickly

upon Cethegus.

"Athalaric is no boy, and no one shall laugh at him!"

Cethegus was silent, and quietly dropped his eyelids; but Rusticiana

asked in surprise:

"Do you hate the King no more?"

"To the death! He shall be undone, but not mocked!"

"What has happened?" repeated Cethegus.

"To-day I again noticed that puzzling, proud, and cold expression upon

his face more distinctly than ever. A little incident occurred which

caused the King to speak more plainly. An insect--a beetle--had fallen

into the water. The King stooped and took it out, but the little

creature turned against the beneficent hand, and bit the fingers that

held it. 'The ungrateful thing!' I exclaimed. 'Oh,' said Athalaric,

with a bitter smile, 'we wound most those to whom we are most

indebted!' and he glanced at me with a sad and proud expression. But,

as if he had said too much, he briefly bid me farewell, and went

away; but I----" and her bosom heaved, her finely-cut lips were

compressed--"I can bear it no longer! The haughty one! He _shall_ love

me--or die!"

"That shall he," said Cethegus inaudibly; "one or the other."

CHAPTER XV.

A few days later the court was surprised by a new step towards

independence on the part of the young King. He himself summoned a

council, a prerogative which, until now, had only been assumed by

Amalaswintha.

The Queen-regent was not a little astonished when a messenger from her

son bade her repair to his apartments, where the King had already

assembled several of the highest officials of the realm, both Goths and

Romans. Amongst these last were Cassiodorus and Cethegus.

At first the latter had intended to absent himself, in order not by his

presence to acknowledge the right which the youth had assumed; he

suspected nothing good. But just for this reason he altered his mind.

"I must not turn my back upon danger, I must face it," he said as he

prepared for the distasteful assembly.

He found all those who had been invited already collected in the King's

chamber. The Queen alone was still absent. When she at last entered,

Athalaric, who wore a long and wide purple robe, with the crown of

Theodoric shining upon his brow, and his sword at his side, rose from

his throne (behind which was a niche covered by a curtain), advanced to

the Queen and led her to a second and higher throne, which, however,

was placed on the left. So soon as she was seated he began:

"My royal mother, brave Goths, noble Romans! We have assembled you here

to make known to you our will. Dangers threatened this kingdom which

only we, its King, could avert."

Such a speech had never yet been heard from his lips. All were silent

and confounded; Cethegus from prudence; he waited for the proper

moment. At last Cassiodorus began:

"Your wise mother and your faithful servant Cassiodorus----"

"My faithful servant Cassiodorus will be silent until his lord and King

asks his advice. We are discontented, highly discontented, with that

which the advisers of our mother have, until now, done and left undone.

It is high time that we ourselves should look to the right. Until now

we were too young and too ailing. We feel so no more. We announce to

you that we accordingly annul the regency, and take the reins of

government into our own hands."

He ceased. Every one remained silent. None wished, like Cassiodorus, to

speak and be rebuked.

At length Amalaswintha, who was quite stunned by the sudden energy

displayed by her son, again found her tongue:

"My son, the age of minority is, according to the laws of the

Emperor----"

"The Romans, mother, may abide by the Emperor's laws. We are Goths and

live under Gothic law. German youths are of age when the assembled army

has declared them capable of bearing arms. We have therefore determined

to invite all the generals, counts, and freemen of our realm, as many

as will obey our call, from all the provinces of the kingdom, to a

review of the army at Ravenna. They will arrive at the next solstitial

feast."

All were mute with surprise.

"That will be in fourteen days," said Cassiodorus at last. "Will it be

possible to issue summonses in so short a time?"

"They are issued. Hildebrand, my old master-at-arms, and Earl Witichis

have thought of everything."

"Who has signed the summonses!" asked Amalaswintha, taking courage.

"I alone, dear mother. It was necessary to show those invited that I

was old enough to act alone."

"And without my knowledge!" cried the Queen-regent.

"It was done without your knowledge, because otherwise it must have

been done against your will."

He ceased. All the Romans were confounded by the suddenly developed

energy of the young King. Only Cethegus was at once resolved to prevent

the review at any price. He saw the foundations of all his plans

tottering. Gladly would he have come to the help of the regency, which

was thus sinking before his very eyes, with all the weight of his

oratory; he would have long since gladly crushed the bold efforts of

the youth with his calm superiority, but a strange circumstance held

his thoughts and tongue enchained as if in magic bonds.

He fancied he heard a noise behind the curtain, and fixed a keen look

upon it. He soon remarked beneath it, for the fringes did not quite

reach the ground, the feet of a man. But only as far up as the ankles.

Upon these ankles, however, were steel greaves of peculiar

construction. He knew these greaves; he knew that they belonged to a

full suit of armour of the same make; he knew also, by an instinctive

connection of ideas, that the wearer of this armour was hateful and

dangerous to him. But still it was impossible for him to say who this

enemy was. If he could only have seen the greaves as far up as the

knee!

His eyes wandered again and again to the same spot. Against his will

his mind was occupied in guessing. And this circumstance kept his

attention fixed, at a moment when everything was at stake. He was angry

with himself, but he could not tear his thoughts and looks away from

the niche.

Meanwhile the King continued without contradiction: "Further, we have

recalled the noble Dukes Thulun, Ibba and Pitza, who have left our

court in ill-will, from Gaul and Spain. We find that too many Romans

and too few Goths surround us. These three brave warriors, together

with Earl Witichis, will examine the defences of our kingdom, the

fortresses and ships, and will discover and remedy all deficiencies. We

expect them to arrive shortly."

"They must at once leave the place again," said Cethegus to himself;

but his thoughts repeated, "not without reason is that man concealed

behind the curtain."

"Further," resumed Athalaric, "we have ordered Mataswintha, our

beautiful sister, to return to court. She was banished to Tarento

because she refused to become the wife of an aged Roman. She shall

return, the loveliest flower of our realm and an ornament to our

court."

"Impossible!" cried Amalaswintha; "you attack the rights, not only of

the Queen, but of the mother."

"I am the head of the family as soon as I am of age."

"My son, you know how feeble you were only a few weeks ago. Do you

really believe that the Gothic warriors will declare you capable of

bearing arms?"

The King became as scarlet as his royal purple, partly from shame,

partly from anger. Before he could find an answer, a rough voice at his

side exclaimed:

"Be not troubled about that, your Majesty! I have been his master,"

continued the speaker, turning to the assembly: "I tell you that he can

measure his strength against any foe; and whom old Hildebrand declares

capable of bearing arms is considered so by all the Goths."

Loud applause from all the Goths present confirmed this assertion.

Again Cethegus would have put in his word, but a movement behind the

curtain drew his attention away. "It is one of my greatest enemies, but

who?" he thought.

"There is yet an important matter to make known to you," again began

the King with a hasty glance at the niche, which did not escape

Cethegus.

"Perhaps an accusation against me," thought the latter; "they want to

take me by surprise? They shall not succeed!"

But it surprised him, after all, when the King suddenly called in a

loud voice:

"Prefect of Rome! Cethegus Caesarius!"

Cethegus started; but, quickly recovering himself, bent his head and

answered: "My Lord and King!"

"Have you nothing to announce from Rome? What is the feeling of the

Quirites? What do people think of the Goths?"

"They are honoured as the people of Theodoric."

"Are they feared?"

"There is no cause to fear them."

"Are they loved?"

Gladly would the Prefect have replied, "There is no cause to love

them;" but the King himself continued:

"So there is no trace of discontent? No cause for uneasiness? Nothing

particular in preparation?"

"I have nothing to communicate."

"Then you are badly informed, Prefect of Rome, or badly disposed! What?

must I--who have scarcely risen from my sick-bed here at Ravenna--tell

you what happens in Rome under your very eyes? The workmen on your

bulwarks sing satirical songs against the Goths, against the Queen,

against me. Your legions use threatening words while practising the use

of their arms. Most probably there exists already a widespread

conspiracy, with senators and priests at its head. They assemble by

night in secret places. An accomplice of Boethius, a banished man,

Albinus, has been seen in Rome, and do you know where? In the garden of

your house."

All eyes--either in astonishment, rage, or fear--were fixed upon

Cethegus. Amalaswintha trembled for the object of her trust. But he was

now quite himself again. Quiet, cool, and silent, he looked full at the

King.

"Justify yourself!" exclaimed the King.

"Justify myself? Against a shadow, a report? Against an accusation

without accusers? Never!"

"We shall know how to force you."

The Prefect's thin lips curled with contempt.

"I may be murdered upon mere suspicion, without doubt--we Italians have

experienced such a thing--but not condemned. There can be no

justification opposed to force."

"Justice shall be done, doubt it not. We charge all Romans present with

the examination, and leave the sentence to the Roman Senate. Choose a

defender."

"I defend myself," said Cethegus coolly. "What is the accusation? Who

is my accuser? Where is he?"

"Here!" cried the King, and threw back the curtain.

A Gothic warrior, in a full suit of black armour, stepped forth. We

already know him. It was Teja.

The Prefect turned away his eyes in deadly hatred.

Teja spoke.

"I, Teja, son of Tagila, accuse thee, Cethegus Caesarius, of treason

against the Goths. I accuse thee of having hidden the banished traitor,

Albinus, in thy house in Rome. Death is the penalty. And, besides this,

thou art plotting to subject this country to the Emperor of Byzantium."

"That least of all," said Cethegus coolly, "Prove your accusation."

"I saw Albinus, with my own eyes, entering thy garden fourteen days

ago," continued Teja, turning to the assembly. "He came from the Via

Sacra, enveloped in a mantle, a wide-brimmed hat upon his head. I had

seen him on two former occasions; this time I recognised him. As I went

towards him, he disappeared through a door, which closed behind him."

"Since when does my colleague, the brave Commandant of Rome, play the

nightly spy?"

"Since he had a Cethegus at his side," retorted Teja. "But as the

fugitive escaped, this roll fell from his mantle. It contains the names

of distinguished Romans, and opposite to each name notices in an

unknown cipher. Here is the roll."

He gave it to the King, who read:

"The names are Silverius, Cethegus, Licinius, Scaevola, Calpurnius,

Pomponius. Canst thou swear, Teja, that the disguised man was Albinus?"

"I will swear it."

"Prefect of Rome, Earl Teja is a free, unblemished, honourable man. Can

you deny it?"

"I deny it. He is not unblemished. His parents lived in an illegal,

incestuous marriage; they were sister's children. The Church has cursed

their connection and its fruit. He is a bastard, and can not bear

witness against a noble Roman of senatorial rank."

A murmur of anger burst from all the Goths present. Teja's pale face

became still paler. He grasped his sword.

"Then I will defend my word with my sword," he said, in a voice stifled

by rage. "I challenge thee to mortal combat! God shall judge between

us!"

"I am a Roman, and do not act according to your barbaric customs. But

even if I were a Goth, I would refuse to fight a bastard!"

"Patience," said Teja, and quietly returned his sword to its sheath.

"Patience, my sword; thy day will come!"

The Romans in the room breathed again.

The King resumed:

"However that may be, the accusation is sufficiently well founded to

justify the arrest of the said Roman. You, Cassiodorus, will decipher

the secret writing. You, Earl Witichis, will hasten to Rome and make

sure of the five suspected men; search their houses, and that of the

Prefect. Hildebrand, arrest the accused, and take his sword."

"Hold!" said Cethegus. "I will guarantee not to leave Ravenna until

this question be settled, with the forfeiture of all my property. I

demand an examination upon a free footing; such is the right of a

senator."

"Trouble not thyself about that, my son," cried old Hildebrand to the

King. "Let me arrest him!"

"Let him alone," answered the King. "He shall have strict justice.

Leave him. The accusation has taken him by surprise. He shall have time

to prepare his defence. To-morrow at this hour we will meet here again.

I dissolve the assembly."

He made a sign with his sceptre. Amalaswintha hurried away in the

greatest excitement.

The Goths surrounded Teja, greatly pleased; but the Romans passed

quickly by Cethegus, avoiding any speech with him.

Cassiodorus alone stepped firmly up to him, laid his hand upon his

shoulder, looking searchingly into his eyes, and then asked:

"Cethegus, can I help you?"

"No; I will help myself," answered Cethegus, shaking him off, and went

out alone with a proud step.

CHAPTER XVI.

The heavy blow which the young King had so unexpectedly aimed at the

whole system of the Regency soon filled the palace and the city with

astonishment, fright, or joy. Cassiodorus took the first decided news

to the family of Boethius, at the same time sending Rusticiana to

comfort the agitated Queen.

Overwhelmed with questions, he circumstantially related the whole

proceeding; and disturbed and indignant though he was, his admiration

of the decision and courage of the young King shone unmistakably

through his unfriendly report.

Camilla listened with eagerness to every word; pride in the

beloved--love's happiest feeling--filled her whole soul.

"There is no doubt," concluded Cassiodorus, sighing, "that Athalaric is

our most decided adversary. He sticks to the Gothic party--to

Hildebrand and his friends. He will undo the Prefect. Who would have

believed it? I cannot help remembering, Rusticiana, how differently he

conducted himself with regard to the process against your husband."

Camilla listened attentively.

"At that time we were convinced that he would be the most ardent

friend, the most zealous advocate of the Romans."

"I know nothing of it," said Rusticiana.

"It was hushed up. The sentence of death had been pronounced upon

Boethius and his sons. In vain had we all, Amalaswintha foremost,

appealed to the clemency of the King: his ire was unappeasable. As I

again and again besieged him with petitions, he started up in anger and

swore by his crown, that he who again dared to petition for the

traitors, should repent it in the deepest dungeon of the palace. At

that we were all dumb, except one. Athalaric, the boy, would not be

repulsed; he wept and prayed, and clung to his grandfather's knees."

Camilla trembled and held her breath.

"And he did not desist," Cassiodorus went on, "until Theodoric, starting

up in a rage, pushed him violently away, and delivered him to the

guards. The King kept his oath. Athalaric was led into the castle

dungeon, and Boethius was at once executed."

Camilla tottered, felt herself sinking, and caught at a slender pillar

near which she was standing.

"But Athalaric had not spoken and suffered in vain," continued

Cassiodorus. "The next evening, while at table, the King sorely missed

his darling. He remembered with what noble courage the youth had begged

for his friend's life, when all men were dumb with fear. At last he

rose from his repast, at which he had sat reflecting for some time, and

descended in person to the prison, opened the doors, embraced his

grandson, and granted his petition to spare the lives of your sons,

Rusticiana."

"Away! away to him!" exclaimed Camilla, and hurried, unnoticed, out of

the hall.

"At that time," concluded Cassiodorus, "Romans and their friends

believed that in the young King they had found their best support; and

now--my unfortunate mistress, unhappy mother!" and with this lament

upon his lips, he departed.

Rusticiana sat for some time as if stunned. She saw the foundations,

upon which she had built her plans of revenge, totter; she sank into a

moody reverie.

Longer and longer stretched the shadows of the towers across the court

of the palace, into which she was gazing. All at once she was roused by

the firm footsteps of a man; Cethegus stood before her. His countenance

was cold and dark, but icily calm.

"Cethegus!" cried the distressed woman, hurrying towards him; and would

have taken his hand, but his coldness repulsed her.

"All is lost!" she sighed, stopping short.

"Nothing is lost. Calmness is all that is wanting--and promptness," he

added, looking round the room.

When he saw that he was alone with her, he put his hand into the folds

of his toga.

"Your love-philtre has done no good, Rusticiana. Here is another; more

potent. Take it," and he thrust into her hand a small phial made of

dark-coloured lava-stone.

She looked into his face with anxious suspicion.

"Do you all at once believe in magic and charms? Who has mixed it?"

"I," he answered, "and _my_ potions work."

"You!" a cold shudder ran through her frame.

"Ask no questions, do not delay," he commanded. "It must be done this

day! Do you hear? This very day!"

But Rusticiana still hesitated, and looked doubtfully at the bottle in

her hand.

Then Cethegus went close to her and lightly touched her shoulder.

"You hesitate?" he said slowly. "Do you know what is at stake? Not only

our whole plan! No, blind mother. Still more. Camilla _loves_, loves

the King; with all the power of her young soul. Shall the daughter of

Boethius become the paramour of the tyrant?"

With a loud cry Rusticiana started back. That which, during the last

few days, had crossed her mind with a terrible suspicion, now became a

certainty; she cast one glance at the man who had spoken the cruel

word, and hurried away, angrily grasping the phial.

Cethegus looked quietly after her.

"Now, young Prince, we shall see! You were quick, I am quicker. It is

strange," he added, "I have long thought that I was incapable of such

violent emotion. Life has again a charm. I can again strive, hope, and

fear. Even hate. Yes, I hate this boy, who dares to meddle in

my affairs with his childish hand. He would defy me--hinder my

progress--he boldly crosses my path--he! Well, let him bear the

consequences!" And he slowly left the chamber, and turned towards the

audience-room of the Queen, where he intentionally showed himself to

the assembled crowd, and, by his calmness, gave some degree of

confidence to the troubled hearts of the Roman courtiers.

At sunset he went with Cassiodorus and a few other Romans--consulting

about his defence for the next day--into the gardens, where he looked

about in vain for Camilla.

She, as soon as she had heard the end of Cassiodorus' report, had

hurried to the court of the palace, where she hoped to find the King at

the exercise of arms with the other young Goths. She only wished to see

him, not yet to speak to him and beg pardon at his feet for the great

wrong she had done him.

She had abhorred him, repulsed him, hated him as spotted with the blood

of her father--him, who had suffered for her father's sake, who had

saved her brothers' lives!

But she did not find the King in the court. The important events of the

day kept him confined to his study. His comrades also did not fence

to-day. Standing in thick groups, they loudly praised the courage of

their young King. Camilla heard this praise with delight. Blushing with

pride, she wandered in happy dreams about the garden, seeking the

traces of her lover in all her favourite haunts.

Yes, she loved him! Joyfully and proudly she confessed it to herself;

he had a thousand times deserved it. What matter that he was a Goth, a

barbarian! He was a noble, generous youth, the King of her soul!

She repeatedly told the slave who accompanied her to keep at a

distance, so that she might not hear how she again and again murmured

the beloved name.

At last she arrived at the Temple of Venus, and sank into sweet dreams

of the future, which lay indistinct, but golden-hued, before her. She

first of all resolved to declare to her mother and the Prefect that

they must no more reckon upon her assistance in any plot against the

King. Then she would ask pardon for her fault with moving words, and

then--then?

She did not know what would happen then; but she blushed in the midst

of her sweet reverie.

Red and perfumed almond-blossoms fell from the bending trees; in the

thick oleander near her sang a nightingale; the clear stream glided

purling past her to the blue sea, and the waves of this sea rolled

softly to her feet, as if doing homage to her love.

CHAPTER XVII.

The sound of approaching footsteps upon the sandy path startled her

from her reverie. The step was so rapid and firm, that she did not

expect Athalaric. But he it was, changed in appearance and carriage;

more manly, stronger, more decided.

"Welcome, welcome, Camilla!" he cried, in a loud and lively voice. "To

see you here is the best reward for this troublous day."

He had never spoken to her so before.

"My King!" she whispered, blushing. She cast a beaming look upon him

from her dark eyes, then the long and silky lashes fell.

"My King!" She had never before called him so, never given him such a

look.

"Your King!" he said, seating himself beside her. "I fear you will call

me so no longer, when you learn what has happened to-day."

"I know all."

"You know! Well then, Camilla, be just. Do not scold, I am no

tyrant----"

"The noble youth!" she thought. "He excuses himself for his most manly

act."

"Heaven knows that I do not hate the Romans. Are they not your people?

I honour them and their ancient greatness; I respect their rights; but

I must firmly protect my kingdom, Theodoric's creation, and woe to the

hand that threatens it! Perhaps," he continued, more slowly and

solemnly, "perhaps its doom is already written in the stars. 'Tis all

the same. I, its King, must with it stand or fall."

"You say truly, Athalaric, and speak like a King!"

"Thanks, Camilla; how just and good you are today! To such goodness I

may well confide what blessing, what healing has come to me. I was a

sick and erring dreamer, without support, without joy, gladly sinking

to the grave. Then there suddenly came over me a feeling of the danger

which threatened this nation, an active anxiety for the welfare of my

people, and out of this anxiety grew a warm and mighty love for my

Goths; and this ardent and watchful love has strengthened and comforted

my heart for .... a bitterly painful renunciation. What matters _my_

happiness, if only my people flourish! See, this thought has made me

whole and strong, and truly, I could now venture upon the most daring

deed!"

He sprang up and extended both his arms, exclaiming: "Oh, Camilla! this

inaction destroys me! Oh that I were mounted and meeting a full-armed

foe! Look," he added, more calmly, "the sun is setting. The mirror-like

flood invites us. Come, Camilla, come with me in the boat."

Camilla hesitated. She looked around.

"The slave?" asked Athalaric. "Ah, let her alone. There she reposes

under the palm by the spring. She sleeps. Come, come quickly, ere the

sun sets. Look at the golden ripple on the water--it beckons us!"

"To the Isles of the Blessed?" asked the lovely girl, with a shy look

and a slight blush.

"Yes, come to the Blessed Isles!" he answered, delighted, lifted her

quickly into the boat, loosed the silver chain from the ram's head upon

the quay, sprang in, took the ornamental oar, and pushed off.

Then he laid the oar into the notch at his left hand, and, standing in

the stern of the boat, steered and rowed at the same time--a graceful

and picturesque movement, and a right Germanic ferryman's custom.

Camilla sat upon a _diphros_, or Grecian folding-stool, in the bow of

the boat, and looked into Athalaric's noble face. His dark hair was

ruffled by the breeze, and it was pleasant to watch the lithe and

graceful motions of his agile form.

Both were silent. Like an arrow the light bark shot through the smooth

water. Flecked and rosy cloudlets passed slowly across the sky, the

faint breeze was laden with clouds of perfume from the blossoming

almond-trees upon the shore, and all around was peace and harmony.

At last the King broke the silence, while giving the boat a strong

impulse, so that it obediently shot forwards.

"Do you know of what I am thinking? How splendid it would be to steer a

nation--thousands of well-loved lives--securely forward through waves

and wind, to happiness and glory! But what were you thinking about,

Camilla? You looked so kind, you must have had pleasant thoughts."

She blushed and looked aside into the water.

"Oh, speak! Be frank in this happy hour."

"I was thinking," she said, her pretty head still averted, "how

delightful it must be to be steered through the heaving flood of life

by a faithful and beloved hand, to whose guidance one could implicitly

trust."

"Oh, Camilla, even a barbarian may be trusted--"

"You are no barbarian! Whoever feels so tenderly, thinks so nobly, so

generously controls himself, and rewards great ingratitude with

kindness, is no barbarian! He is as noble a man as ever Scipio was."

The King ceased to row in his delight; the boat remained motionless.

"Camilla, am I dreaming? Did _you_ say that? and to me V 9

"More still, Athalaric! I beseech you to forgive that I have repulsed

you so cruelly. Ah! it was from shame and fear."

"Camilla, pearl of my soul----"

Camilla, who had her face turned towards the shore, suddenly cried out:

"What is that? They follow us. The court! the women! my mother!"

It was so. Rusticiana, aroused by the Prefect's terrible warning, had

sought for her daughter in the garden. She could not find her. She

hurried to the Temple of Venus. In vain. Looking around, she suddenly

caught sight of the two--her child, alone with Athalaric--in the boat,

far out upon the sea.

Greatly angered, she rushed to the marble table, where the slaves

were just preparing the King's evening draught, sent them down the

steps to unloose the gondola, won in this way an unobserved moment

near the table, and directly afterwards descended the steps with

Daphnidion--whom her angry cry had awakened--to the boat.

At this moment the Prefect and his friends, whose walk had also led

them to this place, approached from a thick taxus-path. Cethegus

followed Rusticiana down the steps and gave her his hand to help her

into the gondola.

"It is done!" she whispered to him, and the boat pushed off.

It was just then that the young pair became aware of the movement upon

the beach. Camilla stood up; perhaps she suspected that the King would

turn the boat, but he cried:

"No; they shall not rob me of this hour, the happiest of my life! I

must sip still more of these sweet words. Oh, Camilla, you must tell me

more; you must tell me all! Come, we will land upon that island, they

may reach us there."

And rowing rapidly, he pressed with all his might upon the oar, so that

the boat flew forward as if winged.

"Will you not speak again?"

"Oh! my friend, my King--do not press me."

He only looked into her lovely face, into her beaming eyes; he paid no

more attention to his goal.

"Well, wait--there upon the island; there you shall----"

A renewed and passionate effort, when all at once a dull crash was

heard; the boat had struck, and drove, shaking violently, backwards.

"Oh, Heaven!" cried Camilla, springing up and looking towards the bow

of the boat. A whole volume of water came foaming towards her. "The

boat has burst! we sink!" she cried, turning pale.

"Come here to me; let me see!" cried Athalaric, starting up. "Ah! it is

the 'Needles of the Amphitrites!' We are lost!"

The "Needles of the Amphitrites"--we know that they could scarcely be

seen from the terrace of the temple--were two narrow, sharp-pointed

rocks, lying between the shore and the nearest lagoon island. They

scarcely rose above the level of the water; with the slightest wind,

the waves washed quite over them.

Athalaric knew the danger of the place, and had always easily avoided

it; but this time he had only looked into Camilla's eyes.

At one glance he saw their fearful position.

They could not be saved.

A plank in the bottom of the slightly-made boat had sprung; the water

rushed rapidly through the leak. The boat sank deeper and deeper every

moment.

He could not hope, with Camilla, to gain the nearest island or the

shore by swimming. On the narrow point of the rock scarcely the feet of

a sea-eagle could have found a moment's resting-place, and Rusticiana's

gondola had only just pushed off from the land.

All this he had seen with lightning-like rapidity, and he cast a

horrified look at Camilla.

"Beloved, thou must die!" he cried despairingly. "And through me!" He

embraced her passionately.

"Die?" she cried. "Oh no! not so young--not now! Let me live--live with

thee!" And she clung closely to his arm.

The tone, the words, cut him to the heart. He tore himself loose; he

looked about for rescue. In vain; in vain. The water rose higher and

higher; the boat sank more and more rapidly. He threw the oar away.

"It is over--all is over, beloved! Let us take leave!"

"No; we part no more! If we must die--oh! then, away with all the

restraints which bind the living!" And, glowing all over, she nestled

to his breast. "Oh! let me tell thee, let me confess to thee how much I

love thee; how long ago--since--since first I knew thee! All my hate

was only bashful love. Oh, God! I loved thee already when I thought I

ought to abhor thee! Yes, thou shalt know how I love thee!" And she

covered his eyes and mouth with hasty kisses. "Oh! now I will gladly

die. Rather die with thee than live without thee! But no"--and she

suddenly pushed him away--"thou shalt not die! Leave me here; go!

swim--you can easily reach the island alone. Try; and leave me."

"No," he cried, in an ecstasy of joy; "rather die with thee than live

without thee! After such painful doubt, at length joyous certainty!

From this hour we belong to each other for ever. Come, Camilla,

beloved, let us die together!"

A shudder of horror and delight, of love and death, shook their frames.

He drew her to him, embraced her with his left arm, and lifted her upon

the steer-board of the boat, which scarcely rose a hand's-breadth above

the water. Already he prepared for the fatal leap--when suddenly they

both uttered a joyful cry.

Round a precipitous promontory which stretched far out into the sea, at

a short distance, they saw a ship coming at full speed.

The crew had heard their cry, and, at all events, saw their danger;

perhaps had even recognised the person of the King. Forty oars, plunged

into the water at the same moment by the rowers on the double deck,

gave impetus to the course of the swift vessel, which rustled before

the wind with swelling sails.

Those who crowded the deck shouted to them to stand firm; and

presently--it was high time--the prow of the bireme lay close over the

little boat, which sank immediately after the endangered pair had been

taken on board the ship through the opening of the lower deck.

It was a small Gothic guardship. The golden rampant lion, the arms of

the Amelungs, shone upon the blue flag. Aligern, a cousin of Teja,

commanded it.

"Thanks, brave friends!" said Athalaric, as soon as he could find

words. "Thanks! you have not only saved your King, but also your

Queen!"

Much astonished, soldiers and sailors surrounded the happy man, who

held the weeping Camilla in his arms.

"Hail to our young and beautiful Queen!" cried the red-haired Aligern;

and the crew shouted enthusiastically, "Hail! hail to our Queen!"

At this moment the sailing-vessel rustled past Rusticiana's gondola.

The sound of this joyous shout aroused the unhappy woman from the

stupor of horror into which she had fallen when her two startled

oarsmen had discovered the danger of the young couple in the sinking

boat, and had at once declared that it was impossible to save them.

On hearing this, she had sunk senseless into Daphnidion's arms. Now she

came to herself, and cast a confused glance around her. She was amazed.

Was it a dream that she saw, or was it really her daughter who stood on

the deck of the Gothic ship, which proudly rustled past, lying on the

young King's breast? And did really joyous voices cry, "Hail, Camilla,

our Queen?" She stared at the passing vision, speechless and

confounded.

But the swiftly-flying ship had already passed her boat and drew near

the land. It anchored outside the shallow garden-bay; a boat was

lowered, the rescued couple, Aligern, and three sailors sprang into it,

and soon they climbed the steps of the quay, where, besides Cethegus

and his companions, a crowd of people had collected, who, from the

palace or the gardens, had with horror become aware of the danger of

the little boat, and now hurried to greet the rescued King.

Accompanied by felicitations and blessings, Athalaric mounted the

steps.

"Behold!" he said, on arriving at the temple, "behold, Goths and

Romans! behold your Queen, my bride! The God of Death has united us. Is

it not so, Camilla?"

She looked up at him, but was terribly startled. The excitement

and the sudden change from horror to joy had fearfully shaken the

scarcely-recovered King. His countenance was pale as marble; he

tottered and convulsively pressed his hand to his breast, as though

suffocating.

"For God's sake!" cried Camilla, fearing an attack of his old malady.

"The King is unwell! Quick with the wine, the medicine!"

She flew to the table, caught up the silver cup which stood ready, and

pressed it into the King's hand.

Cethegus stood close by, and followed Athalaric's every movement with

eagerness. The latter had already lifted the cup to his lips, but

suddenly removed it, and said, smiling, to Camilla:

"Thou must drink to me, as becomes a Gothic Queen at her court."

And he gave her the goblet. She took it out of his hand.

For a moment the Prefect felt as if on fire.

He was upon the point of darting forward to dash the cup from her hand.

But he controlled himself. If he did so, he was irrevocably lost. Not

only tomorrow, as guilty of high treason, but at once arrested and

accused of poisoning. And with him would be lost the future of Rome and

all his ideal world. And for whom? For a love-sick girl, who had

faithlessly revolted to his deadly enemy.

"No," he said coldly to himself, clenching his fist; "she or

Rome--therefore she!"

And he quietly looked on while the girl, sweetly blushing, sipped

somewhat of the wine, which the King then drank to the last dregs.

Athalaric shuddered as he replaced the cup upon the marble table.

"Come up to the palace," he said, shivering, and threw his mantle

across his shoulders; "I feel cold."

And he turned away. In doing so he caught sight of Cethegus, stood

still for a moment, and looked penetratingly into the Prefect's eyes.

"You here?" he said gloomily, and advanced a step towards him. All at

once he shuddered again, and, with a sudden cry, fell prone near the

spring.

"Athalaric!" cried Camilla, and threw herself upon him. The old servant

Corbulo sprang to her from the group of domestics.

"Help!" he cried; "she is dying--the King!"

"Water, quick! water!" called Cethegus, and he resolutely went to the

table, took the silver cup, stooped, rinsed it quickly but thoroughly

in the spring, and then bent over the King, who lay in Cassiodorus'

arms, while Corbulo laid Camilla's head upon his knee.

Helpless and horrified, the courtiers surrounded the two apparently

lifeless forms.

"What has happened? My child!" With this cry Rusticiana, who had just

landed, rushed to her daughter's side. "Camilla!" she screamed

desperately, "what ails you?"

"Nothing," said Cethegus quietly, examining the two bodies. "It is only

a fainting-fit. But his heart-disease has carried off the young King!

He is dead!"

BOOK II.

AMALASWINTHA.

"Amalaswintha did not despair like a woman, but vigorously defended her

royalty."--_Procopius: Wars of the Goths_, i. 2.

CHAPTER I.

Athalaric's sudden death fell like lightning from a clear sky upon the

Gothic party, whose hopes, just at this very time, had been raised to

such a high pitch. All the measures which the King had taken at their

suggestion were paralysed, and the national party was left without a

representative in the State; at the head of which the Queen-regent was

now placed alone.

Early in the morning of the next day Cassiodorus went to the Prefect of

Rome. He found him in a sound and tranquil sleep.

"And you can sleep as quietly as a child after such a blow?"

"I sleep," answered Cethegus, raising himself on his elbow, "in the

feeling of renewed security."

"Security! yes, for you; but the kingdom!"

"The kingdom was in more danger through this boy than I. Where is the

Queen?"

"She sits speechless beside the open coffin of her son! She has sat

there the whole night."

Cethegus sprang up.

"That must not be! It does no good. She belongs to the State, not to

this corpse. So much the less because I have heard whispers concerning

poison. The young tyrant had many enemies. How about that matter?"

"Very uncertain. The Grecian physician, Elpidios, who examined the

corpse, certainly speaks of some striking appearances. But he thinks

that if poison has been used it must be a very secret one, quite

unknown to him. In the cup from which the unfortunate boy drank there

could not be discovered the least trace of suspicious contents. So it

is generally believed that excitement had again brought on his former

malady, and that this was the cause of his death. But still it is well

that, since the moment of your leaving the assembly, _you_ were always

in the presence of witnesses; grief breeds suspicion."

"How is it with Camilla?" the Prefect inquired further.

"She has never yet awakened from her stupor; the physicians fear the

worst. But I came to ask you what shall now be done? The Queen speaks

of suppressing the examination concerning you."

"That must not be," cried Cethegus. "I demand an investigation. We will

go to her immediately."

"Will you intrude upon her at the coffin of her son?"

"Yes, I will. Do you shrink from it in your tender consideration? Well

then, come afterwards, when I have broken the ice."

He dismissed his visitor and called his slaves to dress him. Shortly

afterwards, enveloped in a dark mourning garment, he descended to the

vault where the corpse lay exposed. With an imperious gesture he

motioned aside the guard and the women of Amalaswintha, who kept watch

at the door, and entered noiselessly.

It was the low vaulted hall, where, in former times, the corpses of the

emperors had been prepared with salves and combustibles for the funeral

pyre.

This quiet hall, flagged with dark-green serpentine, the roof of which

was supported by short Doric columns of black marble, was never

illumined by a ray of sunshine, and at the present moment no other

light fell upon the gloomy Byzantine mosaics on the gold ground of the

walls than that from four torches, which flickered with an uncertain

light near the stone sarcophagus of the young King.

There he lay upon a dark purple mantle; helm, sword, and shield at his

head.

Old Hildebrand had wound a wreath of oak-leaves amidst the dark locks.

The noble features reposed in pallid and earnest beauty.

At his feet, clad in a long mourning veil, sat the tall form of the

Queen, supporting her head upon her left arm, which was laid upon the

sarcophagus. Her right hand hung languidly down. She could weep no

more.

The crackling of the burning torches was the only sound in this

stillness of the grave.

Cethegus entered noiselessly, not unmoved by the poetry of the scene.

But, contracting his brows, he smothered the passing feeling of

compassion. He knew that it was necessary to be clear and composed.

He gently drew near and took Amalaswintha's relaxed hand.

"Rise, noble lady, you belong to the living, not to the dead."

She looked up, startled.

"You here, Cethegus? What seek you here?"

"A Queen!"

"Oh, you only find a weeping mother!" she cried, sobbing.

"That I cannot believe. The kingdom is in danger, and Amalaswintha will

show that even a woman can sacrifice her sorrow to the fatherland."

"She can!" replied the Queen, rising. "But look at him. How young! how

beautiful! How could Heaven be so cruel!"

"Now, or never!" thought Cethegus, and said aloud: "Heaven is just,

severe; not cruel."

"Of what do you speak? What wrong has my noble son committed? Do you

dare to accuse him?"

"Not I! But a portion of Holy Writ has been fulfilled upon him: 'Honour

thy father and mother, that thy days may be long in the land!' The

commandment is also a threat. Yesterday he sinned against his mother

and dishonoured her by bold rebellion--to-day he lies here. Therein I

see the finger of God."

Amalaswintha covered her face. She had heartily forgiven her son while

watching beside his coffin. But still this view, these words,

powerfully affected her, and drew her attention away from her grief to

the well-loved habit of government.

"You wish, O Queen, to suppress my examination, and recall Witichis.

Witichis may be recalled. But I demand, as my right, that the

prosecution be continued, and I fully expect a solemn acquittal."

"I have never doubted your fidelity. Woe to me, should I be obliged to

do so! Tell me that you know of no conspiracy, and all is ended."

She seemed to expect his asseveration,

Cethegus was silent for a short time. Then he quietly said:

"Queen, I know of a conspiracy."

"What say you?" cried the Queen, looking at him threateningly.

"I have chosen this hour and place," continued Cethegus, with a glance

at the corpse, "to put a seal to my devotion, so that it may be

indelibly impressed upon your heart. Hear and judge me."

"What shall I hear?" said the Queen, now upon her guard, and firmly

resolved to allow herself to be neither deceived nor softened.

"I should be a bad Roman, Queen, and you would despise me, if I did not

love my nation above all things. That proud nation, which even you, a

stranger, love! I know--as you know--that hatred against you as

heretics and barbarians still smoulders in the hearts of most Italians.

The last harsh deeds of your father have fanned this feeling into a

flame. I suspected a conspiracy. I sought and discovered it."

"And concealed it?" said the Queen, rising in anger.

"And concealed it. Until to-day. The blind fools would have sought

assistance from the Greeks, and, after destroying the Goths, subjected

themselves to the Emperor."

"The vile traitors!" cried Amalaswintha.

"The fools! They had already gone so far, that only _one_ means was

left by which to keep them back: I placed myself at their head."

"Cethegus!"

"In this manner I gained time, and was able to prevent noble, though

blind men, from rushing to destruction. I opened their eyes by degrees,

and showed them that their plan, if it succeeded, would have only

exchanged a mild government for a despotic one. They acknowledged it;

they obeyed me; and no Byzantine will ever touch Italian soil, until I

call him, I--or you."

"I! Do you rave?"

"Sophocles, your favourite, says, 'Forswear nothing.' Be warned, Queen,

for you do not see the pressing danger. Another conspiracy, much more

dangerous than that of these Roman enthusiasts, and close to you,

threatens you, your kingdom, and the Amelungs' right of sovereignty--a

conspiracy of the Goths!"

Amalaswintha turned pale.

"You have seen yesterday, to your sorrow, that your hand can no more

guide the rudder of this realm. Just as little as could that of your

noble son, who was but the tool of your enemies. You know, Queen, that

many of your nation are bloodthirsty, barbarous, rapacious, and brutal;

they would like to levy contributions upon this land, where Virgil and

Tullius wandered. Yon know that your insolent nobles hate the

superiority of your royal house, and would make themselves its equal.

You know that the rude Goths think unworthily of woman's vocation for

government."

"I know it," she said, proudly and angrily.

"But you do not know that both these parties are united. They are

united against you and your Roman predilections. They will overthrow

you, or force you to do their will. Cassiodorus and I are to be

dismissed from your side, our Senate and our rights to be dissolved,

and the kingship to become a shadow. War is to be proclaimed against

the Emperor; and force, extortion, and rapine, let loose upon us

Romans."

"You paint mere idle phantoms!"

"Was that which happened yesterday an idle phantom? If Heaven had not

intervened, would not you--like me--be robbed of all your power? Would

you still be mistress in your kingdom, in your house? Are they not

already so strong, that the heathen Hildebrand, the countrified

Witichis, the gloomy Teja, openly defy your will in the name of your

befooled son? Have they not recalled the three rebel dukes? And your

perverse daughter, and----"

"True, too true," sighed the Queen.

"If these men should rule--then farewell science, art, and all noble

culture! Farewell, Italia, mother of humanity! Then, burst into flame,

you white parchments! crumble into fragments, you beautiful statues!

Brutality and murder will run rife in these plains, and posterity will

bear witness: 'Such things happened in the reign of Amalaswintha, the

daughter of Theodoric.'"

"Never, never shall that happen! But----"

"You want proofs? I fear you will have them only too soon. However, you

see, even now, that you cannot rely upon the Goths, if you wish to

prevent such horrors. We alone can protect you against them; we, to

whom you already belong by intellect and culture; we Romans. Then, when

the barbarians surround your throne with uproar, let me rally the men

around you who once conspired against you: the patriots of Rome! They

will protect you and themselves at the same time."

"Cethegus," said the distressed woman, "you influence men easily! Who,

tell me, who will answer for the patriots? Who will answer for _your_

truth?"

"This paper, Queen, and this! The first contains a correct list of the

Roman conspirators. You see, there are many hundred names. This is a

list of the members of the Gothic league, whom I certainly could only

guess at. But I guess well. With these two papers I give both these

parties--I give myself--completely into your hands. You can at any

moment reveal me to my own party as a traitor, who, before all things,

sought _your_ favour. You can expose me to the hatred of the Goths--as

soon as you will. I shall be left without adherents. I stand alone;

your favour is my only support."

The Queen had glanced over the papers with sparkling eyes. "Cethegus,"

she exclaimed, "I will always remember your fidelity and this hour!"

And she gave him her hand with emotion.

Cethegus slightly bent his head. "Still one thing more, O Queen. The

patriots, henceforward your friends as they are mine, know that the

hate of the barbarians, the sword of destruction, hangs over their

heads. Their anxious hearts require encouragement. Let me assure them

of your high protection. Place your name at the head of this list, and

let me thereby give them a visible sign of your favour."

She took the golden stylus and the waxen tablets which he handed to

her. For one moment she hesitated; then she quickly signed her name,

and gave tablets and stylus back again. "Here! They must be faithful to

me; as faithful as yourself!"

At this moment Cassiodorus entered. "O Queen, the Gothic nobles await

you. They wish to speak with you."

"I come! They shall learn my will!" she said vehemently; "but you,

Cassiodorus, shall be the first to know the decision to which I have

come during this trying hour, and which will soon be known to my whole

kingdom. Henceforward the Prefect of Rome is the first of my servants,

as he is the most faithful. He has the place of honour in my trust and

near my throne."

Much astonished, Cassiodorus led the Queen up the dark steps.

Cethegus followed slowly. He held up the tablets in his hand, and said

to himself: "Now you are mine, daughter of Theodoric! Your name upon

this list severs you for ever from your people!"