"No gold for me! When Odo, son of Helgund, forgives, he forgives
outright. Where is my son?"
Food had by this time been brought by the King's order, and after
swallowing a few mouthfuls Marcus could stand and speak.
Odorik, apparently dead, had been dragged by the Goths into the hut
of the widow Dubhina to await his father's decision as to the
burial, and the poor woman had been sheltered by her neighbour,
Julitta, leaving the hovel deserted.
Columba, not allowing her grief and suspense to interfere with her
visits of mercy to the poor woman, had come down as usual on the
evening of the day on which her father and her betrothed had started
on their sad journey. Groans, not likely to be emitted by her
regular patient, had startled her, and she had found the floor
occupied by the huge figure of a young Goth, his face and hair
covered with blood from a deep wound on his head, insensible, but
his moans and the motion of his limbs betraying life.
Knowing the bitter hatred in Claudiodunum for everything Gothic, the
brave girl would not seek for aid nearer than the villa. Thither
she despatched her male slave, while with her old nurse she did all
in her power for the relief of the wounded man, with no
inconsiderable skill. Marcus had brought the Greek physician of the
place, but he had done nothing but declare the patient a dead man by
all the laws of Galen and Hippocrates. However, the skull and
constitution of a vigorous young Goth, fresh from the mountains,
were tougher than could be imagined by a member of one of the
exhausted races of the Levant. Bishop Sidonius had brought his
science and sagacity to the rescue, and under his treatment Odorik
had been restored to his senses, and was on the fair way to
recovery.
On the first gleam of hope, Marcus had sent off a messenger, but so
many of his household and dependents were absent that he had no
great choice; so that as soon as hope had become security, he had
set forth himself; and it was well he had done so, for he had
overtaken the messenger at what was reckoned as three days' journey
from Bordigala. He had ridden ever since without rest, only
dismounting to change his steed, scarcely snatching even then a
morsel of food, and that morning neither he nor the horse he rode
had relaxed for a moment the desperate speed with which he rode
against time; so that he had no cause for the shame and vexation
that he felt at his utter collapse before the barbarians. King
Euric himself declared that he wished he had a Goth who could
perform such a feat of endurance.
While Marcus slept, AEmilius and the two young men offered their
heartfelt thanks in the Catholic church of Bordigala, and then Euric
would not be refused their presence at a great feast of
reconciliation on the following day, two of Verronax's speedy-footed
followers having been sent off at once to bear home tidings that his
intelligence had been in time.
The feast was served in the old proconsular house, with the Roman
paraphernalia, arranged with the amount of correct imitation that is
to be found at an English dinner-party in the abode of an Indian
Rajah. It began with Roman etiquette, but ended in a Gothic revel,
which the sober and refined AEmilii could hardly endure.
They were to set off on their return early on the morrow, Meinhard
and Odo with them; but when they at length escaped from the
barbarian orgies, they had little expectation that their companions
would join them in the morning.
However, the two Goths and their followers were on the alert as soon
as they, and as cool-headed as if they had touched no drop of wine.
Old Odo disdained a mule, and would let no hand save his own guide
his horse. Verronax and Lucius constituted themselves his guides,
and whenever he permitted the slightest assistance, it was always
from the Arvernian, whom he seemed to regard as a sort of adopted
son.
He felt over his weapons, and told him long stories, of which
Verronax understood only a word or two here and there, though the
old man seemed little concerned thereat. Now and then he rode along
chanting to himself an extemporary song, which ran somewhat thus--
Maids who choose the slain,
Disappointed now.
The Hawk of the Mountain,
The Wolf of the West,
Meet in fierce combat.
Sinks the bold Wolf-cub,
Folds his wing the Falcon!
Shall the soft priestling
Step before him to Valhal,
Cheating Lok's daughter
Of weak-hearted prey?
Lo! the Wolf wakens.
Valkyr relaxes,
Waits for a battlefield,
Wolf-cub to claim.
Friendly the Falcon,
Friendly the Gray-Wolf.
So it ran on, to the great scandal of Lucius, who longed for better
knowledge of the Gothic tongue to convince the old man of the folly
of his heathen dreams. Meinhard, who was likewise rather shocked,
explained that the father and son had been recent arrivals, who had
been baptized because Euric required his followers to embrace his
faith, but with little real knowledge or acceptance on the part of
the father. Young Odorik had been a far more ardent convert; and,
after the fashion of many a believer, had taken up the distinctions
of sect rather than of religion, and, zealous in the faith he knew,
had thought it incumbent on him to insult the Catholics where they
seemed to him idolatrous.
A message on the road informed the travellers that they would find
Odorik at the villa. Thither then they went, and soon saw the whole
household on the steps in eager anticipation. A tall young figure,
with a bandage still round his fair flowing locks, came down the
steps as Verronax helped the blind man to dismount; and Odo, with a
cry of 'My son!' with a ring of ecstasy in the sound, held the youth
to his breast and felt him all over.
"Are we friends?" said Odorik, turning to Verronax, when his father
released him.
"That is as thou wiliest," returned the Arvernian gravely.
"Know then," said Odorik, "that I know that I erred. I knew not thy
Lord when I mocked thine honour to Him. Father, we had but half
learnt the Christian's God. I have seen it now. It was not thy
blow, O Arvernian! that taught me; but the Master who inspired
yonder youth to offer his life, and who sent the maiden there to
wait upon her foe. He is more than man. I own in him the Eternal
Creator, Redeemer, and Lord!"
"Yea," said Sidonius to his friend AEmilius, "a great work hath been
wrought out. Thus hath the parable of actual life led this zealous
but half-taught youth to enter into the higher truth. Lucius will
be none the worse priest for having trodden in the steps of Him who
was High-priest and Victim. Who may abide strict Divine Justice,
had not One stood between the sinner and the Judge? Thus 'Mercy and
Truth have met together; Righteousness and Peace have kissed each
other.'"