During the day following the nocturnal festival the fleet sailed out of
the harbor of Carthage; it was only necessary to choose the troops
intended for the campaign and to send them on board.
On the evening of this day Gibamund, Hilda, and Verus had gathered
around Gelimer in the great hall of the palace, whose lofty arched
windows afforded a wide view of the sea. Beside the marble table,
heaped with papers, stood Gelimer, his head bowed as if by deep
anxiety; his noble features expressed the gravest care.
"You sent for me, friend Verus, to listen with Gibamund to important
tidings which had arrived within the few hours since Zazo left us. They
must be matters of serious moment, from the expression of your face.
Begin; I am prepared for everything. I have strength to bear the news."
"You will need it," replied the priest, in a hollow tone.
"But shall Hilda also?"
"Oh, let me stay, my King," pleaded the young wife, pressing closer to
her husband. "I am a woman; but I can keep silence. And I wish to know
and share your dangers."
Gelimer held out his hand to her. "Then brave sister-in-law! And bear
with us whatever may be allotted by the stern Judge in heaven."
"Yes," Verus began, "it seems as if the wrath of Heaven indeed rested
on you, King Gelimer." Gelimer shuddered.
"Chancellor," cried Gibamund, indignantly, "cease such words, such
unhallowed thoughts. You are always thrusting the dagger of such
sayings into the soul of the best of men. It seems as if you tortured
him intentionally, fostered this delusion."
"Silence, Gibamund!" said the King, with a deep groan. "It is no
delusion. It is the most terrible truth which religion, conscience, the
history of the world teach; sin will be punished. And when Verus became
my Chancellor, he remained my confessor. Who but he has the right and
the duty to bruise my conscience and, by warning me of the wrath of
God, break the defiant pride of my spirit?"
"But you need strength. King of the Vandals," cried Hilda, her eyes
sparkling wrathfully, "not contrition."
Gelimer waved his hand, and Verus began:
"It is almost crushing, blow upon blow. As soon as the fleet had left
the roadstead (the last sail had barely vanished from our sight), the
messages of evil came. First, from the Visigoths. Simultaneously with
the news from Sardinia a long, long letter from King Theudis arrived.
It contained merely the repetition in many words it came from
Hispalis--that he must consider everything maturely, must test what we
could do in war."
"Test from Hispalis!" muttered Gibamund.
But Verus went on: "A stranger delivered this letter at the palace soon
after our fleet went out to sea. It ran as follows:--
"'To King Gelimer King Theudis.
"'I am writing this in the harbor of Carthage--'"
"What? Impossible!" cried the three listeners.
"'--which I am just leaving. I wished to see the condition of affairs
with my own eyes. For three days I remained among you unrecognized.
Only my brave General, Theudigisel, accompanied me in the fishing boat
which bore me across the narrow arm of the sea from Calpe, and will be
carrying me home again when you read this, Gelimer. You are a true
king, a true hero. I saw you slay the tiger to-night; but you cannot
kill the serpent of degeneration which has coiled around your people.
Your guards sleep at their posts; your nobles go naked, or in women's
garb. I saw them flame up at last, but it is a fire of straw. Even if
they really desired to improve, they could not change in a few weeks
what the slothfulness of two generations has accomplished. The
punishment, the recompense, for our sins does not fail.'" The King
sighed heavily. "'Woe betide him who sought to unite his destiny to
your sinking race! I offer you not alliance, but refuge. If after the
battle is lost, you can escape to Spain,--and I will gladly aid you to
do so,--no Justinian, no Belisarius shall reach you with us.
Farewell!'"
"The subterfuge of cowardice," said Gibamund, resentfully.
"This man is no coward," replied Gelimer, sadly. "He is wise. Well,
then, we will fight alone."
"And invite this wise King Theudis to be our guest at our banquet to
celebrate the victory!" exclaimed Hilda.
"Do not challenge Heaven by idle boasting," warned Gelimer. "But be it
so. The aid of the Visigoths in the war is of less value to us than to
have the Ostrogoths at least remain neutral; to have Sicily--"
"Sicily," interrupted Verus, "if war should be declared, will be the
bridge over which the enemy will march into Africa."
The King's eyes opened wider in astonishment; Gibamund started up, but
Hilda, turning pale, exclaimed,--
"What? My own people? The daughter of the Amalungi?"
"This letter from the Regent has just arrived; Cassiodorus composed it.
I should know by the scholarly style if he had not affixed his
signature. She writes that, too weak to avenge, by her own power, the
blood of her father's sister and many thousand Goths, she will joyfully
see the vengeance of Heaven executed by her imperial friend in
Constantinople."
"The vengeance of Heaven,--retribution," Gelimer repeated in a hollow
tone. "All, all, unite in that!"
"What?" cried Gibamund, in an outburst of rage. "Has the learned
Cassiodorus grown childish? Justinian, the wily intriguer, an avenging
angel of God! And especially that she-devil, whose name I will not
utter in my pure wife's presence! That pair the avengers of God!"
"That proves nothing," Gelimer murmured, talking to himself as if lost
in reverie. "The Fathers of the Church teach that God often uses evil,
sinful men for His deeds of vengeance."
"A wise utterance," said the priest, nodding his head gravely.
"I cannot believe it," cried Gibamund. "Where is the sentence?"
Snatching the letter from Verus's hand, he rapidly glanced through it.
"Sicily shall stand open to the Byzantines,--Justinian her only real
friend, her protector and gracious defender."
"Ah," cried Hilda, sorrowfully, "does the daughter of the great
Theodoric write that?"
"But," Gibamund went on in astonishment, "the sentence about the
vengeance of Heaven--it is not here at all--not one word of it."
"Not in the mere wording, but the meaning is there," said the priest,
taking the letter again and concealing it in the folds of his robe.
The King had not noticed the incident. He was pacing up and down the
spacious hall with slow, hesitating steps, talking to himself. Now he
again approached the table, saying wearily: "Go on. I suppose this is
not all? But the end is coming," he added, unheard by the others.
"Your messenger. King Gelimer, sent to Tripolis to bring Pudentius here
to be tried before your tribunal, has returned."
"When did he arrive?"
"Within an hour."
"Without Pudentius?"
"He refuses to obey."
"What? I gave the messenger a hundred horsemen to bring the traitor by
force if necessary."
"They were received with a discharge of arrows from the walls.
Pudentius had locked the gates, armed the citizens; the city has
forsworn its allegiance to you. The whole province of Tripolitana has
also risen, probably relying upon aid from Constantinople. Pudentius
called from the battlements to your messenger, 'Now Nemesis is
overtaking the bloody Vandals.'"
The King made a gesture as if to ward off invisible powers assailing
him.
"Nemesis?" cried Gibamund. "Yes, she will overtake--the traitor. And
while such peril threatens us close at hand in Africa itself, we send
our best weapon,--the fleet,--the flower of our army, and the hero Zazo
to distant Sardinia! How could you counsel that, Verus?"
"Am I omniscient?" replied the priest, shrugging his shoulders. "I told
you that the messenger returned from Tripolis only an hour ago."
"Oh, brother, brother," urged Gibamund, "give me two thousand men,--no,
only one thousand. I will fly to Tripolis on the wings of the wind and
show the faithless wretch Nemesis as she looks in the Vandal dragon
helmet."
"Not until Zazo returns," replied the King, who had drawn himself up to
his full height. "We will not divide our strength still more. Zazo must
come back at once! It was a grave error to send him. I wonder that I
did not perceive it. But your counsel, Verus--Hush! That is not meant
for a reproach. But a swift sailing ship must follow the fleet
instantly to summon it back."
"Too late, my King," cried Gibamund, who had hurried to the arched
window. "See how high the sea is running, and from the north! The wind
has veered since we came in here, shifted from the southeast to the
north. No ship can overtake the fleet which, borne by a strong south
wind, has a start of many hours."
"O God," sighed Gelimer, "even Thy storms are against us. Only--" and
again he drew himself up--"who knows whether we may not err in
believing the peril so close at hand? Constantinople may send a small
body of troops to aid Sardinia, but whether Justinian will really dare
to attack us on our own soil here in Africa--"
"Oh, if he would but dare!" cried Gibamund.
Just at that moment a priest--he was a deacon from Verus's
basilica--hastened in, and, bowing humbly, handed to his superior a
sealed letter, saying: "This has just been brought by a swift-sailing
ship from Constantinople." He bowed again and left the hall.
At the first sight of the cord fastening the papyrus Verus started so
violently that neither of the three could fail to notice it as
extraordinary in the man who, usually possessing almost superhuman
self-control, never betrayed his emotion by a glance or even a vehement
gesture.
"What fresh misfortune has happened?" cried even the brave Hilda.
"It is the sign agreed upon," said Verus, now gazing at the letter
again with such icy calmness that the very transition from such
agitation to such composure could not fail to perplex the witnesses
afresh. But the little group were not overwhelmed with astonishment
long, and waited impatiently while Verus, with a sharp dagger which he
drew from the breast of his cloak, severed the brownish-red cord. The
pieces, with the dainty little wax-seal fastening them, fell on the
floor. Casting a single glance at the letter, the priest instantly
handed it, without a word, to Gelimer. The King read,--
"You will receive a visit in Africa; the grain ship has sailed. The
Persian merchant is in command."
"This was the agreement between me and my spy in Constantinople: the
brownish-red cord means that war is certain; 'visit' is landing; 'grain
ship' is the fleet; 'the Persian merchant' is Belisarius."
"Ah, that sounds like a war-song," cried Hilda.
"Welcome, Belisarius," cried Gibamund, grasping his sword.
The King threw the letter on the table. His expression was grave but
calm: "Had this paper been in my hand only a day, only a few hours
earlier, all would have been different. I thank you, Verus, that you
obtained the news today, at least."
An almost imperceptible smile--did it mean pride? or was it flattered
vanity?--flickered over the priest's pallid, bloodless lips. "I have
old connections in Constantinople; since this danger threatened I have
eagerly fostered them."
"Well, then," said the King, "let them come! The decision, the
certainty, exerts a soothing, beneficial influence after the long
period of suspense. Now there will be work, military work, which always
does me good; it prevents pondering, thinking."
"Yes, let them come," cried Gibamund; "they break into our country like
robbers, and we will resist them as if they were robbers. What right
has the Emperor to interfere with the succession to the Vandal throne?
Right is on our side; God and victory will also be with us."
"Yes, right is on our side," said the King. "That is my best, my sole
support. God defends the right. He punishes wrong; so He will. He must,
be with us."
This praise of justice, and this joyous confidence in their own cause
seemed by no means to please the priest. With a gloomy frown on his
brow he raised his sharp, penetrating voice, fixing his eyes
threateningly on Gelimer,--
"Justice? Who is just in the eyes of God? The Lord finds sin where we
see none. And He punishes not only present--"
At these words the King relapsed into his former mood; his eyes lost
the bright sparkle of resolution. But Verus could not finish. A loud
noise of voices in angry dispute rose in the corridor leading to the
hall.