CHAPTER I.

Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive

Transcriber's Notes:

1. Page scan source:

http://www.archive.org/details/astruggleforrom01dahngoog

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

3. [=e] represents an "e" with a macron above.

4. Footnote is at the end of the book.

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. II.

LONDON:

RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON.

1878.

[_All Rights Reserved._]

A STRUGGLE FOR ROME.

BOOK III.--_Continued._

THEODAHAD.

CHAPTER X.

On the evening of the third day after the arrival of the Gothic escort

sent by Totila, Valerius had terminated his arrangements and fixed the

next morning for his departure from the villa.

He was sitting with Valeria and Julius at the evening meal, and

speaking of the prospect of preserving peace, which was no doubt

undervalued by the young hero, Totila, who was filled with the ardour

of war. The old Roman could not endure the thought of seeing armed

Greeks enter his beloved country.

"I, too, wish for peace," said Valeria reflectively, "and yet----"

"Well?" asked Valerius.

"I am certain," continued the girl, "that if war broke out you would

then learn to love Totila as he deserves. He would defend me and

Italy----

"Yes," said Julius, "he has an heroic nature, and something still

greater than that----"

"I know of nothing greater!" cried Valerius.

At that moment clattering footsteps were heard in the atrium, and

young Thorismuth, the leader of the Gothic escort, and Totila's

shield-bearer, entered abruptly.

"Valerius," he said, "let the carriages be harnessed, the litters

brought out; you must go at once."

They all started from their seats.

"What has happened? Have they landed?"

"Speak," said Julius, "what do you fear?"

"Nothing for myself," answered the Goth, smiling.

"I did not wish to startle you sooner than was necessary. But now I

dare no longer be silent. Yesterday early, the waves washed a corpse

ashore----"

"A corpse!"

"A Goth, one of our sailors; it was Alb, the steersman of Totila's

ship."

Valeria grew pale, but did not tremble.

"It may be an accident--the man was drowned."

"No," said the Goth, "he was not drowned; hi" breast was pierced by an

arrow."

"That means a naval combat, nothing more," said Valerius.

"But to-day----"

"To-day?" cried Julius.

"To-day none of the country people who usually pass on their way from

Regium to Colum, made their appearance, and a trooper, whom I sent to

Regium for news, has never returned.

"That still proves nothing," said Valerius obstinately. His heart

rebelled against the thought of a landing of his hated enemies. "The

waves have often before rendered the way impassable."

"But just now I have been some distance on the road to Regium, and when

I laid my ear to the ground, I felt it tremble under the tramp of many

horses approaching in mad haste. You must fly!"

Valerius and Julius now took down their weapons, which hung upon the

pillars of the room. Valeria sighed deeply, and pressed her hand to her

heart.

"What is to be done?" she asked.

"Man the Pass of Jugum," cried Valerius, "through which the coast-road

runs. It is very narrow, and can be held for some time."

"Eight of my men are already there; I will join them as soon as you are

mounted. The other half of my troop shall escort you on your journey.

Haste!"

But ere they could leave the room, a Gothic soldier, covered with blood

and mire, rushed in.

"Fly!" he cried, "they are there!"

"Who is there, Gelaris!" asked Thorismuth.

"The Greeks! Belisarius! the devil!"

"Speak," ordered Thorismuth.

"I got to the pine-wood before Regium without seeing anything

suspicious, but also without meeting with a soul upon the way. As,

looking eagerly forward, I rode past a thick tree, I felt a pull at my

neck as if my head would be torn from my shoulders, and the next minute

I lay on the road under my horse."

"Badly sat, Gelaris," scolded Thorismuth.

"Oh yes, of course! A noose of horse-hair round his neck, and an arrow

whistling past his head, and a better rider would fall than Gelaris,

son of Genzo! Two demons--wood-devils or goblins they seemed to

me--rushed out of the bushes and over the ditch, tied me upon my horse,

took me between their little shaggy ponies, and ho!----"

"Those are Belisarius's Huns!" cried Valerius.

"Away they went with me. When I came to myself again, I was in Regium

in the midst of the enemy, and there I learned everything. The

Queen-regent is murdered, war is declared, the enemy has taken Sicily

by surprise, the whole island has gone over to the Emperor----"

"And the fortress, Panormus?"

"Was taken by the fleet, which made its way into the harbour. The

mast-heads were higher than the walls of the town. From thence they

shot their arrows, and jumped on to the walls."

"And Syracusae?" asked Valerius.

"Fell through the treachery of the Sicilians; the Gothic garrison is

murdered. Belisarius rode into Syracusae amidst a shower of flowers,

and--for it was the last days of his consulate--threw gold coins about

him, amidst the applause of the population."

"And where is the commodore: where is Totila?"

"Two of his ships were sent to the bottom by the pointed prows of the

triremes; his own and one other. He sprang into the sea in full

armour--and is--not yet--fished up again."

Valeria sank speechless upon a couch.

"The Greek general," continued the messenger, "landed yesterday, in the

dark and stormy night, near Regium. The town received him with

acclamation. He will only halt until he has re-ordered his army, and

will then march at once to Neapolis. His vanguard--the yellow-skinned

troopers who caught me--were to advance at once and take the Pass of

Jugum. I was to be their guide. But I led them far away--to the

west--into the sea-swamps--and escaped--in the darkness of evening.

But--they shot--arrows after me--and one hit--I can speak--no more----"

and he fell clattering to the ground.

"He is a dead man," cried Valerius, "they carry poisoned arrows! Up!

Julius and Thorismuth! take my child to Neapolis. I myself will go to

the pass, and cover your retreat."

In vain were Valeria's prayers; the face and mien of the old man

assumed an expression of iron resolve.

"Obey!" he cried, "I am the master of this place, and the son of this

soil, and I will ask the Huns of Belisarius what they have to do in my

fatherland! No, Julius! I must know that you are with Valeria.

Farewell!"

While Valeria and Julius, with their Gothic escort and most of

the slaves, fled at full speed on the road to Neapolis, Valerius

hurried, at the head of half-a-dozen slaves, out of the garden of the

villa, towards the pass, which--not far from the beginning of his

estates--formed an arch over the road to Regium. The rock on the left

hand, to the north, was inaccessible, and on the right, to the south,

it fell abruptly into the sea, whose waves often overflowed the road.

But the mouth of the pass was so narrow, that two men, standing side by

side with their shields, could close it like a door. Thus Valerius

might hope to keep the pass, even against a much superior force, long

enough to afford the swift horses of the fugitives a sufficient start.

As the old man was hastening through the moonless night along the

narrow path which led between the sea and his vineyards to the pass, he

remarked to the right hand, on the sea, at a considerable distance from

the land, the bright beam of a little light, which unmistakably shone

from the mast-head of some vessel. Valerius started. Were the

Byzantines pushing forward to Neapolis by sea? Were they about to land

soldiers at his back? But if so, would not more lights be visible?

He turned to question the slaves, who, at his order, but with visible

reluctance, had followed him from the villa. In vain; they had

disappeared into the darkness of the night. They had deserted their

master as soon as they were unobserved.

So Valerius arrived alone at the pass, the nether or western end of

which was guarded by two Goths, while two more filled the eastern

entrance towards the enemy, and the other four kept the inner space.

Scarcely had Valerius joined the two in front, when suddenly the tramp

of horses was heard close at hand, and soon, round the next turning of

the road, there appeared two horsemen, advancing at full trot.

Each carried a torch in his right hand; and these torches alone threw

light upon the midnight scene, for the Goths avoided everything that

could betray their small number.

"By Belisarius's beard!" cried the foremost rider, checking his horse

to a walk, "this hen-ladder is here so narrow, that an honest horse has

scarcely room in it; and there is a hollow way or---- Halt! What moves

there?"

He stopped his horse, and bent carefully forward, holding the torch far

out before him. In this position, close before the entrance of the

pass, he presented an easy aim.

"Who is there!" he again asked.

For all reply a Gothic spear pierced through the mail of his

breast-plate and into his heart.

"Enemies!" screamed the dying man, and fell backwards from his saddle.

"Enemies! enemies!" cried the man behind him, and, hurling his

treacherous torch far from him, turned his animal and galloped back;

while the horse of the fallen man remained quietly standing at his

master's side.

Nothing was heard in the stillness of the night but the tramp of the

fleeing charger, and the gentle splash of the waves at the foot of the

rocks.

The hearts of the men in the pass beat with expectation.

"Now be cool, men," said Valerius; "let none be tempted out of the

pass. You in the first row will press your shields firmly together; we

in the middle will throw; you three in the rear will hand us the

spears, and be attentive to all that takes place."

"Sir! sir!" cried the Goth who stood in the road behind the pass, "the

light! the ship approaches ever nearer!"

"Be wary, and challenge it, if----"

But the enemy was already at hand. It was a troop of fifty mounted

Huns, carrying a few torches. As they turned round the corner of the

road, the scene was illuminated with patches of glaring light,

contrasted with deep gloom.

"It was here, sir!" said the horseman who had escaped. "Be cautious."

"Take back the dead man and the horse," commanded a rough voice, and

the leader, lifting his torch, rode slowly towards the entrance of the

pass.

"Halt!" cried Valerius in Latin; "who are you, and what do you want?"

"_I_ have to ask that!" returned the leader of the horsemen in the same

language.

"I am a Roman citizen, and defend my fatherland against all invaders!"

cried Valerius.

Meanwhile the leader had examined the scene by the light of his torch.

His practised eye recognised the impossibility of avoiding the pass,

either to the right or to the left; and, at the same time, the extreme

straitness of its entrance.

"Then, friend," he said, retreating a little, "we are allies. We are

Romans too, and will free Italy from its oppressors. Therefore give way

and let us through."

Valerius, who wished to gain time by all possible means, spoke again.

"Who are you, and who sent you?"

"My name is Johannes. The enemies of Justinian call me 'the bloody,'

and I lead Belisarius's light horse. The whole country, from Regium

till here, has received us with rejoicing; this is the first hindrance.

We should have got much farther long ago had not a dog of a Goth led us

into the vilest swamp that ever swallowed up a good horse. Valuable

time was lost. So do not hinder us! Life and property will be spared to

you, and you will receive a rich reward into the bargain, if you will,

guide us. Speed is victory! The enemy is bewildered; they must not have

time to recover themselves before we stand before Neapolis, yea, even

before Rome. 'Johannes,' said Belisarius to me, 'as I cannot order the

storm-wind to sweep the land before me, I order _you_ to do it!' So get

away and let us through!"

And he spurred his horse.

"Tell Belisarius--so long as Cnejus Valerius lives, he shall not

advance one step in Italy! Back, you robbers!"

"Madman! would you stand by the Goths and oppose us?"

"By hell, if against you!"

The leader again cast searching glances to the right and left.

"Listen," he said; "you can really stop us here for a time. But not for

long. If you yield, you shall live. If not, I will first have you

skinned alive, and then impaled!"

He lifted his torch, looking for a weak point.

"Back!" cried Valerius; "shoot, friend!"

"The twang of a bow-string was heard, and an arrow struck the helm of

the horseman.

"The devil!" he exclaimed, and spurred his horse back.

"Dismount!" he ordered, "every man of you!"

But the Huns did not like to part with their horses.

"What, sir? Dismount?" asked one of the nearest.

Johannes struck him in the face. The man did not move.

"Dismount!" thundered Johannes again. "Would you go into that

mouse-hole on horseback!" and he flung himself out of the saddle. "Six

climb the trees and shoot from above. Six lie down and creep forward on

each side of this road, shooting as they lie. Ten shoot standing;

breast high. Ten guard the horses. You others follow me with the spear

as soon as the strings twang. Forwards!"

He handed his torch to one of the men and took a lance.

While the Huns were carrying out his orders, Johannes again examined

the pass as well as he could.

"Yield!" he cried.

"Come on!" shouted the Goths.

Johannes gave a sign and twenty arrows whistled at once.

A cry, and the foremost Goth on the right fell. He had been struck in

the forehead by one of the men on the trees. Valerius, under shelter of

his shield, sprang into his place. He came just at the right moment to

repulse the furious attack of Johannes, who ran at the gap with his

lance in rest. Valerius received the thrust on his shield, and struck

at the Byzantine, who stumbled and fell, close to the entrance. The

Huns behind him fell back.

The Goth who stood at Valerius's side could not resist the temptation

to render the leader harmless. He sprang a step forward out of the pass

with up-lifted spear. But this was just what Johannes wanted. Up he

started with lightning swiftness, thrust the surprised Goth over the

low wall of the road on the right of the pass, and the next moment he

stood on the exposed side of Valerius--who was defending himself

against the renewed attack of the Huns--and stabbed him with all his

might in the groin with his long Persian knife.

Valerius fell; but the three Goths who stood behind him succeeded in

pushing Johannes--who had already pressed forward into the middle of

the pass--back and out with the beaks of their shields.

Johannes retired to his men, in order to command a new salvo of arrows.

Two of the Goths silently placed themselves in the entrance of the

pass; the third held the bleeding Valerius in his arms.

Just then the guard at the rear of the pass rushed in: "The ship, sir!

the ship! They have landed! they take us in the rear! Fly! we will

carry you--a hiding-place in the rocks----"

"No," said Valerius, raising himself, "I will die here; rest my sword

against the wall and----"

But a loud flourish of Gothic horns was heard in the rear. Torches

shone, and a troop of thirty Goths hurried into the pass, Totila at

their head. His first glance fell upon Valerius.

"Too late! too late!" he cried in deep grief. "Revenge! Follow me!

Forwards!" And he rushed furiously through the pass, followed by his

spear-bearing foot-soldiers.

Fearful was the shock of meeting upon the narrow road between sea and

rocks. The torches were extinguished in the skirmish; and the dawning

day gave but a faint grey light.

The Huns, although superior in numbers to their bold adversaries, were

completely taken by surprise. They thought that a whole army of Goths

was on the march. They hastened to join their horses and fly. But the

Goths reached the place where the animals stood at the same moment as

their owners, and, in confused heaps, men and horses were driven off

the road into the sea. In vain Johannes himself struck at his flying

people; their rush threw him to the ground; he sprang up immediately

and attacked the nearest Goth. But he had fallen into bad hands. It was

Totila; he recognised him.

"Cursed Flax-head!" he cried, "so you are not drowned?"

"No, as you see!" cried Totila, and struck a blow at the other's helm,

which cleft it through and entered slightly into his skull, so that he

staggered and fell.

With this all resistance was at an end. The nearest of the horsemen

just managed to lift Johannes into a saddle, and galloped off with him.

The scene of action was deserted.

Totila hurried back to the pass. He found Valerius, pale, with closed

eyes, his head resting on his shield. He threw himself on his knees

beside him, and pressed his stiffening hand to his heart.

"Valerius!" he cried, "father! do not, do not leave me so. Speak to me

once more!"

The dying man faintly opened his eyes.

"Where are they?" he asked.

"Beaten and fled!"

"Ah! victory!" cried Valerius, breathing anew. "I die happy! And

Valeria--my child--is she saved?"

"She is. Escaped from the naval combat, and from the sea itself, I

hastened to warn Neapolis and save you. I had landed near the high-road

between your house and Neapolis; there I met Valeria and learned your

danger. One of my boats received her and her companions on board to

take them to Neapolis; with the other I came here to save you--oh! only

to revenge you!" and he laid his head upon the breast of the dying man.

"Do not weep for me; I die victorious! And to you, my son, I owe it."

He stroked the long fair locks of the sorrowing youth.

"And Valeria's safety too! Oh! to you also, I hope, I shall owe the

salvation of Italy. You are hero enough to save this country--in spite

of Belisarius and Narses! You can--and you will--and your reward is the

hand of my beloved child."

"Valerius! my father!"

"She is yours! But swear to me"--and Valerius raised himself with an

effort and looked into Totila's eyes--"swear to me by the genius of

Valeria that she shall not become your wife until Italy is free, and

not a sod of her sacred soil is pressed by the foot of a Byzantine."

"I swear it," cried Totila, enthusiastically pressing Valerius's hand,

"by the genius of Valeria I swear it!"

"Thanks, thanks, my son. Now I can die in peace--greet Valeria--in your

hand is her fate--and that of Italia!"

He laid his head back upon his shield, crossed his arms over his

breast, and expired.

Totila silently laid his hand upon the dead man's heart, and remained

in this position for some time.

A dazzling light suddenly roused him from his sad reverie; it was the

sun, whose golden disk rose gloriously over the summit of the rocks.

Totila stood up, and looked at the rising luminary. The sea glittered

in the bright rays, and a golden light spread over the land.

"By the genius of Valeria!" repeated Totila in a low voice, and

stretched out his hand towards the glorious sun.

Like the dead man he felt strengthened and comforted by his weighty

oath; the sense of having a noble duty to perform elevated his

feelings. He turned back, and ordered that the corpse should be carried

to his ship, that it might be taken and deposited in the tomb of the

Valerians at Neapolis.

CHAPTER XI.

During these portentous events the Goths had been by no means idle. But

all measures of vigorous defence were paralysed, and, indeed,

intentionally frustrated, by the cowardly treachery of the King.

Theodahad had soon recovered from his consternation at the declaration

of war on the part of Petros, for he could not and would not part with

the conviction that it had only been made in order to keep up

appearances and save the honour of the imperial government.

He had not again spoken with Petros in private, and the latter must

necessarily have some plausible reason for the appearance of Belisarius

in Italy. No doubt the act of Petros had been a long-determined means

for the accomplishment of the secret plans of the Emperor.

The thought of carrying on a war--of all thoughts the most unbearable

to Theodahad--he very well understood how to keep at a distance, for he

wisely reflected that it takes two to fight.

"If I do not defend myself," he thought, "the attack will soon be over.

Belisarius may come--I will do all in my power to prevent any

resistance being made, for that would only embitter the Emperor against

me. If, on the contrary, the general reports to Byzantium that I have

furthered his success in all possible ways, Justinian will not refuse

to fulfil the old contract, if not wholly, at least in part."

In this sense he acted. He called all the active land and sea forces of

the Goths away from South Italy, where he expected the landing of

Belisarius, and sent them eastwards to Liburnia, Dalmatia, Istria, and

westwards to South Gaul, pretending--supported by the fact that

Belisarius had sent a small detachment of troops to Dalmatia against

Salona, and had exchanged ambassadors with the Frankish King--that the

principal attack of the Byzantines was to be expected by land from

Istria, aided by the allied Franks on the Rhodanus and Padus. The

feigned movements of Belisarius gave colour to this pretext, so that

what is almost incredible took place. The troops of the Goths, their

ships, weapons, and war munition, in great quantities, were led away in

all haste just before the invasion; South Italy, as far as Rome, and

even to Ravenna, was exposed; and all measures of defence were

neglected in the very parts where the first blow was to fall.

The Dravus, Rhodanus, and Padus were crowded with Gothic sails and

arms, while towards Sicily, as we have seen, even the most necessary

guard-ships were wanting.

And the turbulent urgency of the Gothic patriots did not do much good.

The King had got rid of Witichis and Hildebad, by sending them with

troops to Istria and Gaul; and old Hildebrand, who would not quite give

up his belief in the last of the Amelungs, opposed a tough resistance

to the suspicions of Teja.

But the courage of Theodahad was most strengthened by the return of his

Queen.

Shortly after the declaration of war, Witichis had marched with a

Gothic troop before the Castle of Feretri, where Gothelindis had taken

refuge with her Pannonian mercenaries, and had persuaded her to return

voluntarily to Ravenna, assuring her of safety, until her cause should

be formally examined into and decided before the approaching National

Assembly of the people and the army near Rome.

These conditions were agreeable to all; for the Gothic patriots wished,

above everything, to avoid being split into parties at the outbreak of

the war.

And while Earl Witichis, in his great sense of justice, desired that

the right of defence against all accusations should be granted, Teja

also acknowledged that, as the enemy had hurled the terrible accusation

of regicide at the Gothic nation, the national honour could only be

upheld by a strict and formal inquiry, and not by tumultuous popular

justice founded on blind suspicion.

Gothelindis looked forward with confidence to her trial; though the

voice of moral conviction might be against her, she firmly believed

that no sufficient proof of her guilt could be advanced. Had not her

eye alone seen the end of her enemy? And she knew that she would not be

condemned without a full conviction. So she willingly returned to

Ravenna, encouraged the coward heart of her husband, and hoped, when

the day of trial had passed, to find security from all further

molestation in the camp of Belisarius and the court of Byzantium.

The confidence of the royal couple as to the result of the trial was

heightened by the circumstance that the arming of the Franks had given

them a pretext for despatching, besides Witichis and Hildebad, the

dangerous Earl Teja with a third detachment to the north-west of the

peninsula. With him went many thousands of the most zealous adherents

of the National Party, so that the assembly near Rome would not be

overcrowded by adversaries.

And they were ceaselessly employed in gathering together their personal

adherents, as well as the old opponents of Amalaswintha, and the mighty

kindred of the Balthes in all its far-spread branches, in order to

secure friendly voices for the important day.

In this way they had gained composure and confidence. Theodahad had

been persuaded by Gothelindis to appear himself as the advocate of his

wife, in order that such a show of courage and the respect imposed by

his royal person might perhaps, from the very commencement, intimidate

all opponents.

Surrounded by their adherents and a small bodyguard, Theodahad and

Gothelindis left Ravenna and hastened to Rome, where they arrived a few

days before the time appointed for the Assembly, and took up their

quarters in the old imperial palace.

Not immediately before the walls, but in the vicinity of Rome, upon an

open plain called Regeta, between Anaqui and Terracina, was the

Assembly to be held.

Early on the morning of the day on which Theodahad was about to

set forth alone on his journey thither, and while he was taking

leave of Gothelindis, an unexpected and unwelcome visitor was

announced--Cethegus, who had never before made his appearance during

their stay of some days in Rome. He had been fully occupied by the

completion of the fortifications.

As he entered, Gothelindis, struck by his gloomy aspect, cried:

"For God's sake, what evil news do you bring?"

The Prefect only knit his brows, and answered quietly:

"Evil news? For him whom it hurts! I come from a meeting of my friends,

where I first learned what all Rome will soon know. Belisarius has

landed!"

"At last!" exclaimed Theodahad.

And the Queen also could not conceal an expression of triumph.

"Do not rejoice too soon; you may repent it. I do not come to call you

and your friend Petros to account; he who treats with traitors must be

prepared for lies. I only come to tell you that you are now most

certainly lost."

"Lost?"

"We are saved!"

"No, Queen. Belisarius, on landing, published a manifesto. He says that

he comes to punish the murderers of Amalaswintha. A high price and his

favour are assured to those who give you up, alive or dead."

Theodahad grew pale.

"Impossible!" cried Gothelindis.

"And the Goths will soon learn to whose treachery they owe the

unresisted entrance of the enemy into the country. Still more. I am

charged by the city of Rome, as its Prefect, to care for its well-being

in this stormy time. I shall arrest you in the name of Rome, and

deliver you into the hands of Belisarius."

"That you dare not do!" cried Gothelindis, laying her hand upon her

dagger.

"Peace, Gothelindis! Here there is no helpless woman to be murdered in

a bath. But I will let you free--what to me matters your life or

death?--at a moderate price."

"I will grant anything!" stammered Theodahad.

"You will deliver up to me the documents of your contract with

Silverius--be silent! Do not lie! I know that you have treated with him

long and secretly. Once again you have carried on a fine trade with

land and people. I should like to have the bill of sale."

"The sale is now null; the documents without effect. Take them! They

are deposited in the Basilica of St. Martin, in the sarcophagus on the

left of the crypt."

Theodahad's terror proved that he spoke the truth.

"It is well," said Cethegus. "All the exits of the palace are guarded

by my legionaries. I will first get the documents. If I find them in

the stated place, I shall give orders to let you pass. If you then wish

to fly, go to the Porta Marcus Aurelius, and name my name to the

tribune of the guard, Piso; he will let you depart."

He turned and went out, leaving the pair in a state of helpless alarm.

"What shall we do?" said Gothelindis, more to herself than to her

husband. "Shall we yield or defy them?"

"What shall we do?" repeated Theodahad impatiently. "Defy them? that

means stay here? Nonsense! Away as soon as possible. There is no safety

but in flight!"

"Whither will you fly?"

"First to Ravenna--it is strong! There I will take the royal treasure.

From thence, if it must be, to the Franks. Oh, what a pity that I must

leave all the moneys hidden here--many millions of solidi!"

"Here? Here, too?" asked Gothelindis, her attention suddenly aroused.

"You have treasures hidden in Rome? Where? And are they safe?"

"Ah, far too safe! In the Catacombs! I myself should be hours in

finding them all in those dark labyrinths; and minutes are now death or

life, and life is more than solidis! Follow me, Gothelindis, so that

we may not lose a moment. I hasten to the Porta Marcus Aurelius."

And he left the chamber.

But Gothelindis remained motionless. A thought, a plan had crossed her

mind at his words. She contemplated the possibility of resistance. Her

pride could not endure to renounce the government.

"Gold is power," she said to herself, "and power alone is life."

Her resolution was firmly fixed. She thought of the Cappadocian

mercenaries, whom the avarice of the King had driven from his service;

they still remained in Rome, masterless, waiting to embark.

She heard Theodahad hastily descend the staircase, and call for his

litter.

"Fly, fly! thou miserable coward!" she cried, "I will remain here!"

CHAPTER XII.

Splendidly rose the sun out of the sea the next morning. Its beams

glittered upon the shining weapons of many thousand Gothic warriors,

who crowded the wide levels of Regeta.

From all the provinces of the kingdom they had hastened by groups, in

families, often with wife and child, to be present at the great muster

which took place every autumn.

Such an Assembly was at once a splendid feast, and the highest national

solemnity. Originally, in heathen times, its immediate intention had

been the grand feast of sacrifice, which, twice a year, at the winter

and the summer solstice, had united all branches of the nation in

honour of their common gods; to this were added a market and exchange

of goods, exercises of arms, and the review of the army. The Assembly

had the power of the highest jurisdiction, and the final decision as to

peace, war, and political relations with other states.

And even now, in the Christian time, when the King had acquired many a

right which once belonged to the people, the National Assembly

possessed a high solemnity, although its ancient heathen significance

was forgotten.

The remains of the old liberties of the people, which even the powerful

Theodoric had not contested, revived under his weak descendants.

A majority of free Goths had still to pronounce sentence, and to award

punishment, even though the King's Earl conducted the proceedings in

his name, and fulfilled the sentence.

Often already had Germanic nations themselves accused, judged, and

executed their kings, on account of treachery, murder, or other heavy

crimes, before a Free Assembly of the people.

In the proud consciousness that he was his own master, and served none,

not even the King, beyond the limit of freedom, the German went in full

armour to the "Ting," where he felt himself safe and strong in union

with his fellows, and saw the liberties, strength, and honour of

himself and his countrymen represented in living pictures before his

eyes.

To the Assembly of which we now speak, the Goths had been attracted by

peculiarly strong reasons. When the summons to meet at Regeta was

published, the war with Byzantium was expected or already declared; the

nation rejoiced at the coming struggle with their hated enemy, and were

glad to muster their forces beforehand. This time the Assembly was to

be, more than ever, a grand review.

Besides this, most of the Goths in the adjacent places knew that

judgment was to be passed on the murderers of the daughter of

Theodoric, and the great excitement caused by this treacherous act had

also contributed to draw the people to Regeta.

While a portion of those assembled had been received by friends and

relatives in the nearest villages, great numbers had--already some days

before the formal opening of the Assembly--encamped in light tents and

huts upon the wide plain, two hundred and eighty stadii distant from

Rome.

At the earliest dawn of day these groups were already in noisy

movement, and employed the time during which they were yet masters of

the place, in various games and pastimes.

Some swam and bathed in the clear waters of the rapid river Ufen (or

"Decemnovius," thus named because it flowed into the sea at Terracina,

nineteen miles off), which crossed the plain. Others displayed their

skill in leaping over whole rows of outstretched spears, or, almost

naked, in dancing amid brandished swords, while others again--and these

the fleetest-footed--clinging to the manes of their horses, kept step

with their swiftest gallop, and when arrived at the goal, securely

swung themselves upon their unsaddled backs.

"What a pity," cried young Gudila, who was the first to arrive at the

goal in one of these races, and now stroked his yellow locks out of his

eyes, "what a pity that Totila is not present! He is the best rider in

the nation, and has always beaten me. But now, with this horse, I would

try again with him."

"I am glad that he is not here," said Gunthamund, who had arrived

second, "else I had scarcely won the first prize in hurling the lance

yesterday."

"Yes," said Hilderich, a stately young warrior in a jingling suit of

mail, "Totila is clever at the lance. But black Teja throws still

better; he can tell you beforehand which rib he will hit."

"Pshaw!" grumbled Hunibad, an elderly man, who had looked critically at

the performance of the youths, "all that is only play. In bloody

earnest the sword is the only weapon that serves a man at the last,

when death so presses on him from all sides that he has no space for

throwing. And for that I praise Earl Witichis, of Faesulae! He is _my_

man! What a breaking of skulls was there in the war with the Gepidae!

The man cleaved through steel and leather as if it were dry straw! He

is still more valiant than my own duke, Guntharis the Woelfung, in

Florentia. But what do you youngsters know about it?--Look! the first

arrivals are coming down the hill. Up! let us go to meet them!"

And now people came streaming in on all the roads; on foot, on

horseback, and in wagons. A noisy and turbulent crowd filled all the

plain.

On the shores of the river, where stood most of the tents, the horses

were unharnessed, and the wagons pushed together to form a barricade.

Through the lanes of the camp the ever-increasing crowd now streamed.

There friends and acquaintances, who had not met for years, sought and

greeted each other.

It was a gay and chequered scene, for the old Germanic equality had

long since disappeared from the kingdom.

There stood near the aristocratic noble, who had settled in one of

the rich Italian towns, who lived in the palaces of senatorial

families, and had adopted the more luxuriant and polite customs of the

Italians; near the duke or earl from Mediolanum or Ticinum, who wore a

shoulder-belt of purple silk across his richly-gilt armour; near such a

dainty lord towered some rough, gigantic Gothic peasant, who lived in

the thick oak-forests on the Margus in M[oe]sia, or who had fought the

wolf in the forests by the rushing [OE]nus for the ragged skin which he

carried over his bear-like shoulders, and whose harsh-sounding speech

struck strangely on the ear of his half-Romanised companion.

There came strong and war-hardened men from the distant Augusta

Vindelicorum on the Licus, who day and night defended the rotten walls

of that outermost northern fortress of the Gothic kingdom against the

wild Su[=e]vi.

And here were peaceful shepherds from Dacia, who, possessing neither

field nor house, wandered with their flocks from pasture to pasture,

still living in the manner introduced into the West by their ancestors

from Asia a thousand years ago.

There was a rich Goth, who, in Rome or Ravenna, had married the

daughter of some Italian moneychanger, and had soon learned to do

business like his father-in-law, and reckon his profits by thousands.

And here stood a poor Alpine shepherd, who drove his meagre goats on to

the meagre pastures near the noisy Isarcus, and who erected his hut of

planks close to the den of the bear.

So differently had the die been cast for the thousands who were here

met together, since their fathers had followed the call of the great

Theodoric to the West, away from the valleys of the Haemus.

But still they felt that they were brothers, the sons of one nation;

they spoke the same proud language, they had the same golden locks,

the same snowy skins, the same light and sparkling eyes, and--above

all--the same feeling in their hearts: "We stand as victors on the

ground that our fathers forced from the Roman Empire, and which we will

defend to the death."

Like an immense swarm of bees the masses hummed and buzzed, greeting

each other, seeking old acquaintances and concluding new friendships;

and the chaotic tumult seemed as if it would never end.

But suddenly the peculiar long-drawn tones of the Gothic horn were

heard from the crown of the hill, and at once the storm of the thousand

voices was laid.

All eyes were eagerly turned in the direction of the hill, from which a

procession of venerable men now approached.

It was formed of half a hundred men in white and flowing mantles, their

heads crowned with ivy, carrying white staffs and ancient stone axes.

They were the sajones or soldiers of the tribunal, whose office it was

to carry out the ceremonial forms of opening, warding, and closing the

"Ting."

Arrived on the plain, they greeted with a triple long-drawn flourish

the assembly of free warriors; who, after a solemn silence, answered

with the clash and clang of their arms.

The ban-officers shortly began their work.

They divided to the right and left, and enclosed the whole wide field

with red woollen cords, which they wound round hazel staffs fixed into

the earth at every twenty steps; accompanying this action with the

repetition of ancient songs and sayings.

Exactly opposite the rising and setting of the sun, the woollen cords

were raised over the shafts of tall lances, so that they formed the two

gates of the now completely enclosed "Ting-place;" and these entrances

were guarded by soldiers with drawn swords, in order to keep all

strangers and women at a distance.

When all was arranged, the two oldest of the men stepped beneath the

spear-gates and called in a loud voice:

"According to ancient Gothic custom

Is the fence erected.

Now, with God's help,

The judgment may begin."

After the pause which ensued, there arose a low murmur amongst the

crowd, which gradually grew into a loud, and, at last, almost deafening

uproar of questioning, disputing, and doubting voices.

It had been already remarked, as the procession advanced, that it was

not, as usual, led by the Earl who was accustomed to hold and conduct

the "Ting" in the name and ban of the King. But it had been expected

that this representative of the King would make his appearance during

the ceremony of enclosing the place. When, therefore, this work was

accomplished, and the sentence of the old men called for the

commencement of the tribunal, and still no earl or officer had

appeared, who alone could pronounce the opening speech, the attention

of all present was directed to this deficiency, so difficult to be

supplied.

While everywhere the people asked and sought for the Earl, or some

representative of the King, it was remembered that the King himself had

announced that he would appear in person before his people, to defend

himself and his Queen against the heavy accusation brought against

them.

But when the leaders of the people now sought for the friends and

partisans of the King, to question them concerning him, they discovered

the suspicious fact--which, till now, had been overlooked in the

confusion of general greetings--that not one of the numerous relations,

friends or servants of the royal family, whose duty, privilege, and

interest it was to appear in support of the accused, were present at

the meeting, although they had been seen in numbers, a few days ago, in

the streets and neighbourhood of Rome.

This circumstance excited surprise and suspicion; and for some time it

seemed as if, in consequence of the tumult caused by this singular fact

and the absence of the Earl, the formal commencement of the whole

proceedings would be rendered impossible.

Many speakers had already tried in vain to gain a hearing.

All at once, from the middle of the crowd, a sound was heard, similar

to the battle-cry of some fearful monster, which drowned all other

noises.

All eyes were turned in the direction whence the sound proceeded, and

in the middle of the place, leaning against a lofty ilex-tree, was seen

the tall form of a man, who shouted the Gothic war-cry into the hollow

of his bronze shield, which he held before his mouth.

As the shield dropped, it discovered the powerful face of old

Hildebrand, whose eyes seemed to flash fire.

Enthusiastic applause greeted the appearance of the old and well-known

master-at-arms of the great Theodoric, who, like his master, had, by

means of song and proverb, become a mythic figure amongst the Goths

while still living.

As the applause died away the old man commenced:

"Good Goths! my brave brothers! It troubles and surprises you that you

see no Earl, and no representative of the man who wears your crown. Do

not let it disturb you! If the King thinks thereby to interrupt this

meeting, he is mistaken. I still remember old times, and I tell you,

the people can judge what is right without the King, and hold the

tribunal without the King's Earl. You are all grown up amongst new

manners and customs, but there stands old Haduswinth, scarcely a few

winters younger than myself; he will bear me witness that power is with

the people alone; the Gothic nation is free!"

"Yes! we are free!" cried a thousand voices.

"If the King does not send his Earl, we will choose our 'Ting-Earl'

ourselves," cried the grey-haired Haduswinth; "right and justice

existed before King and Earl! And who knows the old customs of the

nation better than Hildebrand, son of Hilding? Hildebrand shall be our

Ting-Earl!"

"Yes!" was echoed on all sides; "Hildebrand shall be our Ting-Earl!"

"You have chosen me," now said Hildebrand, "and I count myself as well

elected as if King Theodahad had given me a warrant in letter and

parchment. And my ancestors for centuries have often held tribunals for

the Goths. Come, sajones, help me to open the Assembly."

In front of the oak there still lay the ruins of an ancient fane of the

wood-god Picus; the sajones cleared the place, piled up the broadest

stones, and leaned two square slabs to the right and left against the

trunks of the oak, so that a stately seat of justice was thus formed.

And so before the altar of the old Italic sylvan god, the Gothic Earl

held a tribunal.

Other sajones threw a wide blue woollen mantle with a broad white

collar over Hildebrand's shoulders, and gave him an ashen staff, curved

at the top. At his left hand, on the branches of the oak, they hung a

shining shield of burnished steel, and then placed themselves in two

groups on his right and on his left. The old man struck the shield with

his staff till it rung loudly. Then he seated himself with his face to

the east and began:

"I enjoin silence, ban, and peace! I enjoin right and forbid wrong,

quick anger, biting words, ready blows, and everything which can offend

the peace of the Ting. And I ask: is it the year and day, the time and

hour, the place and spot in which to hold a free tribunal of Gothic

men?"

The Goths who stood the nearest stepped forward and answered in chorus:

"Here is the right place, under the wide sky, under the rustling oak;

now is the right time, with a climbing sun, to hold a free tribunal of

Gothic men on the sword-won soil of our Gothic inheritance."

"We are assembled," continued old Hildebrand, "to decide upon two

cases: an accusation of murder against Gothelindis the Queen, and of

cowardice and negligence, in this time of great danger, against

Theodahad our King. I ask----"

But his speech was interrupted by the loud flourish of horns, which

sounded nearer and nearer from the west.

CHAPTER XIII.

The Goths turned in astonishment, and saw a troop of horsemen hurrying

down the hill in the direction of the place of justice.

The sun flashed upon the armed figures with such dazzling brilliancy

that they could not be recognised, although they approached rapidly.

But old Hildebrand rose up in his elevated seat, shaded his eagle eyes

with his hand, and at once exclaimed:

"Those are Gothic weapons! The waving banner bears the figure of the

scales: that is the crest of Earl Witichis! and there he is himself at

the head of the troop! and the tall figure on his left is the sturdy

Hildebad! What brings the generals back? Their troops should be far on

their way to Gaul and Dalmatia."

There ensued an uproar of excited voices. Meanwhile the riders had

reached the place and sprang from their smoking horses. Received with

enthusiasm, the two generals, Witichis and Hildebad, went through the

crowd up to Hildebrand's judgment-seat.

"What?" cried Hildebad, still out of breath; "you sit here and hold a

tribunal as if in time of peace, and the enemy Belisarius has landed!"

"We know it," answered Hildebrand quietly, "and would have held counsel

with the King how best to check him."

"With the King!" laughed Hildebad bitterly.

"He is not here," said Witichis, looking round; "that confirms our

suspicion. We returned because we had cause for grave mistrust. But of

that later. Continue where you were interrupted. Everything according

to right and order! Peace, friend!"

And, pushing the impatient Hildebad back, he modestly placed himself on

the left of the judgment-seat amongst the others.

After all had become still, the old man continued:

"Gothelindis, our Queen, is accused of the murder of Amalaswintha, the

daughter of Theodoric. I ask: are we a tribunal to judge such a cause?"

Old Haduswinth, leaning upon his club, advanced a step and said:

"Red are the cords which enclose this place of execution. The National

Assembly has the right to judge red-handed crime; warm life and cold

death. If it has been ordered otherwise in late times, it has been by

force and not by right. We _are_ a tribunal to judge such a cause."

"Through all the nation," resumed Hildebrand, "a heavy reproach is made

against Gothelindis; in the depths of our hearts we accuse her. But who

will accuse her here, in open assembly, in audible words, of this

murder?"

"I," cried a loud voice, and a handsome young Goth in shining armour

stepped forward, on the right of the judge, laying his hand upon his

heart.

A murmur of approbation ran through the crowd.

"He loves the beautiful Mataswintha!"

"He is the brother of Duke Guntharis of Tuscany, who holds Florentia."

"He is her wooer."

"He comes forward as the avenger of her mother."

"I, Earl Arahad of Asta, the son of Aramuth, of the noble race of the

Woelfungs," continued the young Goth with an engaging blush. "It is

true, I am not akin to the murdered Princess; but the men of her

family, Theodahad foremost, her cousin and her King, do not fulfil

their duty as blood-avengers. Is not Theodahad himself abettor and

hider of the murder? I, then, a free and unblemished Goth of noble

blood, a friend of the late unhappy Princess, complain on behalf of her

daughter, Mataswintha. I appeal against murder! I appeal against

blood!"

And, amidst the loud applause of the Assembly, the stately youth drew

his sword and laid it straight before him upon the seat of justice.

"And thy proofs? Speak!"

"Hold, Ting-Earl," cried a grave voice, and Witichis stepped forward

opposite to the complainant. "Art thou so old, and knowest so well what

is just, Master Hildebrand, and allowest thyself to be carried away by

the pressure of the multitude? Must I remind thee, I, the younger man,

of the first law of all justice? I hear the complainant, but not the

accused."

"No woman may enter the Ting of the Goths," said Hildebrand quietly.

"I know it; but where is Theodahad, her husband and defender?"

"He has not appeared."

"Is he invited?"

"He is invited, upon my oath and that of these messengers," cried

Arahad. "Step forth, sajones!"

Two of the officers came forward and touched the judgment-seat with

their staffs.

"Well," continued Witichis, "it shall never be said that a woman was

judged by the people of the Goths unheard and undefended. However she

may be hated, she has a right to be heard and protected. I will be her

defender and pleader."

And he went towards the youthful complainant, likewise drawing his

sword.

A pause of respectful admiration followed.

"So thou deniest the deed?"

"I say it is not proven."

"Prove it!" said the judge, turning to Arahad.

The latter, unprepared for a formal proceedings and not ready to cope

with an opponent of Witichis's weight and steady composure, was

somewhat embarrassed.

"Prove?" he cried impatiently. "What need of proof? Thou, I, all the

Goths know that Gothelindis hated the Princess long and bitterly. The

Princess disappears from Ravenna; at the same time her murderess also.

The victim is discovered in a house belonging to Gothelindis--dead; and

the murderess escapes to a fortified castle. What need, then, of

proof?"

And he looked with impatience at the Goths near him.

"And on this argument thou wilt accuse the Queen of murder before the

open Ting?" asked Witichis quietly. "Truly may the day be far distant

when a verdict is founded upon such evidence! Justice, my men, is light

and air. Woe, woe to the nation which makes its hatred its justice! I

myself hate this woman and her husband; but where I hate I am doubly

strict."

He said this in so simple and noble a manner, that the hearts of all

present were touched.

"Where are the proofs!" now asked Hildebrand. "Hast thou a palpable act?

Hast thou a visible appearance? Hast thou an important word? Hast thou

a true oath? Dost thou claim the oath of innocence from the accused?"

"Proof!" again repeated Arahad angrily. "I have none but the conviction

within my heart!"

"Then," said Hildebrand----

But at this moment a soldier made his way to him from the gate, and

said:

"Romans stand at the entrance. They beg for a hearing. They say they

know all about the death of the Princess."

"I demand that they be heard!" cried Arahad eagerly. "Not as

complainants, but as witnesses of the complainant."

Hildebrand made a sign, and the soldier hastened to bring up the Romans

through the curious throng.

Foremost came a man, bent with years, wearing a hair shirt, and a rope

tied round his loins; the cowl of his mantle hid his features. Two men

in the habit of slaves followed. Questioning looks were fixed upon the

old man, whose bearing, in spite of simplicity and even poverty, was

full of dignity and nobility.

When he reached Hildebrand's seat, Arahad looked closely into his face,

and started back in surprise.

"Who is it," asked the judge, "whom thou callest as a witness to thy

words? An unknown stranger?"

"No," cried Arahad, and threw back the old man's mantle. "A man whom

you all know and honour--Marcus Aurelius Cassiodorus."

A cry of general surprise arose from the Ting-place.

"Such was my name," said the witness, "during the time of my worldly

existence; now only Brother Marcus."

An expression of holy resignation beamed from his features.

"Well, Brother Marcus," responded Hildebrand, "what hast thou to tell

us of Amalaswintha's death? Tell the whole truth, and nothing but the

truth."

"I will. Know, first, that it is not the striving after human requital

which brings me here. I do not come to avenge the murder. 'Vengeance is

mine; I will repay,' saith the Lord. No; I am here to fulfil the last

wish of the unhappy woman, the daughter of my great King."

He took a roll of papyrus out of his dress.

"Shortly before her flight from Ravenna, Amalaswintha directed these

lines to me, which I have to communicate to you as her legacy to the

nation of the Goths. These are her words:

"'The thanks of a contrite heart for thy friendship. Still more than

the hope of safety, I am comforted by the feeling that I have not lost

thy attachment. Yes, I will hasten to thy villa in the Lake of Bolsena.

Does not the road lead thence to Rome, to Regeta, where I will confess

before my Goths, and atone for my crime? I will die, if it must be; but

not by the hands of my enemies. No; by the verdict of my people, whom

I, blind fool, have ruined! I have deserved death, not only for the

murder of the three dukes--who, let it be known to all, died through

me--but still more for the madness with which I repulsed my people for

the sake of Byzantium. If I reach Regeta alive, I will warn my people

with my last breath, and cry: Fear Byzantium! Justinian is false as

hell, and there can be no peace between him and us! But I will warn

them also of inner enemies. King Theodahad plots treason; he has sold

Italy and the Gothic crown to the ambassador of Byzantium; he has done

I refused to do. Be cautious, strong, and united! Would that' dying, I

could expiate the crimes committed while living.'"

The people had listened in deep silence to these words, read by

Cassiodorus in a trembling voice, and which seemed to come to them from

the other side of the grave.

When he ceased, compassion and sorrow prolonged this silence.

At last old Hildebrand rose and said:

"She has erred; she has made atonement. Daughter of Theodoric, the

nation of the Goths forgives thy crime, and thanks thee for thy

fidelity."

"So may God forgive her; amen!" said Cassiodorus.

He then continued:

"I never invited her to my villa; I could not do so. Fourteen days

before I had sold all my property to Queen Gothelindis."

"Therefore her enemy," interrupted Arahad, "misusing his name, decoyed

Amalaswintha into that house. Canst thou deny this. Earl Witichis?"

"No," answered he. "But," he continued, turning to Cassiodorus, "hast

thou also proof that the Princess did not die an accidental death

there? that Gothelindis caused her death!"

"Come forth, Syrus, and speak!" said Cassiodorus. "I answer for the

truth of this man."

The slave advanced, bent his head reverently, and said:

"For twenty years I have had the superintendence of the sluices of the

lake and the waterworks of the baths in the villa; none beside me knew

the secret. When Queen Gothelindis bought the estate, all the slaves

and personal servants of Cassiodorus were sent away; I alone remained.

Early one morning, the Princess Amalaswintha landed at the island, and

the Queen soon followed. The latter at once sent for me, said she would

take a bath, and ordered me to give her the keys of all the sluices of

the lake and the pipes of the baths, and to explain to her the whole

plan of the works. I obeyed; gave her the keys and the plan drawn upon

parchment, but warned her seriously not to open all the sluices, nor to

let all the pipes play, for it might cost her her life. But she angrily

rebuked me, and I heard that she ordered her slave to fill the kettles,

not with warm, but with hot water. I went away; but, anxious for her

safety, I remained in the vicinity of the baths. After some time, I

heard, by the violent roaring and rushing, that notwithstanding, and in

spite of, my advice, the Queen had let in the whole water of the lake.

At the same time I heard the steaming water rise hissing through all

the pipes in the walls; and, as it seemed to me, I heard, dulled by the

marble walls, fearful cries for help. I hurried to the outer gallery of

the baths to save the Queen. But what was my surprise when, at the

central point of the works, at the Medusa's head, I saw the Queen, whom

I thought in danger of death in the bath, standing quietly outside,

completely clothed. She pressed the springs, and exchanged angry words

with some one who was calling for help within. Horrified, and partly

guessing what was going forward, I crept away, happily unobserved."

"What, coward?" cried Witichis, "thou couldst guess what was passing

and creep away!"

"I am only a slave, sir, no hero, and if the Queen had noticed me, I

should certainly not be standing here to bear witness against her.

Shortly afterwards a report was spread that the Princess Amalaswintha

was drowned in the bath."

Loud murmurs and angry cries rang through the assembled crowd.

Arahad cried triumphantly: "Now, Earl Witichis, wilt thou still defend

her?"

"No," answered Witichis, and sheathed his sword, "I defend no

murderess! My office is at an end."

With this he went over from the left to the right, amongst the

accusers.

"You, ye free Goths, have now to find the verdict, and administer

justice," said Hildebrand. "I have only to execute what you pronounce;

so I ask you, ye men of judgment, what think ye of this accusation,

which Earl Arahad, son of Aramuth the Woelfung, has brought against

Gothelindis, the Queen? Speak! is she guilty of murder?"

"Guilty! guilty!" shouted many thousand voices, and not a voice said

"no."

"She is guilty," said the old man, rising. "Speak, complainant, what

punishment dost thou demand for this crime?"

Arahad lifted his sword towards heaven.

"I appealed against murder, I appealed against blood! She shall die the

death!"

And before Hildebrand could put his question to the people, the crowd

was filled with angry emotion, every man's sword flew from its sheath

and flashed in the sun, and every voice shouted, "She shall die the

death!"

The words rolled like a terrible thunder, bearing the people's judgment

over the wide plain till the echo died away in the distance.

"She dies the death," said Hildebrand, "by the axe. Up, soldiers, and

search for her."

"Hold," cried Hildebad, coming forward, "our sentence will be hard to

fulfil, so long as this woman is the wife of our King. Therefore I

demand that the Assembly at once examine into the accusation that we

carry in our hearts against Theodahad, who governs a people of heroes

so unheroically. I will give words to this accusation. Mark well, I

accuse him of treachery, not only of incapability to lead and save us.

I will be silent on the fact that, without his knowledge, his Queen

could scarcely have cooled her hate in Amalaswintha's blood; I will not

speak of the warning which the latter sent to us, in her last words,

against Theodahad's treachery; but is it not true that he deprived the

whole southern portion of the realm of men, weapons, horses, and ships?

that he sent all the forces to the Alps, so that the degenerate Greeks

won Sicily, and entered Italy without a blow? My poor brother, Totila,

stands alone against them, with a mere handful of soldiers. Instead of

defending his rear, the King sent Witichis, Teja and me to the north.

We obeyed with heavy hearts, for we guessed where Belisarius would

land. We advanced slowly, expecting to be recalled at every moment. In

vain. Already there ran a report through the places which we passed

that Sicily was lost, and the Italians, who saw us march to the north,

pulled mocking faces. We had accomplished a few days' march along the

coast, when a letter from my brother Totila reached me: 'Has then, like

the King, the whole nation, and my brother also, forsaken and forgotten

me?' it said. 'Belisarius has taken Sicily by surprise. He has landed

in Italy. The population join him. He presses forward to Neapolis. I

have written four letters to King Theodahad for help. All in vain.

Received not a single sail. Neapolis is in great danger. Save, save

Neapolis and the kingdom!'"

A cry of dismay and anger ran through the listening crowd.

"I wanted," continued Hildebad, "to return immediately with all our

thousands, but Earl Witichis, my commander, would not suffer it. I

could only persuade him to halt the troops, and hasten here with a few

horsemen to warn, to save, to revenge! For I cry for revenge, revenge

upon King Theodahad. It was not only folly and weakness, it was

knavery, to expose the south to the enemy. This letter proves it. My

brother warned him four times in vain. He delivered him and the realm

into the enemy's hands. Woe to us if Neapolis falls, or has already

fallen! Ha! he who is guilty of this shall reign no longer, no longer

live! Tear the crown of the Goths, which he has dishonoured, from his

head! Down with him! Let him die!"

"Down with him! Let him die!" thundered the people, in a mighty echo.

The storm of their fury seemed irresistible, and capable of destroying

whatever opposed it.

Only one man remained quiet and composed in the midst of the turbulent

crowd. It was Earl Witichis. He sprang upon one of the old stones

beneath the oak, and waited till the tumult was somewhat appeased.

Then he lifted his voice, and spoke with the clear simplicity which so

well became him.

"Countrymen! companions! hear me! You are wrong in your sentence. Woe

to us if, in the Gothic nation, by whom, since the days of our

forefathers, right has been ever honoured, hate and force should sit on

the throne of justice! Theodahad is a bad and weak King. He shall no

longer hold the reins of the kingdom alone. Give him a guardian, as if

to a minor! Depose him if you like; but you may not demand his death,

his blood! Where is the proof of his treachery? or that Totila's

message reached him? See, you are silent! Be wary of injustice! It

destroys nations!"

As he stood on his elevated place in the full blaze of the sun, he

looked great and noble, full of power and dignity. The eyes of the

multitude rested with admiration upon him who seemed so superior to

them all in nobility, temperance, and clear-sighted composure. A solemn

pause followed.

Before Hildebad and the people could find an answer to the man who

seemed to be Justice personified, the general attention was drawn away

to the thick forest which bounded the view to the south, and which

suddenly seemed to become alive.

CHAPTER XIV.

For the quick trampling of approaching horses and the jingling of

armour was heard in the wood, and soon a little group of horsemen

appeared issuing from under the trees, and far in front galloped a man

on a coal-black charger, which sped on as if rivalling the rushing of

the wind.

The long black locks of the rider waved in the air, as well as the

thick black mane which formed the crest of his helmet. Bending

forwards, he urged his foaming horse to greater speed, and as he

reached the southern entrance to the Ting, sprang from his saddle with

a clash.

All gave way as they met the furious glance of his eye. His handsome

face was ghastly pale.

He rushed up the incline, sprang upon a stone near Witichis, held on

high a roll of parchment, cried with a last effort, "Treachery!

treachery!" and fell prone, as if struck by lightning.

Witichis and Hildebad ran to him; they had barely recognised their

friend.

"Teja! Teja!" they cried, "what has happened? Speak!"

"Speak," repeated Witichis once more, "it concerns the kingdom!"

At this word the steel-clad man raised himself with a superhuman

effort, looked about him for a moment, and then said in a hollow voice:

"We are betrayed, Goths! betrayed by our King! Six days ago I received

orders to go to Istria, not to Neapolis, as I had begged. I felt

suspicious, but I obeyed, and embarked with my thousands. A violent

storm drove numerous small vessels towards us from the west. Amongst

them was the _Mercurius_, the swift-sailing post-boat of Theodahad. I

knew the vessel well; she once belonged to my father. As soon as she

caught sight of our ships, she tried to evade us. I, mistrustful,

chased her and overtook her. Her captain carried a letter to Byzantium,

in the handwriting of the King. 'You will be content with me, great

general,' it said, 'all the Gothic forces are at this moment on the

north-east of Rome; you can land without danger. I have destroyed four

letters from the Count of the Harbour of Neapolis, and thrown his

messengers into a dungeon. In requital, I expect that you will

punctually fulfil our contract, and shortly pay me the price fixed.'"

Teja let the letter fall; his voice died away.

The people uttered deep groans of rage.

"I at once turned and landed, and have galloped here for three days and

nights without pause. I can no more."

And, staggering, he sank into the arms of Witichis.

Then old Hildebrand sprang upon the highest stone of his seat, so that

he towered above the crowd. He tore a lance, which bore a small marble

bust of the King upon its cross-stick, out of the hands of the bearer,

and held it aloft in his left hand. In his right he raised his

stone-axe.

"Sold!" he cried. "He has sold his people for yellow gold! Down with

him! Down, down!"

And with a stroke of his axe he shattered the bust.

This action was the first thunder-clap that unchained the brooding

tempest. Only to be compared to the strife of the elements was the wild

storm which now arose amongst the multitude.

"Down with him! down with Theodahad!" was repeated a thousand times,

accompanied by the deafening clash of arms.

Amidst this tumult the old master-at-arms again lifted up his metallic

voice, silence once more ensued, and he said solemnly:

"Hear it, God in heaven, and men on earth: all-seeing sun and blowing

wind, hear it! Whereas King Theodahad, the son of Theodis, has betrayed

people and kingdom to the enemy; the nation of the Goths, free and full

of ancient fame and born to bear arms, depose him from the throne. We

deprive thee, Theodahad, of the golden crown and of the kingdom; of

Gothic right and of life. And we do this not wrongly, but rightly. For

under all our kings we have been ever free, and we would rather want

kings than want freedom. No king stands so high, that he may not be

judged by his people for murder, treachery, and perjury. So I deprive

thee of crown, kingdom, right, and life. Outlawed shalt thou be,

contemned, dishonoured. As far as Christians pray in their churches,

and heathens sacrifice on their altars; as far as fire burns and earth

grows green; as far as the falcon can fly a whole day when the wind

supports his wings; as far as ships sail and shields shine; as far as

heaven spreads its vault and the world extends; house and hall, and the

companionship of good people, and all dwelling shall be denied thee,

except hell alone. Thy inheritance I divide amongst the Gothic people.

Thy flesh and blood I give to the ravens of the air. And whoever

findeth thee, in hall or court, in a house or on the high-road, shall

slay thee unpunished, and shall be thanked for his deed by the good

Goths, and blessed by God. I ask you, men of justice, shall it be

thus?"

"It shall be thus!" answered the crowd, and struck their swords upon

their shields.

Hildebrand had scarcely descended from the stone, when old Haduswinth

took his place, threw back his shaggy bear-skin, and spoke:

"We are rid of the perjured king! He will meet with an avenger. But

now, true men, we must choose another king. For we have never been

without one. As far back as legend and story reach, our forefathers

have lifted a king upon the shield, the living symbol of the power,

glory, and fortune of the good Goths. So long as Goths exist, they will

have kings; and as long as a king can be found, the nation will endure.

And now it is more than ever necessary that we should have a head, a

leader. The race of the Amelungs rose like the sun in glory--Theodoric,

its brightest star, shone for a long time; but this sun has been

shamefully extinguished in Theodahad. Up! people of the Goths, ye are

free! Freely choose a rightful king, who will lead you to victory and

glory! The throne is vacant. Goths, I call upon you to choose a king!"

"Let us choose a king!" was the answer, in a solemn and mighty chorus.

Then Witichis mounted the Ting-seat, took off his helmet, and raised

his right hand.

"Thou, God, who rulest the stars, knowest that we are not moved by

unwise delight in disobedience, or by wantonness. We use the sacred

right of necessity. We honour the right of royalty, the glory which

beams from the crown; but this glory is dimmed. And in the great need

of the nation, we exercise a people's highest right. Heralds shall go

forth to all the peoples of the earth, and announce that, not because

we despise, but because we honour, the crown, have we acted thus. But,

for God's sake, no disputes, no quarrels now; now, when the enemy is in

the land! Therefore let us first solemnly swear, that he who has

the majority, were it only of _one_ voice, we will all honour as our

king--him and no other. I swear it--swear with me."

"We swear!" cried the Goths,

But young Arahad did not join in the oath. Ambition and love flamed in

his heart. He remembered that after the fall of the Balthes and the

Amelungs, his house was the oldest in the nation. He hoped to win

Mataswintha's hand, if he could offer her a crown; and scarcely had the

voices of the people died away, than he advanced and cried:

"Whom shall we choose, Goths? Reflect well! Above all, it is clear, we

need a man with a young and powerful arm to lead us against the enemy.

But that alone is not sufficient. Why did our ancestors elevate the

Amelungs? Because they were the noblest and most ancient race,

descended from the gods. The first star is extinguished; remember the

second, remember the Balthes!"

"Now there lived only one male descendant of that family, a not yet

adult grandchild of Duke Pitza--for Alaric, the brother of the Dukes

Thulun and Ibba, had not been heard of for years. Arahad was confident

that this boy would not be chosen, and that then the people would think

of the third star of nobility. But he erred. Old Haduswinth came

forward angrily and exclaimed:

"Nobility and race! Are we serfs or freemen? By the Thunderer! shall we

count ancestors when Belidarius is in the land? I will tell thee, boy,

what a king needs. A brave arm, it is true, but not that alone. The

King shall be a rock of justice, a bulwark of peace, not only a leader

in the battle. The King shall have an ever-quiet and ever-clear mind,

as clear as the blue sky; and, like stars, just thoughts shall rise and

set therein. The King shall have an ever-equal power, but still more an

ever-equal measure; he shall never lose and forget himself in love or

hate, as we may, who stand below in the crowd. He shall not only be

mild to friends, but just to enemies. He, in whose heart serenity is

paired with bold courage, and true moderation with true strength--that

man, Arahad, is kingly, even though the humblest peasant had begotten

him."

Loud applause followed the words of the old man, and Arahad fell back

abashed. But Haduswinth continued:

"Good Goths, I think we have such a man! I will not name him: you shall

name him to me. I came here from the distant Alps of our boundary,

towards the Karathans, where the wild Turbidus rushes foaming down the

rocks. There I have lived for more than the usual days of man, free,

proud and lonely. I heard little of the acts of men, even of the great

deeds of my own nation, unless a pack-horse laden with salt happened to

stray my way. And yet the warlike frame of _one_ of our heroes

penetrated even to that desolate height. One who never drew his sword

in an unjust cause, and who never sheathed it without victory. His name

I heard again and again when I asked: Who will protect our kingdom when

Theodoric dies? His name I heard in every victory that we gained, and

in every work of peace that was accomplished. I had never seen him. I

longed to see him. To-day I have both seen and heard him. I have looked

into his eyes, that are clear and mild as the sun. I have heard his

words. I heard how he pleaded for right and justice, even for a hated

enemy. I heard how he alone, when blind passion carried us away,

remained serene and quiet and just. Then I thought in my heart: that

man is kingly; strong in war and just in peace; true as steel and pure

as gold. Goths! that man shall be our king. Name the man!"

"Earl Witichis! yes, Witichis! Hail, King Witichis!"

As the unanimous acclamation rang across the plain, a sudden fear fell

upon the modest man, who had eagerly listened to the speech of the old

orator, and only towards the close suspected that he himself was the

man so praised.

And as he heard his name ring in this thousand-voiced shout, his only

feeling was: "No! this cannot, must not be!"

He tore himself away from Teja and Hildebad, who were joyfully pressing

his hands, and sprang forward, shaking his head, and, as if to protect

himself, stretching forth his arm.

"No!" he cried; "no, friends! not that to me! I am a simple soldier, no

king. I am perhaps a good tool, but no master! Choose another, a

worthier!"

And, as if beseeching them, he held out both hands to the people. But

the thundering cry, "Hail, King Witichis!" was the only answer he

received.

And now old Hildebrand advanced, seized his hand, and said in a loud

voice:

"Cease to resist, Witichis! Who was it who first swore to acknowledge,

without hesitation, the man who gained a majority even of one voice?

See, thou hast all voices; and wilt thou refuse!"

But Witichis shook his head.

Then the old man went up to him and whispered:

"What? Must I urge thee more strongly? Must I remind thee of that

midnight oath and bond; to sacrifice all for the well-being of thy

people? I know--I see through thy transparent soul--that the crown is

more a burthen to thee than an honour. I suspect that this crown will

bring thee great and bitter pain, perhaps more pain than joy; and

therefore I ask of thee, that thou accept it."

Witichis was still silent and pressed both hands over his eyes.

This by-play had lasted far too long for the enthusiasm of the people.

They already prepared the broad shield on which to lift him; they

already pressed up the eminence; and, almost impatiently, the cry

sounded anew, "Hail, King Witichis!"

"Think of thy oath! wilt thou keep it or break it!" whispered

Hildebrand.

"Keep it!" said Witichis, and resolutely looked up. He now, without

false shame or vanity, came forward a step and said: "You have chosen

me, O Goths! well, then take me; I will be your king."

At this each man's sword flashed in the light, and a louder cry arose:

"All hail, King Witichis!"

Old Hildebrand now descended from his place and said:

"I leave this high seat, for the place now belongs to our king. Only

once again let me perform the office of the Ting-Earl. If I cannot hang

the purple on thy shoulders, O King, which the Amelungs have worn; nor

reach to thee their golden sceptre--take, at least, my judge's mantle

and the staff of justice for a sceptre; as a sign that thou wert chosen

for thy justice' sake. I cannot press Theodoric's golden circlet, the

old Gothic crown, upon thy brow, then take the first leaves of the oak

which thou resemblest in trustiness and strength."

With these words he broke a tender shoot of the oak and bound it round

Witichis' brow.

"Up, Gothic warriors! fulfil your office with the shield!"

Haduswinth, Teja, and Hildebad took the ancient Ting-shield, lifted the

King, who was now crowned with wreath, staff, and mantle, and raised

him on their shoulders in sight of all the people.

"Behold, O Goths, your King, whom you yourselves have chosen, and swear

allegiance to him!"

And they swore--standing upright, not kneeling=-to true to him till

death.

Witichis sprang from the shield, ascended the Ting-seat and cried:

"As you swear fidelity to me, so do I to you. I will be a mild and just

king; I will do right and prevent wrong. I will remember that you are

free, like me, and not my slaves. And I dedicate my life, my happiness,

all that is mine, to you, to the people of the good Goths! I swear it

by the God of Heaven, and by my throne."

And taking the Ting-shield from the tree, he cried:

"The Ting is over. I dissolve the Assembly."

The sajones at once knocked down the hazel staffs with the cords, and

in disorderly confusion the masses mingled over the wide plain.

The Romans, who, curiously but shyly, had observed from a distance this

custom of a free people, such as Italy had not witnessed for more than

five hundred years, now also mixed freely with the Gothic soldiers, to

whom they sold wine and meat.

Witichis prepared to go with his friends and the leaders of the army to

one of the tents which were erected on the bank of the river.

There a man in Roman costume--as it seemed, a well-to-do

citizen--pressed among his followers, and asked eagerly for Earl Teja,

the son of Tagila.

"I am he. What would you, Roman?" asked Teja, turning.

"Nought, sir, except to deliver this vase to you. See, the seal, the

scorpion, is intact."

"What shall I do with the vase? I buy no such things."

"The vase is yours, sir. It is full of documents and rolls which belong

to you. My guest desired me to give it to you. I beg you, take it."

And he pressed the vase into Teja's hand, and disappeared amid the

crowd.

Teja broke the seal indifferently, and took the documents out.

Indifferently he looked at them.

But suddenly a vivid flush overspread his pale cheeks, his eyes

flashed, and he convulsively bit his lip. The vase fell to the ground

as he rushed up to Witichis, and said, in an almost toneless voice:

"My King! King Witichis, a favour!"

"What is it, Teja? For God's sake, what wilt thou?"

"Leave of absence! for six--three days! I must go!"

"Go? Where?"

"To revenge myself! Read--the devil who accused my parents, who drove

them to desperation, madness, and death--it is he--whom I long since

suspected. Here is his accusation, addressed to the Bishop of

Florentia, in his own handwriting--it is Theodahad!"

"It is, it is Theodahad," said Witichis, looking up from the letter.

"Go, then! But, doubt it not, thou wilt not find him in Rome. He has

certainly fled long since. He has had a great start. Thou canst not

overtake him!"

"I will overtake him, even if he rides on the wings of the

storm-eagle!"

"Thou wilt not find him!"

"I will find him, if I must pluck him from hell's deepest abyss, or

from out of the midst of the angels!"

"He will have fled with a strong escort," warned Witichis.

"I will reach him in the midst of a thousand demons! Hildebad, thy

horse! Farewell, King of the Goths. I go to fulfil the ban!"

BOOK IV.

WITICHIS.

"And the Goths chose Witichis for their King, a man of humble origin,

but a famous warrior."--_Procopius: Wars of the Goths_, i. 11.

PART I.

CHAPTER I.

Slowly sank the sun behind the green hills of Faesulae, and gilded the

columns in front of the simple country-house of which Rauthgundis was

the mistress.

The Gothic servants and Italian slaves were busy concluding the day's

work.

The stable-man was fetching the young horses from the pasture; two

other servants were bringing a herd of fine cattle home from the fields

to the stable; while the goatherd, with Roman invectives, was driving

forward his _proteges_, which stopped here and there to nibble the

salty saxifrage which grew upon the broken walls of the road.

Other labourers were housing the agricultural implements in the large

yard, and a Roman freedman, a very learned and superior personage, the

upper gardener himself, left, with a contented look, the place where he

practised his blooming and sweet-scented science.

Our little friend Athalwin, with his crown of bright golden hair, was

just issuing from the stables.

"Don't forget, Kakus," he cried, "to throw a rusty nail into the

water-bucket. Wachis spoke of it particularly. Then he need not beat

thee when he comes home."

And he banged the door to.

"Nothing but trouble with these Italian servants," said the little

master, with an air of importance. "Since father went away, and Wachis

joined him in the camp, everything lies upon my shoulders; for mother

is enough for the maids, but the men need a master."

And the little lad marched with great gravity across the yard.

"And they have no proper respect for me," he continued, pouting his

cherry lips and ruffing his white forehead. "How should they? At the

next equinox I shall be fully nine years old, and they still let me go

about with a thing like a kitchen spoon;" and he pulled contemptuously

at the little wooden sword hanging to his belt.

"They ought to give me a hunting-knife, a real weapon. With this I can

do nothing, and I look like nothing!"

Yet he looked very lovely, like an angry Cupid, in his short sleeveless

coat of the finest white linen, which the loving hand of his mother had

spun, sewed, and embroidered with an ornamental red stripe.

"I should like very much to run into the fields and get the wild

flowers for mother which she loves so much, far more than our finest

garden flowers; but I must look round before they shut the doors, for,

'Athalwin,' said father, as he left us, 'take good care of the place,

and protect thy mother. I rely upon thee;' and I shook hands upon it,

so I must keep my word."

So saying, he went across the yard, past the front of the

dwelling-house, looked into all the offices on the left, and was just

about to turn to the back of the square court, when he was attracted by

the loud barking of some young dogs at a noise which was heard behind

the wooden fence which enclosed the whole.

He went towards the corner, and started back in surprise; for on the

fence sat, or rather climbed, a strange figure.

It was a tall, haggard old man in a coarse doublet of rough cloth, such

as was worn by mountain shepherds; instead of a mantle, an immense

undressed wolfskin hung over his shoulders, and in his right hand he

carried a long staff with a steel point, with which he warded off the

dogs, who angrily sprang at the fence.

The boy ran up.

"Stop, thou strange man! What art thou doing at my fence? Wilt get down

at once!"

The old man started, and looked keenly at the handsome boy.

"Down, I say!" repeated the lad.

"Is this the way one greets a tired wanderer at this house!" asked the

intruder.

"Yes, when the tired wanderer climbs over the back fence. Art thou

honest and meanest honestly--in front stands the great yard-gate wide

open; come in there!"

"I know that very well."

And the man prepared to climb down into the courtyard.

"Stop!" cried the boy angrily; "thou shalt not come down there. At him,

Gruffo! At him, Wulfo! And if thou art not afraid of the two young

ones, I will call the old one! Then take care! Hey! Thursa! Thursa!

stop him!"

At this cry an immense bristly grey wolf-hound darted round the corner

of the stable with a furious bark, and was about to spring at the

intruder's throat. But she had scarcely reached the fence, when her

rage was suddenly changed into joy; she ceased to bark, and, wagging

her tail, sprang up to the old man, who now climbed leisurely down.

"Yes, yes, Thursa, faithful bitch, we remember each other," he said.

"Now tell me, little man, what is thy name?"

"I am called Athalwin," answered the boy, retreating shyly; "but

thou--I believe thou hast bewitched the dog--what art thou called?"

"Like thee," said the old man, in a more friendly manner; "I am glad

thou hast my name. But be quiet; I am no robber! Lead me to thy mother,

that I may tell her how bravely thou hast defended thy home."

And so the two adversaries walked peacefully into the house, Thursa

leaping on in front with joyful barks.

The Gothic housewife had changed, with slight alteration, the

Corinthian atrium of this Roman villa, with its rows of pillars on four

sides, into the hall of the Germanic dwelling.

In the absence of her husband it was not wanted for gay hospitality,

and Rauthgundis had brought her maids here from the women's room, to

enjoy the larger space and fresher air.

There sat a long row of Gothic maidens with their noisy spindles;

opposite to them a few Roman women slaves, occupied in finer work.

In the middle of the hall walked Rauthgundis, and let her own

swiftly-turning spindle dance upon the smooth mosaic pavement, at the

same time turning frequently to look at the maids.

Her dark-blue dress of home manufacture was gathered up above one knee,

and puffed out over a belt of steel rings, which, her only ornament,

bore a bunch of keys.

Her auburn hair was combed, back from the brow and temples, and twined

into a simple knot at the back of the head.

There was much simple dignity in her aspect as she paced the room with

grave and examining looks. She went up to one of the youngest of the

maids, who sat lowest in the row, and bent over her.

"Well done, Liuta," she said; "thy thread is smooth, and thou hast not

so often looked up at the door to-day. Certainly," she added with a

smile, "there is not much merit in that, as Wachis cannot enter."

The young girl blushed.

Rauthgundis laid her hand kindly upon her smooth hair.

"I know," she said, "that thou art angry with me in secret, because I

made thee, the betrothed, work all this year an hour longer, morning

and evening, than the other maids. It was cruel, was it not? Well, see!

it was for thine own good. All that thou hast spun this year of my best

flax is thine; I give it thee for thy new household. Then thou wilt not

need to spin next year, the first of thy married life."

The girl took her hand, and looked up gratefully, with tearful eyes.

"And _you_ they call hard and severe!" was all that she could say.

"Mild with the good, severe with the bad, Liuta. All that is under my

care is the property of my husband, and the inheritance of my boy.

Therefore I must be strict."

Just then the old man and Athalwin appeared at the door. The boy wanted

to call out, but the old man held his hand over his mouth, and, for a

while, observed unremarked the actions of Rauthgundis as she examined

the maids' work, praised, scolded, and arranged new tasks.

"Yes," at last said the old man to himself, "she looks very stately,

and seems to be mistress in the house--yet, who knows all!"

And now it was no more possible to hold Athalwin back.

"Mother!" he cried, "a strange man! who has bewitched Thursa, and

climbed over the fence, and wants to come to thee! I cannot understand

it!"

The stately woman turned to the door with dignity, holding her hand

over her eyes, to shade them from the dazzling evening sun, which shone

full into the doorway.

"Why dost thou lead the guest here? Thou knowest that thy father is not

at home. Take him into the men's hall; his place is not here with me."

"But it is, Rauthgundis! Here, with thee, is my place!" cried the old

man, coming forward.

"Father!" cried Rauthgundis, and threw herself into the stranger's

arms.

Puzzled, and not without displeasure, Athalwin looked on at this

meeting.

"So thou art grandfather, who lives up in the northern mountains? God

be with thee, grandfather! But why didst thou not tell me at once? And

why didst thou not come through the gate, like other honest folk?"

The old man held his daughter by both hands, and looked inquiringly

into her eyes.

"She looks happy and blooming," he murmured to himself.

Rauthgundis composed herself. She cast a quick look round the hall.

All the spindles had ceased whirling--except Liuta's--all eyes were

curiously fixed upon the old man.

"Will you spin directly, curious girls!" cried Rauthgundis reprovingly.

"Thou, Marcia, hast let the flax fell with thy staring; thou knowest

the custom--thou wilt spin another spoolful. You others can leave your

work. Come, father! Liuta, prepare a tepid bath, and meat and wine----"

"No," said the old man; "the old peasant in the mountains has only the

waterfall for bath and drink. And as to eating--outside the fence, near

the boundary-stone, lies my knapsack; fetch it for me. There I have my

wheaten bread and my sheep's-milk cheese.--What cattle hast thou in the

stall, and horses in the pasture?"

It was his first question.

An hour after--it was already dark, and little Athalwin had gone to

bed, shaking his head over his grandfather--father and daughter

wandered into the open air in the light of the rising moon.

"I have not air enough inside," the old man had said.

They spoke much and earnestly as they walked up and down the court-yard

and garden. Between whiles, the old man put questions about the

household, such as were suggested by the implements or buildings near

him; and in his tone lay no tenderness; only sometimes he secretly

examined the countenance of his child with a loving look.

"Do cease talking about rye and horses," at last said Rauthgundis, "and

tell me how it has gone with thee these long years? And what has at

last brought thee down from the mountains to thy children?"

"How has it gone with me? pretty lonely! lonely! and cold winters! Yes,

it is not so pleasant and warm up there as here in the Italian valley."

He spoke as if in reproach.

"Why did I come down? Well, last year the breeding-bull fell down from

the _Firn-joch_, and so I wanted to buy another here."

Rauthgundis could no longer contain herself; she affectionately

embraced the old man and cried:

"And no bull was to be found nearer than here? Do not lie, father, to

thine own heart and to thine own child. Thou art come because thou

couldst not help it, because thou couldst no more endure thy longing

for thy child!"

The old man stroked her hair.

"How dost thou know that? Well, yes, I wanted to see how it went with

thee, and how _he_ keeps thee--the Gothic Earl!"

"Like the apple of his eye!" cried Rauthgundis joyfully.

"Indeed? Why, then, is he not at home with wife and child in his house

and farm?"

"He serves in the King's army."

"Yes, that is just it! What has he to do with service and a king? But,

tell me, why dost not wear a golden bracelet? A Gothic woman once came

our way from the Italian valleys, five years ago; she had gold a hand

broad. Then I thought, such thy daughter wears. And I was pleased, and

now----"

Rauthgundis smiled.

"Shall I wear gold to please my maids? I only put on ornaments when

Witichis sees me."

"Indeed! May he deserve it! But thou _hast_ golden brooches and rings,

like other Gothic wives down here?"

"More than others--chests full. Witichis brought a great booty from the

wars."

"So thou art quite happy?"

"Quite, father, but not because of the gold bracelets."

"Hast thou nothing to complain of? Only tell me, child! Whatever it may

be, tell it to thy old father, and he will see thee righted."

Rauthgundis stopped short in her walk.

"Father, speak not thus! Thou art wrong to speak so, nor is it right

for me to listen. Cast it off, this unhappy delusion, as if I must

necessarily be unhappy because I came into the valley. I verily believe

this fear alone has brought thee down."

"That alone!" cried the old man, striking his staff upon the ground.

"And thou callest thy father's deepest conviction a delusion! Last

night I saw thee and Witichis in a dream. He banqueted in a gilded

hall, among proud men and lovely women, richly clothed; but thou wert

standing outside the door in a beggar's dress, and wept bitter tears

and called to him. But he said, 'Who is this woman? I know her not!'

And I could no longer rest upon the mountains. Something drew me down;

I felt obliged to come and see if my child was well cared for in the

valley; and I wished to surprise him, therefore I would not enter thy

house by the gate."

"Father," said Rauthgundis angrily, "one should not think such things,

even in a dream. Thy mistrust----"

"Mistrust? I trust no one but myself, and the dream told me distinctly

that a misfortune threatens thee! Avoid it! Take thy boy and go back

with me; only for a short time. Believe me, thon wilt quickly love

again the free air up there, where one can overlook all the land."

"I leave my husband? Never!"

"Has he not left thee? The court, and the service of kings, is more to

him than wife and child! Then let him have his will."

"Father," said Rauthgundis, grasping his hand, "not a word more. Didst

thou, then, not love my mother, that thou canst speak so to a wedded

wife? My Witichis is all in all to me; the air and light of life. And

he loves me with all his faithful heart; we are one. And if he thinks

it right to work and act apart from me, then it _is_ right. He serves

the cause of his people, and between me and him there shall not be a

word, not a shadow, not even a father!"

The old man was silent, but his doubts were not removed.

"Why," he re-commenced after a pause, "why does he not take thee with

him, if he has such important affairs at court? Is he ashamed of the

peasant's daughter?" and he struck his staff angrily on the ground.

"Anger blinds thee! Thou art vexed because he has taken me away from

the mountain into the Italian valley, and art equally vexed because he

does not take me to Rome, amongst the Italians!"

"And thou shalt not go there! But he ought to wish it; he ought not to

be able to live without thee. But the King's general is no doubt

ashamed of the peasant's child."

Just then, before Rauthgundis could answer, a horseman galloped up to

the closed gate, before which they happened to be standing.

"Up! open!" he cried, striking the gate-post with his war-club.

"Who is there!" asked the old man cautiously.

"Open! A king's messenger should not be kept waiting so!"

"It is Wachis!" exclaimed Rauthgundis, pushing back the heavy bolt.

"What brings thee back so unexpectedly!"

"It is you who open to me!" cried the faithful man. "Oh, hail! all

hail, Queen of the Goths! Your lord is chosen King. With my own eyes I

saw him lifted upon the shield! He greets you, and calls you and

Athalwin to Rome. In three days you must depart."

In the midst of all her fright and surprise and joy and questioning,

Rauthgundis could not help casting a joyful and proud look at her

father. Then she threw herself upon his neck and wept.

"Well, father," she asked, when she had again composed herself, "what

sayest thou now?"

"What do I say? The misfortune that I foresaw has come! Even to-night

will I return to my mountains!"

CHAPTER II.

While the Goths were assembling at Regeta, the powerful army of

Belisarius had invested the hard-pressed city of Neapolis in a wide

semicircle.

Rapid and irresistible as a fire in dry heather, the army of the

Byzantines had advanced from the southernmost point of Italy to the

walls of the Parthenopeian town, meeting with no resistance, for,

thanks to Theodahad's man[oe]uvres, not a thousand Goths were to be

found in all these parts. The short skirmish at the Pass of Jugum was

the only hindrance with which the Greeks had met.

The Roman inhabitants of Bruttia, with its towns, Regium, Vibo and

Squillacium, Tempsa and Croton, Ruscia and Thurii; of Calabria, with

Gallipolis, Tarentum, and Brundusium; of Lucania, with Velia and

Buxentum; of Apulia, with Acheruntia and Canusium, Salernum, Nuceria,

and Campsae, and many other towns, had received Belisarius with joy,

when, in the name of the Emperor, he promised them deliverance from the

yoke of the heretics and barbarians.

To the Aufidus on the east and the Sarnus on the south-west, Italy was

wrested from the Goths; and the walls of Neapolis was the first

obstacle which broke the rush of the inimical flood which was

threatening to overwhelm all Italy.

The camp of Belisarius was worthy of the name of a splendid spectacle.

In the north, before the Porta Nolana, stood the camp of the "bloody"

Johannes. To his care was entrusted the Via Nolana, and the task of

forcing the way to Rome. There, on the wide levels, in the corn-fields

of the industrious Goths, the Massagetae and the yellow-skinned Huns

exercised their small rough horses.

Near them were encamped the light-foot of the Persian mercenaries,

dressed in linen coats, and armed with bows and arrows; heavy Armenian

shield-bearers; Macedonians with lances ten feet long, called sarrissi;

and large troops of Thessalian, Thracian and Saracen horsemen, who,

condemned to a hated inactivity during the siege, did their best to

occupy their leisure time by inroads into the neighbouring country.

The camp in the centre, exactly on the east of the city, was occupied

by the main army; Belisarius's large tent of blue Sidonian silk,

with its purple standard, towered in the middle. Here strutted the

body-guard which Belisarius himself had armed and paid, and which only

those who had distinguished themselves by valiant deeds were allowed to

join, gay in richly-gilded breast-plates and greaves, bronze shields,

broad-swords, and halberd-like lances. These men were frequently

promoted to the highest rank.

The kernel of the foot-soldiers was formed by eight thousand Illyrians,

the only worthy troop sent by Greece itself; and here, too, were

encamped, under the command of their native chiefs, the Avari,

Bulgarians, Sarmatians, and even Germans, as well as Herulians and

Gepidae, whom Belisarius was obliged to enlist at a heavy price, in

order to cover the want of native soldiery. Here, too, were the Italian

emigrants and many deserters.

Finally, the south-western camp, which stretched along the coast, was

commanded by Martinus, who superintended the service of the implements

of siege. Here stood, stored up, the catapults and balistae, the rams

and slings; here mingled Isaurian allies and the contingents sent by

newly-recovered Africa; Moorish and Numidian horsemen and Libyan

slingers. And almost all the barbaric races of three-quarters of the

globe had here their representatives; Bajuvars from the Donau, Alemanni

from the Rhine, Franks from the Maas, Burgundians from the Rhone, Antae

from the Dniester, Lazians from the Phasis, and the Abasgi, Siberians,

Lebanthians and Lycaonians from Asia and Africa, all well skilled in

archery.

Out of such heterogeneous materials was the army composed, with which

Justinian hoped to drive away the Gothic barbarians and liberate Italy.

The command of the outposts, always and everywhere, was entrusted to

the body-guard; and the chain of stations extended round the city from

the Porta Capuana almost to the waves of the sea.

Neapolis was badly fortified and weakly garrisoned. Less than a

thousand Goths were there to defend the extensive ramparts against an

army of forty thousand Byzantines and Italians.

Earl Uliaris, the commander of the city, was a brave man, and had sworn

by his beard not to deliver up the fortress. But even he would not have

been long able to withstand the far superior force and generalship of

Belisarius, had not a fortunate circumstance come to his assistance.

This was the premature return of the Grecian fleet to Byzantium. When,

namely, Belisarius, after having rested his troops and re-ordered his

army in Regium, had given the command for a general advance of the land

and sea forces to Neapolis, his navarchus Konon had showed him an order

from the Emperor, till then kept secret, according to which the fleet

was to sail, immediately after landing the troops, to Nicopolis on the

Grecian coast, under the pretext of fetching reinforcements, but in

reality to fetch Prince Germanus, the nephew of Justinian, with his

imperial lancers, to Italy, where he was to observe, control, and, in

case of need, check the victorious steps of Belisarius, and, as

commander-in-chief, to protect the interests of the suspicious Emperor.

With deep vexation Belisarius saw his fleet set sail just at the moment

when he needed it most, and he only succeeded, after much urgency, in

gaining the promise of the navarchus to send him four war-triremes,

which were still cruising off Sicily. So Belisarius, when he prepared

to besiege Neapolis, was, indeed, able to enclose the city to the

north-east, east, and north-west with his land forces--the western road

to Rome, defended by the castellum Tiberii, was successfully kept by

Earl Uliaris--but he was not able to blockade the harbour nor prevent

free communication by sea.

At first he comforted himself with the fact that the besieged likewise

had no fleet, and could therefore derive little benefit from this

freedom of movement; but now he was, for the first time, baffled by the

talent and temerity of an adversary whom he afterwards learned to fear.

This was Totila, who had scarcely reached Neapolis after the fight at

the pass, had scarcely aided Julius in showing the last honours to the

remains of Valerius, and in drying Valeria's first tears, than he

began, with restless activity, to create a fleet out of nothing. He was

commodore of the squadron at Neapolis, but King Theodahad, as we know,

had, in spite of his remonstrances, ordered the whole fleet out of the

way of Belisarius to Pisa, where it was appointed to guard the mouth of

the Arnus. So, from the very beginning, Totila had nothing under his

command but three small guard-ships, two of which he had later lost off

Sicily; and he had returned to Neapolis despairing of every possibility

of defending the city towards the sea. But when he heard the incredible

news of the return home of the Byzantine fleet his hopes revived, and

he did not rest until he had--out of fishing-boats, merchant-craft,

harbour-boats, and the hastily-repaired disabled ships on the

wharves--formed a little fleet of about twelve sail, which could

neither defy a storm at sea nor cope with a single man-of-war, but

could still do good service, such as to provide Baiae, Cumae and other

towns to the north-west, which would otherwise have been completely cut

off, with victuals; to observe the movements of the enemy on the coast,

and plague them with repeated attacks; in which Totila himself often

landed in the south at the rear of the Grecian camp, surprised--now

here, now there--some troop of the enemy, and spread such insecurity,

that the Byzantines at last only ventured to leave the camp in strong

detachments, and never dared to stray far, while Totila's success gave

fresh courage to the hard-pressed garrison of Neapolis, who were

wearied by incessant watching and frequent combats.

Notwithstanding this partial success, Totila could not hide from

himself that his position was very grave and that as soon as a few

Grecian ships should appear before the city it would be desperate.

He therefore used a portion of his boats to convoy a number of the

unarmed inhabitants of Neapolis to Baiae and Cumae, angrily repelling the

demand of the rich, that this means of safety should be granted only to

those who paid for it; and taking rich and poor, without distinction,

into his saving vessels.

In vain had Totila repeatedly and earnestly begged Valeria to fly in

one of these ships, under the protection of Julius; she would not yet

leave the tomb of her father; she would not part from her lover, whose

praise as protector of the city she was only too much delighted to hear

proclaimed by all voices.

So she continued to reside in her old home in the city, indulging in

her sorrow and in her love.

CHAPTER III.

It was at this time that Miriam experienced the greatest joy and the

keenest sorrow that she had ever known.

She could sun herself more frequently than ever in the presence of the

man she loved, for the Porta Capuana was an important point of the

fortifications, and Totila was obliged to visit it often. He daily held

conferences with Earl Uliaris in old Isaac's tower.

At such times Miriam, when she had greeted the guests, and served the

simple meal of fruit and wine, used to slip into the narrow little

garden which lay close under the walls of the tower.

This place had been, originally, a small court belonging to an ancient

Temple of Minerva, the "wall-protectress," to whom altars had been

gratefully erected at the principal gates of various towns.

The altar had disappeared centuries ago, but the gigantic olive-tree,

which had once shaded the statue dedicated to the goddess, still

stretched its boughs aloft, while flowers, cherished by Miriam's loving

hand, and which she had often plucked for the bride of the man whom she

hopelessly loved, filled the air with perfume.

Exactly opposite the tree, whose knotted roots protruded from the

earth, disclosing a dark opening in the ground-floor of the old temple,

there had been placed a large black cross, and below it a little

praying stool, which was made out of one of the marble steps of the

temple.

The Christians loved to subject the remains of the ancient worship to

the service of the new, and to drive out the old gods, now become

demons, by the symbols of their victorious faith.

The beautiful Jewess often sat for hours under this cross with old

Arria, the half-blind widow of the under doorkeeper, who, after the

early death of Isaac's wife, had, with motherly love, watched little

Miriam bloom together with her flowers amid the desolate ruins of the

old walls.

Twice a day did Uliaris and Totila thus meet; reporting their losses or

successes and examining the probability of saving the city.

But on the tenth day of the siege, before dawn, Uliaris hastened on

board Totila's "admiral" ship, a rotten fishing-boat, and found the

commander sleeping on deck, covered by a ragged sail.

"What is it!" cried Totila, starting up and still dreaming; "the enemy?

where?"

"No, my boy; this time it is again Uliaris, and not Belisarius, who

awakens thee. But, by the Thunderer! this cannot last much longer!"

"Uliaris, thou bleedest! thy head is bandaged!"

"Bah! 'twas but a stray arrow! Fortunately no poisoned one. I got it

last night. Thou must know that things are at a bad pass; much worse

than ever before. The bloody Johannes--may God slay him!--digs under

our Castle Tiberius like a badger, and if he gets _that_--then

farewell, Neapolis! Yester even he finished a battery upon the hill

above us, and now he throws burning arrows upon our heads. I tried last

night to drive him out of his works, but it was no use. They were seven

to one against us, and I gained nothing by it but this wound on my grey

head."

"The battery must come down," said Totila reflectively.

"The devil it must! but it will not! I have still more to tell. The

citizens begin to get unruly. Belisarius daily shoots a hundred blunt

arrows into the city, to which is tied the inscription: 'Rebel for

freedom!' They have more effect than a thousand pointed darts. Already,

here and there, stones are cast from the roofs upon my poor fellows. If

this goes on--we cannot, with a thousand men, keep off forty thousand

Greeks outside and thirty thousand Neapolitans inside. Therefore I

think--" and his eyes looked very gloomy.

"What thinkest thou?"

"We will burn down a portion of the city--at least the suburbs----"

"So that the inhabitants may like us all the better? No, Uliaris, they

shall not have cause to call us 'barbarians.' I know of better

means--they are starving; yesterday I brought in four shiploads of oil,

com, and wine; this I will divide amongst them."

"Oil and corn if thou wilt! But not the wine! That I claim for my

Goths. They have drunk cistern-water long enough, the nasty stuff!"

"Good, thirsty hero, you shall have the wine for yourselves."

"Well? and still no news from Ravenna, or from Rome?"

"None! Yesterday I sent off my fifth messenger."

"May God destroy our King! Listen, Totila, I don't believe we shall

ever get alive out of these worm-eaten walls."

"Nor I either," said Totila quietly, and offered his guest a cup of

wine.

Uliaris looked at him; then he drank and said:

"Dear fellow! thou art pure as gold, and thy Caecubian too. And if I

must die here, like an old bear amongst the dogs--I am at least glad

that I have learned to know thee so well; thee and thy Caecubian."

With this rough but friendly speech the grey old Goth left the ship.

Totila sent corn and wine to the garrison in the castle, with which the

soldiers regaled themselves far into the night.

But the next morning, when Uliaris looked forth from the tower of the

castle, he rubbed his eyes. For on the battery upon the hill waved the

blue flag of the Goths.

Totila had landed in the night in the rear of the enemy, and had taken

the works by storm.

But this new act of audacity only increased the anger of Belisarius. He

swore to make an end of the troublesome boats at any price. To his

great joy the four triremes from Sicily just then appeared in the

offing. Belisarius ordered that they should at once force their way

into the harbour of Neapolis, and spoil the handiwork of "those

pirates." On the evening of the same day the four immense ships cast

anchor at the entrance of the harbour. Belisarius himself visited the

coast with his followers, and rejoiced at the sight of the sails,

gilded by the evening sun.

"The rising sun shall see them inside the harbour, in spite of that

bold youth," he said to Antonina, who accompanied him, and turned his

dappled-greys back to the camp.

The next morning he had not yet left his camp-bed--Procopius was

standing near him, reading the sketch of a report to Justinian--when

Chanaranzes, the Persian, the leader of the body-guard, entered the

tent, and cried: "The ships, general! the ships are taken!"

Belisarius sprang from his couch in a rage.

"He dies who says it!"

"It would be better," observed Procopius, "that he should die who did

it!"

"Who was it?"

"Oh, sir, the young Goth with the sparkling eyes and shining hair!"

"Totila!" exclaimed Belisarius, "Totila, again!"

"The crew were lying, partly on shore with my outposts, partly on deck,

sound asleep. Suddenly, at midnight, all around became as lively as if

a hundred ships had risen out of the sea."

"A hundred ships! Ten nutshells!"

"In a moment, long before we could come to their help from the shore,

the ships were boarded, the crews taken prisoners, one of the triremes,

whose cable could not be cut quickly enough, set on fire, and the

others towed off to Neapolis!"

"Your ships have entered the harbour sooner than you expected, O

Belisarius," observed Procopius.

But Belisarius had recovered his self-control.

"Now that the bold boy has ships of war, he will become unbearable!

There must be an end to this."

He pressed his helmet upon his majestic head.

"I would willingly have spared the city and the Roman inhabitants; but

I can wait no longer. Procopius, go and summon the generals; Magnus,

Demetrius and Constantinus, Bessas and Ennes, and Martinus, the master

of artillery; I will give them enough to do. The barbarians shall not

rejoice in their victory; they shall learn to know Belisarius."

Shortly there appeared in the tent of the commander a man who, in spite

of the breast-plate which he wore, had more the air of a scholar than

of a warrior.

Martinus, the great mathematician, was of a gentle, peaceful nature,

which had long found its sole happiness in the quiet study of Euclid.

He could not bear to see blood flow, and was even sorry to pluck a

flower. But his mathematical and mechanical studies had one day

accidentally led him to invent a new projectile of fearful power. He

showed the plan to Belisarius, and he, delighted, would not let him

alone, but dragged him before the Emperor, and obliged him to become

"master of artillery to the _magister militum_, for the East"--namely,

the assistant of Belisarius himself. He received a splendid salary, and

was obliged by contract to invent one new machine of war yearly.

Then the gentle mathematician, with many sighs, invented those terrible

tools of destruction which overthrew the walls of fortresses, shattered

the gates of castles, hurled inextinguishable fire into the towns of

Justinian's enemies, and destroyed human lives by thousands.

Every year Martinus delighted in the mathematical problems which he set

himself to do; but as soon as the riddle was solved and the work

completed, he thought with horror of the effects of his inventions.

Therefore he now appeared before Belisarius with a sorrowful

countenance.

"Martinus! circle-turner!" cried Belisarius as he entered, "now show

your art! How many catapults, balistae, and sling-machines have we in

all?"

"Three hundred and fifty, general."

"'Tis well! Divide them along our whole line of siege. In the north,

before the Porta Capuana and the castle, set the rams against the

walls; down they must come, were they made of diamonds! From the

central camp direct the projectiles in a curve, so that they may fall

into the streets of the city. Make every effort; do not cease a moment

for twenty-four hours; let the troops relieve each other; let all the

machines play!"

"All, general?" asked Martinus. "The new ones too? The pyrobalistae, the

hot projectiles?"

"Those too; those most of all!"

"General, they are horrible! You do not yet know their effect."

"Well, I shall now see what it is, and put them to the proof."

"Upon this splendid city? On the Emperor's city? Will you win for

Justinian a heap of ashes?"

Belisarius had a great and noble soul. He was angry with himself, with

Martinus, and with the Goths.

"Can I do otherwise?" he asked impatiently. "These stiff-necked Goths,

this foolhardy Totila, force me to it. Five times have I offered

capitulation. It is madness! Not three thousand men stand behind these

walls! By the head of Justinian! why do not the fifty thousand

Neapolitans rise and disarm the barbarians?"

"No doubt they fear your Huns more than their Goths," observed

Procopius.

"They are bad patriots! Forward, Martinus! In an hour Neapolis must

burn!"

"In a shorter time," sighed the mathematician, "if it must be so. I

have brought with me a man who is well-informed; who can help us much,

and simplify the work. He is a living plan of the city. May I bring him

in?"

Belisarius nodded, and the sentry called in a little Jewish-looking

man.

"Ah! Jochem, the architect!" said Belisarius. "I knew you at Byzantium.

You were to rebuild the church of St. Sophia. What became of that

project?"

"By your leave, general, nothing."

"Why not?"

"My plan only amounted to a million centenaria of gold; that was too

little for his Imperial Majesty. For the more a Christian church costs,

the more holy and pleasing to God. A Christian asked double the amount,

and got the order."

"But still I saw you building in Byzantium?"

"Yes, general, my plan pleased the Emperor. I changed it a little, took

out the altar-place, and afterwards built from it a riding-school."

"You know Neapolis thoroughly--outside and inside?"

"Outside and inside--as well as my moneybag."

"'Tis well. You will direct the machines for the strategist against the

walls and into the city. The houses of the friends of the Goths must

come down first. Forward! Mind and do your business well, or else you

will be impaled! Away!"

"The poor city!" sighed Martinus. "But you will see, Jochem, how exact

are the pyrobalistae; and they work so easily, a child could manage

them. And they act so splendidly!"

And now in all the camp began a monstrous and danger-pregnant activity.

The Gothic sentinels upon the ramparts saw how the heavy machines,

drawn by twenty to thirty horses, camels, asses, or oxen, were brought

before the walls, and divided along the whole line.

Totila and Uliaris went anxiously to the walls and tried to meet this

new danger with effectual means of defence.

Sacks filled with earth were let down before the places threatened by

the rams; firebrands were laid ready to set the machines on fire as

they approached; boiling water, arrows, and stones were to be directed

against the teams and drivers; and already the Goths laughed at the

cowardly enemy when they noticed that the machines halted far out of

the usual range of shot, and completely out of the reach of the

besieged.

But Totila did not laugh.

He was alarmed to see the Byzantines quietly unharness the teams and

arrange their machines. Not a projectile had yet been hurled.

"Well," mocked young Agila, who stood near Totila, "do they mean to

shoot at us from _that_ distance? They had better do it at once from

Byzantium, across the sea! That would be still safer!"

He had not ceased to speak, when a forty-pound stone knocked him, and a

portion of the rampart upon which he stood, to pieces.

Martinus had increased the range threefold.

Totila saw that they were completely without defence against these

terrible projectiles.

The Goths sprang horrified from the walls, and sought shelter in the

streets, houses, and churches. In vain! Thousands and thousands of

arrows, spears, heavy beams, and stones hurtled and hissed in

infallible curves upon their heads; whole blocks of rock came flying

through the air, and fell crashing through the woodwork and slabs of

the strongest roofs; while in the north the rams thundered unceasingly

against the castle with ponderous strokes.

While the thick hail of projectiles literally darkened the air, the

noise of breaking beams, the rattling fall of stones, the shattering of

the ramparts, and the cries of the wounded deafened the ear.

The trembling inhabitants fled terrified into the cellars and vaults of

their houses, cursing both Belisarius and the Goths.

But the horrified city had not yet experienced the worst.

In the market-place, the Forum of Trajan, near the harbour, stood an

uncovered building, a sort of ship's arsenal, heaped up with old,

well-dried timber, tow, flax, tar, and other combustible materials.

Into this building came, hissing and steaming, a strange projectile,

and immediately a flame shot high into the air, and, fed by the

inflammable materials, spread with the speed of the wind.

The besiegers outside greeted the pillars of smoke which now arose with

cries of exultation, and directed arrows and darts upon the place, to

prevent the inhabitants from extinguishing the fire.

Belisarius rode up to Martinus.

"Capital, man of the circle!" he cried. "Capital! Who aimed the shot?"

"I," said Jochem. "Oh! you will be satisfied with me, general. Now, pay

attention. Do you see that large house with the statues upon the flat

roof, to the right of the fire? That is the house of the Valerians, the

greatest enemies of the people of Edom. Attention! It shall burn."

The fiery projectile flew hissing through the air, and immediately a

second flame rose out of the city.

Just then Procopius galloped up and cried:

"Belisarius, your general, Johannes, greets you. The Castle of Tiberius

burns, and the first wall is down!"

And such was the fact; and soon, in all parts of the city, four, six,

ten houses were in flames.

"Water!" cried Totila, galloping through a burning street near the

harbour. "Come out, you citizens of Neapolis! Extinguish your houses! I

can spare no Goths from the walls. Get barrels of water from the

harbour into all the streets! The women into the houses!--What do you

want, girl? leave me.--Is it you, Miriam? You here--among the flames

and arrows? Away! whom do you seek?"

"You," said the girl. "Do not be alarmed. Her house burns, but she is

saved."

"Valeria! For God's sake, where is she?"

"With me. In our strong tower--there she is safe. I saw the flames. I

hastened to the house. Your friend with the soft voice was carrying her

out of the ruins; he wanted to take her into the church. I called to

him, and persuaded him to bring her to the tower. She bleeds. A stone

wounded her upon the shoulder, but there is no danger. She wishes to

see you, and I came to seek you!"

"Thanks, child! But come, come away;" and he took hold of her arm, and

swung her up to his saddle.

Trembling, she wound both arms about his neck. He held his broad shield

over her head with his left hand, and galloped off with her through the

smoking streets to the Porta Capuana.

"Oh! would that I might die now," murmured Miriam to herself; "now,

upon his breast, if not with him!"

In the tower Totila found Valeria, stretched upon Miriam's bed, under

the care of Julius and her female slaves. She was pale and weak from

loss of blood, but composed and quiet.

Totila flew to her side. Miriam stood at the window with a beating

heart, and looked silently at the burning city.

Totila had scarcely convinced himself that the wound was very slight,

than he again sprang up and cried:

"You must go! Immediately! This very moment! In another hour Belisarius

may storm the city. I have once more filled my ships with fugitives.

They will take you to Cajeta, and thence to Rome. Afterwards you must

hasten to Taginae to your estate. Julius will accompany you."

"Yes," said Julius, "for we go the same way."

"The same way? Whither art thou bound?"

"To Gaul, to my home. I cannot bear to see this terrible struggle

any longer. You know well that all Italy has risen against you. My

fellow-countrymen fight under Belisarius. Shall I raise my hand against

them, or against you? I will go."

Totila turned silently to Valeria.

"My friend," she said, "it seems to me that our star has set for ever!

Scarcely has my father gone to lay your oath at the throne of God, than

Neapolis, the third city of the realm, falls."

"So you have no faith in our swords?"

"I have faith in your swords, but not in your good fortune! With the

falling rafters of my father's house fall all my hopes. Farewell, for a

long, long time! I obey you; I will go to Taginae."

Totila and Julius now went out with the slaves to secure places in one

of the triremes.

Valeria rose from the bed; Miriam hurried to her to fasten the shining

sandals upon her feet.

"Let it alone, maiden; you must not serve me!" said Valeria.

"I do it gladly," whispered Miriam; "but permit me a question." Her

sparkling eyes were fixed upon Valeria's composed features. "You are

beautiful and clever and proud--but tell me, do you love him? You are

able to leave him at such a moment. Do you love him with devouring,

irresistible ardour? do you love him with such a love as----"

"As yours?" Valeria pressed the lovely girl's glowing face to her

bosom, as if in protection. "No, my sweet sister! Do not be startled. I

guessed it long ago from his accounts of you. And I saw it at once in

your first look at him to-day. Do not be anxious; your secret is safe

with me. No one shall learn it. Do not weep, do not tremble, you sweet

child. I love you the better for the sake of your love. I quite

understand it. He is happy who, like you, can indulge his feelings at

such a moment. But an inimical God has bestowed upon me a mind that

ever looks forward, and so I see before us unknown pain and a long dark

path which ends not in light. But I cannot allow you to think your love

the more noble because it is hopeless. My hopes, too, are ashes!

Perhaps it would have been happier for him had he discovered the

scented rose of your love--for Valeria, I fear, will never be his! But

farewell, Miriam. They come. Remember our meeting! Remember me as a

sister, and take my warmest thanks. Thanks for your faithful love!"

Miriam had trembled like a child found out in a fault, and would have

gladly run out of Valeria's sight, who seemed to see through

everything. But these noble sentiments overcame her timidity, and tears

flowed plentifully over her glowing cheeks. Trembling with shame and

weeping, she leaned her head upon her new friend's breast. They heard

Julius coming to call Valeria. They were obliged to part.

Miriam cast a rapid glance at the face of the Roman lady; and then she

threw herself on the ground before her, embraced her knees, pressed a

burning kiss upon her cold hand, and disappeared into the next room.

Valeria rose as if from a dream, and looked about her. In a vase on the

window-sill stood a dark-red rose. Valeria kissed it, and put it into

the bosom of her dress, blessed, with the motion of her hand, the place

which had afforded her an asylum, and then followed Julius, who took

her in a closed litter to the harbour, where she had time to take a

short leave of Totila, before she went on board with Julius. Shortly

afterwards the ship set sail, and moved proudly out of the harbour.

Totila looked after it. He saw Valeria's white hand signing a farewell.

He looked and looked at the lessening sail, little heeding the

projectiles which now began to fall thicker into the harbour. He leaned

against a pillar, and, for a moment, forgot the burning town and

everything around him.

Thorismuth roused him from his reverie.

"Come, commodore!" he cried. "I have been seeking thee everywhere.

Uliaris wishes to speak to thee.--Come, why dost thou stand here,

gazing at the sea among all these whizzing arrows?"

Totila slowly raised himself.

"Seest thou," he said, "seest thou yonder ship? There they leave

me----"

"Who?" asked Thorismuth.

"My good-fortune and my youth," said Totila, and turned to seek

Uliaris.

Uliaris told him that, in order to gain time, he had proposed an

armistice of three hours, which Belisarius, who wished for a parley,

had accepted.

"I will never capitulate! But we must have time to repair and

strengthen our walls. Will reinforcements never come? Hast thou still

no news from the King by sea?"

"None."

"The devil! Above six hundred of my Goths have fallen under these

hellish projectiles. I cannot even fill the most important posts. If I

had but four hundred men more!"

"Well," said Totila, reflecting, "I think I can procure thee these. In

the Castellum Aurelium, on the road to Rome, lie four hundred and fifty

men. Until now they have declared that they received from King

Theodahad the unreasonable but strict order, on no account to aid in

defending Neapolis. But in this, great necessity--I will go myself,

during the armistice, and do all I can to bring them."

"Do not go! The truce will have ended before thy return, and then the

road will be no longer safe. Thou canst not get through."

"I will get through by force or by cunning. Only keep firm until I am

back. Up! Thorismuth, to horse!"

While Totila, with Thorismuth and a few horsemen, galloped out of the

Porta Capuana, old Isaac, who had remained bravely on the walls without

tiring, took advantage of the armistice to return to his house, see his

daughter, and refresh himself with meat and wine.

As Miriam was bringing these, and anxiously listening to Isaac's report

of the progress of the siege, a hasty and unsteady foot was heard upon

the steps, and Jochem appeared before the astonished pair.

"Son of Rachel, whence comest thou in an evil hour, like a raven before

misfortune? How couldst thou enter? By what door?"

"That is my affair. I come, Father Isaac, once more to demand thy

daughter's hand--for the last time in my life."

"Is this a time for wooing and wedding?" asked Isaac indignantly. "The

city burns, and the streets are full of corpses."

"Why does the city burn? Why are the streets full of corpses? Because

the people of Neapolis hold by the people of Edom. Yes, this _is_ the

time to woo. Give me thy child. Father Isaac, and I will save thee and

her. I alone can do so."

And he attempted to take Miriam's hand.

"Thou save _me_!" she cried, starting back in disgust. "Rather would I

die!"

"Ha, proud girl!" cried the angry wooer; "thou wouldst be saved by the

fair-haired Christian? Let us see if he can save thee--the cursed

fellow!--from Belisarius and me. Ha! I will drag him through the

streets by his long yellow hair, and spit in his pale face!"

"Get thee away, son of Rachel!" said Isaac, rising and taking up his

spear. "I see thou art a friend of those who lie outside--the horn

sounds the recall; I must go down. But this I tell thee: many amongst

you will fall back dead before they can climb over these rotten walls."

"Perhaps," growled Jochem, "we shall fly over them, like the birds of

the air. For the last time, Miriam, I ask thee: Wilt thou leave this

old man and the cursed Christian? I tell thee the ruins of these walls

will soon cover them. I know that thou hast taken the Goth to thy

heart; but that I will forgive thee if only thou wilt be my wife."

And again he tried to take her hand.

"Thou wilt forgive me my love? Forgive what stands as high above thee

as the sun above the creeping worm? Should I be worthy to look upon his

face if I could become thy wife? Away! begone!"

"Ha!" cried Jochem, "too much! too much! My wife! Never shalt thou be

my wife; but thou shalt struggle in my arms, and I will tear the

Christian out of thy bleeding heart as it withers in despair! Thou

shalt see me again!"

And he left the room, and soon disappeared from the precincts of the

city.

Miriam, oppressed by anxious thoughts, hurried into the open air. She

felt that she must pray; but not in the close synagogue. She would pray

for _him_, and she would pray to _his_ God. She shyly ventured into the

neighbouring Basilica of St. Maria, whence, in peaceful times, the

Jewess had often been driven with curses.

But now the Christians had no time to curse.

She crouched in a dark corner of the chancel, and soon forgot herself,

the city, and the world, in fervent prayer.

She was alone with _him_ and with God.

Meanwhile, the last hour of the armistice was drawing to a close. The

sun already declined to the surface of the sea.

The Goths repaired and filled up the breaches of the walls with all

diligence, carried away the rubbish and the dead, and extinguished the

fires.

For the third time the sands of the hour-glass ran out, while

Belisarius, in front of his tent and surrounded by his generals, was

awaiting the signal of capitulation from the Castle of Tiberius.

"I don't believe in it," whispered Johannes to Procopius. "He who gives

such blows as I have seen given by that old man will never surrender.

And it is better so; then there will be a famous storming, and

afterwards a famous plundering."

Earl Uliaris now appeared upon the ramparts of the castle, and hurled

his spear defiantly among the waiting sentries.

Belisarius sprang up.

"The fools desire their own destruction! Well, they shall be gratified.

Up, generals! to the attack! Whoever is the first to plant our standard

on the walls shall have a tenth part of the booty!"

The leaders hurried away on all sides, spurred by avarice and ambition.

Johannes was just turning the ruined arch of an aqueduct, which

Belisarius had destroyed in order to deprive the besieged of water,

when he heard a low voice calling his name.

It was already so dark that he with difficulty recognised the man who

had spoken.

"What do you want, Jew!" asked Johannes. "I have no time to lose. There

is hard work to be done. I must be the first into the city."

"That you shall be, and without hard work, if you will follow me."

"Follow you? Do you know a way through the air over the walls?"

"No; but through the earth _under_ the walls. And I will show it you if

you give me a thousand solidi, and promise me a certain girl as booty."

Johannes stood still.

"You shall have what you like! Where is this way?"

"Here!" said Jochem, and struck the masonry with his hand.

"What? The aqueduct? How do you know?"

"I built it. A man can creep through it; there is no more water in it.

I have just come this way out of the city. The passage leads into an

old temple at the Porta Capuana. Take thirty men and follow me!"

Johannes looked sharply at him.

"And if you deceive me?"

"I will walk between your drawn swords. If I lie, kill me."

"Wait," cried Johannes, and hurried away.

CHAPTER IV.

Shortly afterwards Johannes again appeared, accompanied by his brother

Perseus and about thirty brave Armenian mercenaries, who carried,

besides their swords, short battle-axes.

"As soon as we are inside, Perseus," said Johannes, "you must break open

the sally-port to the right of the Porta Capuana at the moment when the

others unfold our flag upon the walls. At this signal my Huns, who wait

outside, will rush into the sally-port. But who keeps the tower at the

gate? Him we must have."

"Isaac, a great friend of the Edomites. He must die!"

"He dies!" said Johannes, and drew his sword. "Forward!"

He was the first to enter the passage of the aqueduct.

"Paukares and Gubazes, take the Jew between you. At the first

suspicion, down with him!"

And so, now creeping on all fours, now stooping and cautiously feeling

their way, in complete obscurity, the Armenians slid and crept after

Johannes, taking care not to make any noise with their weapons.

All at once Johannes cried in a low voice:

"Hold the Jew! down with him! Enemies! Arms! No, no; let him alone!" he

added quickly. "It was only a snake that rustled past me. Forward!"

"Now to the right," said the Jew; "here the passage leads into the

temple."

"What lies here?--bones?--a skeleton! I can bear it no longer! The

mouldy smell suffocates me! Help!" sighed one of the men.

"Let him lie! Forward!" ordered Johannes. "I see a star!"

"It is the daylight in Neapolis," said Jochem; "only a few steps more."

Johannes's helmet struck against the roots of a tall olive-tree, which

spread over the mouth of the passage in the atrium of the temple. We

know this tree. As he avoided the roots, Johannes struck his helmet

with a loud jingle against the side wall; he stopped short in alarm.

But he only heard the rapid flutter of the wings of numerous pigeons

which flew startled out of the branches of the olive-tree.

"What was that?" said a hoarse voice above him. "How the wind howls in

the old ruins!"

It was the widow Arria.

"O God!" she cried, kneeling before the cross, "deliver us from evil!

Let not the city fall until my Jucundus returns! Alas! if he does not

find his mother! Oh, let him again come the way he went that unhappy

day, when he descended into the secret labyrinth to seek the hidden

treasure! Show him to me as I saw him last night in my dream, rising up

from below the roots of the tree!"

And she turned to look at the hole.

"O dark passage! into which my happiness disappeared, give it up to me

again! God! by this way lead him back to me."

She stood exactly before the opening with folded hands, her eyes

piously raised to heaven.

Johannes hesitated as he issued from the hole and perceived her.

"She prays," he murmured. "Shall I kill her whilst praying!"

He waited; he hoped that she would turn away.

"It lasts too long! God knows I cannot help it!"

And he got quickly out from among the roots.

The old woman now raised her half-blind eyes; she saw a glittering form

rise from the earth. A ray of ecstasy flashed across her features. She

spread out her arms.

"Jucundus!" she cried.

It was her last breath.

The sword of the Byzantine had pierced her heart.

Without a cry, a smile upon her lips, she sank down amid the flowers;

Miriam's flowers.

Johannes turned and quickly helped up his brother Perseus, and then the

Jew and the first three soldiers.

"Where is the sally-port?"

"Here to the left. I will go and open it!"

Perseus directed the soldiers.

"Where are the steps to the tower?"

"Here on the right," answered Jochem--it was the staircase which led to

Miriam's chamber--how often had Totila slipped in there! "Be quiet! I

hear the old man."

It was really Isaac.

He had heard the noise from above; he came to the top of the steps with

his torch and spear.

"Who is it down there? is it thou, Miriam? who comes?" he asked.

"I, Father Isaac," answered Jochem; "I wished once more to ask----" and

he stealthily went up another step.

But Isaac heard the rattle of arms.

"Who is with thee!" he asked, advancing and holding out his torch. He

now saw the armed men crouching behind Jochem.

"Treachery! treachery!" he screamed; "die, thou blot upon the Hebrews!"

and he furiously struck his broad partisan into Jochem's heart, who

could not retreat.

Jochem fell dead among the soldiers.

"Treachery!" again cried Isaac.

But the next moment Johannes struck him down, sprang over his corpse,

hurried to the ramparts, and unfolded the flag of Byzantium.

Below the axes were busy; the sally-port fell, beaten down from within,

and with shrill cries--it was already quite dark--the Huns rushed by

thousands into the city.

All was over.

A portion filled the streets with carnage; one troop broke open the

nearest gates, letting in their comrades from outside.

Old Uliaris, with his little troop, hurried from the castle; he hoped

to drive the intruders out; in vain; a spear was hurled which felled

him to the ground.

And round his corpse fell, fighting bravely, the two hundred faithful

Goths who yet surrounded him.

Then, when they saw the imperial banner waving on the walls, the

citizens of Neapolis arose. Led by old friends to the Romans, such as

Stephanus and Antiochus the Syrian--Castor, a zealous friend of the

Goths, had lost his life in attempting to hold them back--they disarmed

the single Goths in the streets, and sent an embassy with thanks,

congratulations, and petitions for mercy on the city to Belisarius,

who, surrounded by his brilliant staff, now rode into the Porta

Capuana.

But he bent his majestic brow gloomily, and, without checking his

charger, answered:

"Neapolis has checked my progress for fifteen days, else I had already

been before Rome, even before Ravenna. How much do you think this delay

has robbed the Emperor of his right, and me of fame? For fifteen days

your cowardice and ill-will has caused you to be governed by a handful

of barbarians. The punishment for these fifteen days shall be only

fifteen hours of--pillage. Without murder; the inhabitants are the

Emperor's prisoners of war; without fire, for the city is a fortress of

Byzantium. Where is the leader of the Goths? Dead?"

"Yes," answered Johannes, "here is his sword. Earl Ularis fell."

"I do not mean him!" said Belisarius; "I mean the young one; Totila.

What has become of him? I must have him."

"Sir," said one of the Neapolitans, a rich merchant named Asklepiodot,

"if you will exempt my house and magazines from pillage, I will tell

you where he is."

But Belisarius made a sign, and two Moorish lancers took hold of the

trembling man.

"Rebel, do you make conditions to me? Speak! or torture shall unloose

your tongue!"

"Have pity! mercy!" cried the man. "During the armistice, Totila went

out with a few horsemen to fetch reinforcements from the Castle of

Aurelian. They may return at any moment."

"Johannes," cried Belisarius, "that man is worth all Neapolis. We must

take him! Have you, as I ordered, blocked the way to Rome, and manned

the gate?"

"In that direction no one can have left the city," said Johannes.

"Away! At once! We must entice him in! Let the Gothic banner fly from

the Castle of Tiberius and from the Porta Capuana. Send armed

Neapolitans upon the walls; he who warns Totila, even were it only with

a wink of his eye, dies! Arm my bodyguard with Gothic weapons. I will

be there myself. Place three hundred men in the neighbourhood of the

gate. Let Totila quietly in. As soon as he has passed the portcullis,

let it fall. I will have him alive. He shall not be wanting at the

triumph in Byzantium!"

"Give me the office, general," begged Johannes; "I owe him a return for

an ill stroke."

And he rushed back to the Porta Capuana, ordered the corpses and all

trace of combat to be removed, and took his further measures.

As the men were busy obeying his orders, a veiled figure forced its way

among them.

"For the good God's sake," begged a sweet voice, "let me get to him! I

will only see his body--oh, take care! Oh, my father! my father!"

It was Miriam, who had hastened home terrified by the noise made by the

plundering Huns. With the strength of despair she pushed back the

spears and took Isaac's grey head into her arms.

"Get away, girl!" said the soldier next to her, a very tall Bajuvar, a

mercenary of Byzantium; his name was Garizo. "Do not hinder us! we must

make the way clear. Into the grave with the Jew!"

"No, no!" cried Miriam, and pushed the man back.

"Woman!" he cried angrily, and lifted his axe.

But, spreading her arms protectingly over her father's body, and with

sparkling eyes, the girl fearlessly stood her ground. The soldier

suddenly fell back as if paralysed.

"Thou hast a bold heart, girl!" he cried, dropping his axe, "and thou

art as beautiful as the wood-nymph of the Liusacha! What can I do for

thee? Thou art wonderful to look at."

"If the God of my fathers has touched thy heart," said Miriam in her

pathetic voice, "help me to hide the body in the garden there--he has

long since dug his own grave near Sarah, my mother--with his face to

the east."

"It shall be done," said the Bajuvar, and obeyed her.

She carried the head, he the knees of the corpse. A few steps took them

into the little garden; there, under a weeping-willow, lay a stone; the

man pushed it away, and they laid the corpse in the grave, with its

face to the east.

Miriam looked into the grave without a word, without a tear; she felt

so forsaken, so lonely. The Bajuvar softly pushed the stone back into

its place, filled with compassion.

"Come!" he said.

"Whither?" asked Miriam in a low voice.

"Well, whither wilt thou go?"

"I do not know. I thank thee," she said, and took an amulet from her

neck and gave it to him. It was made of gold, a coin from the Jordan,

from the Temple.

"No!" said the man, and shook his head.

He took her hand, and pressed it to his eyes.

"So," he said, "that will do me good all my life long. Now I must go;

we must catch the Earl Totila. Farewell."

That name went to Miriam's heart. She cast one more look at the quiet

grave, and then slipped quickly out of the garden.

She wished to go through the gate on to the highroad, but the

portcullis was down, and at the gate stood men with Gothic helmets and

shields. She looked about her in surprise.

"Is all ready, Chanaranzes?" said a voice.

"All; he is as good as taken!"

"Hark! before the walls! horses trampling! It is they! Back, woman!"

Outside, a few horsemen were seen trotting towards the gate.

"Open, open the gate!" cried Totila from a distance.

Thorismuth rode up to him.

"I don't know how it is, I have no confidence," he cried. "The road

was so quiet, and so was the enemy's camp out there; scarcely a few

watch-fires were burning."

From the ramparts came a flourish of the Gothic horn.

"How horribly the fellow blows!" cried Thorismuth angrily.

"It must be an Italian," said Totila.

"Give the watch-word," was called from the walls in Latin.

"Neapolis!" cried Totila. "Dost thou hear? Uliaris has been obliged to

arm the citizens. Open the gate! I bring good news," he called to the

men above. "Four hundred Goths follow at my heels, and Italy has a new

king."

"Which is he!" asked some one inside, in a low voice.

"He on the white horse, the first one."

The gate was flung wide open; Gothic helmets filled the entrance;

torches shone; voices whispered.

"Up with the portcullis!" cried Totila, riding up. Thorismuth looked

anxiously before him, shading his eyes with his hand.

"They assembled yesterday at Regeta," Totila began again. "Theodahad is

deposed, and Earl Witichis----"

The portcullis was slowly raised, and Totila was just about to give his

horse the spur, when a woman rushed from the row of soldiers, and cast

herself before the animal's hoofs.

"Fly!" she cried. "The enemy is before you! the city is taken!"

But she could not finish; a lance penetrated her heart.

"Miriam!" cried Totila, horrified, and checked his horse.

But Thorismuth, who was close behind, and who had long been suspicious,

now reached his arm past the grating, and separated the rope which held

the portcullis up with his sword, so that the portcullis fell with a

loud crash just in front of Totila.

A hail of spears and arrows flew through the portcullis.

"Up with the portcullis!" cried Johannes from within. "Out! Upon them!"

But Totila did not move.

"Miriam! Miriam!" he cried in great grief.

Once more she opened her eyes, with a dying look of love and pain. That

look told everything; it pierced Totila's heart.

"For thee!" she sighed, and fell back.

He forgot Neapolis, danger, and death.

"Miriam!" he cried again, and stretched out both his hands.

An arrow touched his horse's flank; the noble animal reared. The

portcullis began to rise. Thorismuth caught Totila's bridle, wrenched

his horse round, and gave it such a stroke with the flat of his sword,

that it galloped away like the wind.

"Up and away, sir!" he cried, rushing after Totila. "They must be

speedy who would overtake us!"

And the riders flew back on the Via Capuana, the way that they had

come. Not far behind followed Johannes, ignorant of the way, and

confused by the darkness of the night.

Totila's party presently met with the garrison of the Castle of

Aurelian, which was marching towards Neapolis.

They all halted together upon a hill, whence they could see the city

and the ramparts, partially illuminated by the Byzantine watch-fires on

the walls.

Only then did Totila recover from his grief and consternation.

"Farewell, Miriam!" he sighed. "Farewell, Uliaris! Neapolis, I shall

see thee again!"

And he gave orders to march forward to Rome.

But from this hour a shadow fell upon the soul of the young Goth.

Miriam, with the holy right of suffering, had buried herself in his

heart for ever.

When Johannes returned from his fruitless pursuit, and sprang from his

horse, he cried in a furious voice: "Where is the girl who warned him?

Throw her to the dogs!" And he hurried away to Belisarius, to report

the mishap.

But no one could tell how the lovely corpse had disappeared. The horses

had trampled it beyond recognition, thought the crowd.

But _one_ knew better--Garizo, the Bajuvar.

He had borne her away from the tumult in his strong arms like a

sleeping child; had carried her into the little garden, had lifted the

stone from the scarcely-covered grave, and had laid the daughter

carefully by her father's side.

Then he stood still and contemplated her features. In the distance

sounded the tumult from the plundered town, in which the Huns of

Belisarius, in spite of his command, burned and murdered, and did not

even spare the churches, until the general himself, rushing amongst

them with his drawn sword, put a stop to the cruel work of destruction.

Such a noble expression lay upon Miriam's dead face, that Garizo did

not dare to kiss it, as he so much longed to do. So he placed her with

her face to the east, gathered a rose which was blooming near the

grave, and laid it upon her breast.

He wished to take part in the pillage, but he could not leave the

place; he turned back again. And all the night long, leaning on his

sword, he kept watch over the grave of the beauteous girl.

He looked up at the stars and repeated an ancient blessing on the dead,

which his mother had taught him in his home on the Liusacha. But that

did not satisfy him; he added a Christian paternoster.

And when the sun rose, he carefully placed the stone over the grave and

went away.

Thus Miriam had disappeared without leaving a trace behind.

But in Neapolis the people, who in secret were faithful to Totila, told

how his guardian angel had descended to save him, and had then

reascended to heaven.

CHAPTER V.

The fall of Neapolis had occurred a few days after the meeting at

Regeta, and Totila, on his march thither, met at Formiae with his

brother Hildebad, whom King Witichis had at once sent off with a few

thousands to strengthen the garrison at Neapolis, until he himself

could follow with a larger force.

As things stood at present, the brothers could do nothing but fall back

upon the main army at Regeta, where Totila reported the sad events of

the last few days in Neapolis.

The loss of the third city of the realm--one of the main bulwarks of

Italy--changed the whole plan of the Gothic campaign.

Witichis had reviewed the troops assembled at Regeta; they amounted to

about twenty thousand men. These, with the little troop brought back by

Earl Teja on his own account, were, for the moment, the whole available

force. Before the strong divisions which Theodahad had sent away to

southern Gaul and Noricum, to Istria and Dalmatia--although they had

been summoned in all haste--could return, all Italy might be lost.

Notwithstanding, the King had resolved to throw himself, with these

twenty thousand, into the fortress of Neapolis, and there oppose the

superior forces of the enemy, until reinforcements should arrive.

But now that the strong city had fallen into Belisarius's hand,

Witichis gave up this plan. His composed courage was as far from

foolhardiness as from timidity. And the King was obliged to force

himself to a far more painful resolve.

While, during the days following Totila's arrival in the camp before

Rome, the grief and anger of the Goths sought relief in cursing the

traitor Theodahad, Belisarius, and the Italians; while the bold youth

here and there began to grumble at the King's delay, who would not lead

them against these degenerate Greeks, four of whom it took to stand

against one Goth; while the impatience of the army already began to

rebel against inactivity, the King acknowledged to himself, with a

heavy heart, that it was necessary to retreat still farther, and even

give up Rome.

Day by day news came of the increase of the army of Belisarius. At

Neapolis alone he had gained ten thousand men--at once hostages and

comrades. From all sides the Italians joined his flag; from Neapolis to

Rome, no place was strong enough to oppose such a force, and the

smaller towns on the coast opened their gates to the enemy with

rejoicing.

The Gothic families dwelling in those parts fled to the camp of the

King, and told how, the very day after the fall of Neapolis, Cumae and

Atilla had succumbed; then followed Capua, Cajeta, and even the

fortified Benevento.

The vanguard of Belisarius--Huns, Saracens, and Moorish horsemen--was

already stationed before Formiae.

The Goths expected and desired a battle before the gates of Rome. But

Witichis had long since seen the impossibility, with an army of only

twenty thousand men, of encountering Belisarius, who, by that time,

would be able to muster a hundred thousand in the open field.

For a time he entertained the idea of being able to hold the mighty

fortifications of Rome--Cethegus's proud work--against the Byzantine

incursion; but he was soon obliged to renounce even this hope.

The population of Rome now counted--thanks to the Prefect--more armed

and practised men than they had possessed for many a century, and the

King daily convinced himself of the spirit which animated them.

Even now the Romans could scarcely restrain their hatred of the

barbarians; it was not only evinced by unfriendly and mocking gestures;

already the Goths dared not venture into the streets except in

well-armed numbers, and every day single Gothic sentries were found

dead, stabbed from behind.

Witichis could not conceal from himself that the different elements of

the popular feeling were organised and guided by cunning and powerful

leaders: the heads of the Roman aristocracy and the Roman clergy. He

was obliged to confess that, so soon as Belisarius should appear before

the walls, the Roman population would rise, and, together with the

besiegers, would overcome the weak Gothic garrison.

So Witichis had unwillingly resolved to give up Rome and all central

Italy; to throw himself into the strong and faithful city of Ravenna;

there to complete the very incomplete armament of the troops, to unite

all the Gothic forces, and then to seek the enemy with an equally

powerful army.

This resolution was a great sacrifice. For Witichis had his full share

of the Germanic love of fight, and it was a hard blow to his pride to

retreat and seek for means of defence, instead of striking at once.

But there was still more.

It was inglorious for a king who had been raised to the throne of the

cowardly Theodahad because of his known courage, to begin his rule with

a shameful retreat. He had lost Neapolis during the first days of his

reign; should he now voluntarily give up Rome, the city of splendours?

Should he give up more than the half of Italy? And if he thus

controlled his pride for the sake of his people--what would that people

think of him?

These Goths, with their impetuosity, their contempt of the enemy! Could

he be sure of enforcing their obedience?

For the office of a Germanic king was more to advise and propose, than

to order and compel. Already many a ruler of this people had been

forced against his will to engage in war and suffer defeat. He feared a

similar thing.

With a heavy heart, he one night paced to and fro his tent in the camp

at Regeta.

All at once hasty steps drew near, and the curtain of the tent was

pulled open.

"Up! King of the Goths!" cried a passionate voice. "It is no time now

to sleep!"

"I do not sleep, Teja," said Witichis; "since when art thou returned?

What bringest thou?"

"I have just entered the camp; the dews of night are still upon me.

First know that they are dead!"

"Who?

"The traitor and the murderess!"

"What! hast thou killed them both?"

"I kill no woman. I followed Theodahad, the traitor-king, for two days

and two nights. He was on the way to Ravenna; he had a fair start. But

my hatred was swifter than his cowardice. I overtook him near Narnia;

twelve slaves accompanied his litter. They had no desire to die for the

miserable man; they threw away their torches and fled. I tore him out

of his litter, and put my own sword into his hand. But he fell upon his

knees, begged for his life, and, at the same moment, aimed a

treacherous stroke at me. Then I slew him like an ox at the altar; with

three strokes--one for the realm, two for my parents. And I hung him up

by his belt to a withered yew-tree on the high-road, a prey to the

birds of the air, and a warning to the kings of the earth."

"And what became of her?"

"Her end was terrible," said Teja, shuddering. "When I first passed

through Rome, nothing was known of her but that she had refused to

follow the coward-king. He fled alone. Gothelindis called her

Cappadocian mercenaries together, and promised them heaps of gold, if

they would keep by her, go with her to Dalmatia, and occupy the

fortress of Salona. The men hesitated and wished to see the gold. Then

Gothelindis promised to bring it, and left them. Since then she had

disappeared. When I passed through Rome the second time, she had been

found----"

"Well?"

"She had ventured into the Catacombs alone, without a guide, to fetch

the treasure which had been hidden there. She must have lost herself in

the labyrinth; she could not find the way out. Mercenaries who were

sent to seek her, found her still alive; her torch was not burnt down,

but was almost entire; it must have gone out soon after she had entered

the Catacombs. Madness shone from her eyes; fear of death and a long

despair had overcome this bad woman; she died as soon as she was

brought to the light."

"Horrible!" cried Witichis.

"A just punishment!" said Teja. "But listen!"

Before he could continue, Totila, Hildebad, Hildebrand, and several

other Goths rushed into the tent.

"Does he know!" asked Totila.

"Not yet," said Teja.

"Rebellion!" cried Hildebad, "rebellion! Up, King Witichis! Defend thy

crown! Off with the boy's head!"

"What has happened?" asked Witichis quietly.

"Earl Arahad of Asta, the vain fool! has rebelled. Immediately after

you had been chosen King, he rode off to Florentia, where his elder

brother, Guntharis, the proud Duke of Tuscany, lives and rules. There

the Woelfungs have found many adherents. Arahad called upon the Goths

everywhere to protect the 'Royal Lily,' as they call her, Mataswintha,

the true heir to the throne! They have proclaimed her Queen. She was in

Florentia at the time, and therefore fell at once into their hands. It

is not known if she be the prisoner of Guntharis or the wife of Arahad.

It is only known that they have enlisted Avarian and Gepidian

mercenaries, and armed all the adherents of the Amelungs and their kith

and kindred, together with the numerous adherents of the Woelfungs. Thee

they call the 'Peasant-King;' they intend to take Ravenna!"

"Oh, send me to Florentia, with only three thousand," cried Hildebad

angrily; "I will bring you this Queen of the Goths, together with her

aristocratic lover, imprisoned in a bird-cage!"

But the others looked anxious.

"Things look bad," said Hildebrand. "Belisarius with his hundred

thousands before us--at our backs the wily Rome--our main forces still

fifty miles off--and now civil war and rebellion in the heart of the

nation!"

But Witichis was as quiet and composed as ever.

"It is perhaps better so," he said. "We have now no choice. We _must_

retreat."

"Retreat!" asked Hildebad angrily.

"Yes; we dare not leave an enemy at our backs. To-morrow we break up

the camp and go----"

"Forward to Neapolis!" asked Hildebad.

"No. Back to Rome. And farther! To Florentia, to Ravenna! The spark of

rebellion must be trampled out ere it burst into a flame."

"What? Thou wilt retreat before Belisarius?"

"Yes, to advance all the more irresistibly, Hildebad. The string of the

bow is also stretched backward to hurl the deadly arrow with the

greater force."

"Never," cried Hildebad; "thou canst not--thou darest not do that!"

But Witichis stepped quietly up to him and laid his hand upon his

shoulder.

"I am thy King. Thou thyself hast chosen me. Loud above all the others

sounded _thy_ cry: 'Hail, King Witichis!' Thou knowest--God knows--that

I did not stretch forth my hand for the crown. You yourselves have

pressed it upon my brow. Take it off, if you can entrust it to me no

longer. But as long as I wear it, trust me and obey. Otherwise you and

I are lost!"

"Thou art right," said sturdy Hildebad, and bent his head. "Forgive me;

I will make it good in the next fight."

"Up, my generals," concluded Witichis, putting on his helmet. "Thou,

Totila, wilt hasten to the Frank Kings in Gaul, on an important

embassy. You others hasten to your troops; break up the camp; at

sunrise we march to Rome."

CHAPTER VI.

A few days later, on the eve of the entry of the Goths into Rome, we

find the young "knights," Lucius and Marcus Licinius, Piso the poet,

Balbus the corpulent, and Julianus the young advocate, assembled in

confidential talk at the Prefect's house.

"So this is the list of the blind partisans of the future Pope

Silverius--of my envious enemies? Is it complete?"

"It is. I have made a great sacrifice for you, general," cried Lucius

Licinius, "If, as my heart impelled me, I had at once joined

Belisarius, I should have already shared in the taking of Neapolis,

instead of watching here the stealthy footsteps of the priests, and

teaching the plebeians to march and man[oe]uvre."

"They will never learn it again," observed Marcus.

"Be patient," said Cethegus quietly, and without looking up from a roll

of papyrus which he held in his hand. "You will be able, soon enough

and long enough, to wrestle with these Gothic bears. Do not forget that

fighting is only a means, and not an end."

"I don't know that," said Lucius doubtfully.

"Freedom is our aim, and freedom demands power," said Cethegus.

"We must first again accustom these Romans to shield and sword, or

else----"

He was interrupted by the entrance of the ostiarius, who announced a

Gothic warrior.

The young Romans exchanged indignant looks.

"Let him in," said Cethegus, putting his writings into a casket.

There entered hastily a young man, clad in the brown mantle of the

Gothic soldier, a Gothic helmet on his head, who threw himself on the

Prefect's neck.

"Julius!" exclaimed Cethegus, coldly repulsing him. "Do we meet again

thus? Have you, then, become a complete barbarian? How did you come to

Rome?"

"My father, I accompanied Valeria, under Gothic protection. I come from

smouldering Neapolis."

"Aha!" cried Cethegus. "Have you fought with your blond friend against

Italy? That becomes a Roman well! Does it not, Lucius?"

"I have neither fought nor will fight in this unhappy war. Woe to those

who have kindled it!"

Cethegus measured him with cold looks.

"It is beneath my dignity, and beyond my patience, to represent to a

Roman the infamy of such sentiments. Alas! that my Julius should be

such a renegade! Shame upon you, before these your compatriots! Look,

Roman knights, here is a Roman without love of freedom, without anger

against the barbarians!"

But Julius quietly shook his head.

"You have not yet seen the Huns and Massagetae of Belisarius, who are to

bring you freedom. Where, then, are the Romans of whom you speak? Has

Italy risen to throw off her fetters? Can she still rise? Justinian

fights with the Goths, not we. Woe to the people which is liberated by

a tyrant!"

In secret Cethegus confessed that Julius was right; but he would not

suffer such words to be spoken before his friends.

"I must dispute with this philosopher in private," he said. "Let me

know if anything occur among the priesthood."

And the tribunes went, casting contemptuous looks at Julius.

"I should not like to hear what my friends say of you," said Cethegus,

looking after them.

"It is quite indifferent to me. I listen to my own thoughts, and not to

those of others," responded Julius.

"He has become a man!" said Cethegus to himself.

"My deepest and best feelings have brought me here," continued Julius.

"I feel that this war is accursed. I come to save you, and take you

from this sultry air, from this world of deceit and lies. I beseech

you, my friend, my father, follow me to Gaul!"

"_I_ leave Italy at the moment of the liberators' approach! You must

know that it was I who called them; _I_ kindled this war, which you

call accursed!"

"I feared it," said Julius sadly. "But who will deliver us from our

deliverers? Who will end the struggle?"

"I!" said Cethegus, with quiet majesty. "And you, my son, shall help

me. Yes, Julius, your fatherly friend, whom you think so cold and

indifferent, can also be enthusiastic, though not for girls' eyes and

Gothic friendships. Leave these boys' pastimes; you are now a man.

Give me the last joy of my desolate life, and be the sharer of my

battles and the inheritor of my victories! It is for Rome, freedom,

power! Boy, can my words not move you? Imagine," he continued, more

warmly--"imagine these Goths, these Byzantines--I hate them as heartily

as you do--exhausted by each other and overcome. On the ruins of their

power Italy--Rome--will rise in all its ancient splendour! Again the

ruler of the East and West will sit enthroned upon the Capitoline Hill.

A new Roman Emperor, prouder than ever your Caesar-forefather dreamed

of, will extend order, blessing, and awe over all the earth----"

"And the ruler of this Empire will be called--Cethegus Caesarius!"

"Yes; and after him, Julius Montanus! Up, Julius! you are no man if

this goal does not tempt you!"

"I am dizzy," said Julius admiringly. "The goal is high as the stars;

but your ways--are crooked. Ah! if they were straight, by God! I would

share your steps! Yes; call the Roman youth to arms; cry to both the

barbarian forces, 'Out of our holy Latium!' make open war against the

barbarians and against the tyrants, and I will stand or fall at your

side."

"You know well that this is impossible."

"And, therefore--it is your aim!"

"Fool! do you not see that it is common to form a structure from good

material, but that it is divine by one's own strength to create a new

world out of nothing?"

"Divine? By cunning and lies? No!"

"Julius!"

"Let me speak plainly; for that purpose am I come. Oh that I could call

you back from the demoniac path, which will only lead you to

destruction! You know that I ever loved and honoured you. But what I

hear whispered of you by Greeks, Goths, and Romans, is not in tune with

this reverence."

"What do they whisper?" asked Cethegus proudly.

"I do not like to think of it. But everything terrible that has

happened lately--the death of Athalaric, Camilla, and Amalaswintha, the

landing of the Byzantines--is named as the work of a demon, who is the

author of all evil; and this demon--is you! Tell me, simply and truly,

that you are free from this dark----"

"Boy," exclaimed Cethegus, "are you my confessor, and would call me to

account? First learn to understand the aim before you blame the means.

Do you think that history is built of roses and lilies? Who wills what

is great must do great things, whether the small call it good or bad."

"No, no, I repeat. Cursed be the aim which only leads to crime! Here

our paths divide."

"Julius, do not go. You despise what was never before offered to mortal

man. Let me have a son, for whom I can strive, to whom I can bequeath

the inheritance of my life."

"Curses and blood stick to it! And even if I could enter at once

upon this inheritance, I should reject it. I will go, so that I may not

see your image grow still darker. But I beg one thing: when the day

comes--and it will come--when you are weary of all this bloodshed and

crime, and of the aim itself which necessitated such deeds, then call

me. I will come to you, wherever I may be, and I will wrest you from

the demoniac power which enthralls you, were it at the price of my own

life."

At first a smile of mockery passed across the Prefect's lips, but he

thought, "He still loves me. 'Tis good; I will call him when the work

is finished. Let us see if he can then resist--if he will refuse the

Empire of the world."

"Well," he said aloud, "I will call you when I need you. Farewell."

And, with a cold gesture, he dismissed the youth, who was overcome with

emotion.

But as the door closed behind Julius, the Prefect took a small medal of

embossed bronze from a box, and contemplated it for some time.

He was about to kiss it.

But suddenly the sarcastic expression again passed across his lips.

"Shame on thee, Cethegus!" he exclaimed, "before Caesar's face!"

And he put the medal back into the box.

It was the head of a woman, and very like Julius.

CHAPTER VII.

Meanwhile it had become quite dark. The slave brought the pretty bronze

lamp of Corinthian workmanship--an eagle, which carried the ball of the

sun in its beak, filled with scented Persian oil.

"A Gothic warrior waits outside, sir; he wishes to speak with you

alone. He looks very insignificant. Shall he lay down his arms?"

"No," answered Cethegus. "We do not fear the barbarians. Let him in."

The slave went, and Cethegus laid his right hand upon the dagger in the

bosom of his tunic.

A stately Goth entered, the cowl of his brown mantle drawn over his

head. He now threw it back.

Cethegus started forward in astonishment.

"What leads the King of the Goths to me?"

"Softly!" said Witichis. "No one need know what we two transact. You

know that yesterday and to-day my army has entered Rome from Regeta.

You do not know that we leave Rome to-morrow!"

Cethegus looked amazed.

"It surprises you?"

"The city is secure," said Cethegus quietly.

"Yes; but not the fidelity of the Romans. Benevento has already gone

over to Belisarius. I have no wish to allow myself to be crushed

between Belisarius and you."

Cethegus was prudently silent; he did not know to what this would lead.

At last he asked:

"Wherefore are you come. King of the Goths?"

"Not to ask you how far the Romans may be trusted; and also not to

complain that we can trust you so little--you, whom Theodoric and his

daughter overwhelmed with benefits--but honestly and simply to arrange

a few things with you, for our mutual well-being."

Cethegus was surprised. In the proud frankness of this man lay

something which he envied. He would gladly have despised it.

"We shall leave Rome," continued Witichis, "and shortly afterwards the

Romans will admit Belisarius. It is sure to be so; I cannot hinder it.

I have been advised to take the heads of the aristocracy as hostages."

Cethegus started, and with difficulty hid the movement.

"You before all, the Princeps Senatus."

"Me?" said Cethegus, smiling.

"I shall leave you here. I know well that you are the soul of Rome."

Cethegus cast down his eyes, "I accept the oracle," he thought.

"But for that very reason I leave you here," Witichis continued.

"Hundreds who call themselves Romans would like the Byzantines for

masters. You--you would not have it."

Cethegus looked inquiringly at him.

"Do not deceive me. Do not try to deceive me. I am no man of craft or

cunning! but my eye penetrates men's natures. You are too proud to

serve Justinian, and I know that you hate us. But neither do you love

these Greeks, and you will suffer them no longer than is necessary.

Therefore I leave you here; I know you love this city."

There was something about this man which compelled Cethegus to

admiration.

"King of the Goths," he said, "you speak plainly and nobly, like a

king. I thank you. It shall not be said of Cethegus that he does not

understand magnanimous words. It is as you say. I shall keep my Rome

Roman with all my might."

"Good!" said Witichis. "See, I have been warned against your wiles; I

know much of your secret plans; I guess still more; and I know that I

have no weapon against deceit. But you are no liar. I knew that a manly

word would touch you; and trust disarms every enemy who is worthy of

being called a man."

"You honour me. King of the Goths. That I may deserve your trust, let

me warn you. Do you know who are the warmest friends of Belisarius?"

"I know it: Silverius and the priests."

"Right! And do you know that, as soon as the old Pope, Agapetus, is

dead, Silverius will ascend the Bishop's Chair?"

"So I hear. I was advised to take him as a hostage too. I shall not do

so. The Italians hate us enough already. I will not meddle with the

wasps' nest of the priests. I fear martyrs."

But Cethegus would gladly have been rid of the priest, "He will be

dangerous in the Chair of Peter," he said warningly.

"Let him alone! The possession of this country will not be decided by

the schemes of the priesthood."

"Well," said Cethegus, taking the roll of papyrus, "I have here,

accidentally, the names of his warmest friends; there are men of

importance amongst them."

He would have pressed the list upon Witichis, hoping that then the

Goths would take his most dangerous enemies away with them.

But Witichis refused the list.

"'Tis no matter! I shall take no hostages at all. Of what use is it to

take off their heads? _You_, shall answer to me for Rome."

"What do you mean by that? I cannot keep Belisarius away."

"You shall not. Belisarius is sure to come, but, rely upon it, he will

go away again. We Goths will overcome this enemy; perhaps only after a

hard fight, but most certainly. And then there will be a second fight

for Rome!"

"A second?" asked Cethegus quietly. "With whom?"

Witichis laid his hand upon the Prefect's shoulder, and looked into his

face with eyes as clear as sunshine.

"With you, Prefect of Rome!"

"With me?" and Cethegus tried to smile, but could not.

"Do not deny what is dearest to you, man. It is not worthy of you. I

know for whom you have built the gates and ramparts round this city;

not for us and not for the Greeks! for yourself! Be quiet! I know you

meditate, or I guess it. Not a word! Be it so. Shall Greek and Goth

struggle for Rome, and no Roman? But listen: let not a second wearing

war carry off our people. When we have overcome the Byzantines and

driven them out of our Italy--then, Cethegus, I will expect you before

the walls of Rome. Not for a battle between our people, but for single

combat. Man against man, you and I will lose or win Rome."

In the King's look and tone lay such dignity, magnanimity, and

sublimity, that the Prefect was confused.

In secret he would have mocked at the simplicity of the barbarian, but

it seemed to him as if he could never more respect himself, if he were

incapable of esteeming, honouring, and responding to such greatness.

So he spoke without sarcasm.

"You dream, Witichis, like a Gothic boy."

"No, I think and act like a Gothic man. Cethegus, you are the only

Roman whom I would honour thus. I have seen you fight in the wars with

the Gepidae. You are worthy of my sword. You are older than I; well, I

will give you the advantage of the shield!"

"You Germans are very singular," said Cethegus involuntarily. "What

fancies!"

But now Witichis frowned.

"Fancies! Woe to you, if you are not able to feel what speaks in me.

Woe to you, if Teja be right! He laughed at my plan and said, 'The

Roman will not understand that!' And _he_ advised me to take you with

me a prisoner. I thought more highly of you and Rome. But know: Teja

has surrounded your house; and are you so mean or so cowardly as not to

comprehend me, we shall take you from your Rome in chains. Shame upon

you, that you must be forced to do what is honourable!"

But now it was Cethegus's turn to get angry.

He felt abashed. The chivalry of Witichis was strange to him, and it

vexed him that he could not mock at it. It vexed him to be compelled;

that his free choice had been mistrusted. A furious hatred in return

for Teja's contempt, and anger at the King's brutal frankness, flamed

up in his soul. He would gladly have thrust his dagger into the Goth's

broad breast.

He had been almost on the point of giving his word in good earnest from

a soldierly feeling of honour.

But now a very different, hateful feeling of malignant joy flashed

across his mind. The barbarians had mistrusted him, they had despised

him; now they should certainly be deceived!

Coming forward with a keen look, he grasped the King's hand.

"Be it so!" he said.

"Be it so!" repeated Witichis, giving his hand a strong pressure. "I am

glad that I was right and not Teja. Farewell! Guard our Rome! From you

I will demand her again in honourable combat."

And he left the house.

"Well!" said Teja, who waited outside with the other Goths. "Shall I

storm the house?"

"No," said Witichis; "he has given his word."

"If he will only keep it!"

Witichis started back in indignation.

"Teja! thy gloomy mind renders thee too unjust! Thou hast no right to

doubt a hero's honour. Cethegus is a hero!"

"He is a Roman! Good-night!" said Teja, sheathing his sword. And he

turned another way with his Goths.

But Cethegus tossed all night upon his couch. He was at variance with

himself.

He was vexed with Julius.

He was bitterly vexed with Witichis, more bitterly still with Teja.

But most with himself.

The next day Witichis once again assembled people. Senate, and the

clergy of the city, at the Thermae of Titus. From the highest step of

the marble staircase of the handsome building, which was filled with

the leaders of the army, the King made a simple speech to the Romans.

He declared that he must leave the city for a short time, but that he

would soon return. He reminded them of the mildness of the Gothic

government, of the benefits of Theodoric and Amalaswintha, and called

upon them courageously to oppose Belisarius, in case of his advance,

until the Goths returned to reinforce them. The newly-drilled

legionaries and the strong fortifications made a long resistance

possible.

Finally he demanded the oath of allegiance, and asked them once more to

defend their city to the death against Belisarius. The Romans

hesitated; for their thoughts were already in Belisarius's camp, and

they disliked to perjure themselves.

Just at this crisis a solemn hymn was heard in the direction of the Via

Sacra; and past the Flavian Amphitheatre came a long procession of

priests, swinging censers, and singing psalms.

In the night Pope Agapetus had died, and, in all haste, Silverius, the

archdeacon, had been appointed as his successor.

Solemnly and slowly the crowd of priests advanced; the insignia of the

Bishop of Rome were carried in front; choristers with silvery voices

sang sweet and sacred airs. At last the Pope's litter appeared open,

richly gilt, and shaped like a boat.

The bearers walked slowly, step by step, in time to the music; pressed

upon by crowds of people, who were eager to receive the blessing of

their new Bishop.

Silverius bent his head to the right and left, and blessed the people

repeatedly.

A number of priests and a troop of mercenaries, armed with spears,

closed the procession.

It halted in the middle of the square. The Arian and Gothic warriors,

who stood sentry at all the entrances of the place, silently watched

the solemn and splendid procession, the symbol of a church which was

their enemy; while the Romans greeted the appearance of their Apostolic

Father all the more joyfully, because his voice could calm their

scruples of conscience as to the oath to be given.

Silverius was just about to begin his address to the people, when the

arm of a gigantic Goth, stretched over the side of his litter, pulled

him by his gold-brocaded mantle.

Indignant at this very irreverent interruption, Silverius turned his

face with a severe frown; but the Goth, unabashed, repeated the pull,

and said:

"Come, priest, thou must go up to the King!"

Silverius thought it would have been more becoming if the King had come

down to him, and Hildebad seemed to read something of this feeling on

his features, for he cried:

"It cannot be helped! Stoop, priest!"

And herewith he pressed his hand upon the shoulder of one of the

priests who carried the litter. The bearers now set the litter down;

Silverius left it with a sigh, and followed Hildebad up the steps.

When the priest reached Witichis, the latter took his hand, advanced

with him to the edge of the steps, and said:

"Roman citizens, your priest has been chosen for your Bishop; I ratify

the choice; he shall become Pope, as soon as he has sworn the oath of

allegiance, and has taken for me your oaths of fealty. Swear, priest!"

For one moment Silverius was confounded.

But immediately recovering himself, he turned with an unctuous smile to

Witichis.

"You command?" he asked.

"Swear," said Witichis, "that in our absence you will do all that you

can to keep this city of Rome faithful to the Goths, to whom you owe so

much, to further us in all things, and to hinder the progress of our

enemies. Swear fidelity to the Goths!"

"I swear," said Silverius, turning to the people. "And thus I, who have

power to bind and to loose, call upon you, Romans, surrounded as you

are by Gothic weapons, to swear in the same spirit in which I myself

have taken the oath."

The priests and some of the nobility appeared to have understood, and

lifted their hands to swear without delay.

Then the mass hesitated no longer, and the place echoed with the loud

shout: "We swear fidelity to the Goths!"

"It is well, Bishop of Rome," said the King, "we count upon your oath.

Farewell, Romans! We shall soon meet again."

And he descended the broad flight of steps. Teja and Hildebad followed

him.

"Now I am only curious--" said Earl Teja.

"Whether they will keep their oath?" interposed Hildebad.

"No; not at all. But how they will break it. Well, the priest will find

out the way."

With flying standards the Goths marched out of the Porta Flaminia,

leaving the city to its Pope and the Prefect. Meanwhile Belisarius

approached by forced marches upon the Via Latina.

CHAPTER VIII.

The city of Florentia was full of eager and warlike activity. The gates

were closed; on the ramparts and bastions paced numerous sentinels; the

streets rang with the clatter of mounted Goths and armed mercenaries;

for Guntharis and Arahad had thrown themselves into this fortress, and,

for the present, had made it the main stronghold of the rebellion

against Witichis.

The two brothers lived in a handsome villa which Theodoric had built on

the shores of the Arnus, in the suburb but still within the enclosure

of the walls.

Duke Guntharis of Tuscany, the elder, was a far-famed warrior, and had

been for years the commander of the city of Florentia. Within this

district lay the estates of his powerful family, cultivated by

thousands of farmers and vassals; his power in this city and district

was unlimited, and Duke Guntharis was resolved to use it to the utmost.

In full armour, his helmet upon his head, Guntharis walked impatiently

to and fro his marble-wainscoted room, while his younger brother, in

festive garments and unarmed, leaned silently and thoughtfully against

a table, which was covered with letters and parchments.

"Decide; make haste, my boy!" cried Guntharis, "it is my last word.

To-day thou wilt obtain the consent of the obstinate child, or I--dost

thou hear?--I will go myself to fetch it. But then, woe be to her. I

know better than thou how to manage a capricious girl."

"Brother, thou wilt not do that?"

"By the Thunderer! but I will. Dost think I will risk my head, and

delay the good-fortune of my house, for the sake of thy sentimental

consideration? Now is the time to procure the first place in the nation

for the Woelfungs; the place which by right belongs to them, and from

which the Amelungs and Balthes have ousted them for centuries. The last

daughter of the Amelungs, once thy wife, no one can dispute thy

possession of the throne; and my sword will protect it against the

Peasant-King, Witichis. But we must not delay too long. I have yet no

news from Ravenna, but I fear the city will only acknowledge

Mataswintha, and not us; that is, not us alone. And whoever has

Ravenna, has Italy, since Neapolis and Rome are lost; therefore that

strong fortress must be ours. To insure this, Mataswintha must become

thy wife before we reach the walls of Ravenna; else it will be reported

that she is more our prisoner than our Queen."

"Who desires it more ardently than I? But yet I cannot use compulsion!"

"No? Why not? Seek her and win her, well or ill. I go to strengthen the

guard upon the walls. When I return I must have an answer."

Duke Guntharis went; and his brother made his way, sighing, into the

garden to seek Mataswintha.

This garden had been laid out by a skilled freedman from Asia Minor. In

the background he had formed a kind of park, the glades of which, free

from flowerbeds or terraces, were luxuriantly green. Through the

flowery grass and amongst the thick oleanders flowed a clear brook.

Close to the edge of the brook lay, stretched upon the turf, a youthful

female figure. She had thrown her mantle back from her right arm, and

seemed to be playing, now with the murmuring ripples, now with the

nodding flowers on the brink. She was buried in thought, and at

intervals threw a violet or a crocus dreamily into the water, watching

the blossoms with slightly opened lips, as they were swiftly borne away

by the running stream.

Close behind her kneeled a young girl in the dress of a Moorish slave,

busily weaving a wreath of flowers, which only wanted the finishing

touches. Every now and then she looked at her meditative mistress, to

see if she noticed her secret occupation. But the lady seemed quite

lost in reverie.

At last the pretty wreath was finished; with laughing eyes the slave

placed it lightly upon the splendid auburn hair of her mistress, and

bent forward over her shoulder to meet her eyes. But the lady had not

felt the flowers touch her head. Then the little slave became

impatient, and, pouting, said:

"But, mistress, by the palms of the Auras! of what art thou thinking?

With whom art thou?"

"With him!" whispered her mistress.

"By the white goddess! I can bear it no longer," cried the little

slave-girl, springing up; "it is too bad; I shall die of jealousy!

Thou not only forgettest me, thy gay gazelle, but also thine own

beauty--and all for this invisible man! Only look into the water and

see how beautifully thy bright hair contrasts with the dark violets and

white anemones."

"Thy wreath is pretty!" said Mataswintha, taking it off and throwing it

gently into the water. "What sweet flowers! Greet him from me!"

"Oh, my poor flowers!" cried the slave, looking after them; but she did

not dare to scold. "Only tell me," she cried, sitting down again beside

her mistress, "how all this is to end? We have been here now for many

days, we do not rightly know if as Queen or prisoner? In any case we

are in the power of strangers. We have never set our feet out of thy

apartments or of this well-walled garden, and know nothing of the

outside world. But thou art ever still and happy, as if it must be so!"

"And it must be so!"

"Indeed? and how will it end?"

"_He_ will come and set me free."

"Truly, White Lily, thou hast strong faith. If we were at home in

Mauretania, and I saw thee looking at night at the stars, I should say

that thou hadst read everything there. But in this way I do not

understand it," and she shook her black locks, "and I shall never

understand it."

"But thou shalt and wilt, Aspa!" said Mataswintha, raising herself, and

putting her white arm tenderly round the girl's brown neck; "thy

faithful love has long since deserved this reward, the best that I can

give thee."

A tear rose in the slave's dark eye.

"Reward?" she said. "Aspa was stolen by wild men with long red locks.

Aspa is a slave. Every one has scolded and beaten her. Thou boughtest

me as a flower is bought. But thou strokest my cheek and my hair. Thou

art as beautiful as the Goddess of the Sun, and thou speakest of

reward?"

And she nestled her head upon the bosom of her mistress.

"Thou art my gazelle!" said Mataswintha; "thou hast a heart of gold.

Thou shalt know all; thou shalt hear what is known to none but myself.

Listen; my childhood was without love, without joy; and yet my young

soul needed both. My poor mother had ardently longed for a boy, for an

heir to the throne--and she treated the girl who was born to her with

dislike, coldness, and severity. When Athalaric was born, she became

less harsh but more cold; all her love and care went to the heir to the

throne. I should not have felt it, had I not seen just the contrary in

my tender father. I felt that he also suffered under the coldness of

his wife, and the sick man often pressed me to his heart with tears and

sighs. And when he was dead and buried, all the love in the world was

dead for me. I saw little of Athalaric; he was educated by other

teachers in another part of the palace. I saw my mother still less;

scarcely ever, unless she had to punish me. And yet I loved her so

much! And I saw how my nurses and teachers loved their own children,

and kissed and petted them; and my heart longed with all its might for

similar warmth and affection. So I grew up like a pale flower without

sunshine! My favourite place in all the world was the grave of my

father Eutharic, in the large palace garden at Ravenna. There, with the

dead, I sought the love which I did not find in the living; and

whenever I could escape my attendants, I hurried there to indulge in my

longing and to weep. The older I grew, the more this longing increased.

In the presence of my mother I was forced to hide all my feelings; she

despised me if I showed them. As I grew up I saw very well that

people's eyes were fixed upon me as if in admiration; but I thought

that they pitied me, and that pained me.

"And more and more frequently I took refuge by the grave of my father,

until they told my mother that I always wept there and returned quite

disordered. My mother angrily forbade me to go to the grave, and spoke

of contemptible weakness. But I revolted against this prohibition. Then

one day she surprised me there, and struck at me, and yet I was no

longer a child. She took me back to the palace and scolded me

violently, threatening to send me away; and, as she left me, she said

angrily: why had heaven punished her with such a child! That was too

much. Unspeakably miserable, I resolved to run away from this mother,

to whom I was a punishment, and to go where no one knew me, I did not

know whither. I would most gladly have joined my father in his quiet

tomb. When evening came, I stole out of the palace, and hurried once

more to the grave to take a long farewell. The stars were already out.

I slipped out of the garden and the palace, and hastened through the

dark streets to the Faventinian Gate. I managed to slip past the

sentinel, and ran a little way along the high-road, into the night;

straight to misery. But a man in armour came along the road towards me.

As I tried to pass him, he suddenly came up to me, looked into my face,

and gently laid his hand upon my shoulder, saying 'Whither, Lady

Mataswintha, whither goest thon alone, and so late at night?' I

trembled under his hand, tears burst from my eyes, and I cried,

sobbing, 'I am desperate!' Then the man took hold of both my hands and

looked at me; so kindly, so mildly, so sadly! He dried my tears with

his mantle, and said, in a tone of the warmest kindness, 'Wherefore?

what troubles thee so?' I felt both happy and miserable at the sound of

his voice. And as I looked into his kind eyes, I could no longer

control myself. 'Because my mother hates me,' I cried; 'because there

is no love for me on earth!' 'Child, child, thou art sick,' he said,

'and ravest! Come, come back with me. Thou! only wait. Thou wilt yet be

a queen of love.' I did not understand him. But I loved him, oh so

much! for these words, for this kindness. Helplessly, inquiringly, and

with astonishment I looked into his face. My trembling aspect must have

touched him, or he thought it was the cold. He took off his warm

mantle, folded it round me, and led me slowly back through the gate and

little frequented streets to the palace. Helpless, and tottering like a

sick child, I followed him, my head, which he carefully concealed,

resting on his breast. He was silent, and only sometimes dried the

tears from my eyes. Unremarked, as I believed, we reached the door of

the palace staircase. He opened it and gently pushed me in. Then he

pressed my hand. 'Be good,' he said, 'and quiet. Happiness will come to

thee, be sure; and love enough.' And he gently laid his hand upon my

head, pulled the door to behind him, and descended the steps. But I

leaned against the half-closed door, and could not go away. My feet

denied their service; my heart beat. Then I heard a rough voice below

addressing him. 'Whom dost thou smuggle at night into the palace, my

friend?' it asked. But he answered, 'Is it thou, Hildebrand? Thou wilt

not betray her! It was the child Mataswintha; she had strayed into the

city in the dark, and feared the anger of her mother.' 'Mataswintha!'

said the other. 'She daily becomes more beautiful.' And my protector

said----"

Mataswintha hesitated, and a vivid flush overspread her cheeks.

"Well!" asked Aspa, looking at her with open eyes, "what did he say?"

But Mataswintha drew Aspa's small head down upon her bosom.

"He said," she whispered--"he said, 'She will become the most beautiful

woman on earth.'"

"He said truly," cried the little slave; "why shouldst thou become red?

It is so. But go on. What didst thou do next?"

"I crept up to my bed and wept; wept tears of sorrow, delight, and

love, all at once. That night a whole world, a heaven, was opened to

me. He liked me, I felt it; and he called me beautiful. Yes, now I knew

it. I was beautiful, and I was glad; for I wished to be so for _his_

sake. Oh, how happy was I! Meeting with him had brought light into my

darkness, and a blessing to my life. I knew now that I might be liked

and loved. I took care of my person, which _he_ had praised. The sweet

power in my heart spread a mild warmth over my whole being; I became

softer and more earnest. Even my mother's severity relaxed when I met

her harshness with gentleness; and daily all hearts were turned to me

more kindly, as I became more tender. And for all this I had to thank

him. He had saved me from rushing into shame and misery, and had won

for me a whole world of love. Since then I have lived, and live, only

for him."

And she ceased, and laid her hand upon her beating heart.

"But, mistress, when did you see or speak to him again? Does your love

live on such scanty nourishment?"

"I have never spoken to him again, and have only seen him once. On the

day of Theodoric's death, he commanded the guards of the palace, and

Athalaric told me his name; for I had never dared to inquire about him,

lest my flight, and ah! my secret, should be discovered. He was not at

court; and if he sometimes came there, I was away."

"So thou knowest nothing further of him? of his life; of his past?"

"How could I inquire! My blushes would have betrayed me. Love is the

child of silence and of longing. But I know all about his--about _our_

future."

"About his future?" laughed Aspa.

"Yes. At every solstice there used to come to the court an old woman

named Radrun, and she received from King Theodoric strange herbs and

roots, which he sent for from Asia and the Nile purposely for her. She

had asked for this as the sole reward for having foretold his fortune

when a boy, and everything had been fulfilled. She brewed potions and

mixed salves; they called her in public 'the woman of the woods,' but

in private, 'the Wala, the witch.' And we at court knew--all except the

priests, who would have forbidden it--that every summer solstice, when

she came, the King let her prophesy to him the events of the coming

year. And when she left him, I knew that my mother, Theodahad, and

Gothelindis, called her and questioned her, and what she foretold

always came to pass. So the next solstice I took heart, watched for the

old woman, and when I found her alone, enticed her into my room, and

offered her gold and shining stones if she would tell me my fortune.

But she laughed, and drew forth a little flask made of amber. 'Not for

gold, but for blood!' she said, 'the pure blood of a king's child.' And

she opened a vein in my left arm, and received the blood into her amber

flask. Then she looked at both my hands, and said, 'He whom thou

holdest in thy heart will give thee glory and good fortune, will bring

thee paralysing pain, will be thy consort, but not thy husband!' And

with this she went away."

"That is of little comfort as far as I can make it out."

"Thou dost not understand the old wife's sayings; they are all so dark.

She adds a threat to every promise, so as to be safe in all cases. But

I hold fast to the bright and not to the dark side. I know that he

will be mine, and give me glory and good fortune; I will bear the

accompanying pain. Pain for his sake is delight."

"I admire thee and thy faith, mistress. And for the saying of the witch

thou hast refused all the kings and princes. Vandals and Ostrogoths,

from Gaul and Burgondia, who have ever wooed thee? Even Germanus, the

imperial prince of Byzantium? And you wait for him?"

"And I wait for him! But not only because of this saying. In my heart

lives a little bird, which sings to me every day, 'He will be thine, he

must be thine.' I know it for a certainty," she concluded, raising her

eyes to the sky, and relapsing into her former reverie.

Steps were heard approaching from the villa.

"Ah!" cried Aspa, "thy dainty suitor! Poor Arahad! his trouble is in

vain."

"I will make an end to it," said Mataswintha, rising, and on her brow

and in her young eyes there now lay an angry severity, which told of

the Amelung blood in her veins. There was a strange mixture of burning

passion and melting tenderness in the girl. Aspa had often been

astonished by the repressed fire which her mistress sometimes betrayed.

"Thou art like the divine mountains of my home," she said, "snow on the

summit, roses round the middle, but consuming fire in the interior,

which often streams over snow and roses."

Meanwhile Earl Arahad turned out of the shady path, and approached the

lovely girl with a blush which became him well.

"I come, Queen----" he began.

But she harshly interrupted him.

"I hope, Earl of Asta, that at last thou comest to put an end to this

despicable game of force and lies. I will bear it no longer. Thy bold

brother surprises me--me, the helpless orphan, lost in sorrow for her

mother--in my apartments, calls me in one breath his Queen and his

prisoner, and keeps me for weeks in unworthy confinement. He gives me

the purple, and deprives me of liberty. Then thou comest and tormentest

me with thy vain pursuit, which will never succeed. I refused thee when

at liberty. Dost thou believe, thou fool, that, a prisoner in thy

power, the child of the Amelungs will listen to thee? Thou swearest

that thou lovest me; well, then, respect me! Honour my will and set me

free, or tremble when my liberator comes."

And she advanced threateningly towards Arahad, who, confused, could

find no words with which to answer her.

Just then Duke Guntharis hurried up with a hot and angry face.

"Up, Arahad!" he cried, "make an end. We must away at once! He

approaches; he presses forward with a strong force."

"Who?" asked Arahad hastily.

"He says he comes to set her free. He has gained a victory--the

Peasant-King! He has beaten our outposts at Castrum Sivium."

"Who?" now asked Mataswintha eagerly.

"Well," cried Guntharis angrily, "thou mayest as well know it; it can

be no longer concealed--Earl Witichis of Faesulae!"

"Witichis!" cried Mataswintha with beaming eyes and a beating heart.

"Yes; the rebels at Regeta, forgetting the rights of the nobility, have

chosen him King of the Goths."

"He! he my King!" said Mataswintha, as if in a dream.

"I should have told thee when I greeted thee as Queen, but in thy

chamber stood his bust, crowned with laurel. That seemed to me

suspicious. I saw it later more closely; it was an accidental

resemblance; it was a head of Ares."

Mataswintha was silent, and tried to hide the blushes which rose into

her cheeks.

"Well," cried Arahad, "what is to be done now?"

"We must away. We must reach Ravenna before him, Florentia will hinder

him for a time. Meanwhile we shall take Ravenna, and when thou hast

consummated thy marriage with Mataswintha in the palace of Theodoric,

all the people of the Goths will turn to us. Up, Queen! I will order

thy carriage to be prepared; in an hour thou wilt go to Ravenna,

guarded by my troops."

And the brothers hurried away.

Mataswintha looked after them with flashing eyes.

"Yes! lead me away, bound and a prisoner. Like an eagle from the height

my King will swoop upon you, and save me from your cruel clutches.

Come, Aspa, the liberator approaches!"

CHAPTER IX.

Scarcely had the Goths turned their backs upon the walls of Rome, when

Pope Silverius--the very day after taking the oath--summoned the heads

of the priesthood and nobility, the officials and citizens, to a

council in the _Thermae_ of Caracalla.

Cethegus was also invited, and appeared.

Without the least embarrassment, Silverius moved that, as at last the

hour was come in which to cast off the yoke of the heretics, an embassy

should be sent to Belisarius, the commander-in-chief of the orthodox

Emperor--the only rightful master of Italy--to deliver up the keys of

the Eternal City, and to recommend the Church and the faithful to his

protection against the vengeance of the barbarians.

The scruples of a very young priest and of an honest smith, on account

of their yesterday's oath, he dismissed with a smile, appealing to his

Apostolic power to bind and to loose, and pointing to the evident force

put upon them while taking the oath, by the presence of Gothic arms.

Upon this the motion was carried unanimously, and the Pope himself,

Scaevola, Albinus, and Cethegus, appointed as ambassadors.

But Cethegus put in a protest. He had silently listened to the motion

and had not joined in the vote. Now he rose and said:

"I am against the motion; not on account of the oath. I need not appeal

to the Apostolic power, for I did not swear. But on account of the

city. That is, we must not unnecessarily arouse the just anger of the

Goths, who may very easily return, and who would not then take the

Apostolic dispensation as an excuse for such open perjury. Let

Belisarius either beg us or compel us. Who throws himself away is ever

trampled on."

Silverius and Scaevola exchanged significant glances.

"Such sentiments," said the jurist, "will doubtless be very pleasing to

the Emperor's general, but can alter nothing in our decision. So you

will not go with us to Belisarius?"

"I will go to Belisarius, but not with you," said Cethegus, and left

the place.

As the others were leaving the Thermae, the Pope said to Scaevola:

"That will finish him! He has declared against the surrender before

witnesses!"

"And he goes himself into the lion's den!"

"He shall not leave it again. You have drawn up the act of accusation?"

"Long ago. I feared that he would take the mastery of the city into his

own hands, and now he goes himself to Belisarius! That proud man is

lost."

"Amen," said Silverius. "And so may all fall who in their worldly

endeavours oppose the holy Petrus.--The day after to-morrow, at the

fourth hour, we will set forth."

But the Holy Father erred; the proud man was not yet to fall.

Cethegus had hastened immediately to his house, where his Gallic

chariot awaited him.

"We start at once," he called to the slave who sat on the foremost

horse; "I will only fetch my sword."

In the vestibule he met the two Licinii, who were watching for him

impatiently.

"To-day is the day," cried Lucius, "with the prospect of which you have

so long comforted us!"

"Where is the proof of your trust in our courage, our skill, and our

fidelity!" asked Marcus.

"Patience!" said Cethegus, lifting his forefinger; and he went into his

study.

He shortly reappeared, his sword and many papers under his left arm, a

sealed roll in his right hand. His eyes flashed.

"Is the outermost gate of the Moles Hadriani ready?" he asked.

"Ready," answered Lucius Licinius.

"Is the grain from Sicily stored in the Capitol?"

"All stored."

"Are the weapons distributed, and the ramparts of the Capitol completed

as I ordered?"

"All complete," answered Marcus.

"Good. Take this roll. Break the seal as soon as Silverius has left the

city, and punctually execute every word therein. It concerns not only

my life and yours--but Rome! The city of Caesar will be witness of your

actions. Go. Farewell till we meet again!"

And the fire in his eyes kindled an answering fire in the hearts of the

young Romans.

"You shall be content!"

"You and Caesar!" they said, and hurried away.

With a smile that seldom illumined his features with such radiance,

Cethegus sprang into his carriage.

"Holy Father," he said to himself, "I am still in your debt for that

last meeting in the Catacombs. I will repay it well!"

"Down the Via Latina!" he cried to the slaves; "and let the horses

gallop as hard as they can!"

The Prefect had more than a day's start of the embassy. And he used his

advantage well.

He had, with unchecked energy, thought of a plan by which he would

remain master of Rome in spite of the landing of Belisarius. And he set

about its execution with all his habitual caution.

He had been scarcely able to control his impatience during the journey.

At last he reached the outposts of the Byzantines at Capua, where

Johannes, the commander, sent his younger brother Perseus and a few

horsemen to lead him to the head-quarters.

Arrived in the camp, Cethegus did not ask for the commander-in-chief,

but caused himself to be conducted at once to the tent of the

privy-councillor, Procopius of Caesarea.

Procopius had been his fellow-student in the Schools of Law at Berytus;

and the two gifted men had attracted each other greatly.

But not the warmth of friendship led the Prefect first of all to this

man. Procopius knew the whole political past of Belisarius, and was

probably the confidant of his future plans.

The privy-councillor greeted the friend of his youth with great

pleasure. He was a man of sound commonsense, one of the few men of

science of that time, whose capability of healthy feeling and simple

apprehension had not been suffocated by the artificial ornaments of

Byzantine knowledge in the Schools of Rhetoric.

Clear sense was expressed on his open brow, and in his still youthfully

bright eyes shone delight in all that was good.

When Cethegus had washed off the dust and heat of travel in a

carefully-prepared bath, his host, before inviting him to the evening

meal in his tent, led him round the camp, and showed him the quarters

of the principal divisions, pointing out the most famous generals, and,

in a few words, describing their peculiarities, their services, and the

often singular contrasts of their past lives.

There were the sons of rude Thracia, Constantinus and Bessas, who had

worked their way up from the rank of rough hirelings; brave soldiers,

but without culture, and filled with the presumption of self-made men.

They considered themselves to be the indispensable supports and equally

capable successors of Belisarius.

There was the aristocratic Iberian Peranius, of the royal family of the

Iberians, the hostile neighbours of Persia, who had given up his

fatherland and hope of the crown out of hatred to the Persian

conqueror, and had taken service in the Emperor's army.

Then Valentinus, Magnus, and Innocentius, daring, leaders of

the horsemen; Paulus, Demetrius, Ursicinus, the leaders of the

foot-soldiers; Ennes, the Isaurian chief and commander of the Isaurians

of Belisarius; Aigan and Askan, the leaders of the Massagetae;

Alamundarus and King Abocharabus, the Saracens; Ambazuch and Bleda, the

Huns; Arsakes, Amazaspes, and Artabanes, the Armenians (the Arsakide

Phaza had been left behind in Neapolis with the rest of the Armenians);

Azarethas and Barasmanes, the Persians; and Antallas and Cabaon, the

Moors.

All these Procopius knew and named, praising sparingly, but expressing

his blame with great enjoyment, in biting but witty phrases.

They had just turned towards the quarters of Martinus, the peaceful

town-burner, on the right, when Cethegus, standing still, asked:

"And whose is the silken tent there on the hill, with the golden stars

and purple ensign? The guards carry golden shields!"

"There," said Procopius, "dwells his Invincible Daintiness, the Upper

Purple-Snail Intendant of the Roman Empire, Prince Areobindos, whom may

God enlighten!"

"The Emperor's nephew, is he not?"

"Yes; he married the Emperor's niece, Projecta; his highest and only

merit. He was sent here with the Imperial Guard to vex us, and to take

care that we do not win too easily. He has been made of equal rank with

Belisarius, understands as little of warfare as Belisarius does of

purple-snails, and is to be Governor of Italy."

"Indeed!" said Cethegus.

"When we encamped he insisted upon having his tent placed to the right

of Belisarius. But we would not consent. Fortunately God, in His

wisdom, had created that hill centuries ago for the solving of our

dispute as to rank, and now the Prince is indeed placed to the left,

but higher than Belisarius."

"And whose are the gay tents yonder, behind the quarters of Belisarius?

Who dwells there?"

"There?" answered Procopius, with a sigh. "A very unhappy woman;

Antonina, the wife of Belisarius."

"She unhappy? The celebrated Antonina, the second empress? Why?"

"It is not well to speak of that in the open camp. Come with me to my

tent, the wine will be sufficiently cooled."

CHAPTER X.

In the tent they found the handsome cushions of the camp-bed placed

round a low bronze table of perforated work, which Cethegus admired.

"It is a piece of booty from the wars of the Vandals; I took it with me

from Carthage. And these soft cushions once lay upon the bed of the

Persian King; I gained them in the battle of Dara."

"You are a fine practical scholar!" said Cethegus, smiling. "Are you so

changed since the days of Athens?"

"I should hope so!" said Procopius, and began carving (for he had

dismissed the attendant slaves) the smoking haunch of venison before

him. "You must know that I wished to make philosophy my calling, to

become a sage. For three years I listened to the Platonists, Stoics,

and Academicians at Athens; and studied till I was sick and stupid. And

I did not stop at philosophy; according to the praiseworthy custom of

our pious century, theology must also be grappled with, and for another

year I had to reflect upon the mysteries of the Holy Trinity. Well,

with studying so hard, my reason, which was not at all contemptible by

nature, threatened to fail me. Fortunately, I became seriously ill, and

the physicians forbade me Athens and all books. They sent me to Asia

Minor. I only saved a 'Thucydides' from my books, and took it with me

in my travelling-bag. And then 'Thucydides' saved me. In the tedium of

the journey I read and re-read his splendid history of the deeds of the

Hellenes in war and peace; and now I found with astonishment that the

acts and manners of men, their passions, their vices and virtues, were

really much more attractive and remarkable than all forms and figures

of heathen logic--not to speak of Christian logic. I arrived at

Ephesus, and was one day strolling through the streets, when my mind

suddenly became wonderfully enlightened. I was walking across a great

place; there stood before me a church of the Holy Spirit; it was built

upon the ruins of the old Temple of Diana. On the left stood a ruined

altar of Isis, and on the right the praying-house of the Jews. Then the

thought flashed across me: Each one of these believed, and believed

firmly, that he alone knew the truth about the highest Being. And yet

that is impossible; the highest Being has, it seems to me, no need of

being known by us--neither should I, in His place--and He has created

mankind, that they may live, act rightly and strive honestly here on

earth. And this living, acting, enjoying and striving is really all

that concerns us. If any one will search and think, he should search

the lives and acts of men. As I stood so thinking, all at once I heard

the flourish of trumpets. A brilliant troop of horsemen came trotting

up; at their head a splendid man on a bay horse, beautiful and strong

as the God of War. Their weapons glittered, the flags waved, and the

horses pranced. And I thought: These know wherefore they live, and do

not need to inquire of a philosopher! And while I was admiring the

horsemen, a citizen of Ephesus clapped me on the shoulder and said:

'You seem not to know who that was, nor whither these men are bent?

That is the hero Belisarius, who is off for the wars in Persia!' 'Good,

friend!' I said, 'then I will go with him!' And so I did, the very same

hour. And Belisarius soon appointed me his privy-councillor and

secretary. Since then I have a double calling; by day I make, or help

to make, history, and by night I write it."

"And which is your best work?"

"Alas! friend, the writing! And the writing would be better if the

history were better. For generally I do not at all approve of what we

do, and I only help to do it because it is better than doing nothing,

or putting up with philosophy. Bring the 'Tacitus,' slave," he called

out of the opening of the tent.

"The 'Tacitus?'" asked Cethegus.

"Yes, friend, we have drunk enough of the 'Livius.' You must know that

I name my wines according to their historical character. For example,

to return to what I was saying, this piece of history which we are

about just now, this Gothic war, is quite against my taste. Narses is

right, we ought first to repel the Persians before we attack the

Goths."

"Narses! What is my wise friend doing?"

"He envies Belisarius, and will not confess it even to himself. Besides

that, he makes plans of wars and battles. I will bet that he had

already conquered Italy before we had even landed."

"You are not his friend. Yet he is a man of genius. Why do you prefer

Belisarius?"

"I will tell you," said Procopius, pouring out the "Tacitus," "It is my

misfortune that I was not the historian of Alexander or Scipio. Since I

recovered from philosophy and theology, my whole nature has longed for

men, for real men of flesh and blood. So these spindle-shanked emperors

and bishops and generals, who subtilise everything with their reason,

disgust me. We have become a crippled generation; the hero time lies

far behind us! Only honest Belisarius is a hero like those of the olden

time. He might have encamped with Agamemnon before Troy! He is not

stupid; he has good sense; but only the natural sense of a noble wild

animal for its prey, for his vocation. Belisarius's vocation is

heroism! And I delight in his broad chest and his flashing eyes and

mighty thighs with which he masters the strongest stallion. And I am

glad when, sometimes, his blind delight in blows upsets all his fine

plans. I love to see him rush amongst the enemy and fight like an

infuriated boar. But I dare not tell him so; for then all would be

over; in three days he would be cut to pieces. On the contrary, I keep

him back. I am his 'reason,' as he calls me. And he puts up with my

prudence because he knows that it is not cowardice. More than once I

have been obliged to save him from a difficulty into which the

frowardness of his heroism had brought him! The most amusing of these

stories is that of the horn and tuba."

"Which of the two do you blow, O my Procopius?"

"Neither; only the trumpet of fame and the pipe of mockery!"

"But what about the horn and trumpet?"

"Oh, we were lying before a rocky nest in Persia, which we were obliged

to take, because it commanded the high-road. But we had already, many

times, damaged our heroic heads against its hard walls; and my master,

becoming angry, swore 'by the slumber of Justinian'--that is his biggest

oath--that he would never blow the signal of retreat before this Castle

of Anglon. Now our outposts were very often surprised by sallies from the

fortress; we, in the highly-situated camp, could see the assaulters as

they issued from the fortress, but our outposts, lying at the foot of

the hill, could not. I now advised that we should give our people the

signal of retreat from the camp whenever we saw the danger approaching.

But I met with a fine reception! The slumber of Justinian was such a

sacred thing that no one dare meddle with an oath sworn by it. And so

our poor fellows were obliged to let themselves be taken unawares by

the Persians, until I hit upon the ingenious expedient of proposing to

my master that we should give the signal of retreat to our men not with

the trumpet but with the horn. The idea pleased my honest Belisarius.

And so when we merrily blew the horn to the attack, our men ran away

like frightened hares. It was enough to make one die with laughing to

see those belligerent sounds produce such a despicable effect! But it

availed. Justinian's slumber and Belisarius's oath remained intact, our

outposts were no more butchered, and at last the rocky fortress fell.

Thus I always scold and laugh at Belisarius for his heroic acts, but in

reality my heart is warmed and gladdened: he is the last hero."

"Well," observed Cethegus, "amongst the Goths you will find many such

sturdy fellows."

Procopius nodded reflectively:

"Can't deny that I have great pleasure in these Goths. But they are too

stupid."

"How? Why?"

"They are stupid because, instead of pressing upon us slowly, step by

step, in union with their yellow-haired brethren (they would be

irresistible!) they have planted themselves singly in the midst of

Italy, without right or reason, like a piece of wood in the centre of a

glimmering hearth. They will be ruined by this; they will be burnt, you

will see!"

"I hope to see it. And what then?" asked Cethegus quietly.

"Yes," answered Procopius peevishly, "what then? That is the vexation.

Then Belisarius will be Governor of Italy--for it will not last a year

with the purple Prince--and he will wear away his fine strength here in

idleness, when there is work enough to do in Persia. And then, as his

court-historian, I shall only have to write down how many skins of wine

we empty yearly."

"So you would like, when the Goths are done with, to have Belisarius

out of Italy?"

"Certainly. In the Persian land bloom his and my laurels. I have

thought already of many a plan to get him away from here."

Cethegus was silent. He was glad to have found such an important ally

for his plans. At last he said:

"And so his 'reason' Procopius, rules the lion Belisarius?"

"No," sighed Procopius; "rather his _un_reason, his wife!"

"Antonina! Tell me, why did you call her unhappy?"

"Because she is half-hearted and a contradiction. Nature intended her

for a good and faithful wife; and Belisarius loves her with all his

heroic heart. But she came to the court of the Empress. Theodora, the

beautiful she-devil, is intended by nature as much for vice as is

Antonina for virtue. The circus-girl has certainly never felt the sting

of conscience. But I believe she cannot endure to have an honest woman

near her, because an honest woman would despise her. She did not rest

until she had succeeded in arousing Antonina's coquetry by her hellish

example. Now Antonina suffers tortures of remorse on account of her

dalliance with her adorers; for she loves, she worships her husband."

"And yet? How is it possible that a hero like Belisarius cannot content

her?"

"Just because he is a hero. He does not flatter her, with all his love.

She could not bear to see the Empress's lovers exhaust themselves in

verses, flowers, and gifts, and to live herself without such homage.

Vanity was her snare. But she does not feel at all at ease amidst her

trifling."

"And has Belisarius any suspicion?"

"Not a shadow. He is the only one in all the Roman Empire who does not

know what most concerns him. I believe it would be his death. For this

reason alone he must not remain here in peace, as Governor of Italy. In

the camp, in the tumult of battle, flatterers are wanting to the

coquettish woman and also the leisure to listen to them. For, as if

in voluntary atonement for the sweet crimes of secret verses and

flowers--she is certainly incapable of greater guilt--Antonina outdoes

all other women in the severe performance of her duty. She is

Belisarius's friend, his co-commander; she shares with him the

difficulties and dangers of sea, desert, and battle. She works with him

day and night, if she does not happen to be reading the verses of

others on her lovely eyes! She has often saved him from the snares of

his enemies at the court of Byzantium. In short, she is only good

during war-time and in the camp, there, where also his greatness can

alone flourish."

"Well," said Cethegus, "now I know well enough how things stand

here. Let me speak plainly with you. You would like to have Belisarius

out of Italy immediately after his victory: so would I. You for

Belisarius's sake, I for that of Italy's. You know that I was always a

Republican----"

At this Procopius pushed his cup to one side and looked significantly

at Cethegus.

"All young people are so between the ages of fourteen and twenty-one,"

said he. "But that you are still so--I find--very--very--unhistorical.

Out of these Italian vagabonds, our very amiable allies against the

Goths, you will make citizens of a republic? They are good for nothing

but a tyrant!"

"I will not dispute about that," answered Cethegus with a smile; "only

I should like to preserve my fatherland from _your_ tyrant."

"I don't blame you for it," said Procopius, smiling also; "the

blessings of our rule are--stifling."

"A native governor under the protection of Byzantium will suffice at

first."

"To be sure. And his name would be--Cethegus!"

"If it must be so--that too."

"Listen," said Procopius earnestly, "I would only advise you against

_one_ thing. The air of Rome engenders proud plans. There, as master of

Rome, a man is not willing to be only the second in the world. And

believe the historian--nothing more can come of the universal Empire of

Rome."

Cethegus felt annoyed. He thought of King Theodoric's warning.

"Historicus of Byzantium, I know my Roman affairs better than you.

First let me initiate you into our Roman secrets; then, early

to-morrow, before the embassy arrives from Rome, procure me an

interview with Belisarius, and--be sure of a great success."

And he now began to unfold to the astonished Procopius, in rapid

outlines, the secret history of the latest times and his plans for the

future, wisely veiling his ultimate aim.

"By the manes of Romulus!" cried Procopius, when he had finished, "you

still make history on the Tiber. Well, here is my hand. You shall have

my assistance. Belisarius shall win, but not rule in Italy. Let us

empty a flask of dry 'Sallustius' upon it!"

Early the next day Procopius brought about an interview with

Belisarius, from which his friend returned well contented.

"Have you told him everything?" asked the historian.

"Not quite everything," said Cethegus with a sly smile; "one must

always keep something to say in reserve."

CHAPTER XI.

Shortly afterwards the whole camp was full of strange excitement.

The report of the approach of the Holy Father, which outsped his gilded

litter, aroused thousands of soldiers, attracted by feelings of

reverence, piety, superstition, or curiosity, from sleep, feasting, or

gaming. The captains could scarcely keep the sentries at their posts or

the soldiers at their drill.

The faithful had hurried to meet the Pope from places miles distant,

and now, mixed with groups of country people from the neighbourhood,

accompanied the procession into the camp. The peasants and soldiers had

already harnessed themselves to the litter instead of the mules which

drew it--in vain had the Pope modestly remonstrated--and shouting in

exultation: "Hail to the Bishop of Rome, hail to the holy Petros!" the

crowd, upon whom Silverius continually bestowed blessings, entered the

camp. No one noticed his two colleagues, Scaevola and Albinus.

Belisarius gravely observed the imposing spectacle from his tent.

"The Prefect is right!" he cried; "this priest is more dangerous than

the Goths! Procopius, dismiss the Byzantine body-guard at my tent, as

soon as the interview begins. Let the Huns and the heathen Gepidae take

their place."

So saying, he re-entered his tent, where, surrounded by his generals,

he shortly afterwards received the Roman embassy.

Procopius had convinced Prince Areobindos of the necessity of leaving

the camp on an expedition of reconnaissance, an office which could only

be performed by him, and which could not be put off.

Surrounded by a brilliant train of clergy, the Pope approached the tent

of the commander-in-chief. Great crowds of people pressed after him;

but as soon as he, with Scaevola and Albinus, had entered the narrow

passage between the tents which led up to that of Belisarius, the

guards stopped the way with their levelled lances, and would allow

neither priest nor soldier to follow.

Silverius turned with a smile to the captain of the guard, and preached

him a fine sermon on the text, "Suffer little children to come unto me,

and forbid them not."

But the German shook his shaggy locks and turned his back. The Gepidian

did not understand a word of Latin beyond the words of command.

Silverius smiled again, once more blessed the crowd, and then walked

quietly to the tent. Belisarius was seated upon a camp-stool, over

which was spread a lion's skin; on his right hand sat Antonina,

enthroned on a seat covered with the skin of a leopard. Her troubled

soul had hoped to find a physician and comforter in the holy Petrus;

but she shrank when she saw the worldly expression on the features of

Silverius.

As the Pope entered, Belisarius rose.

Silverius, without the slightest inclination, went straight up to him,

and laid both hands--he was obliged to stretch his arms uncomfortably

to do so--as if in blessing, on his shoulders. He wished to press

Belisarius gently down upon his knees; but the general stood as stiffly

erect as an oak, and Silverius was obliged to complete his benediction.

"You come as ambassadors from the Romans?" began Belisarius.

"I come," interrupted Silverius, "in the name of St. Peter, as Bishop

of Rome, to deliver to you and the Emperor the city of Rome. These good

people," he added, pointing to Scaevola and Albinus, "have attached

themselves to me as the members to the head."

Scaevola was about to interfere indignantly--he had not thus understood

his relation to the Church--but Belisarius signed to him to be silent.

"And," continued Silverius, "I welcome you to Italy and Rome in the

name of the Lord. Enter the walls of the Eternal City for the

protection of the Church and the faithful against the heretics! There

exalt the name of the Lord and the Cross of Christ, and never forget

that your path thither was smoothed by Holy Church. God chose me for

His minister, to lull the Goths into blind security, and lead them out

of the city. It was I who won over the wavering citizens to your cause,

and frustrated the designs of your enemies. It is St. Peter who, by my

hand, delivers up to you the keys of his city, and entrusts it to your

protection. Never forget my words!"

With this he handed to Belisarius the keys of the Asinarian Gate.

"I will never forget them," said Belisarius, and signed to Procopius,

who took the keys from the hand of the Pope. "You spoke of the designs

of my enemies. Has the Emperor enemies in Rome?"

Silverius answered, with a sigh:

"Cease to question me, general. Their nets are torn; they are now

harmless, and it does not become the Church to inculpate, but to

_ex_culpate."

"It is your duty, Holy Father, to discover to the orthodox Emperor the

traitors who hide themselves amongst his Roman subjects, and I call

upon you to unmask his enemies."

Silverius sighed.

"The Church does not thirst for blood."

"But she may not prevent justice," said Scaevola. And the jurist stepped

forward, and handed a roll of parchment to Belisarius, saying, "I

accuse Cornelius Cethegus Caesarius, the Prefect of Rome, of treachery

and rebellion against Emperor Justinian. He has called the Emperor's

government a tyranny; he opposed the landing of the imperial army with

all his might; finally, a few days ago he, and he alone, voted that we

should not open to you the gates of Rome."

"And what punishment do you propose?" asked Belisarius, looking at the

roll.

"Death, according to the law," said Scaevola.

"And his estates," added Albinus, "are lawfully forfeited, partly to

the fiscus, partly to his accusers."

"And may his soul be recommended to the mercy of God!" concluded the

Bishop of Rome.

"Where is the accused?" asked Belisarius.

"He intended to come to you; but I fear that his bad conscience will

prevent him from fulfilling his intention."

"You err. Bishop of Rome," said Belisarius; "he is already here."

At these words a curtain in the background of the tent dropped, and

before his astonished accusers stood Cethegus the Prefect.

They could not conceal their surprise. With a look of contempt,

Cethegus silently advanced until he stood at Belisarius's right hand.

"Cethegus sought me earlier than you," said the commander-in-chief,

after a pause, "and he has been beforehand with you also--in

accusations. You stand before me gravely accused, Silverius. Defend

yourself before you attack others."

"I defend myself!" cried the Pope. "Who can be accuser or judge of the

successor of St. Peter?"

"The judge am I; in the place of your master, the Emperor."

"And the accuser?" asked Silverius.

Cethegus half turned to Belisarius, and said:

"I am the accuser! I accuse Silverius, the Bishop of Rome, of the crime

of lese-majesty and treachery to the Roman Empire. I will at once prove

my accusation. Silverius intends to wrest the government of the city of

Rome and a great part of Italy from the Emperor Justinian, and,

ridiculous to say, to form a State of the Church in the fatherland of

the Caesars. And he has already taken the first step in the execution of

this--shall I say madness or crime? Here is a contract with his

signature, which he concluded with Theodahad, the last of the barbarian

princes. Thereby the King sells, for the sum of one thousand pounds'

weight of gold, the government of the city and district of Rome, and of

thirty miles of country round, in case of Silverius becoming Bishop of

Rome, to St. Peter and his successors. All the prerogatives of royalty

are enumerated--jurisdiction, legislation, administration, customs,

taxes, and even military power. According to the date, this document is

three months old. Therefore, at the very moment that the pious

archdeacon, behind Theodahad's back, was summoning the Emperor's army,

he also, behind the Emperor's back, signed a contract which would rob

the latter of all the fruits of his efforts, and insure the Pope under

all circumstances. I leave it to the representative of the Emperor to

decide in what manner such wisdom should be appreciated. By the chosen

of the Lord the morals of the serpent are looked upon as high wisdom;

amongst us laymen such acts are----"

"The most shameful treachery!" thundered Belisarius, as he sprang from

his seat and took the document from the Prefect.

"Look here, priest, your name! Can you deny it?"

The impression made upon all present by this accusation and proof was

overpowering.

Suspicion and indignation, mixed with eager expectation of the Pope's

defence, was written upon each man's countenance; and Scaevola, the

short-sighted republican, was the most taken by surprise at this

revelation of the ambitious plan of his dangerous colleague. He hoped

that Silverius would victoriously refute the calumny. The position of

the Pope was indeed highly dangerous; the accusation appeared to be

undeniable, and the angry countenance of Belisarius would have

intimidated many a bolder heart.

But Silverius showed that he wag no unworthy adversary of the Prefect

and the hero of Byzantium.

He had not lost his presence of mind for a moment; only when Cethegus

had taken the document from the folds of his dress, had he closed his

eyes as if in pain. But he met the thundering voice and flashing eyes

of Belisarius with a composed and steady countenance.

He felt that he must now fight for the ideal of his life, and this

feeling nerved him; not a muscle of his face twitched.

"How long will you keep me waiting?" asked Belisarius angrily.

"Until you are capable and worthy of listening to me. You are possessed

by Urchitophel, the demon of anger."

"Speak! Defend yourself!" cried Belisarius, reseating himself.

"The accusation of this godless man," began Silverius, "only asserts,

sooner than I had intended, a right of the Holy Church, which I did not

wish to insist upon during these unquiet times. It is true that I

concluded this contract with the barbarian King."

A movement of indignation escaped the Byzantines present.

"Not from love of worldly power, not to acquire any new privileges, did

I treat with the King of the Goths, at that time master of this

country. No! the saints be my witness! I did it merely because it was

my duty to prevent the lapse of an ancient right of the Church."

"An ancient right?" asked Belisarius impatiently.

"An ancient right!" repeated Silverius, "which the Church has neglected

to assert until now. Her enemies oblige her to declare it at this

moment. Know then, representative of the Emperor! hear it, generals and

soldiers! that which the Church demanded of Theodahad has been her

right for two centuries; the Goth only confirmed it. In the same place

whence the Prefect, with sacrilegious hand, took this document, he

might also have found that which originally established our right. The

pious Emperor Constantinus--who, first of all the predecessors of

Justinian, received the teaching of the Gospel--moved by the prayers of

his blessed mother, Helena, and after having trampled his enemies under

foot by the help of the saints, and particularly by that of St. Peter,

did, in thankful acknowledgment of such help, and to prove to all the

world that crown and sword should bow before the Cross of Christ,

bestow the city of Rome and its district, with all the neighbouring

towns and their boundaries, with jurisdiction and police, taxes and

duties, and all the royal prerogatives of earthly government, upon St.

Peter and his successors for all time, so that his Church might have a

secular foundation for the furtherance of her secular tasks. This

donation is conferred in all form by a legal document; the curse of

Gehenna is laid upon all who dispute it. And I ask the Emperor

Justinian, in the name of the Trinity, whether he will acknowledge this

legal act of his predecessor, the blessed Emperor Constantinus, or if,

in worldly avarice, he will overthrow it, and thereby call down upon

his head the curse of Gehenna and eternal damnation?"

This speech of the Bishop of Rome, spoken with all the power of

ecclesiastical dignity and all the art of worldly rhetoric, was of

irresistible effect.

Belisarius, Procopius, and the generals, who, a moment before, would

willingly have passed an angry judgment upon the treacherous priest,

now felt as if they themselves were judged. The heart of Italy seemed

to be irrecoverably lost to the Emperor, and delivered into the power

of the Church.

An anxious silence overcame the lately so masterful Byzantines, and the

priest stood triumphantly as victor in their midst.

At last Belisarius, who wished to avoid a dispute and the shame of

defeat, said:

"Prefect of Rome, what have you to reply?"

With a scarcely visible quiver of mockery upon his fine lips, Cethegus

bowed and began:

"The accused refers to a document. I believe I could embarrass him

greatly if I denied its existence, and demanded the immediate

production of the original. However, I will not meet the man who calls

himself the head of Christendom, with the wiles of a spiteful advocate.

I admit that the document exists."

Belisarius made a movement of helpless vexation.

"Still more! I have saved the Holy Father the trouble of producing it,

which would have been very difficult for him to do, and have brought

the document itself with my own sacrilegious hands."

He drew forth a yellow old parchment from his bosom, and looked

smilingly now at the lines thereon, now at the Pope, and now at

Belisarius, evidently enjoying their suspense.

"Yes, still more! I have examined the document for many days with

hostile eyes, and, with the help of still greater jurists than I can

boast of being--such as my young friend, Salvius Julianus--have tried

to invalidate every letter. In vain. Even the penetration of my learned

and honourable friend, Scaevola, could have found no flaw. All legal

forms, all the clauses in the act of donation, are sharply defined with

indisputable accuracy; and indeed I should like to have been acquainted

with the protonotary of Emperor Constantinus, for he must have been a

jurist of the first rank."

He paused--his eyes rested sarcastically upon the countenance of

Silverius, who wiped the sweat off his brow.

"Therefore," asked Belisarius, in great excitement, "the document is

formally quite correct, and can be proved?"

"Yes, certainly," sighed Cethegus, "the act of donation is faultlessly

drawn up. It is only a pity that----"

"Well!" interrupted Belisarius.

"It is only a pity that it is false."

A general cry arose. Belisarius and Antonina sprang from their seats;

all present pressed nearer to Cethegus. Silverius alone fell back a

step.

"False!" cried Belisarius in a tone that sounded like a shout of joy.

"Prefect--friend--can you prove that?"

"I should otherwise have taken care not to assert it. The parchment

upon which the act of donation is written shows all the signs of great

age: worm-eaten, cracked, spots of every kind--everything that one can

expect from such an ancient document, so that, sometimes, it is

difficult to decipher the letters. Notwithstanding, the document only

_appears_ to be old; with as much art as many women employ to give

themselves the appearance of youth does it ape the sanctity of great

age. It is real parchment from the old and still existing parchment

manufactory at Byzantium, founded by Constantinus."

"Keep to the matter!" cried Belisarius.

"But it is not known to every one--and it appears, unfortunately for

him, to have escaped the notice of the Bishop--that these parchments,

on the lower edge to the left, are always marked with the stamp of the

year of their manufacture, by the names of the then consuls, in,

certainly, almost invisible characters. Now pay attention, general. The

document pretends, as it says in the text, to have been prepared in the

sixteenth year of the reign of Constantinus, the same year that he

closed the heathen temples, as the pious document observes, and a year

after the naming of Constantinopolis as the capital city; and it

rightly names the right consuls of that year, Dalmatius and Xenophilos.

Now it can only be explained by a miracle--but in this case it would be

a miracle _against_ the Church--that, in that year, therefore in the

year three hundred and thirty-five after the birth of Christ, it was

already known who would be consul in the year after the death of

Emperor Justinus and King Theodoric; for look, here on the lower edge

the stamp says--the writer had not noticed it--it is really very

difficult to make out, unless one holds the parchment against the

lights so--do you see, Belisarius?--and had blindly painted the cross

upon it; but I, with my--what did he call it?--sacrilegious, but

clever, hand have wiped it off; do you see? there stand stamped the

words, 'VI. Indiction: Justinianus Augustus, sole consul in the first

year of his reign.'"

Silverius staggered, and was obliged to support himself by the chair

which had been placed for him.

"The parchment of the document," continued Cethegus, "upon which the

protonotary of Emperor Constantinus had written down the act of

donation two hundred years ago, has therefore been taken from the ribs

of an ass only a year ago at Byzantium! Confess, O general, that the

reign of the conceivable ends here and the supernatural begins; that

here a miracle has happened; and revere the mysterious ways of Heaven."

He gave the document to Belisarius.

"This is also a famous piece of history, holy and profane, which we are

now experiencing," said Procopius aside.

"It is so, by the slumber of Justinian!" cried Belisarius. "Bishop of

Rome, what have you to say?"

Silverius had with difficulty composed himself.

He saw the edifice which he had been constructing his whole life, sink

into the ground before him.

With a voice half choked by despair, he answered:

"I found the document in the archives of the Church a few months ago.

If it is as you say, I have been deceived as well as you."

"But we are not deceived," said Cethegus, smiling.

"I knew nothing of that stamp, I swear it by the wounds of Christ!"

"I believe it without an oath. Holy Father," interposed Cethegus.

"You will acknowledge, priest," said Belisarius, "that the strictest

examination into this affair----"

"I demand it as my right," cried Silverius.

"You shall have it, doubt it not! But I will not venture to judge in

this case. Only the wisdom of Emperor Justinian himself can here decide

upon what is right. Vulkaris, my faithful Herulian! I herewith deliver

into your keeping the person of the Bishop of Some. You will at once

take him on board a vessel, and conduct him to Byzantium!"

"I put in a protest!" cried Silverius. "No one on earth can try me but

a council of the orthodox Church. I demand to be taken to Rome."

"Rome you will never see again. And Emperor Justinian, who is justice

itself, will decide upon your protest with Trebonianus. But I think

your companions, Scaevola and Albinus, the false accusers of the Prefect

(who has proved himself to be the best and warmest friend of the

Emperor), highly suspicious. Let Justinian decide how far they are

innocent. Take them too, Vulkaris, take them in chains to Byzantium. By

sea. Now take them out by the back door of the tent, not through the

camp. Vulkaris, this priest is the Emperor's _worst_ enemy. You will

answer for him with your head!"

"I will answer for him," said the gigantic Herulian, coming forward and

laying his mailed hand upon the Bishop's shoulder.--"Away with you,

priest! On board! He shall die, ere I will let him escape."

Silverius saw that further resistance would only excite compulsion

dangerous to his dignity. He submitted, and walked beside the German,

who did not withdraw his hand, towards the door in the back of the

tent, which was opened by a sentry.

The Bishop was obliged to pass close to Cethegus. He lowered his head

and did not look at him, but he heard a voice whisper:

"Silverius, this moment repays me for your victory in the Catacombs.

Now we are quits!"

CHAPTER XII.

As soon as the Bishop had left the tent, Belisarius rose eagerly from

his seat, hurried to the Prefect, and embraced him.

"Accept my thanks, Cethegus Caesarius! Your reward will not be wanting.

I will tell the Emperor that for him you have to-day saved Rome."

But Cethegus smiled.

"My acts reward themselves."

The intellectual struggle, the rapid alternation of anger, fear,

anxiety, and triumph had exhausted the hero Belisarius more than half a

day of battle. He longed for rest and refreshment, and dismissed his

generals, none of whom left the tent without speaking a word of

acknowledgment to the Prefect.

The latter saw that his superiority was felt by all, even by

Belisarius. It pleased him that, in one and the same hour, he had

ruined the scheming Bishop and humbled the proud Byzantines.

But he did not idly revel in the feeling of victory. He knew the danger

of sleeping upon laurels; laurel stupefies.

He decided to follow up his victory, to use at once the intellectual

superiority over the hero of Byzantium which he undoubtedly possessed

at this moment, and to strike his long-prepared and principal blow.

As, full of this thought, he was looking after the generals who were

just leaving the tent, he did not notice that two eyes were fixed upon

him with a peculiar expression.

They were the eyes of Antonina.

The incidents which she had just witnessed had produced a strangely

mixed impression on her mind. For the first time in her life she had

seen her idol, her husband, entangled in the nets of a priest without

the least power to extricate or help himself, and saved only by the

superior strength of this terrible Roman.

At first the shock to her pride in her husband had filled her with

dislike of the victor. But this feeling did not last, and

involuntarily, as the great superiority of Cethegus unfolded itself

before her, admiration took the place of vexation. She felt only one

thing: Belisarius had eclipsed the Church, and Cethegus had eclipsed

Belisarius. To this feeling was added the anxious desire that this man

might never become the enemy, but always remain the ally of her

husband.

In short, Cethegus had made a serious intellectual conquest of the wife

of Belisarius; and not only that, but he was at once made aware of it.

The beautiful and usually so confident woman came towards him with

downcast eyes. He looked up; she blushed violently and offered him a

trembling hand.

"Prefect of Rome," she said, "Antonina thanks you. You have rendered

great services to Belisarius and the Emperor. We will be good friends."

Procopius, who had remained in the tent, beheld this proceeding with

astonishment.

"My Odysseus out-charms the sorceress Circe," he thought.

But Cethegus saw in a moment that the soul of Antonina humbled itself

before him, and what power he thus gained over Belisarius.

"Beautiful _magistra militum_," he said, drawing himself up, "your

friendship is the proudest laurel in my wreath of victory. I will at

once put it to the proof. I beg you and Procopius to be my witnesses,

my allies, in the conversation which I must now hold with Belisarius."

"Now?" asked Belisarius impatiently. "Come, let us first to table, and

celebrate the fall of the priest in fiery Caecubian."

And he walked towards the door.

But Cethegus remained quietly standing in the middle of the tent, and

Antonina and Procopius were so completely under his influence, that

they did not dare to follow their master.

Even Belisarius turned and asked:

"Must it absolutely take place now?"

"It must," said Cethegus, and he took Antonina's hand and led her back

to her seat.

Then Belisarius also retraced his steps.

"Well," he said, "speak; but briefly. As briefly as possible."

"I have ever found," began Cethegus, "that with great friends or great

enemies, sincerity is the strongest bond and the best weapon. According

to this maxim I will act. When I said my acts reward themselves, I

wished to express thereby that I did not wrest the mastery of Rome from

the false priest exactly for the sake of the Emperor."

Belisarius grew attentive.

Procopius, alarmed at the too bold sincerity of his friend, made a sign

of warning.

Antonina's quick eye remarked it, and she started; the intelligence

between the two men aroused her suspicion.

This did not escape Cethegus.

"No, Procopius," he said, to the astonishment of Belisarius; "our

friends here will far too soon acknowledge that Cethegus is not a man

whose ambition can be satisfied by a smile from Justinian. I have not

saved Rome for the Emperor."

"For whom else!" asked Belisarius gravely.

"First for Rome herself. I am a Roman. I love my Eternal City. She

shall not become the servant of the priests, but also not the slave of

the Emperor. I am a republican," he said, tossing his head defiantly.

A smile passed across the countenance of Belisarius; the Prefect seemed

to him of less importance than before.

Procopius, shrugging his shoulders, said:

"Incomprehensible!"

But this candour pleased Antonina.

"I certainly saw," continued Cethegus, "that we could only beat the

barbarians by the sword of Belisarius. And also, alas! that the time is

not ripe to realise my dreams of republican freedom. The Romans must

first again become Catos; this generation must die out; and I

acknowledge that, meantime, Rome can only find protection against the

barbarians under the shield of Justinian. Therefore we will bow to this

shield--for the present."

"Not bad!" thought Procopius; "the Emperor is to protect them until

they are strong enough to run away from him, in proof of gratitude."

"These are but dreams, my Prefect," said Belisarius compassionately.

"What practical results can they have?"

"These: that Rome shall not be delivered up to the caprice of the

Emperor with bound hands and without conditions. Belisarius is not the

only servant of Justinian. Only think, if the heartless Narses were to

become your successor!" The hero frowned. "Therefore I will tell you

the conditions under which the city of Caesar will open her gates to you

and your army."

But this was too much for Belisarius.

He sprang up in a rage; his face glowed; his eyes flashed.

"Prefect of Rome," he cried in his loudest voice, "you forget yourself

and your position! To-morrow I start with my army of seventy thousand

men for Rome. Who will hinder me from entering the city without

conditions?"

"I," said Cethegus quietly. "No, Belisarius, I do not rave. Look at

this plan of the city and its fortifications. Your experienced eye will

recognise its strength better and more quickly than mine."

He drew forth a parchment and spread it open upon the table.

Belisarius cast an indifferent look at it, but immediately cried out:

"The plan is incorrect! Procopius, give me our plan out of that

casket.--Look here, those moats are now filled up; those towers are

ruined; the wall here is broken down, those gates defenceless.--Your

plan represents them as of terrible strength. It is obsolete, Prefect

of Rome!"

"No, Belisarius, _yours_ is obsolete. These walls, moats, and gates are

reconstructed."

"Since when?"

"A year ago."

"By whom?"

"By me."

Belisarius looked at the plan in perplexity.

Antonina's eyes rested anxiously on the features of her husband.

"Prefect," he said at last, "if this be so, you understand warfare

well--the warfare of fortresses. But to wage war there must be an army,

and your empty walls will not arrest my progress."

"You will not find them empty. You must acknowledge that a force of

more than twenty thousand men is capable of holding Rome--namely, this

my Rome upon the plan--for days and years, even against Belisarius.

Good. Then, know that these fortifications are held by thirty-five

thousand armed men."

"Have the Goths returned?" asked Belisarius.

Procopius drew nearer, astonished.

"No; these thirty-five thousand men are under my command. For some

years I have recalled the long enervated Romans to arms, and have

unceasingly practised them in the use of their weapons. So at present I

have thirty cohorts ready for battle, each consisting of almost a

thousand men."

Belisarius struggled to repress his vexation, and shrugged his

shoulders contemptuously.

"I acknowledge," continued Cethegus, "that these troops could not

oppose the army of Belisarius in the open field. But I assure you that

they will fight famously behind these walls. Besides that, I have, out

of my private means, enrolled seven thousand picked Isaurian and

Abasgian mercenaries, and have brought them, gradually and unobserved,

in small divisions to Ostia, Rome, and the neighbourhood. You doubt it?

Here are the lists of the thirty cohorts, and the contract with the

Isaurians. You now see distinctly how matters stand. Either you

accept my conditions--and then these thirty-five thousands are yours:

yours is Rome, my Rome, this Rome on the plan, of which you say that it

is of fearful strength, and yours is Cethegus--or you refuse my

conditions.--Then your victorious march, whose success depends on the

rapidity of your movements, is arrested. You will be obliged to besiege

Rome for many months. The Goths will have plenty of time to re-collect

their forces. We ourselves will call them back. They will come to

relieve the city in threefold superiority, and nothing can save you

from destruction but a miracle!"

"Or your death at this moment! thou devil!" thundered Belisarius, and,

no longer master of himself, he drew his sword.

"Up, Procopius, in the Emperor's name! Take the traitor! He dies in

this hour!"

Horrified and undecided, Procopius rushed between the two men, while

Antonina caught her husband's arm, and tried to take his right hand.

"Are you his allies!" cried Belisarius furiously.

"Guards! guards! here!"

From each of the two doors two lancers entered the tent.

But Belisarius had already torn himself from Antonina's hold, and had

hurled Procopius to one side as if he were a child. Raising his sword,

he rushed at the Prefect. But he suddenly stopped short and lowered his

weapon, the point of which already touched the breast of Cethegus; for,

immovable, like a statue, without the least change of countenance, and

fixing his cold eyes penetratingly upon his furious assailer, Cethegus

had remained standing, a smile of unspeakable contempt upon his lips.

"What means this look and smile?" asked Belisarius.

Procopius quietly signed to the guards to leave the tent.

"Pity for your reputation, which a moment of rage might destroy for

ever. If you had killed me, you would have been lost!"

"I!" laughed Belisarius; "I should think _you_ would have been lost."

"And you with me. Do you believe that I put my head into the lion's

mouth like a fool? It was not difficult to foresee that a hero of your

sort would first of all try to put an end to his embarrassment with his

sword. Against this I have protected myself. Know that since this

morning, in consequence of a sealed order which I left behind me, Rome

is in the hands of my blindly-devoted friends. The Mausoleum of

Hadrian, the Capitol, and all the gates and towers of the ramparts,

are garrisoned by Isaurians and legionaries. I left the order with my

war-tribunes, who are youths fearless of death, in case of your

reaching Rome before me."

He handed a roll of papyrus to Procopius.

Procopius read: "To Lucius and Marcus, the Licinii, Cethegus the

Prefect. I have fallen a victim to the tyranny of the Byzantines.

Revenge me! Recall the Goths at once. I demand it of you by your oath.

Better the barbarians than the police of Justinian. Hold out to the

last man! Rather give the city to the flames than to the army of the

tyrant!'"

"So you see," continued Cethegus, "that my death will not open to you

the gates of Rome, but shut them upon you for ever. You must besiege

the city, or agree with me."

Belisarius cast a look of anger, not unmixed with admiration, at the

bold man who put conditions to him in the midst of his thousands.

Then he sheathed his sword, threw himself impatiently upon his stool,

and asked:

"What are your conditions for the surrender?"

"Only two. First, you will give me the command of a small part of your

army. I must be no stranger to your Byzantines."

"Granted. You will have under your command two thousand Illyrian

footmen and one thousand Saracen and Moorish horsemen. Is that

sufficient?"

"Perfectly. Secondly, my independence rests entirely upon my dominion

of Rome. This must not cease during your presence. Therefore, the whole

right shore of the Tiber, with the Mausoleum of Hadrian; and on the

left the Capitol, including the walls on the south as far as the Gate

of St. Peter, must remain, until the end of the war, in the hands of my

Romans and Isaurians. The rest of the city on the left shore of the

Tiber, from the Flavian Amphitheatre in the north to the Appian Gate in

the south, will be occupied by you."

Belisarius cast a glance at the plan.

"Not badly arranged! From those points you can at any moment drive me

out of the city or blockade the river. That will not do!"

"Then prepare for a fight with the Goths and Cethegus together before

the walls of Rome!"

Belisarius sprang from his seat.

"Go! leave me alone with Procopius, Cethegus. Wait for my decision."

"Till to-morrow!" cried Cethegus. "At sunrise I return to Rome, either

with your army or--alone."

A few days later Belisarius, with his army, entered the Eternal City

through the Asinarian Gate.

Endless acclamation greeted the liberator; a rain of flowers covered

him and his wife, who rode at his left hand on a beautiful palfrey.

All the houses were decorated with gay draperies and wreaths. Bat the

object of these rejoicings did not appear happy; he gloomily bent his

head, and cast dark looks at the walls and the Capitol, from which

floated, not the dragon flags of Byzantium, but the banners and ensigns

of the municipal legions, formed after the model of the Roman eagles

and standards.

At the Asinarian Gate young Lucius Licinius had sent back the vanguard

of the imperial army, and the heavy portcullis did not rise until, at

the side of Belisarius on his bay horse, appeared Cethegus the Prefect,

mounted on his splendid charger.

Lucius was astonished at the change which had taken place in his

admired friend.

The Prefect's cold and severe reserve seemed to have disappeared; he

looked taller, younger; the glory of victory illumined his features. He

wore a richly-gilded helmet, from which the crimson mane flowed down to

his mail-coat. This last was a costly work of art from Athens, and

showed upon every one of its round plates a finely-worked relief in

chased silver, each representing a victory of the Romans. The

victorious expression of his beaming face, his proud carriage, and

scintillating armour, outshone Belisarius, the imperial magister

militum himself, and all his glittering staff, which, led by Johannes

and Procopius, followed close behind.

And this superiority was so striking, that by the time the procession

had passed through several streets, the impression was shared by the

mob, and the cry, "Cethegus!" was soon heard more loudly and frequently

than the name of "Belisarius!"

Antonina's fine ear soon began to remark this circumstance; she

listened uneasily at every pause of the procession to the cries and

remarks of the by-standers.

When they had left the Thermae of Titus behind them, and had reached the

Via Sacra, near the Flavian Amphitheatre, they were obliged to stop on

account of the crowd. A narrow triumphal arch had been erected here,

which could only be passed at a slow pace. "Victory, to the Emperor

Justinian and his general, Belisarius," was inscribed thereon.

As Antonina was reading this inscription, she heard an old man, who

appeared to be but scantily initiated into the course of events,

questioning his son, one of the legionaries of Cethegus.

"Then, my Gazus, the gloomy man with the angry-looking face, on the bay

horse----"

"Yes, that is Belisarius, as I told you."

"Indeed? Well--then the stately hero on his left hand, with the

triumphant look--he on the charger, must be his master, the Emperor

Justinian."

"Not at all, father. _He_ sits quietly in his golden palace at

Byzantium and writes laws. No; that is Cethegus, _our_ Cethegus, _my_

Cethegus, the Prefect, who gave me my sword. Yes, that _is_ a man!

Lucius, my tribune, said lately, 'If he did not allow it, Belisarius

would never see a Roman Gate from the inside.'"

Antonina gave her grey palfrey a smart stroke with her silver rod, and

galloped quickly through the triumphal arch.

Cethegus accompanied the commander-in-chief and his wife to the Pincian

Palace, which had been sumptuously prepared for their reception.

Then he took leave, in order to assist the Byzantine generals in

quartering the troops, partly on the citizens; partly in the public

buildings, and partly before the gates of the city in tents.

"When you have recovered from the fatigues and honours of the day,

Belisarius, I shall expect you and Antonina, with your staff, at a

banquet in my house," he had said before leaving them.

After some hours, Marcus Licinius, Piso, and Balbus appeared to fetch

the invited guests.

They accompanied the litters in which Antonina and Belisarius were

carried. The generals went on foot.

"Where does the Prefect live?" asked Belisarius, as he entered his

litter.

"As long as you are here, by day in the Mausoleum of Hadrian, by night

in the Capitol."

Belisarius started.

The little procession approached the Capitol.

The commander-in-chief saw with astonishment all the walls and works,

which had lain in ruins for more than two centuries, restored to

immense strength.

When they had wound their way through the long, dark, and zigzag

passage which led into the fortress, they arrived at a massive iron

door, which was fast shut, as if in time of war.

Marcus Licinius called to the sentinel.

"Give the watch-word!" cried a voice from within.

"Caesar and Cethegus!" answered the war-tribune. Then the wings of the

door sprang open; a long lane formed by Roman legionaries and Isaurian

mercenaries became visible, the last clad in iron up to their very

eyes, and armed with double-bladed battle-axes.

Lucius Licinius stood at the head of the Romans with drawn sword;

Sandil, the Isaurian chief, at the head of his countrymen.

For one moment the Byzantines hesitated, overpowered by the impression

of this display of granite and iron.

Suddenly the faintly-illumined space became bright with light, and,

accompanied by torch-bearers and flute-players, without armour, a

wreath upon his brow, such as was generally worn by the giver of a

feast, and dressed in a magnificent indoor garment of purple silk,

appeared Cethegus.

He came forward smiling, and said:

"Welcome! Let flutes and trumpets loudly proclaim that the happiest

hour of my life has arrived--Belisarius is _my_ guest in the Capitol!"

And, amid a tremendous flourish of trumpets, he led his silent guests

into the fortress.

CHAPTER XIII.

During these occurrences among the Romans and Byzantines, decisive

events were in preparation on the part of the Goths.

Duke Guntharis and Earl Arahad, leaving a small garrison behind them,

and taking their Queen with them as prisoner, had left Florentia and

gone, by forced marches to Ravenna.

If they could reach and win this fortress, which was considered

impregnable, before Witichis, who pressed forward after them, they

would be able to make any conditions with the King.

They had a capital start, and hoped that their enemies would be stopped

for some time before Florentia. But they lost almost all the advantages

of their start; for the towns and castles bordering the nearest road to

Ravenna had declared for Witichis, and this circumstance obliged the

rebels to take a circuitous route northwards to Bononia (Bologna),

whose inhabitants had embraced their cause, and thence march eastwards

to Ravenna.

Notwithstanding this delay, when they reached the marshy land

surrounding that fortified city, and were only half a day's march from

its gates, nothing could be seen of the King's army.

Guntharis allowed his greatly-fatigued troops to rest for the remainder

of the day, which was already drawing to a close, and sent a small

troop of horsemen under the command of his brother, to announce their

arrival to the Goths in the fortress.

But at dawn the next day Earl Arahad came flying back into the camp

with a greatly diminished troop.

"By the sword of God!" exclaimed Guntharis, "whence comest thou?"

"We come from Ravenna. We reached the outermost ramparts of the city

and demanded admittance; but were roughly repulsed, although I showed

myself and called for old Grippa the commander. He insolently declared

that to-morrow we should learn the decision of the city; we, as well as

the army of the King, whose vanguard is already approaching the city

from the south-east."

"Impossible!" cried Guntharis angrily. "I could do nothing but withdraw,

although I could not understand the behaviour of our friend. Besides, I

held the report of the approach of the King to be an empty threat,

until some of my horsemen, who were seeking for a dry place on which to

bivouac, were suddenly attacked by a troop of the enemy under the

command of Earl Teja, with the cry, 'Hail, King Witichis!' After a

sharp combat they were worsted."

"Thou ravest!" cried Guntharis. "Have they wings? Has Florentia been

blown away out of their path?"

"No! but I learned from Picentinian peasants that Witichis marched to

Ravenna by the coast-road, past Auximum and Ariminum."

"And he left Florentia in his rear unconquered? He shall repent of

that!"

"Florentia has fallen! He sent Hildebad against it, who took it by

storm. He broke in the Gate of Mars with his own hand, the furious

bull!"

Duke Guntharis listened to these evil tidings with a gloomy face; but

he quickly came to a decision.

He at once set forth with all his troops, intending to take the city of

Ravenna by surprise.

His attack failed.

But the rebels had the consolation of seeing that the fortress, whose

possession would determine the result of the civil war, had at least

refused to open its gates to the enemy.

The King had encamped to the south-east, before the harbour town of

Classis.

Duke Guntharis's experienced eye soon perceived that the marshes on the

north-west would also afford a secure position, and there he shortly

afterwards pitched his well-protected camp.

So the rival parties, like two impetuous lovers of a coy maiden,

pressed from opposite sides upon the royal residence, which seemed

disinclined to lend an ear to either.

The day following two embassies, consisting of Ravennese and Goths,

issued from the Gates of Honorius and of Theodoric, on the north-west

and south-east, and brought to the camp of the rebels, as well as to

that of the King, the fateful decision of the city.

This decision must have been a strange one.

For the two commanders, Guntharis and Witichis, kept it, in singular

conformity, strictly secret, and took great care that not a word should

become known to their troops.

The ambassadors were immediately conducted from the tents of the

commanders of either camp to the very gates of the fortress, escorted

by generals who forbade any communication with the troops.

And in other ways the effect of the embassy in both camps was singular

enough.

In the rebel camp it led to a violent altercation between the two

brothers, and afterwards to a very animated interview between Duke

Guntharis and his fair prisoner, who, it was said, had only been saved

from his rage by the intervention of Earl Arahad. Finally, the rebel

camp sank into the repose of helpless indecision.

More important consequences ensued in the opposite camp. The first

answer which King Witichis gave the embassy was the order for a general

attack upon the city.

Hildebrand and Teja and the whole army received this order with

astonishment. They had hoped that the strong fortress would voluntarily

open its gates.

Contrary to all Gothic custom and his own usually frank manner, King

Witichis imparted to no one, not even to his friends, the object of the

embassy, or the reason of his angry attack.

Silently, but with doubting shakes of the head and little hope of

success, the army prepared for the assault.

They were repulsed with great loss.

In vain the King urged his Goths again and again to storm the

precipitous and rocky walls.

In vain he himself was the first, three several times, to climb the

scaling-ladders. From early morning to sunset the assaulters stormed

the place without making the least progress; the fortress well

preserved its old reputation of invincibility.

And when at last the King, stunned by a stone, was carried out of the

turmoil, Teja and Hildebrand ceased their efforts and led the weary

troops back to the camp.

The temper of the army during the following night was very sad and

depressed. They had to complain of great losses, and had now nothing

but the conviction that the city could not be taken by force.

The Gothic garrison of Ravenna had fought side by side with the

citizens on the walls. The King of the Goths lay encamped before his

own residence, before the stronghold of his kingdom, in which he had

hoped to find protection and the time to arm against Belisarius!

But the worst was, that the army laid the whole blame of the unhappy

struggle and the necessity of civil war upon the King. Why had the

negotiations with the city been so abruptly broken off? Why was not the

cause of this breach, if it were a just one, made known to the troops?

Why did the King shun the light?

The soldiers sat dejected by their watch-fires, or lay in their tents

nursing their wounds and mending their weapons; no ancient heroic songs

sounded, as usual, from the mess-tables of the camp; and when the

leaders walked through the lanes of tents, they heard many a word of

anger and vexation directed against the King.

Towards morning Hildebad arrived in the camp from Florentia with his

thousands. He heard with indignation of the news of the bloody defeat,

and wished to go at once to the King; but as the latter still lay

unconscious under Hildebrand's care. Earl Teja took Hildebad into his

tent to answer his impatient questions.

Some time after the old master-at-arms joined them; with such an

expression on his features that Hildebad sprang affrighted from the

bear-skin which served him for a couch, and even Teja asked hastily:

"How is the King? What of his wound? Is he dying?"

The old man shook his head sadly.

"No; but if I guess rightly, judging him by his honest heart, it would

be far better for him to die."

"What meanest thou? What dost thou suspect?"

"Peace, peace," said Hildebrand sadly, and seating himself, "poor

Witichis! it will be spoken of soon enough, I fear."

And he was silent.

"Well," said Teja, "how didst thou leave him?"

"The fever has left him, thanks to my herbs. He will be able to mount

his horse to-morrow. But he spoke of strange things in his confused

dreams--I hope that they are but dreams--else, woe to the faithful

man!"

Nothing more could be got out of the taciturn old man.

Some hours after, Witichis sent for the three leaders. To their

astonishment, they found him in full armour, although he was obliged,

while standing, to support himself on his sword. On a table near him

lay his crown-shaped helmet and a sceptre of white ivory, surmounted

with a golden ball.

The friends were startled by the impaired look of his usually so

composed, handsome, and manly features.

He must have gone through some fearful inward struggle. His sound,

simple nature, which seemed to be all of one piece, could not endure

the strife of doubtful duties and contradictory feelings.

"I have summoned you," he said with great effort, "to hear and support

my decision in our grave position. How heavy have been our losses in

this attack?"

"Three thousand dead," said Earl Teja, very gravely.

"And about six thousand wounded," added Hildebrand.

Witichis closed his eyes as if in pain. Then he said:

"It cannot be helped, Teja. Give at once the command for a second

attack!"

"How! what!" cried the three leaders like one man.

"It cannot be helped," repeated the King. "How many thousands hast thou

brought us, Hildebad?"

"Three; but they are dead tired from the march. They cannot fight

to-day."

"Then we will storm alone again," said Witichis, taking his spear.

"King," said Teja, "we did not win a single stone of the fortress

yesterday, and to-day we have nine thousand men less----"

"And those not wounded are faint, their weapons and their courage

broken."

"We _must_ have Ravenna!" repeated Witichis.

"We shall never take it by force," said Earl Teja.

"We will see about that!" retorted Witichis.

"I besieged the city with the great King," said Hildebrand warningly.

"He stormed it in vain seventy times. We only took it by starving

it--after three years."

"We must attack!" cried Witichis. "Give the command."

Teja was about to leave the tent.

Hildebrand stopped him.

"Remain," he said; "we dare not hide it from him any longer. King! the

Goths murmur. To-day they would not obey thee; the attack is

impossible."

"Stand things so?" said Witichis bitterly. "The attack is impossible?

Then only one thing remains: the course which I should have taken

yesterday--then those three thousand would have been still living. Go,

Hildebad, take that crown and sceptre! Go to the rebels' camp; lay them

at the feet of young Arahad; tell him that he may woo Mataswintha; I

and my army will greet him as our King."

And, so speaking, he threw himself exhausted upon his couch.

"Thou speakest feverishly again," cried Hildebrand.

"That is impossible!" cried Teja.

"Impossible!" repeated Witichis. "Everything is impossible? The fight

impossible? and the renunciation? I tell thee, old man, there is

nothing else to be done, after that message from Ravenna."

He ceased.

His three companions looked at each other significantly.

At last the old man said:

"What was that message? Perhaps an expedient may be found? Eight eyes

see more than two."

"No," said Witichis, "not in this case. Here there is nothing to see,

otherwise I would have asked your advice long since. But it could have

led to nothing. There lies the parchment from Ravenna; but be silent

before the army."

The old man took the roll and read:

"'The Gothic warriors and the citizens of Ravenna, to Earl Witichis of

Faesulae----'"

"What insolence!" cried Hildebad.

"'And to Duke Guntharis of Florentia, and Earl Arahad of Asta. The

Goths and the citizens of this city declare to the two armies encamped

before their gates, that they, faithful to the distinguished House of

Amelung, and remembering the benefits of the great King Theodoric, will

firmly cling to his royal line as long as a scion of it lives.

Therefore we acknowledge Mataswintha as sole mistress of the Goths and

Italians; only to her will we open our gates, and we will defend them

against any other to the utmost.'"

"What madness!" said Earl Teja.

"Incomprehensible!" cried Hildebad.

But Hildebrand folded the parchment and said:

"I understand it very well. As to the Goths, you must know that the

garrison is formed of the followers of Theodoric, and these followers

have sworn to him never to prefer a strange king to one of his line. I,

too, swore this oath, but, in doing so, I ever thought of the spear and

not of the spindle. It was this oath which obliged me to adhere to

Theodahad, and only after his treachery was I free to do homage to

Witichis. But old Earl Grippa, of Ravenna, and his companions, believe

that they are equally bound to the females of the royal line. And, be

sure of it, these grey-headed heroes--the oldest in the nation, and

Theodoric's brothers-at-arms--will let themselves be hewn in pieces,

man for man, rather than break that oath as they understand it. And, by

Theodoric, they are right! But the Ravennese are not only grateful,

they are cunning; they hope that Goths and Byzantines will fight out

their affair before their walls. If Belisarius win--who, as he says,

comes to avenge Amalaswintha--he cannot then be angry with the city

which has remained faithful to her daughter; and if we win, then it was

they who obliged the garrison to close their gates."

"However that may be," interposed the King, "you will now understand my

silence. If the army knew the contents of that parchment, they might be

discouraged, and go over to the rebels, who hold the Princess in their

power. There remain to me only two courses: either to take the city by

storm--and that we tried yesterday in vain--or, to yield. You say the

first course cannot be repeated, so there only remains the last--to

yield. Arahad may woo the Princess and wear the crown; I will be the

first to do him homage and protect the kingdom, in concert with his

brave brother."

"Never!" cried Hildebad. "Thou art our King, and shall remain so. Never

will I bow my head to that young coxcomb! Let us march to-morrow

against the rebels; I alone will drive them out of their camp, and

carry the royal child--at the touch of whose hands those fast-shut

gates will fly open as if by magic--into _our_ tents."

"And when we have her," asked Earl Teja, "what then? She is of no use

to us if we do not make her our Queen. Wilt thou do so? Hast thou not

had enough with Amalaswintha and Gothelindis? Once more the rule of a

woman?"

"God forbid!" laughed Hildebad.

"I think so too," said the King, "otherwise I should have taken this

course long since."

"Well, then, let us remain here and wait until the city is wearied

out."

"It is impossible." said Witichis, "we cannot wait. In a few days

Belisarius may descend from yonder mountains and conquer us, Duke

Guntharis, and the city; then the kingdom and people of the Goths are

lost for ever! There are only two ways--to storm--"

"Impossible!' said Hildebrand.

"Or to yield. Go, Teja, take the crown. I see no other expedient."

The two young men hesitated.

Then old Hildebrand, with a sad and earnest and loving look at the

King, said:

"I know of another course to take; a painful, but the only one. Thou

must take this course, my Witichis, even if thy heart should break."

Witichis looked at him inquiringly. Even Teja and Hildebad were struck

by the tender manner of the old man.

"Go out," continued Hildebrand, turning to Hildebad and Teja. "I must

speak to the King alone."

CHAPTER XIV.

Silently the two Goths left the tent, and walked up and down, awaiting

the result.

From the tent they now and then heard Hildebrand's voice, who appeared

to warn and argue with the King; and now and then an outcry from the

latter.

"What can the old man be thinking of?" asked Hildebad, stopping in his

walk. "Dost thou not know?"

"I guess," sighed Teja; "poor Witichis!"

"What the devil dost thou mean?"

"Let me alone," said Teja; "it will all come out soon enough."

A considerable time elapsed thus. Ever more violent and more full of

pain sounded the voice of the King, who seemed to defend himself

desperately against Hildebrand's arguments.

"Why does the greybeard so torture the brave hero?" cried Hildebad

angrily. "It is just as if he would murder him! I will go in and help

him!"

But Teja held him fast by the shoulder.

"Remain!" he cried, "he cannot be helped."

As Hildebad was struggling to get loose, the noise of voices was heard

from the other end of the lane of tents; two sentries were trying in

vain to stop a strong Goth, who, covered with all the signs of a long

and hard ride, tried to get to the King's tent.

"Let me go, good friend," he cried, "or I will strike thee down!"

And he threateningly lifted a heavy club.

"It cannot be. Thou must wait. The leaders are with him in his tent."

"And if all the gods of Walhalla, together with the Lord Christ, were

in his tent, I must go to him!"

"I know that voice," cried Earl Teja, advancing, "and the man. Wachis!

what seekest thou here?"

"Oh, master!" cried the faithful servant, "happy am I to find you. Tell

these good folks to let me loose, then I need not knock them down."

"Let him loose, or he will keep his word. I know him. Well, what

wouldest thou then with the King?"

"Pray lead me to him at once. I have sad and terrible news to tell him

of his wife and child."

"Wife and child?" asked Hildebad in astonishment. "What, has he a

wife?"

"Very few know it," answered Teja. "She has scarcely ever left their

estate, and has never been to court. Scarcely any one knows her, but

all who do, honour her highly. I know no one like her."

"There you are right, master, if ever any one was!" said Wachis in a

suffocated voice. "The poor, poor mother! and, alas, the poor father!

But let me go. Mistress Rauthgundis follows close behind. I must

prepare him."

Earl Teja, without more questioning, pushed the man into the tent, and

followed with Hildebad.

They found old Hildebrand sitting calmly, like inevitable fate itself,

upon the King's couch, his chin resting on his hand, and his hand upon

his stone battle-axe.

Thus he sat immovable, fixing his eyes upon the King, who, in the

greatest excitement, was pacing to und fro with rapid steps, and so

absorbed in the terrible conflict of his soul, that he did not remark

those who entered.

"No, no; never!" he cried, "it is cruel! criminal! impossible!"

"It must be," said Hildebrand, without moving.

"No, I say!" cried the King; and turned.

Wachis was standing close before him.

Witichis looked at him wildly; then the servant threw himself at his

feet, weeping loudly.

"Wachis!" cried the King, in terror; "what is it? Thou comest from her?

Stand up--what has happened?"

"Alas! master," cried Wachis, still kneeling, "it breaks my heart to

see you! I could not help it. I have repaid and avenged with all my

might!"

Witichis pulled him up to his feet by the shoulders.

"Speak, man! What is there to revenge? My wife----"

"She lives, she is coming; but your child!"

"My child!" cried Witichis, turning pale, "Athalwin? What of him?"

"Dead, master--murdered!"

A cry as of one wounded to death broke from the tortured father's lips.

He covered his face with both hands; Teja and Hildebad stepped forward

compassionately. Only Hildebrand remained motionless, and looked

fixedly at the group.

Wachis could not bear the long and painful pause; he tried to take his

master's hands. They fell of their own accord; two great tears rolled

down the hero's brown cheeks; he was not ashamed of them.

"Murdered!" he cried, "my innocent child! By the Romans?" he asked.

"The cowardly devils!" cried Hildebad.

Teja clenched his fist, and his lips worked silently.

"Calpurnius?" asked Witichis, looking at Wachis.

"Yes, Calpurnius. The report of your election had reached the estate,

and your wife and child were summoned to the camp. How young Athalwin

rejoiced that he was now a King's son, like Siegfried who killed the

dragon! He said he would soon go to seek adventures, and also kill

dragons and giants. Just then our neighbour returned from Rome. I

noticed that he looked gloomy and more envious than ever, and I watched

well over house and stalls. But to watch the child--who could have

thought that children were no longer safe!"

Witichis shook his head sadly.

"The boy could hardly wait until he should see his father in the camp,

and all the thousands of Gothic warriors, and battles close at hand. He

threw away his wooden sword directly, and said a King's son must wear a

steel one, especially in time of war. And I was obliged to find a

hunting-knife, and sharpen it into the bargain. And with this famous

sword he escaped from Mistress Rauthgundis early every morning. And

when she asked, 'Whither?' he laughed, 'To seek adventures!' and sprang

into the woods. Then he came home at noon, tired out and with torn

clothes; wild with merriment and exultation. But he would not tell us

anything, and only hinted that he had played at being Siegfried. But

when I found spots of blood upon his sword, I crept after him into the

woods. It was exactly as I suspected. I had once shown him a hole in

some steep and rugged rocks, which hung over a running brook, and

warned him that there lay poisonous vipers by dozens. At that time he

had questioned me about everything, and when I said that every bite was

deadly, and that a poor berry-gatherer, who had been bitten by a snake

in her naked foot, had died immediately, he drew his wooden sword in a

minute, and wanted to jump into the hole. Much frightened, I with

difficulty kept him back. And now I remembered the vipers, and trembled

because I had given him a steel weapon. I soon found him in the wood in

the middle of the rocks, down among the thorns and brushwood. He was

just taking out a tremendous wooden shield which he had made for

himself and hidden there. A crown was freshly painted upon it. And he

drew his sword and sprang with a joyous cry into the hole. I looked

round. There lay strewn about dozens of the big snakes, with shattered

heads, the victims of his former battles. I followed the boy, and

though I was so anxious, I could not bear to disturb him as he stood

there fighting like a hero! He drove a swelling viper from her hole

with stones; she erected herself with hissing tongue, but just as she

darted at him, he threw his great shield before him and cut her in two

with a mighty stroke. Then I called him, and scolded him well. But he

looked very brave, bold, and disobedient, and cried, 'Do not tell my

mother, for I shall still do it. Until the last dragon is dead!' I said

I would take his sword away. Then I will fight with the wooden one, if

that please thee better,' he cried. 'And what a shame for a King's

son!' For the next few days I took him with me to catch the horses in

the uncultivated pastures. That pleased him very much; and shortly, I

thought, we shall go away. But one morning he escaped me again, and I

went alone to my work. I returned along the brook, sure that I should

find him among the rocks. But I did not find him. I found only the belt

of his sword lying torn on the thorns and his shield broken on the

ground. I looked round alarmed, and sought, but----"

"Quicker, go on!" cried the King.

"But?" asked Hildebad.

"But there was nothing else to be seen on the rocks. Then I noticed the

large footprints of a man in some soft sand. I followed them. They led

to a place where the rock fell steeply to the brook. I looked over, and

below----"

Witichis staggered.

"Alas! my poor master! There on the shore of the brook lay the little

figure! How I got down the rocks, I know not. I was below in an

instant. There he lay, cut and torn by the points of the rocks, his

little hand still holding fast his sword, his bright hair covered with

blood---"

"Cease!" cried Teja, laying his hand upon the man's shoulder, while

Hildebad grasped the poor father's hand, who sank groaning upon his

couch.

"My child, my sweet child! my wife!" he cried.

"I felt that the little heart still beat," continued Wachis; "water

from the brook brought him to his senses. He opened his eyes and

recognised me. 'Thou hast fallen down, my poor child?' I asked. 'No,'

he said, 'not fallen. I was thrown down.' I was horrified.

'Calpurnius,' he went on, 'suddenly came round the corner of the rocks,

as I was striking at the vipers. "Come with me," he said, "or I will

bind thee." "Bind me!" I cried, "my father is King of the Goths, and

thine also. Dare to touch me!" Then he got angry and struck at me with

his stick and came nearer; but I knew that near me our servants were

felling trees, and I cried for help and retreated to the edge of the

rock. He looked about him in terror, for the people must have heard me;

the strokes of their axes ceased. But suddenly he sprang forward,

cried, "Die, little viper!" and pushed me over the rock.'"

Teja bit his lips.

"Oh, the devil!" cried Hildebad.

And Witichis, with a cry of pain, tore his hand from Hildebad's grasp.

"Cut it short," said Teja.

"He lost his senses again," Wachis continued; "I carried him in my arms

home to his mother. Once again he opened his eyes while lying on her

lap. A greeting to you was his last breath."

"And my wife? Is she not desperate?"

"No, master; that she is not. She is of gold, but also of steel. When

the boy had closed his eyes, she silently pointed out of the window to

the right. I understood her. There stood the neighbour's house. And I

armed all your servants and led them there to take revenge. We laid the

murdered boy on your shield and bore him in our midst. And Rauthgundis

went with us, a sword in her hand, following the corpse. We laid the

boy down before the gates of the villa. Calpurnius had fled on his

swiftest horse to Belisarius. But his brother and his son and twenty

slaves stood in the courtyard. They were just about to mount and follow

him. We uplifted the cry of murder three times. Then we attacked them.

We killed them _all_, _all_, and burnt the house down over the

inhabitants. Meantime Rauthgundis looked on without a word, keeping

watch by the little corpse and leaning on her sword; and the next day

she sent me on beforehand to tell you. Shortly after, as soon as she

had burnt the little corpse, she followed me. And as I have lost a day,

being hindered by the rebels from taking the shortest road, she may

arrive at any hour."'

"My child, my child! my poor wife! This is the first produce of this

unhappy crown! And now," he cried to the old man, with all the

impetuosity of pain, "wilt thou still demand that cruel sacrifice? that

unbearable sacrifice?"

Hildebrand slowly rose.

"Nothing is unbearable that is necessary. Winter is bearable, and age,

and death. They come, and we bear it. Because we must. But I hear the

voices of women, and rustling garments. Let us go."

Witichis turned from him to the door.

There, under the lifted curtain of the tent, stood Rauthgundis, his

wife, dressed in grey garments and a black veil, and pressing a small

black urn to her bosom.

A cry of loving pain and painful love; and the husband and wife were

locked in a close embrace.

Silently the witnesses left the tent.

CHAPTER XV.

Outside Teja held the old man back by his mantle.

"Thou torturest the King in vain," he said. "He will never consent. Now

least of all!"

"How dost thou know?" interrupted the old man.

"Peace; I guess it. As I guess all misfortune."

"Then thou wilt also acknowledge that he _must_ consent."

"He--_he_ will not do it."

"But--thou meanest her?"

"Perhaps!"

"She will!" cried Hildebrand.

"Yes, she is a wonder of a woman," answered Teja.

While, during the next few days, the now childless pair lived in quiet

seclusion, and Witichis scarcely ever left his tent, it happened that

the outposts of the royal besiegers and the sentries of the Gothic

garrison of Ravenna--taking advantage of the armistice which, as a

matter of fact, had ensued--entered into frequent communication.

Scolding and disputing, they reproached each other with being the cause

of the civil war.

The besiegers complained that the garrison had closed the gates of his

royal fortress upon the King during the greatest distress of the

nation. The Ravennese blamed Witichis for depriving the daughter of the

Amelungs of her rights.

As old Earl Grippa was making the round of the walls, he listened,

unobserved, to one of these conversations.

He suddenly came forward, and called to Witichis's soldiers who were

standing below, praising their King.

"Indeed?" he cried; "is it acting nobly and rightly to attack us like a

madman, instead of giving an answer to our moderate demand? And he

could so easily spare the blood of the Goths! We only want Mataswintha

for our Queen! Well, can he not remain King? Is it so hard to share

throne and couch with the most beautiful woman in the world, with the

Princess Beautiful-hair,' of whose charms the singers sing in the

streets? Must so many thousand brave Goths die, rather than that? Well

then, let him continue to attack. We will see which breaks down first;

his obstinacy or these walls!"

These words of the old commander made an immense impression on all the

Goths before the walls. They knew of nothing to say in defence of their

King. They also knew as little of his marriage as the rest of the army.

In this the presence of Rauthgundis in the camp had altered little, for

truly she had not come like a queen.

They hastened back to the camp in great excitement, and told what they

had heard; how that the obstinacy of the King had sacrificed their

brethren.

"'Twas for this reason he kept the object of the embassy a secret!"

they cried.

Soon groups were formed in every lane of the camp, all much excited,

speaking of the affair, and blaming the King in tones which grew ever

louder.

The Germans of those times treated their kings with a freedom of speech

which horrified the Byzantines.

In this case, vexation at the retreat from Rome; the shame of the

defeat before Ravenna; regret for their sacrificed comrades, and anger

at this secrecy; all worked together to excite the Goths to a storm of

indignation against the King, which was not the less violent, because

it was still restrained.

This temper of the army did not escape the notice of the leaders. As

they passed through the camp, the words of blame were scarcely

restrained. But they would only have let loose the mischief if they had

angrily rebuked it.

And often, when Earl Teja or Hildebad would have interposed a word in

mitigation, old Hildebrand kept them back.

"Let the tide swell a little more," he said; "when it is high enough I

will control it. The only danger would be--" he added, half to himself.

"If those in the rebel camp opposite were beforehand with us," said

Teja.

"Right, thou guesser of riddles! But things go well for us there.

Deserters relate that the princess steadfastly refuses. She threatens

to kill herself rather than give her hand to Arahad."

"Bah!" said Hildebad; "I would risk that!"

"Because thou knowest not that passionate creature, that child of the

Amelungs! She inherits the fiery blood of Theodoric, and will, after

all, play us, too, a bad trick."

"Witichis is another kind of wooer than that boy of Asta," whispered

Teja.

"I trust to that also," answered Hildebrand. "Leave him in peace a few

days longer," added the old man; "his grief must have its way. Till it

is assuaged he can be brought to do nothing. Do not disturb him. Let

him remain quietly in his tent with his wife. I shall be obliged to

disturb him soon enough."

But the old man was compelled to rouse the King from his grief sooner

and in a different way from what he had intended.

The Assembly at Regeta had made a law against all Goths who deserted to

the Byzantines, condemning [them] to an ignominious death.

On the whole, such desertions occurred very rarely, but still, in parts

of the country where a few Goths lived among a crowded Italian

population, and many intermarriages had taken place, they were more

frequent.

The old master-at-arms was especially wroth with these renegades, who

dishonoured themselves and their nation. It was he who had introduced

this law against deserters from the army and the national flag.

Its application had not yet been necessary, and its intention was

almost forgotten.

Suddenly it was brought to mind gravely enough.

Belisarius had not yet left Rome with his main army. For more than one

reason he wished at present to make that city the principal support of

all his movements in Italy; But he had sent numerous parties of

skirmishers after the retreating Goths, to tease and disquiet them, and

particularly to take possession of the many castles, strongholds and

towns from which the barbarian garrison had been driven out and beaten

by the Italians, or, hindered by no garrison, had simply gone over to

the Emperor of the "Romani," as he called himself in Greek.

Such occurrences took place--particularly as, since the Gothic King was

in full retreat, and, after the outbreak of the rebellion, the Gothic

cause seemed half lost--almost daily.

Partly under the influence of the appearance of Belisarius's troops

before the gates, partly without such pressure, many towns and castles

surrendered.

As, however, most of them preferred to wait until they could plead the

excuse of necessity, in case of an unhoped-for victory of the Goths,

Belisarius had all the more reason to send forth against them small

troops of skirmishers, under the command of the deserters, who were

well acquainted with the country and the condition of things.

And these troops, encouraged by the continued retreat of the Goths,

ventured far into the land; every newly-taken castle became a point of

departure for further operations.

Such a party of skirmishers had lately won Castellum Marcianum, which

crowned a rocky height above an extensive pine-wood near Caesena, close

to the royal camp.

Old Hildebrand, into whose hands Witichis had given the supreme command

since receiving his wound, observed with indignation this dangerous

success of the enemy and the treachery of the Italians.

And as he did not wish to occupy his troops against Duke Guntharis or

Ravenna--always hoping for a peaceable solution of the difficulty--he

decided to play these bold skirmishers a famous trick.

Spies had related that, on the day after Rauthgundis's arrival in the

camp, the new Byzantine garrison of Castellum Marcianum had dared to

threaten Caesena itself, the important town in the rear of the Gothic

camp.

The old master-at-arms furiously swore destruction to the insolent

enemy. He put himself at the head of a thousand horsemen, and started

in the stillness of the night, with straw twisted round the hoofs of

the horses, in the direction of Caesena.

The surprise succeeded perfectly. Unobserved they entered the wood at

the foot of the rock upon which the castle was situated.

Hildebrand divided his men into two parties, one of which he ordered to

surround the wood on all sides; the other to dismount and follow him

silently up to the castle.

The sentinels at the gate were taken by surprise, and the Byzantines,

finding that they were attacked by superior numbers, fled on all sides

into the wood, where the greater part of those on horseback were taken

prisoners.

The flames from the burning castle illuminated the scene.

But a small group retreated, fighting, over the little river at the

foot of the rock, which was crossed by a narrow bridge.

Here Hildebrand's pursuing horsemen were checked by a single man--a

leader, as it seemed from the splendour of his armour.

This tall, slender, and seemingly young man--his visor was

down--fought as if in desperation, covered the retreat of his men, and

had already overthrown four Goths.

Then up came the old master-at-arms, and looked on for a while at the

unequal combat.

"Yield, brave man!" he cried to the lonely combatant. "I will guarantee

thy life."

At this call the Byzantine started; for an instant he lowered his

sword, and looked at the old man.

But the next moment he had leaped forward and back again; he had cut

off the arm of his nearest adversary at one powerful stroke.

The Goths fell back a little.

Hildebrand became furious.

"Forward!" he cried. "No more pity! Aim at him with your spears!"

"He is proof against iron!" cried one of the Goths, a cousin of Teja.

"I hit him three times; he cannot be wounded."

"Thinkest thou so, Aligern?" laughed the old man grimly. "Let me see if

he be proof against stone."

And he hurled his stone battle-axe--he was almost the only one who

still carried this ancient heathen weapon--at the Byzantine.

The heavy axe crashed upon the glittering helmet of the brave defender

of the bridge, who fell as if struck by lightning.

Two men sprang towards him and raised his visor.

"Master Hildebrand," cried Aligern in astonishment, "it is no

Byzantine!"

"And no Italian!" added Gunthamund.

"Look at his golden locks--it is a Goth!" observed Hunibad.

Hildebrand came forward--and started violently.

"Torches!" he cried; "light! Yes," he added gloomily, taking up his

stone axe, "it is a Goth! And I--I have slain him," he concluded, with

icy calmness.

But his hand trembled on the shaft of his axe.

"No, master," cried Aligern, "he lives. He was only stunned; he opens

his eyes."

"He lives?" asked the old man, shuddering. "May the gods forbid!"

"Yes, he lives!" repeated the Goths, raising their prisoner.

"Then woe to him, and to me! But no! The gods of the Goths have

delivered him into my power. Bind him upon thy horse, Gunthamund; but

firmly. If he escape, it is at the peril of _thy_ head, not his.

Forward! To horse, and home!"

When they arrived at the camp, the escort asked the master-at-arms what

they should prepare for their prisoner.

"A bundle of straw for to-night," he answered, "and for to-morrow

early--a gallows."

With these words he entered the King's tent, and reported the result of

his excursion.

"We have a Gothic deserter among our prisoners," he concluded grimly.

"He must hang before sunset to-morrow."

"That is very sad," said Witichis, sighing.

"Yes; but necessary. I shall summon the court-martial for to-morrow.

Wilt thou preside?"

"No," said Witichis, "exempt me from that. I will appoint Hildebad in

my place."

"No," cried the old man, "that will not do. I am commander-in-chief as

long as thou keepest thy tent. I demand the presidency as my right."

Witichis looked at him.

"Thou art so grim and cold! Is it an enemy of thy kindred?"

"No," said Hildebrand.

"What is the name of the prisoner?"

"Hildebrand--like mine."

"Meseems thou hatest him--this Hildebrand. Thou mayst judge; but beware

of exaggerated severity. Do not forget that I pardon gladly."

"The well-being of the Goths demands his death," said Hildebrand

quietly; "and he will die!"

CHAPTER XVI.

Early the next morning the prisoner, with his head covered, was led to

a meadow on the north, the "cold corner" of the camp, where were

assembled the leaders of the army and a great part of the troops.

"Listen," said the prisoner to one of his escort; "is old Hildebrand on

the Ting-place?"

"He is the head of the Ting."

"They are and will ever remain barbarians! Do me a favour, friend--I

will give thee this purple belt for it. Go to the old man; tell him

that I know that I must die, but I beg him to spare me, and still more

my family--dost thou hear? my _family_--the shame of the gallows. Beg

him to send me a weapon secretly."

The Goth, Gunthamund, went to seek Hildebrand, who had already opened

the court.

The proceedings were very simple. The old man first caused the law of

Regeta to be read aloud; then witnesses proved the taking of the

prisoner, and afterwards he was led forward. A woolsack still covered

his head and shoulders.

It was just about to be taken off, when Gunthamund reached Hildebrand

and whispered in his ear.

"No," cried Hildebrand, frowning; "tell him that the shame of his

family is his _deed_, not his punishment," And he called aloud: "Show

the face of the traitor! It is Hildebrand, son of Hildegis!"

A cry of astonishment and horror ran through the crowd.

"His own grandchild!"

"Old man, thou shalt not preside! Thou art cruel to thy flesh and

blood!" cried Hildebad, starting up.

"Only just; but to every one alike," answered Hildebrand, striking his

staff upon the ground.

"Poor Witichis!" whispered Earl Teja.

But Hildebad hurried away to the camp.

"What canst thou say for thyself, son of Hildegis?" asked Hildebrand.

The young man hastily stepped forward; his face was red, but with

anger, not with shame. He showed not a trace of fear. His long yellow

hair waved in the wind.

The crowd was moved with compassion.

The mere report of his brave resistance, the discovery of his name, and

now his youth and beauty, spoke powerfully in his favour.

With flashing eyes, he looked around at the crowd, and then fixed them

with a proud expression on the old man's face.

"I protest against this court-martial!" he cried, "Your laws do not

concern me. I am a Roman--no Goth! My father died before my birth; my

mother was a Roman, the noble Cloelia. I have never felt as if this

barbarous old man was my kinsman. I despised his severity as I did his

love. He forced his name upon me, the child, and took me away from my

mother. But I ran away from him as soon as I could. I have always

called myself Flavius Cloelius, never Hildebrand. My friends were

Romans; Roman was my every thought; Roman my life! All my friends

joined Belisarius and Cethegus; could I remain behind? Kill me--you can

and you will! But confess that it is a murder, and not an act of

justice! You judge no Goth; you murder a conquered Roman, for Roman is

my soul!"

The crowd had listened to his defence silently and with mixed feelings.

But the old man rose furiously from his seat; his eyes flashed fire;

his hands trembled with rage.

"Miserable boy," he cried, "thou hast confessed that thou art the son

of a Goth! Then art thou a Goth thyself; and if thy heart is Roman,

thou deservest death for that alone. Soldiers, away with him to the

gallows!"

Once more the prisoner advanced to the foot of the judgment-seat.

"Then be accursed," he cried, "you rude and savage people! May your

nation be accursed! And, most of all, thou, old man with the wolf's

heart! Do not think that your savagery and cruelty will do you any

service! You shall be wiped away from the surface of this lovely land,

and not a trace of you shall be left behind!"

At a sign from Hildebrand, the ban-officers again threw the cover over

the prisoner's head, and led him away to a hill upon which stood a

sturdy yew-tree, deprived of its boughs and leaves.

At this moment the eyes of the crowd were diverted towards the camp,

whence the sound of horses' hoofs were heard. Soon a troop of riders

with the royal banner was seen approaching, Witichis and Hildebad at

their head.

"Stop!" cried the King from a distance. "Spare the grandchild of

Hildebrand! Pardon, pardon!"

But the old man pointed to the hill.

"Too late, King," he cried; "it is all over with the traitor. So may

all perish who forget their nation! The kingdom comes first. King

Witichis, and afterwards wife and child and grandchild!"

This act of Hildebrand made a great impression upon the army, and a

still greater one upon the King. He felt the weight which was given to

any demand of the old man by his sacrifice. And with the conviction

that resistance had now become much more difficult, he returned to his

tent.

Hildebrand did not fail to take advantage of the King's humour.

In the evening he entered the royal tent with Teja.

The husband and wife were sitting silent, hand in hand, on the camp

bed; upon a table before them stood the black urn; near it lay a small

golden locket, something like an amulet, appended to a blue ribbon; a

bronze lamp shed a faint light.

As Hildebrand gave his hand to the King, the latter looked into his

face, and saw at one glance that he had entered the tent with the fixed

resolve to carry out his intentions at whatever cost.

All present seemed silently moved by the impending conflict of feeling.

"Mistress Rauthgundis," began the old man, "I have to speak of sad

things with the King. It will hurt thee to hear them!"

Rauthgundis rose, but not to go. Deep pain and earnest love for her

husband gave to her fair and regular features a noble and elevated

expression.

Without removing her right hand from that of her husband, she laid her

left gently upon his shoulder.

"Speak freely, Hildebrand. I am his wife, and demand the half of these

sad words!"

"Mistress," the old man repeated.

"Let her remain," said the King. "Dost thou fear to tell thy thoughts

before her face?"

"Fear? no! And though I were forced to tell a god that the people of

the Goths was dearer to me than he, I should do it without fear. Know

then----"

"What! Thou wilt? Spare her, spare her!" cried Witichis, throwing his

arms around his wife.

But Rauthgundis looked at him quietly and said:

"I know all, my Witichis. Yesterday, as I was walking through the camp,

unrecognised, in the twilight, I heard the soldiers by the watch-fires

blaming thee, and praising this old man to the skies. I listened and

heard all. What he demands and what thou refusest!"

"And thou didst not tell me?"

"There was no danger. Do I not know that thou wouldst never put away

thy wife? Not for a crown, and not for that wonderfully beautiful

maiden. Who can part us? Let this old man threaten; I know that no star

hangs more safely in heaven than I in thy heart."

This security made an impression on the old man. He frowned.

"I have not to argue with thee! Witichis, I ask thee before Teja--thou

knowest how things stand: without Ravenna we are lost: Mataswintha's

hand alone can open its gates--wilt thou take this hand or not?"

Witichis sprang from his seat.

"Yes, our enemies are right! We are barbarians! Before this heartless

old man stands a splendid woman, unparalleled for her griefs as for her

fidelity; here stand the ashes of her murdered child; and he would drag

her husband away from this wife and these ashes to form another union!

Never--nevermore!"

"An hour ago representatives of all the thousands of the army were on

their way to this tent," said the old man. "They would have forced thee

to do that which I only ask. I kept them back with difficulty."

"Let them come!" cried Witichis. "They can only deprive me of my

crown--not of my wife!"

"Who wears the crown belongs to his people--not to himself!"

"Here"--Witichis took the coroneted helmet and laid it upon the table

before Hildebrand--"once more and for the last time I give thee back

the crown. I did not desire it, God knows! It has brought me nothing

but this urn of ashes. Take it back; let who will be King, and woo

Mataswintha."

But Hildebrand shook his head.

"Thou knowest that that would lead to certain destruction. We are

already split into three parties. Many thousands would never

acknowledge Arahad. Thou alone canst still uphold the kingdom. Wert

thou gone, we should be dissolved. We shall become a bundle of separate

sticks, which Belisarius will break as if in sport. Wouldst thou have

that?"

"Mistress Rauthgundis, canst thou make no sacrifice for thy people?"

asked Teja, drawing nearer.

"Thou too, haughty Teja, against me? Is this thy friendship!" cried

Rauthgundis.

"Mistress Rauthgundis," replied Teja quietly, "I honour thee more than

any other woman on earth, and therefore I ask of thee the greatest of

sacrifices----"

But Hildebrand interrupted him.

"Thou art the Queen of this nation. I know of a Gothic Queen who lived

in the heathen times of our forefathers. Hunger and plague lay heavy on

her people. Their swords were useless. The gods were angry with the

Goths. Then Swanhilde asked counsel of the oaks of the woods, and the

waves of the sea, and they answered: 'If Swanhilde dies, the Goths will

live. If Swanhilde lives, her people die.' And Swanhilde never returned

home. She thanked the gods, and sprang into the flood. But truly, that

was in the hero-time."

Rauthgundis was not unmoved.

"I love my people," she said; "and since these golden locks are all

that remain of my Athalwin"--she pointed to the locket--"I believe I

could gladly give my life for my people. I will die--yes!" she cried;

"but to live and know the man of my heart loving another--no!"

"Loving another!" cried Witichis; "how canst speak thus? Knowest thou

not, that my tortured heart beats ever and only at the sound of thy

name? Hast thou then never felt, never yet, not even at the sight of

this urn, that we are eternally one? What am I without thy love? Tear

my heart out of my bosom, place another in its place; then perhaps I

could forget thee! Yes, truly," he cried, turning to the two men, "you

know not what you do; you little know your own interest. You know not

that my love for this woman and this woman's love for me is the best

that poor Witichis possesses. She is my good genius. You know not that

you have to thank her, and her alone, if in anything I please you. I

think of her in the tumult of battle, and the thought strengthens my

arm. Of her I think when noble decisions must be made in the council;

of her clear and serene soul, of her unblemished fidelity! Oh, this

wife is the soul of my life! Deprive me of her, and your King is a

shadow, without fortune and without strength!"

And he passionately folded Rauthgundis in his arms.

She was surprised and startled; overcome with a world of bliss. Never

yet had the calm and reserved man, who habitually controlled his

feelings, spoken so of her or of his love.

Never even when he had wooed her, had he spoken with such passion as

now, when he was asked to leave her. Overpowered, she sank upon his

breast.

"Thanks, thanks, O God, for this hour of pain," she whispered. "Yes,

now I know that thy heart and soul are mine for ever!"

"And will remain thine," said Teja in a low tone, "even if another is

called his Queen. She would only share his crown, never his heart!"

These words penetrated Rauthgundis's soul. She looked at Teja, moved by

his words, with wide eyes.

Hildebrand saw it, and now considered how he should strike his final

blow.

"Who would, who could, tamper with your hearts!" he said. "A shadow

without fortune or strength! That thou wilt only become if thou

refusest to listen to my words, or break thy sacred, solemn oath. For a

_perjurer_ is more hollow than a shadow!"

"His oath?" asked Rauthgundis hastily. "What hast thou sworn?"

But Witichis sank down upon his seat and buried his face in his hands.

"What has he sworn?" repeated Rauthgundis.

Then Hildebrand, aiming every word at the hearts of the husband and

wife, spoke:

"A few years ago a man concluded a mighty bond with four friends at the

midnight hour. The sod was raised under a sacred oak, and they swore by

the ancient earth and welling water, by the flickering flame and

ethereal air. They mixed their living blood and swore a solemn oath; to

sacrifice all that they possessed, son and kindred, life, weapons and

wives and glory, to the welfare of the Goths! And if any one of them

should refuse to keep the oath, when reminded by a brother in time of

necessity, his red blood should run unavenged, like the water under the

wood-sod. Upon his head heaven should fall and crush him, and he should

be for ever subject to all the dark powers under the earth. His soul

should be condemned to eternal torture; good men should trample over

his grave, and his memory be dishonoured and covered with curses

wherever Christians ring bells or heathens offer sacrifices; wherever

the wind blows over the wide world, and mothers caress their children.

This oath was sworn by five men: by Hildebrand and Hildebad, by Teja

and Totila. But who was the fifth? Witichis, son of Waltaris."

And he suddenly drew back Witichis's left-hand sleeve.

"Look here, Rauthgundis, the scar has not yet vanished. But the oath

has vanished from his soul. Thus he swore before he was made King. And

when the thousands of Goths, on the field of Regeta, lifted him on the

shield, he swore a second oath: 'My life, my happiness, all that I

have, do I dedicate to you, the people of the Goths. I swear it by the

God of heaven and by my faith.' Well, Witichis, son of Waltaris, King

of the Goths, I now remind thee of that double oath. I ask thee whether

thou wilt sacrifice, as thou hast sworn to do, thy wife and thy

happiness to the people of the Goths? See, I too have lost three sons

for this people, and, without shrinking, I have sacrificed and

condemned my grandchild, the last scion of my race. Speak, wilt thou do

the like? Wilt thou keep thine oath? or wilt thou break it and live

accursed? cursed by the living and cursed amongst the dead?"

Witichis was convulsed with pain at the words of the old man.

Then Rauthgundis rose. She laid her left hand on her husband's breast,

and stretched forth her right as if to protect him from Hildebrand.

"Cease," she said, "leave, him alone. It is enough! He will do what

thou desirest. He will not dishonour and perjure himself for the sake

of his wife."

But Witichis sprang up, and held her fast in both his arms as if they

were about to tear her from him at once.

"Now go," she said to the two men; "leave me alone with him."

Teja turned to go; Hildebrand hesitated.

"Go, go!" she cried, laying her hand upon the marble urn; "I swear to

thee by the ashes of my child, that at sunrise he shall be free!"

"No," cried Witichis, "I will not put away my wife! never!"

"Thou shalt not. It is not thou who sendest me away--I turn away from

thee. Rauthgundis goes to save her people and her husband's honour.

Thou canst never tear away thy heart from me; I know that mine it will

remain, now more than ever! Go, Hildebrand and Teja, what we two have

now to go through, will admit of no witness."

The two men silently left the place; silently they went together down

the lane of tents; at the corner the old man stopped.

"Good-night, Teja," he said; "it is now done!"

"Yes; who knows if well done? A noble, noble sacrifice! Many more will

follow, and, meseems there, in the stars, it stands written--in vain!

But for honour then, if not for victory! Farewell."

He drew his dark mantle closely round his shoulders, and disappeared

like a shadow into the night.

CHAPTER XVII.

The next morning, before cockcrow, a veiled woman rode out of the camp.

A man in a brown war-mantle walked beside her, holding her horse's

bridle, and ever and again looking into her veiled face.

At an arrow's length behind them rode a servant, with a bundle at his

back, where hung a heavy club.

They went on their way for some time in silence.

At last they reached a woody eminence; behind them lay the broad plain

where stood the Gothic camp and the city of Ravenna; before them, to

the north-west, the road which led to the Via AEmilia.

The woman checked her horse.

"The sun is just rising. I have sworn that it shall find thee free.

Farewell, my Witichis!"

"Hurry not so away from me," he said, pressing her hand.

"I must keep my word if my heart breaks! It must be!"

"Thou goest more easily than I remain!"

She smiled painfully.

"I leave my life behind me; thou hast yet a life before thee."

"And what a life!"

"The life of a King for his people, as thine oath demands."

"Fatal oath!"

"It was right to swear it; it is a duty to keep it. And thou wilt think

of me in the gilded halls of Rome, as I of thee in my hut, deep in the

ravine. Thou wilt not forget thy wife, nor the ten years of our faith

and love, nor our sweet boy."

"Oh, my wife, my wife!" cried the tortured man, pressing his face

against the saddle-bow, and putting both arms around her.

She bent over him and laid her hand upon his head.

Meanwhile Wachis had overtaken them; he looked at the group for a short

time, and then he could bear it no longer.

He pulled his master gently by the mantle.

"Master, listen; I can give you good advice. Do you not hear me?"

"What canst thou advise?"

"Come with us! Up, away! Mount my horse and ride away with Mistress

Rauthgundis. I will follow afterwards. Leave those who torture you till

the bright drops stand in your eyes; leave them, and all the rubbish of

crown and kingdom. It has brought you no happiness. They do not mean

well by you. Who would part man and wife for a dead crown? Up and away,

I say! And I know a rocky nest where no one can find you but an eagle

or a chamois."

"Shall thy master run away from his kingdom, like a bad slave from the

mill?"

"Farewell, Witichis. Here, take the locket with the blue ribbon; the

ringlet of our boy is in it, and one," she whispered, kissing him on

the forehead, and hanging the locket round his neck, "one of

Rauthgundis'. Farewell, thou, my heart's life!"

He raised himself to look into her eyes.

She suddenly struck her horse--"Forward, Wallada!"--and galloped away.

Wachis followed.

Witichis stood motionless, and looked after her.

She stopped before the road turned into the wood--once more she waved

her hand, and the next minute had disappeared.

Witichis listened to the tramp of the horses as if in a dream. When the

sound ceased he turned.

But he could not leave the place.

He stepped out of the road. At the other side of the ditch lay a large

mossy block of stone. There the King of the Goths seated himself,

rested his arms upon his knees, and buried his face in his hands. He

pressed them hard against his eyes, to shut out the whole world from

his grief.

Tears trickled through his fingers. He did not notice them.

Horsemen galloped past. He scarcely heard them.

So he sat motionless for hours; so motionless, that the birds of the

wood hopped close to him.

The sun stood in the south.

At last--he heard some one call his name.

He looked up. Earl Teja stood before him.

"I knew well," said Teja, "that thou hadst not fled like a coward. Come

back with me, and save thy kingdom. When, this morning, thou wert not

found in thy tent, the report spread through the camp that, despairing

of kingdom and happiness, thou hadst fled. It soon reached the city of

Ravenna and Guntharis. The Ravennese threaten a sally, and that they

will go over to Belisarius. Arahad tempts the army to give him the

crown. Two, three opposing Kings arise. Everything will fall to pieces

if thou comest not to save us!"

"I come!" cried Witichis. "Let them take care! The best heart in the

world has been broken for the sake of this crown; it is sacred, and

they shall not desecrate it. Come, Teja, back to the camp!"

BOOK IV.-_Continued._

WITICHIS.

"But the Goths chose Witichis for their king, a man, not indeed of

noble birth, but of great fame as a warrior."--_Procopius: Wars of the

Goths_, i. 11.

PART II.

CHAPTER I.

When King Witichis readied the camp, he found it almost in a state of

anarchy.

The pressing need of the moment forcibly roused him from his grief, and

gave him sufficient occupation.

He found the army split into numerous parties, and on the point of

dissolution. He acknowledged to himself that, if he had abdicated, or

abandoned the camp, the complete ruin of the Gothic cause would have

been the consequence. He found many of the troops already on the point

of departure. Some were about to join Earl Grippa in Ravenna; others to

go over to the rebels; others again to fly across the Alps. Many spoke

of the choice of a new king, and here, too, the different parties

opposed each other with threats of violence.

Hildebrand and Hildebad still kept together those who did not believe

in the flight of the King. The old master-at-arms had declared that if

Witichis had really deserted them, he would not rest until he had dealt

to him the punishment of Theodoric, while Hildebad rated at those who

could believe Witichis capable of such baseness.

They had guarded the roads to the city and to the rebel camp, and

threatened to oppose force to every movement in those directions; while

Duke Guntharis, having heard a report of the confusion, was already

advancing against the royal camp.

Everywhere Witichis found discontented groups of troops on the point of

departure; everywhere he heard words of blame and beheld uplifted

weapons. At any moment the camp might become a scene of bloodshed.

Quickly resolved, he hurried to his tent, adorned himself with the

coroneted helmet and the golden sceptre, mounted Boreas, his powerful

charger, and galloped through the lines of tents, followed by Teja, who

bore the blue banner of Theodoric.

In the middle of the camp they met with a crowd of men, women, and

children--for the latter generally accompanied a Gothic army--who,

murmuring and threatening, were moving towards the western gate.

Hildebad had sent his soldiers to bar this gate with levelled lances.

"Let us go out," cried the people. "The King has fled, the war is over,

all is lost. We will save our lives."

"The King is no coward like thee!" cried Hildebad, pushing back the

nearest man.

"Yes, he is a traitor!" cried the latter. "He has forsaken and betrayed

us for the sake of a woman's tears."

"Yes," said another, "he has killed three thousand of our brothers and

has fled."

"Thou liest!" said a quiet voice. Witichis had turned the corner of a

tent.

"Hail, King Witichis!" cried Hildebad. "Do you see him, you rabble? Did

I not tell you? But it was high time thou camest--things were getting

to a desperate pass."

Just then Hildebrand came galloping up with a few horsemen.

"Hail, King Witichis!" he cried, and turning to his

companions--"Hasten, heralds, through the camp," said he, "and tell

what you have seen; and all the people will cry: 'Hail, Witichis, our

faithful King!'"

But Witichis turned from him with a look of anguish.

The heralds galloped away in all directions, and shortly there arose

through the whole camp the thundering shout, "Hail, King Witichis!"

Even those who had just been murmuring joined unanimously in the cry.

Witichis listened to these acclamations with a look full of pride and

pain, and Teja whispered to him: "Now thou seest that thou hast saved

the kingdom."

"Up! lead us to victory!" cried Hildebad, "for Guntharis and Arahad

approach! They think to surprise us without a chief and in complete

disorder. At them! They shall find themselves mistaken. At them! and

down with the rebels!"

"Down with the rebels!" thundered the soldiers, glad to find an outlet

for their excited passions.

But the King made a sign.

"Peace! No more shall Gothic blood flow from wounds made by Gothic

weapons. Wait patiently here. Thou, Hildebad, open the gate for me.

None shall follow me. I alone go to the rebels. Thou, Earl Teja,

control the troops until I return. But thou, Hildebrand," he cried,

raising his voice, "ride to the gates of Ravenna, and loudly bid them

open. Their desire is fulfilled, and, before evening, we will enter:

King Witichis and Queen Mataswintha."

He spoke these words with such sorrowful dignity, that the hearers

received them in reverent silence.

Hildebad opened the gate of the camp. Without could be discerned the

rebels, approaching at a quick march; loudly sounded their war-cry as

the gate opened.

King Witichis gave his sword to Earl Teja, and rode slowly to meet

them. The gate closed behind him.

"He seeks death," whispered Hildebad.

"No," said Teja, "he seeks the salvation of the Goths."

On recognising the solitary horseman, the rebels were amazed. Near the

brothers--who marched at the head of the troops--rode the chief of the

Avarian archers. He held his hand over his small and twinkling eyes

and cried:

"By the horse of the war-god, that is the King himself! Now, my boys,

sons of the steppes, aim well, and the war is over!" and he quickly

took his bow from his shoulder.

"Stop, Chan Warchun," cried Duke Guntharis, laying his mailed hand upon

the other's shoulder. "Thou hast sadly erred twice in the same breath.

Thou hast called Earl Witichis the King: that may be forgiven thee.

Thou wouldst murder him who comes as a messenger of peace. That may be

Avarian, but is not Gothic custom. Away with thee and thy troop out of

my camp!"

The Chan started and looked at Guntharis in astonishment.

"Away, at once!" repeated Duke Guntharis.

The Avarian laughed and signed to his horsemen.

"'Tis all one to me. Children, we go to Belisarius. Queer people, these

Goths! Giant bodies with children's hearts!"

Meanwhile Witichis had ridden up.

Guntharis and Arahad looked at him inquiringly.

Unusual solemnity was added to the customary simple dignity of his

manner; the majesty of deep grief.

"I come to speak with you of the welfare of the Goths. Brother shall

slay brother no more. Let us enter Ravenna together, and together

conquer Belisarius. I shall wed Mataswintha, and you two shall stand

nearest to my throne."

"Never!" cried Arahad passionately.

"Thou forgettest," said Duke Guntharis proudly, "that thy bride is in

_our_ tents."

"Duke Guntharis of Tuscany, I might answer that shortly _we_ shall be

in your tents. We are more numerous and not less brave than you, and,

Duke, we have right on our side. I will not speak of that, but only

warn you of the fate of the Goths. Should you conquer _us_, you are too

weak to conquer Belisarius. Even united, we are scarcely strong enough

for that. Give way!"

"It is for thee to give way," said the Woelfung. "If thou lovest the

Goths, lay down thy crown. Canst thou make no sacrifice for thy

people?"

"I can. I have done so. Hast thou a wife, O Guntharis?"

"I have a dear wife."

"I too! I _had_ a dear wife. I have sacrificed her to my people. I have

sent her away, in order to woo Mataswintha."

Duke Guntharis was silent.

But Arahad cried: "Then thou hast never loved her!"

Witichis started; the force of his grief and his love redoubled. His

cheeks flushed, and casting an annihilating look at the alarmed youth,

he cried:

"Talk not to me of love! Blaspheme not, thou foolish boy! Because red

lips and white limbs flash before thee in thy dreams, darest thou to

speak of love? What knowest thou of what I have lost in this wife, the

mother of my sweet child? A world of love and faith! Irritate me not.

My heart is sore. I control my pain and despair with difficulty. Do not

exasperate them, or they will break loose!"

Duke Guntharis had become very thoughtful.

"I knew thee, Witichis, in the wars with the Gepidae. Never saw I

ignoble man deal such noble strokes. I know that there is nought false

in thee. I know the love which binds a man to a good wife. And thou

hast sacrificed such a wife to thy people? That is much!"

"Brother, of what thinkest thou?" cried Arahad. "What dost thou intend

to do?"

"I intend not to allow the House of the Woelfungs to be outdone in

generosity. Noble blood, Arahad, demands noble acts! Tell me one thing

more, Witichis. Wherefore hast thou not rather sacrificed thy crown,

even thy life, than thy wife?"

"Because it would have been the certain destruction of the kingdom.

Twice I would have yielded the crown to Earl Arahad; twice the leaders

of my army swore that they would never acknowledge him. Three, four

Gothic kings might have been chosen, but, by my honour, Earl Arahad

would never have been acknowledged. Then I tore my wife from my

bleeding heart; and now, Duke Guntharis, remember thou also the people

of the Goths. The House of the Woelfungs is lost if the Goths are lost.

If Belisarius lay the axe to the roots of the trunk, the noblest

branches will fall too. I have renounced my wife, the crown of my life;

renounce thou the hope of a crown!"

"It shall not be sung in the halls of the Goths that the freedman

Witichis was more self-sacrificing than the chief of the nobility! The

strife is at an end; I greet thee, my King."

And the proud Duke bent his knee to Witichis, who raised him and

pressed him to his heart.

"Brother! brother! what shame thou dost me!" cried Arahad.

"I look upon it as an honour," said Guntharis quietly. "And as a sign

that my King sees no cowardice, but rather nobleness, in my homage, I

beg a favour. Amelungs and Balthes have ousted my family from the place

which belonged to it among the people of the Goths."

"At this moment," answered Witichis, "thou hast redeemed that place.

The Goths shall never forget that the generosity of the Woelfungs has

saved them from a civil war."

"And, as a sign of this, thou wilt give us the right to bear the

standard of the Goths before the troops in every battle?"

"Be it so," said the King, giving him his right hand; "and none can be

more worthy."

"Thanks, O King! Let us now go to Mataswintha."

"Mataswintha!" cried Arahad, who had looked on at this reconciliation,

which buried all his hopes, in dismay. "Ha! you remind me at the right

time. You can take the crown from me--let it go--but not my love, and

not the duty of protecting my beloved. She has refused me, but I shall

love her until death! I have protected her from my brother, who would

have forced her to wed me. No less faithfully will I protect her now if

you two attempt to force her to give her hand to my hated enemy. That

hand, which is dearer to me than all the crowns of the world, shall be

free!"

And he quickly mounted his horse, and galloped off to the camp.

Witichis looked after him anxiously.

"Let him go," said Duke Guntharis; "we two, united, have nothing to

fear. Let us now reconcile the troops, since the leaders are friends."

While Guntharis first led the King through his lines of troops, and

called upon them at once to do him homage, which they did with joy, and

afterwards Witichis took the Woelfung and his leaders with him into his

camp, where the victory so peacefully gained was looked upon as

miraculous, Arahad collected together a small troop of about a hundred

horsemen, who were faithfully attached to him, and galloped back with

them to his camp.

He soon reached the tent of Mataswintha, who indignantly rose at his

entrance.

"Be not angry. Princess. This time thou hast no right to be so. Arahad

comes to fulfil his last duty. Fly! thou must follow me!" And, in the

impetuosity of his excitement, he grasped her small white hand.

Mataswintha receded a step, and laid her hand upon the broad golden

girdle which confined her white under-garment.

"Fly?" she asked. "Fly whither?"

"Over the sea! over the Alps! Anywhere for liberty; for thy liberty is

endangered."

"Only by thee!"

"By me no longer; and I can protect thee no more. So long as only my

happiness was at stake, I could be cruel to myself and honour thy will.

But now----"

"But now?" repeated Mataswintha, turning pale.

"They intend thee for another. My brother, the army, and our enemies in

Ravenna and the opposite camp, are all agreed. Soon a thousand voices

will call thee, the victim, to the bridal altar. I cannot bear to think

of it! Such a soul, such beauty, a sacrifice to an unloved marriage

bond!"

"Let them come!" said Mataswintha. "We will see if they can force me!"

And she pressed the dagger which she carried in her girdle to her

heart. "Who is the new despot who threatens me?"

"Do not ask!" cried Arahad. "Thy enemy, who is not worthy of thee; who

does not love thee; he--but follow me--fly! They already approach!"

Horses' hoofs were heard outside.

"I remain! Who can force the will of the grandchild of Theodoric?"

"No; thou shalt not, must not, fall into the hands of those heartless

men, who value neither thee nor thy beauty, but only thy right to the

crown. Follow me----"

At this moment the curtain at the entrance of the tent was pushed

aside. Earl Teja entered. Two Gothic boys, dressed in festive garments

of white silk, followed him; they bore a purple cushion, covered with a

veil.

Teja advanced to the middle of the tent, and kneeled before

Mataswintha. He, like the boys, wore a green spray of rue round his

helmet. But his eyes and brow were gloomy, as he said:

"I greet thee. Queen of the Goths and Italians!"

Mataswintha looked at him amazed.

Teja rose, went up to the boys, took a golden circlet and a green

wreath of rue from the cushion, and said:

"I give thee the bridal wreath and the crown, Mataswintha, and invite

thee to the wedding and coronation; the litter awaits thee."

Arahad laid his hand on his sword.

"Who sends thee?" asked Mataswintha, with a beating heart, but her hand

upon her dagger.

"Who but Witichis, the King of the Goths?"

On hearing this a ray of ineffable joy shone from Mataswintha's

beautiful eyes. She raised both hands to heaven and cried:

"Thanks, O heaven! Thy stars and my true heart are not belied. I knew

it!"

She took the coronet into her white hands and pressed it firmly upon

her golden hair.

"I am ready," she said. "Lead me to thy master and mine."

And she majestically held out her hand to Earl Teja, who reverently led

her out of the tent.

But Arahad looked after her in speechless wonder as she disappeared,

his hand still upon his sword.

He was roused by the entrance of Eurich, one of his followers, who came

up to him, and laying his hand upon his shoulder, asked:

"What now? The horses stand and wait. Whither?"

"Whither?" exclaimed Arahad, starting; "whither? There is only one way,

and that we will take. To the Byzantines and death!"