In the woods of Fiesole, a modern wanderer coming from Florence will
find to the right of the high-road the ruins of an extensive villa-like
edifice. Ivy, saxifrage and wild roses vie with each other in
concealing the ruins. For centuries the peasants in the neighbouring
villages have carried away stones from this place in order to dam up
the earth of their vineyards on the slopes of the hills. But even yet
the remains clearly show where once stood the colonnade before the
house, where the central hall, and where the wall of the court.
Weeds grow luxuriantly in the meadows where once lay in shining order
the beautiful gardens; nothing has been left of them except the wide
marble basin of a long dried-up fountain, in whose pebble-filled
runnels the lizards now sun themselves.
But in the days of our story the place looked very different. "The
Villa of Maecenas at Faesulae," as the building, probably with little or
no reason, was called at that time, was inhabited by happy people; the
house ordered by a woman's careful hand; the garden enlivened by
childhood's bright laughter.
The climbing clematis was gracefully trained up the slender shafts of
the Corinthian columns in front of the house, and the cheerful vine
shaded the flat roof. The winding walks in the garden were strewed with
white sand, and in the outhouses dedicated to domestic uses reigned an
order and cleanliness which was never to be found in a household served
by Roman slaves alone.
It was sunset.
The men and maid servants were returning from the fields. The
heavily-laden hay-carts swung along, drawn by horses which were
evidently not of Italian breed. The shepherds were driving goats and
sheep home from the hills, accompanied by large dogs, which scampered
on in front, barking joyously.
Close before the yard gate, a couple of Roman slaves, with shrill
voices and mad gestures, were urging on the panting horses of a cruelly
over-laden wagon, not with whips, but with sticks, the iron points of
which they stuck again and again into the same sore place upon the poor
animals' hides. In spite of this, no advance was made, for a large
stone lay just in front of the left fore-wheel of the wagon, which the
angry and impatient drivers did not notice.
"Forwards, beast! and son of a beast!" screamed one of them to the
struggling horse; "forwards, thou Gothic sluggard!" Another stab with
the iron point, a renewed and desperate pull; but the wheel did not go
over the stone, and the tortured animal fell on its knees, threatening
to upset the wagon by its struggles.
At this the rage of the driver was redoubled. "Wait, thou rascal!" he
shouted, and struck at the eye of the panting animal.
But he only struck once; the next moment he himself fell under a heavy
blow.
"Davus, thou wicked dog!" growled a powerful voice, and, twice as tall,
and certainly twice as broad as the frightened tormentor, there stood
over the fallen man a gigantic Goth, who rained down blows upon him
with a thick cudgel. "Thou miserable coward," said he, giving him a
final kick, "I will teach thee how to treat a creature which is ten
times better than thyself. I verily believe, thou rascal, that thou
treatest the beast ill, because he comes from the other side of the
mountains! If I catch thee at it again, I will break every bone in thy
body. Now get up, and unload--thou shalt carry every swath that is too
much into the barn upon thine own back. Forwards!"
With a malicious glance at his punisher the beaten man rose, and,
limping, prepared to obey.
The Goth had immediately helped the struggling horse to its feet, and
now carefully washed its broken knees with his own evening drink of
wine and water.
He had scarcely finished his task, when the clear voice of a boy called
urgently from a neighbouring stable:
"Wachis, come here; Wachis!"
"I'm coming, Athalwin, my boy! What's the matter?" And he already stood
in the open door of the stable near a handsome boy of about seven years
of age, who angrily stroked his long yellow hair from his glowing face,
and with great trouble repressed two large tears of rage that _would_
spring into his blue eyes. He held a pretty wooden sword in his right
hand, and shook it threateningly at a black-browed slave who stood
opposite to him, with his head insolently thrust forward and his fists
clenched. "What is the matter here?" repeated Wachis, crossing the
threshold.
"The chesnut has again nothing to drink; and only look! Two gadflies
have sucked themselves fast upon his shoulder, where he cannot get at
them with his tail, and I cannot reach with my hand; and that bad Cacus
there won't do what I tell him; and I am sure he has been scolding at
me in Latin, which I don't understand."
Wachis drew nearer with a threatening look.
"I only said," said Cacus, slowly receding, "that I must first eat my
millet. The beast may wait. In our country men come before beasts."
"Indeed, thou dunce!" said Wachis, as he killed the gadflies; "in our
country the horse eats before the rider! Make haste!"
But Cacus was strong and obstinate; he tossed his head and said:
"Here, we are in _our_ country, and _our_ customs must be followed."
"Oho, thou cursed blockhead! wilt thou obey?" asked Wachis, raising his
hand.
"Obey? Not thee! Thou art only a slave like me. And my parents lived in
this house when such as thou were stealing cows and sheep on the other
side of the mountains."
Wachis let his cudgel fall and swung his arms to and fro.
"Listen, Cacus, I have another crow to pluck with thee besides; thou
knowest wherefore. Now it can all be done with at the same time."
"Ha, ha!" cried Cacus with a mocking laugh, "about Liuta, the
flaxen-haired wench? Bah! I like her no longer, the barbarian. She
dances like a heifer!"
"Now it's all up with thee," said Wachis quietly, and caught hold of
his adversary.
But Cacus twisted himself like an eel out of the grasp of the Goth,
pulled a sharp knife from the folds of his woollen frock and threw it
at him. As Wachis stooped the knife whistled only a hair's-breadth past
his head, and penetrated deeply into the door-post behind him.
"Well, wait, thou murderous worm!" cried the German, and would have
thrown himself upon Cacus, but he felt himself clasped from behind.
It was Davus, who had watched for this moment of revenge.
But now Wachis became exceedingly wroth.
He shook the man off, held him by the nape of the neck with his left
hand, got hold of Cacus with his right, and, with the strength of a
bear, knocked the heads of his adversaries together, accompanying every
knock with an interjection, "There, my boys--that for the knife--and
that for the back-spring--and that for the heifer!" And who knows how
long this strange litany would have continued, if he had not been
interrupted by a loud call.
"Wachis! Cacus! let loose, I tell you," cried the strong fall voice of
a woman; and a stately matron, clad in a blue Gothic garment, appeared
at the door.
She was not tall, and yet imposing. Her fine figure was more sturdy
than slender. Her gold-brown hair was bound in simple but rich braids
round her head; her features were regular; more firm than delicate.
An expression of sincerity, worth, and trustfulness lay in her large
blue eyes. Her round bare arms showed that she was no stranger to work.
At her broad girdle, over which puffed out her brown under-garment of
home-spun cloth, rattled a bunch of keys; she rested her left hand
quietly upon her hip, and stretched her right commandingly before her.
"Aye, aye, Rauthgundis, mistress mine," said Wachis, letting loose,
"must you have your eyes everywhere?"
"Everywhere, when my servants are at mischief. When will you learn to
agree? You Italians need a master in the house. But thou, Wachis,
shouldst not vex the housewife too. Come, Athalwin, come with me."
And she led the boy away.
She went into a side-yard, filled her raised skirt with grain out of a
trough, and fed the fowls and pigeons, which immediately flocked around
her.
For a little while Athalwin watched her silently. At last he said:
"Mother, is it true? Is father a robber?"
Rauthgundis suspended her occupation, and looked at the child in
surprise.
"Who said so?"
"Who? Eh, the nephew of Calpurnius! We were playing on the great heap
of hay in his meadow, and I showed him how far the land belongs to us
on the right of the hedge--far and wide--as far as our servants were
mowing, and the brook shone in the distance. Then he got angry and
said, 'Yes, and all that land once belonged to us, and thy father or
thy grandfather stole it, the robbers!'"
"Indeed! And what didst thou reply?"
"Eh, nothing at all, mother. I only threw him over the hay-cock, with
his heels in the air. But now I should like to know if it is true."
"No, child, it is not true. Your father did not steal it, but took it
openly, because he was stronger and better than these Italians. And
heroes have done the same in all ages. And when the Italians were
strong and their neighbours weak, they did so most of all. But now
come; we must look after the linen that is bleaching on the green."
As they turned their backs upon the stables, and were going towards the
grassy hill on the left of the house, they heard the rapid hoof-beats
of a horse, which was approaching on the old Roman high-road.
Athalwin climbed quickly to the top of the hill and looked towards the
road.
A rider, mounted on an immense brown charger, galloped down the woody
heights towards the villa. Brightly sparkled his helmet and the point
of the lance, which he carried across his shoulder.
"It is father, mother; it is father!" cried the boy, and ran swift as
an arrow down the hill to meet the rider.
Rauthgundis had just now reached the top of the hill. Her heart beat.
She shaded her eyes with her hand, to look into the evening-red; then
she said in a low happy voice:
"Yes, it is he! my husband."