Early on the morning of the third day after the meeting in the great
hall of the palace, Hilda and her young charge, Eugenia, were sitting
together in one of the women's apartments, talking eagerly over the
work at which they were industriously toiling.
The narrow but lofty arched window afforded a view of the large square
courtyard of the palace. In which there was an active stir of military
preparation. In one portion of the wide space newly arrived Vandal
recruits were being divided into bands of tens and hundreds; in another
they were discharging arrows and hurling spears at targets made of
planks which, in height, width, and general appearance, resembled as
closely as possible Byzantine warriors in full defensive armor. A
special oval enclosure was reserved for the inspection of horses and
camels offered for sale by Moorish traders. The King, Gibamund, and the
Gundings went from group to group. Hilda was sitting on a pile of
cushions, from which, whenever she looked up, she could see the whole
courtyard without the least difficulty. She was working industriously
upon a large piece of scarlet woollen cloth which lay spread over the
laps of both women. Often the needle fell from her hand, while a
radiant glance flashed down at the noble figure of her slender husband.
If he met it and waved his hand to her,--few of her glances escaped his
notice,--a lovely flush of shy, sweet happiness glowed on the young
wife's cheeks.
Hilda saw that Eugenia stretched her delicate neck forward several
times to obtain a glimpse of the courtyard. But she did not succeed;
her seat was too far back from the window; and when at another attempt
she perceived that her effort had been noticed, she crimsoned with
alarm and shame far more deeply than Hilda had just done from pleasure.
"You have finished the lower hem," said Hilda, kindly. "Push another
cushion on the stool. You must sit higher now, on account of the work."
The young Greek eagerly obeyed, and a stolen glance flew swiftly down
into the courtyard. But her lashes drooped sorrowfully, and she drew
her gold-threaded needle still faster through the red cloth.
"New hundreds will soon arrive," remarked Hilda, "and then other
commanders will come into the courtyard."
Eugenia made no reply, but her face brightened.
"You have been so diligent that we shall soon finish," Hilda went on.
"The setting sun will see Genseric's old banner floating again in
restored beauty from the palace roof."
"The golden dragon is nearly mended, only one wing and the claws--"
"They probably grew dull during the long years of peace, when the
banner lay idle in the arsenal."
"There were frequent battles with the Moors."
"Yes, but Genseric's old battle-standard was not shaken from its proud
dreams on account of those little skirmishes. Only small bodies of
mounted troops rode forth, and the majestic signal of war was not
unfurled on the palace. But now that the kingdom is threatened, Gelimer
has commanded that, according to ancient custom, the great banner
should be unfurled on the roof. My Gibamund brought it to me to replace
the worn embroidery with fresh gold."
"We should have finished it before, if you had not placed those strange
little signs half hidden along the hem--"
"Hush," whispered Hilda, smiling, "he must not know it."
"Who?"
"Why, the pious King. Alas, we shall never understand and agree with
each other!"
"Why must he know nothing about it?"
"They are the ancient runes of victory of our people. My ancestor
Hildebrand taught them to me. And who can tell whether they may not
help?"
As she spoke, she passed her hand over her work with a tender,
caressing motion, humming softly,--
"Revered and ancient
Runes so glorious,
Magical symbols
Of victory's bliss,
Float ye and sway
With the fluttering banner
High o'er our heads!
Summon the swift,
Lovely, and gracious
Maids, brave and bold,
Hovering swan-like
Our heads far above!
Givers of victory,
Radiant sisterhood,
Fetter the foe,
Stay their proud columns,
Weaken their sword-strokes,
Shiver their spears,
Break their firm shields,
Shatter their breastplates,
Hew off their helmets!--
Unto our warriors
Victory send ye;
Joyous pursuit,
Speeding on swift steeds,
Shouting in glee,
After the flying
Ranks of the vanquished!"
"There! The ancient rune has often helped the Amalungi; why should it
not aid the Asdings? Aha! Now let the dragon fly again. He has
moulted," she added, laughing merrily; "now his wings have grown new."
Springing to her feet, she raised the long heavy shaft, terminating in
a sharp point, to which the square scarlet cloth was fastened with
gold-headed nails, and with both hands she waved the banner joyously
around her head. It was a beautiful picture: Gibamund and many of the
warriors below saw the floating banner and the lovely woman's head
surrounded by her flowing golden hair.
"Hail, Hilda, hail!" rose in an echoing shout.
Startled, the young wife sank on her knees to escape their eyes. Yet
she had heard _his_ voice, so she smiled, happy in her embarrassment,
and charming in her confusion.
Eugenia, doubtless, felt the winsome spell, for, suddenly slipping down
beside the Princess, she covered her hands and beautiful round white
arms with ardent kisses. "Oh, lady, why are you so glorious? I often
look up to you with fear. When your eyes flash so, when, like Pallas
Athene, you talk so enthusiastically of battle and heroic deeds, fear
or awe steals over me and holds me away from you. Then again, when--as
has so often happened during these last few days--I have seen your shy,
sweet happiness, your love, your devotion to your husband, then, oh,
then--pardon my presumption--I feel as near, as closely akin to you,
as--as--"
"As a sister, my Eugenia," said Hilda, clasping the charming creature
warmly to her heart. "Believe me, brave, fearless heroism does not
exclude the most loyal, the most devoted wifely love. I have often
argued that question with the most beautiful woman in the whole world."
"Who is that?" asked Eugenia, doubtfully; for how could any one be
fairer than Hilda?
"Mataswintha, granddaughter of the great Theodoric, in the laurel-grown
garden at Ravenna. She would have become my friend; but she desired to
hear only of love, nothing of heroism and duty to people and kingdom.
She knows only one right, one duty--love. This separated us sharply and
rigidly. Yet how touchingly both may be united, a beautiful old legend
celebrates. My noble friend, Teja, once sang it for my grandfather and
me to the accompaniment of his harp, in measures so sorrowful and yet
so proud--ah, as only Teja can sing. I will translate it into your
language. Come, let us mend this corner of the golden hem; meanwhile, I
will tell you."
Both took their seats by the open window again. Once more Eugenia's
glance, still in vain, often flitted over the courtyard, and while the
two were industriously embroidering, the Princess began:
"It was in ancient times: when eagles shrieked, holy waters flowed from
heavenly mountains. Far, far away from here, in the Land of Thule in
Scandinavia, a noble hero was born of the Woelsung race. His name was
Helgi, and he had no peer on earth. When, after great victories over
the Hundings, the hereditary foes of his family, he sat resting on a
rock in the fir-woods, light suddenly burst from the sky, from whose
radiance beams darted like shining lances, and from the clouds rode
the Valkyries, who--according to the beautiful religion of our
ancestors--are hero-maidens who decide the destinies of battle, and
bear the fallen heroes up to the shield-wainscoted halls of the god of
victory. They rode in helmets and breastplates; flames blazed at the
points of their spears. One of them, Sigrun, came to the lonely
warrior, clasped his hand, greeted him, and kissed his lips beneath his
helmet, and they loved each other deeply.
"But Sigrun's father had betrothed her to another, and Helgi was
compelled to wage a hard battle for his love. He killed her lover, her
father, and all her brothers except one. Sigrun herself, hovering in
the clouds, had given him the victory, and she became his wife, though
he had slain her father and her brothers. But soon Helgi, the beloved
hero, was murdered by the one brother whom he had spared. True, the
assassin tried to make amends to the widow; but she cursed him, saying:
'May the ship that carries you never move forward, though a fair wind
is blowing! May the steed that bears you stop running, when you are
fleeing from your foes! May the sword you wield cease to cut, and may
it whirl around your own head! May you live in the world without peace,
as the hunted wolf wanders through the forest!' Disdaining all comfort,
she tore her hair, saying: 'Woe betide the widow who accepts
consolation! She never knew love, for love is eternal. Woe to the wife
who has lost her husband! Her heart is desolate; why should she live
on?'"
Eugenia softly repeated the words: "Woe betide the widow who accepts
consolation! She never knew love, for love is eternal. Woe to the wife
who has lost her husband! Her heart is desolate; why should she live
on?"
"'Helgi towered above all other heroes, as the ash towers above thorns
and thistles. For the widow there remains but one spot on earth--her
husband's grave. Sigrun will no longer find pleasure in this world,
unless perchance a light should burst from the doors of his tomb, and I
might again embrace him.'
"And so mighty, so all-constraining is the longing of the true
widow, that it will even break the power of death. In the evening a
maid-servant came running to Sigrun, saying: 'Hasten forth, if you wish
to have your husband again. Look! the mound has opened; a light is
streaming from it; your longing has brought the hero from the heaven of
the god of victory; he is sitting in the mound and beseeches you to
stanch his bleeding wounds.'"
Eugenia, in a low, trembling voice, repeated: "The longing of the true
widow will even break the power of death."
"Sigrun went in to Helgi, kissed him, stanched his wounds, and said:
'Your locks are drenched with moisture; you are covered with blood;
your hands are cold--how shall I keep you?' 'You are the sole cause,'
he replied. 'You shed so many tears, and each fell a blood-stain upon
Helgi's breast.' 'Then I will weep no more,' she cried; 'but will rest
upon your heart, as I did in life.' 'You will remain in the mound with
me, in the arms of the dead, though you still live,' cried Helgi,
exultingly.
"You will remain in the mound, in the arms of the dead, though you
still live," Eugenia repeated.
"But the legend relates that when Sigrun also died, both were born
again: he a victorious hero, but she a Valkyrie. This is the ballad of
how a woman's true love, a widow's true anguish, conquers death, and,
in omnipotent yearning, even forces a passage into the grave to the
beloved one."
"And in omnipotent yearning forces a passage into the grave to the
beloved one."
Hilda looked up suddenly. "Child, what is the matter?" The Princess had
spoken with such enthusiasm that at last she paid no heed to her
listener. But now she heard a low sob, and, in bewilderment, saw the
Greek kneeling on the floor, bending forward over the stool, hiding her
lovely face in both hands; tears were streaming between the slender
fingers.
"Eugenia!"
"O Hilda, it is so beautiful. It must be so blissful to be loved! And
it is also happiness to love unto death. Oh, happy Gibamund's Hilda!
Oh, happy Helgi's Sigrun! How this song makes the heart ache and yet
rejoice! How beautiful and, alas, how true it is, that love conquers
all things, and draws the loving woman to her beloved, even to his
grave! They are united in death, if no longer in life. That thought
possesses stronger power than spell or magnet."
"O sister, does this little heart love so strongly, so fervently, so
genuinely? Speak freely at last. Not a single word during all these
days have you--"
"I could not! I was so ashamed for myself, and, alas! for him. And I
dare not speak of my love! It is a disgrace and shame. For he, my
bridegroom,--no, my husband,--does not love me!"
"Indeed he does love you, or why should the reckless noble have wooed
you so humbly?"
"Alas, I do not know. Hundreds of times during the last few days have
I asked myself that question. I do not know. True, I believed--until
the day before yesterday--it was from love. And often this foolish
heart believes it still. But, no, it was not love. Caprice
weariness--perhaps," and now she trembled wrathfully, "a wager,--a game
that he desired to win and which lost its charm as soon as he
succeeded."
"No, my little dove! Thrasaric is incapable of that."
"Oh, yes, oh, yes!" Eugenia sobbed despairingly. "He is capable of it."
"I do not believe it," said the Princess, and, sitting down beside her,
she lifted the forsaken little bride into her arms as if she were a
child, dried her wet cheeks with the folds of her own white mantle,
stroked her burning lids, smoothed her tangled hair, pressed the
little head to her soft bosom, and rocked gently to and fro, saying
soothingly: "Everything will be well again, little one, and soon; for
he does love you. That is certain."
A suppressed sob and a slight shake of the head said, No!
"Certain! I do not know, nor do I wish to know, what that woman hissed
into your ear. But I saw how it wounded you, like a poisoned arrow.
Whatever it may be--"
"I will never, never, never tell!" the girl fairly shrieked.
"I do not wish to know, I told you. Whatever his guilt may be, the
Christians have a beautiful saying: 'Love beareth all things.'"
"Love beareth all things," murmured Eugenia. "But, of course, love
only. Tell me, little sister, do you really love him?"
The weeping girl, springing from the Princess's clasping arms, stood
erect, and stretching both arms wide exclaimed, in a low tone, "Alas!
Unspeakably!" and threw herself again on her friend's breast. Her large
soft eyes sparkled through her tears as she went on in a low whisper,
as though fearing that strangers might hear in the secluded chamber:
"That is my sweet secret,--the secret of my shame." She smiled
radiantly. "I loved him long ago, I believe even as a child. When he
came to my father to buy grain for his villas, he lifted me in his
strong arms like a feather, until I--gradually--forbade it. The older I
grew, the more ardently I loved, and therefore the more timidly I
avoided him. Oh, do not betray it as long as you live--when he
seized me, bore me away in the public street--fiercely as my wrath, my
honor rebelled, deeply as I suffered from pity for my father--yet
yet--yet! While struggling desperately in his iron arms, screaming for
help--yet!--in the midst of all the mortal fright and anger, there
blazed here in my heart, secretly, a warm, happy, blissful emotion: 'He
loves me; he tortures me from love!' And, amid all the keen suffering,
I was happy, nay, proud, that he dared so bold a deed for love of me!
Can you understand, can you forgive that?"
Hilda smiled bewitchingly: "Forgive? No! I am utterly bewildered with
sheer pleasure. Forgive _me_, little one. I had not expected from you
so much genuine, ardent woman's love! But, you obstinate little
creature, you hypocrite,--why did you so long conceal and deny your
feelings toward him from your father and your friend?"
"Why? That is perfectly plain," exclaimed the girl, indignantly. "From
embarrassment and shame. It is terrible, it is a frightful disgrace,
for a young girl, instead of hating the man who seized her in the
public market-place, and even kissed her at the same time, to love him.
It is utterly abominable."
Half weeping, half smiling, she hid her face on her friend's breast,
tenderly kissing a little gold cross that she wore round her neck
attached to a thin silver chain, and lovingly pressing to her bosom a
bronze semi-circle, inscribed with runes, that she wore on her arm.
"His betrothal and, alas, his marriage gift," she sighed.
"Yes, you love him deeply," said Hilda, smiling. "And he? He sent my
Gibamund to me with frequent messages of the anguish he was suffering,
and he was as grateful as a blind man who has been restored to sight
when I told him that he was indeed wholly unworthy of you; but if he
really desired to win you for his wife, he must ask you if you would
wed him, and then beg your father for your hand. This simple bit of
wisdom made him as happy as a child. He followed the counsel, and
now--"
"Now?" Eugenia interrupted, in almost comical indignation. "Now he has
not been seen at all for nearly three days. Who knows how far away he
may be?"
"Not very far," cried Hilda, laughing; "he is just riding into the
courtyard below."
Eugenia's little head was at the window like a flash of lightning. A
half-stifled cry of joy escaped her lips, then she instantly stooped
again.
"Oh, oh, how magnificent he looks!" cried Hilda, clasping her hands
with the most joyful surprise. "In full, heavy armor, a huge bear-head
with gaping jaws on his helmet--"
"Oh, yes! He killed it himself on the Auras Mountain," murmured the
little bride.
"And how the skin floats around his mighty shoulders! He carries a
spear as thick as a sapling, and on his shield--What is the emblem? A
stone-hammer?"
"Yes, yes," cried Eugenia, eagerly, lifting her head cautiously to the
window-sill, "that is his house-mark. His family descends, according to
ancient tradition, from a red-bearded demon with a hammer--I don't
remember the name."
"What demon?" exclaimed Hilda. "The god Donar is his ancestor, and
Thrasaric does him honor. He is talking with Gibamund. They are looking
up; he is saluting me. Oh dear, how pale and sad the poor giant looks!"
"Is that true?" The little brown head flew up again.
"Stoop, little one! He must not see that we are far less able to bear
the yearning than he. My husband is waving his hand to me. He is coming
upstairs; Thrasaric seems to be following him."
Eugenia had already vanished in the next room.