"It was high time. Already the lances of the Byzantines were hurtling

at us. Our three horses fell. We all sprang up unhurt. A spear struck

the shield which Thrasaric had forced upon the boy, penetrating the

hammer on it. A dozen of our men had now reached us. Six sprang from

their horses, levelling their lances. We were enough to block the

narrow entrance. The Byzantines dashed upon us; only three horses could

come abreast. We three killed two horses and one man. Our foes were

obliged to remove the dead animals, our three and the fourth, to gain

space. While doing this Ammata sprang forward and struck down another

Byzantine. As he leaped back an arrow grazed his neck; the blood burst

forth; the boy laughed. Again the foes dashed forward. Again two fell.

But Ammata was obliged to drop the hammer shield, there were now so

many spears sticking in it, and Thrasaric received a lance-thrust in

his shieldless left arm. Behind the Byzantines we now heard German

horns; the sound was like the blast announcing the approach of our

Vandal horsemen. 'Gibamund, or the King!' our men shouted. 'We are

saved.'

"But we were lost. They were Herulians in the Emperor's pay. Their

leader, a tall figure with eagle wings on his helmet, instantly assumed

command of all the forces. He ordered several men to dismount and climb

the wall of the granary at his right; others trotted toward the left,

to ride around the villa, and at the same time they overwhelmed us with

a shower of spears. The boar's helm flew from my head, two lances had

struck it at the same moment; a third now hit my skull and stretched me

on the ground. At that moment, when our eyes were all fixed upon the

enemy in front, a man on foot forced his way through our horsemen from

the basilica behind. I heard a hoarse cry: 'Wait, boy!' and saw the

flash of a sword. Ammata fell forward on his knees.

"It was Bleda, the captive Hun. The torn rope still dragged from his

ankle. He had wrenched himself free and seized a weapon; before he

could draw the sword from the boy's back Thrasaric's spear pierced him

through and through. But the noble had forgotten the foes in front, and

no longer struck the flying lances aside. Two spears pierced him at

once; he received a deep wound in the thigh and staggered against the

wall of the villa.

"A narrow door close beside him opened, and on the threshold stood

Astarte. 'Come, my beloved, I will save you,' she said, seizing his

arm. 'A secret passage from my cellar--'

"But Thrasaric silently shook her off and threw himself before the

kneeling boy. For now Herulians and Byzantines, on foot and on

horseback, were pressing forward in dense throngs. The door closed.

"I tried to rise, but could not; so, unable to aid, helpless myself,

but covered by a dead horse behind which I had fallen, I saw the end. I

will make the story brief. So long as he could move an arm, the

faithful giant protected the boy with sword and spear; finally, when

the spear-head was hacked off, the sword broken, he sheltered the boy

with his own body. I saw how he spread the huge bearskin over him as a

shield, and clasped both arms around the child's breast.

"'Surrender, brave warrior,' cried the leader of the Herulians. But

Thrasaric--hark! What was that?"

"A groan? Yonder! Does your foot ache, my Gibamund?"

"I made no sound. It was probably a night-bird--outside--before the

tent."

"But Thrasaric shook his huge head and hurled his sword-hilt into the

face of the nearest Byzantine, who fell, shrieking. Then so many lances

flew at the same instant that Ammata sank lifeless on the ground.

Thrasaric did not fall, but stood bending forward, his arms hanging

loosely. The Herulian leader went close to him. 'In truth,' he said,

'never have I seen anything like this. The man is dead; but he cannot

fall, so many spears, with handles resting on the ground, are fixed in

his breast.' He gently drew out several; the strong noble slid down

beside Ammata.

"Our men had fled as soon as they saw us both fall. Past me--I lay as

though lifeless swept the foe in pursuit. Not until after a long time,

when everything was still, did I succeed in raising myself a little. So

I was found beside Ammata by the King, to whom I told the fate of both.

The rest--how he lost the moment of victory, nay, threw away the

victory already won, you know."

"We know it," said Hilda, in a hollow tone.

"And where is Ammata--where is Thrasaric buried?" questioned Gibamund.

"Close beside Decimum, in two mounds. The land belongs to a colonist.

According to the custom of our ancestors, our men placed three spears

upright upon each hillock. The King's horsemen then carried me back,

and placed me on a charger, which bore me through this pitiable flight.

Shame on this Vandal people! They let their princes and nobles fight

and bleed--alone! The masses have accomplished nothing but a speedy

flight."

CHAPTER VIII

The intense darkness of the night was already yielding in the eastern

sky to a faint gray glimmer of twilight, but the stars were still

shining in the heavens, when a slender little figure glided

noiselessly, but very swiftly, through the streets of the camp.

The shaggy dogs watching their masters' tents growled, but did not

bark; they were afraid of the creature slipping by so softly. A Vandal,

mounting guard at a street-corner, superstitiously made the sign of the

cross and avoided the wraith floating past. But the white form

approached him.

"Where is Decimum? I mean, in which direction?" it asked in low,

hurried tones.

"In the east, yonder." He pointed with his spear.

"How far is it?"

"How far? Very distant. We rode as fast as the horses could run; for

fear pursued us,--I really do not know of what,--and we did not draw

rein till we reached here. We dashed along six or eight hours before we

arrived."

"No matter."

The hurrying figure soon reached the exit of the camp. The guards

stationed there let her pass unmolested. One called after her:

"Where are you going? Not that way! The enemy is there."

"Don't stay long!" a Moor shouted after her; "the evil wind is rising."

But she was already gone. Directly behind the camp she turned from the

path marked by many footprints, also by weapons lost or thrown

away,--if that name could be given to this track through the desert.

Running several hundred paces south of the line extending from west to

east, she plunged into the wilderness, crossing, meanwhile, several

high, dome-like sand-hills. These mounds are piled up by the changing

winds blowing through the desert in every direction, but most

frequently from the south to north; and the narrow sand ravines beside

them often, for the distance of a quarter of a league, obstruct the

view of the person passing through them over the nearest sand-wave.

Not until she believed herself too far from the road to be seen, did

she again turn in her original direction, eastward, or what she thought

was east. Meantime, it is true, the fiery, glowing rising sun had

extinguished the light of the stars and marked the east; but soon

thereafter the crimson disk vanished behind vaporous clouds, the

exhalations of the desert. She ran on and on and on. She was now

entirely within the domain of the desert. There was no longer any

distinguishing object,--no tree, no bush, nothing but sky above and

sand below. True, there were sometimes sand valleys, sometimes sand

heights, but these, too, were perfectly uniform. On, on she ran. "Only

to reach his grave!" she thought. "Only his grave. Always straight on!"

It was so still, so strangely still.

Once only she fancied that she saw, far, far away on her left,

corresponding with the "path," hurrying cloud-shadows; perhaps they

were ostriches or antelopes. No, she thought she heard human voices

calling, but very, very distant. Yet it sounded like "Eugenia!"

Startled, she stooped down close to the sand-hill at her left; it would

prevent her being seen from that direction. Even if the valley in which

she was now cowering could be overlooked from a hillock, the back of

the mound would protect her. "Eugenia!" Now the name seemed to come

again more distinctly; the tones were like Hilda's voice. The low,

distant sound died tremulously away, sorrowful, hopeless. All was still

again. She started up, and ran on breathlessly.

But the fugitive now grew uneasy, because she had lost her direction.

What if she was not keeping a perfectly straight course? Then she

thought of looking back. The print of every one of her light footsteps

was firmly impressed upon the sand. The line was perfectly straight;

she rejoiced over her wisdom. Then she often glanced behind--at almost

every hundred steps--to test. Only forward, forward! She was growing

anxious. Drops of perspiration had long been falling from her forehead

and her bare arms. It was growing hot, very hot, and so strangely

sultry--the sky so leaden gray. A light, whistling wind sprang up,

blowing from south to north.

Eugenia glanced back again. Oh, horror! She saw no sign of her

footsteps. The whole expanse lay behind her as smooth as though she

were just starting on her way. As if dazed by astonishment, she stamped

on the sand; directly after, before her eyes, the impression was filled

up, completely effaced by the finest sand, which was driven by the

light breeze.

Startled, she pressed her hand upon her beating heart--and grasped

sand; a fine but thick layer had incrusted her garments, her hair, her

face. Through her bewildered thoughts darted the remembrance of having

heard how human beings, animals, whole caravans, had been covered by

such sand-storms, how, heaped by the wind, the sand often rose like

huge waves, burying all life beneath it. She fancied that on her right,

on the south, a hill of sand was towering; it seemed moving swiftly

onward, and threatened to bar her way. So she must run yet faster to

escape it. Her path was still open. Just at that moment, from the

south, a gust of wind suddenly blew with great force. Snatching the

braided hat from her head, it whirled it swiftly northward. In an

instant it was almost out of sight. To overtake it was impossible.

Besides, she must go toward the east. Forward!

The wind grew stronger and stronger. The sun, rising higher, darted

scorching rays upon her unprotected head; her dark-brown hair fluttered

wildly around. Incrusted with salt, it struck her eyes or lashed her

cheeks and stung her keenly. She could scarcely keep her eyes open; the

fine sand forced its way through their long lashes. On. The sand

entered her shoes; the band across the instep of the left one broke.

She lifted her foot; the wind tore off the shoe and whirled it away. It

was certainly no misfortune, yet she wept--wept over her helplessness.

She sank to her knees; the malicious sand rose slowly higher and

higher. A shrill, harsh, disagreeable cry fell on her ear,--the first

sound in the tremendous silence for many hours; a dark figure, flying

from north to south, flitted for a moment along the horizon. It was an

ostrich, fleeing in mortal terror before the simoom. With head and long

white neck far outstretched, aiding the swift movement of its long legs

by flapping its curved dark wings like sails, it glided on like an

arrow. Already it was out of sight.

"That bird is hurrying with such might to save its life. Shall my

strength fail when I am hastening to the man I love? 'For shame, little

one!' he would say." Smiling through her tears, she ran forward. So an

hour passed--many hours.

Often she thought that she must have lost the right direction, or she

would have reached the battlefield long ago. The wind had risen to a

tempest. Her heart beat with suffocating strength. Giddiness seized

her; she tottered; she must rest. Now, here, no Vandal could overtake

her to keep her by force from her sacred goal.

Just at that moment something white appeared above the sand close

beside her. It was the first break for hours in the monotonous yellow

surface. The object was no stone. Seizing it, Eugenia dragged it from

the sand. Oh, despair and horror! She shrieked aloud in desperation, in

terror, in the sense of cheerless, hopeless helplessness. It was her

own shoe, which she had lost hours before. She had been wandering in a

circle. Or had the wind borne it far away from the place where she lost

it? Yet, no! The shoe, which she now flung down, weeping, was swiftly

covered with sand, instead of being carried away by the wind. After

exhausting the last remnant of her strength, she was in the same spot.

To die--now--to give up all effort--to rest--to sleep--now sweet was

the temptation to the wearied limbs.

But, no! To him! What were the words? "And it _constrained_ the

faithful one and drew her to the grave of the dead hero." To him!

Eugenia raised herself with great difficulty, she was already so weak.

And when she had barely gained her feet, the storm blew her down once

more. Again she rose, trying to see if some human being, some house, if

not the path, was visible. Just then she perceived before her in the

north a sand-hill, higher than any of the others. It was probably more

than a hundred feet. If she could succeed in climbing it, she would be

able from the top to get a wide view. With inexpressible difficulty,

sinking knee-deep at nearly every step in the looser sand, until her

foot reached the older, firmer soil, she pressed upward, often falling

back several paces when she stumbled. While she did so the strangest,

most alarming thing happened,--at every slip the whole sand-hill

creaked, trembled, and began to slide down in every direction. At

first Eugenia stopped in terror; she thought the whole mountain would

sink with her. But she conquered her fear, and at last climbed

upward on her knees, for she could no longer stand; she thrust her

hands into the sand and dragged herself up. The wind--no, it was now a

hurricane--assisted her; it blew from south to north. At last--the

climb seemed to her longer than the whole previous way--at last she

reached the top. Opening her eyes, which she had kept half closed, she

saw--oh, bliss! she saw deliverance. Before her, at a long distance, it

is true, yet plainly visible, glittered a steel-blue line. It was the

sea! And at the side, eastward, she fancied she saw houses, trees.

Surely that was Decimum; and a little farther inland rose a dark hill--

the end of the desert. She imagined,--yet surely it was impossible to

see so far,--she believed or dreamed that, on the summit of the hill,

she beheld three slender black lines relieved against the clear

horizon. Surely those were the three spears on the grave. "Beloved One!

My hero!" she cried, "I am coming."

With outstretched arms she tried to hurry down the sand-hill on the

northeastern: side, but, at the first step, she sank in to the

knee,--deeper still, to the waist. She could still see the blue sky

above her. Once more, with her last strength, she flung both arms high

above her head, thrusting her hands into the sand to the wrists

to drag herself up; once more the large beautiful antelope eyes

gazed beseechingly--ah, so despairingly--up to the silent sky; another

wild, desperate pull--a hollow sound as of a heavy fall. The whole

sand-mountain, shaken by her struggles and swept by the hurricane from

the south, fell over her northward, burying her nearly a hundred feet

deep, stifling her in a moment. Above her lofty grave the desert storm

raved exultingly.

* * * * *

For decades the beautiful corpse lay undisturbed, unprofaned, until

that ever-changing architect, the wind, gradually removed the sand-hill

and, one stormy night, at last blew it away entirely.

Just at that time a pious hermit, one of the desert monks who begged

his scanty fare in Decimum and carried it to his sand cave, passed

along. Often and often he had come that way; the hurricane had bared

the skeleton only the day before. The old man stood before it,

thoughtful. The little dazzlingly white bones were so dainty, so

delicate, as if fashioned by an artist's hand; the garments, like the

flesh, had long been completely consumed by the trickling moisture; but

the lofty sand ridge had faithfully kept its beautiful secret, not a

bone was missing. For a human generation the dry sand of the desert,

though garments and flesh had gone to decay, had preserved uninjured

the outlines of the figure as it had been pressed into the sand under

the heavy weight. One could see that the buried girl had tried to

protect eyes and mouth with her right hand; the left lay in a graceful

attitude across her breast; her face was turned toward the ground.

"Who were you, dainty child, that found a solitary death here?" said

the holy man, deeply touched. "For there is no trace of a companion

near. A child, or a girl just entering maidenhood? But, at any rate, a

Christian--no Moor; here on her neck, fastened by a silver chain, is a

gold cross. And beside it a strange ornament,--a bronze half-circle

with characters inscribed on it, not Latin, Greek, nor Hebrew. No

matter. The girl's bones shall not remain scattered in the desert. The

Christian shall sleep in consecrated ground. The peasants must help me

to bury her here or in the neighborhood."

He went to Decimum. The traces of the Vandal battle had long since

vanished. The village children who had then fled were now grown men,

the owners of the houses and fields. The peasant to whom the hermit

related his touching discovery listened attentively. But when the

latter spoke of the bronze half-circle with the singular characters, he

interrupted him, exclaiming:

"Strange! In the hill-tomb, the great stone vault outside of our

village,--I own the hill, and vines grow on the southern slope,--there

lies, according to trustworthy tradition, a Vandal boy-prince who fell

here, and beside him a mighty warrior, a terrible giant, who is said to

have remained faithfully by his side. The priests say he was a monster,

a god of thunder, one of the old pagan gods of the Barbarians, with

whose fall fortune deserted them. Well, the giant has hanging on his

arm a half-circle exactly like the one you describe. Perhaps the two

belonged together? Who knows? We cannot dig a grave in the desert; even

if we try, the wind will blow it away. Come, I'll harness the horses to

my wagon; we will go out to the dead woman and lay her beside the

giant; his grave has already been consecrated by the priests."

This was done. But when they had placed the delicate form beside the

mighty one, and the monk had muttered a prayer, he asked: "Tell me,

friend,--I saw with joyful surprise that you had left all the ornaments

upon the dead; and that you should receive nothing for your trouble

with the poor girl's skeleton is not exactly--"

"Peasant custom, do you mean? You are right, holy father. But you see.

King Gelimer, who once reigned here, enjoined upon my father after the

battle to take faithful care of the graves; he was to keep them as if

they were a sanctuary until Gelimer should return and carry the bodies

to Carthage. King Gelimer never returned to Decimum. But my father, on

his deathbed, committed the care of this tomb to me; and so shall I,

before I die, to the curly-headed boy who helped us to carry the

little skeleton. For King Gelimer was kind to every one,--to us Romans,

too,--and had done my father many a favor in the days of the Vandals.

Already many say he was no man, but a demon,--a wicked one, according

to some, a good one, most declare. But, man or demon, good he certainly

was; for my father has often praised him."

So little Eugenia at last reached her hero's side.

CHAPTER IX

PROCOPIUS TO CETHEGUS:

I am writing this--really and truly, though it is not yet three months

since we left Constantinople--in Carthage, at the capitol, in the royal

palace of the Asdings, in the hall of Genseric the Terrible. I often

doubt the fact myself--but it is so! On the day after the battle at

Decimum the infantry, coming from the camp, joined us, and the whole

army marched to Carthage, which we reached in the evening. We chose a

place to encamp outside of the city, though no one opposed our

entrance. Nay, the Carthaginians had opened all their gates and lighted

torches and lanterns everywhere in the streets and squares. All night

long the bonfires shone from the city into our camp, while the few

Vandals who had not fled sought shelter in the Catholic churches.

But Belisarius most strictly prohibited entering the city during the

night. He feared an ambush, a stratagem of war. He could not believe

that Genseric's capital had actually fallen into his hands with so

little trouble.

On the following day, borne by a favoring breeze, our ships rounded the

promontory. As soon as the Carthaginians recognized our flag, they

broke the iron chains of their outer harbor, Mandracium, and beckoned

to our sailors to enter. But the commanders, mindful of Belisarius's

warning, anchored in the harbor of Stagnum, five thousand paces from

the city, waiting further orders. Yet that the worthy citizens of

Carthage might make the acquaintance of their liberators on the very

first day, a ship's captain, Kalonymos, with several sailors, entered

Mandracium, against the orders of Belisarius and the Quaestor, and

plundered all the merchants--Carthaginians as well as strangers--who

had their homes and storehouses on the harbor. He took all their money,

many of their goods, and even the beautiful candlesticks and lanterns

which they had brought out in honor of our arrival.

We had hoped--Belisarius gave orders for a diligent search--to liberate

the captive King Hilderic and his nephew. But this, it appears, was not

accomplished. In the royal citadel, high up on the hill crowned by the

capitol, is the gloomy dungeon where the usurper held the Asdings

prisoners, as he barred all his foes here. The executioner supplied the

place of a jailer to his predecessors. He also held captive many

merchants of our empire, fearing (and my Hegelochus showed with what

good reason; the General sent him to-day with rich gifts to Syracuse)

that, if allowed to sail thither, they might bring us all sorts of

valuable information. When the jailer, a Roman, heard of our victory at

Decimum, and saw our galleys rounding the promontory, he released all

these captives. He wanted to set the King and Euages free also, but

their dungeon was empty. No one knows what has become of them.

At noon Belisarius ordered the ships' crews to land, all the troops to

clean their weapons and armor, to present the best appearance, and now

the whole army marched in full battle-array--for we still feared an

ambush of the Vandals--through the "Grove of the Empress Theodora" (so

I hear the grateful Carthaginians have rebaptized it); then through the

southern Byzacenian gate, and finally through the lower city.

Belisarius and the principal leaders, with some picked troops, went up

to the capitol, and our General formally took his seat upon Genseric's

gold and purple throne. Belisarius ordered the noonday meal to be

served in the dining-hall where Gelimer entertained the Vandal nobles.

It is called "Delphica," because its principal ornament is a beautiful

tripod. Here the General feasted the leaders of his army. A banquet had

been prepared in it the day before for Gelimer, but we now ate the

dishes made to celebrate his victory; spiced by this thought, their

flavor was excellent. And Gelimer's servants brought in the platters,

filled the drinking vessels with fragrant wine, waited upon us in every

way. This is another instance of the goddess Tyche's pleasure in

playing with the changing destinies of mortals. You, O Cethegus, I am

well aware, have a different opinion of the final causes of events; you

see the fixed action of a law in the deeds of human beings, as well as

in storms and sunshine. This may be magnificent, heroic, but it is

terrible. I have a narrow mind, and am precisely the opposite of a

hero; I cannot endure it. I waver skeptically to and fro. Sometimes I

see only the whimsical ruling of a blind chance, which delights in

alternately lifting up and casting down; sometimes I think an

inscrutable God directs everything to mysterious ends. I have renounced

all philosophizing, and enjoy the motley current of events, not without

scorn and derision for the follies of other people, but no less for

those of Procopius.

And yet I do not wish to break off entirely all relations with the

Christian's God. We do not know whether, after all, the Son of Man may

not yet return in the clouds of heaven. In that case, I would far

rather be with the sheep than with the goats.

The people, the liberated Romans, the Catholics, in their delight over

their rescue, see signs and wonders everywhere. They regard our Huns as

angels of the Lord. They will yet learn to know these angels,

especially if they have pretty wives or daughters, or even only full

money-chests. The comical part of it is that (except Belisarius's

body-guard), our soldiers, with all due respect to the Emperor, are

principally a miserable lot of rascals from all the provinces of the

empire, and all the Barbarian peoples in the neighborhood; they are

always as ready to steal, pillage, and murder as they are to fight. Yet

we ourselves, in consequence of the amazing good fortune which has

accompanied us throughout this whole enterprise, are beginning to

consider ourselves the chosen favorites of the Lord, His sacred

instrument--thieves and cut-throats though we are! So the entire army,

pagans as well as Christians, believe that that spring gushed out for

us in the desert only by a miracle of God. So both the army and the

Carthaginians believe in a lantern miracle in the following singular

incident.

The Carthaginians' principal saint is Saint Cyprian, who has more than

a dozen basilicas and chapels, in which all his festivals, "the great

Cypriani," are magnificently celebrated. But the Vandals took nearly

all the churches from the Catholics, and dedicated them to the Arian

worship. This was the case with the great basilica of Saint Cyprian

down by the harbor, from which they drove the Catholic priests. The

loss of this cathedral caused them special sorrow, and they said that

Saint Cyprian had repeatedly appeared to devout souls in a dream,

comforted them, and announced that he would some day avenge the wrong

committed by the Vandals. This seems to me rather _un_saintly in the

great saint; we poor sinners on earth are daily exhorted to forgive our

enemies, and the wrathful saint ought to let his vengeful feelings

cool, and thus remain the holy Cyprian. The pious Catholics, thus

pleasantly strengthened and justified in their thirst for revenge by

their patron saint, had long waited, in mingled curiosity and anxiety,

for the blow Saint Cyprian was to deal the heretics. On this day it

became evident. The festival of the great Cyprian was just at hand; it

fell on the day following the battle of Decimum. On the evening before,

the Arian priests themselves had decorated the entire church

magnificently, and especially arranged thousands of little lamps, in

order to have a brilliant illumination at night to celebrate the

victory; for they did not doubt the success of their own army. By the

written order of the Archdeacon Verus,--he had accompanied the King to

the field,--all the church vessels and church treasures of every

description were brought out of the hidden thesauri and placed upon the

seven altars of the basilica. Never would these unsuspected riches have

been found in the secret vaults of the church, had not Verus given

these directions and sent the keys.

But we, not the Vandals, won the battle of Decimum. At this news the

Arian priests fled headlong from the city. The Catholics poured into

the basilica, discovered the secret treasures of the heretics, and

lighted their lamps to celebrate the victory of the champions of the

true faith. "This is the vengeance of Saint Cyprian!" "This is the

miracle of the lamps!" Through the city they went, roaring these words

and cuffing and pounding every doubter until he believed and shouted

with them: "Yes, this is Saint Cyprian's vengeance and the miracle of

the lamps!"

Now I have not the least objection to an occasional miracle. On

the contrary, I am glad when something often happens that the

all-explaining philosophers who have so long tormented me cannot

understand. But then it must be a genuine, thorough-going miracle. If a

miracle cannot present itself as something entirely beyond the limits

of reason, it would better not attempt to be a miracle at all; it isn't

worth while. And this miracle appears to me far too natural. Belisarius

reproved my incredulous derision. But I replied that Saint Cyprian

seems to me the patron saint of the lamplighters; I don't belong to

that society.

* * * * *

Fara, the Herulian, captured the fairest booty at Decimum. True, he

received from the noble a sharp lance-thrust in the arm through his

brazen shield. But the shield had done its duty; the point did not

penetrate too deeply into the flesh. And when he entered the nearest

villa,--he was just breaking in,--the door opened, and a wonderfully

beautiful woman, with superb jewels and scarlet flowers in her black

hair, came to meet him. Except the flowers and gems, she was not

burdened with too much clothing.

The vision held out a wreath of laurel and pomegranate blossoms.

"Whom did you expect?" asked the Herulian, in amazement.

"The victor," replied the beautiful woman.

A somewhat oracular reply! This Sphinx--she looks, I have already told

you, exactly like one--would undoubtedly have given her wreath and

herself just as willingly to the victorious Vandals. After all, what

does the Carthaginian care for either Vandals or Byzantines? She is the

prize of the stronger, the conqueror--perhaps to his destruction. But I

think the Sphinx has now found her [OE]dipus. If one of this strange

pair of lovers must perish, it will hardly be my friend Fara. He took

me to her; he has some regard for me, because I can read and write. He

had evidently praised me. In vain. She scanned me from head to foot,

and from foot to head, it did not consume much time; I am not very

tall,--then, with a contemptuous curl of her full red lips, she moved

far away from me. I will not assert that I am handsome, while Fara,

next to Belisarius, is certainly the stateliest of all our six and

thirty thousand men. But I was indignant that my mortal part at once so

repelled her that she did not even desire to know the immortal side. I

am angered against her, I wish her no evil; but it would neither

greatly surprise, nor deeply grieve me, if she should come to a bad

end.

CHAPTER X

Belisarius is pushing the work on the walls day and night. Besides the

whole army and the crews of the ships, he has employed the citizens.

They grumble, saying that we came to liberate them, and now compel them

to harder labor than Gelimer ever imposed. The vast extent of the city

wall shows many gaps and holes; we think that may be the reason the

King did not retreat into his capital after the lost battle. Verus,

who, even in secular matters, holds a high place in the esteem of the

"Tyrant" (this, according to Justinian's command, is the name we must

give the champion of his people's liberty), is said, according to the

statements of the prisoners, to have advised the King from the first to

shut himself up in Carthage and let us besiege him there. If that is

true, the priest knows more about lamps than he does of war, but that

is natural. The very first night, our General says, we could have

slipped in through some gap, especially as many thousand Carthaginians

were ready to show us such holes. And we should have captured the whole

Vandal grandeur at one blow, as if in a mouse-trap; while now we must

seek the enemy in the desert. The King instantly rejected the counsel.

* * * * *

The goddess Tyche is the one woman in whom I often really feel tempted

to believe. And also in Ate,--Discord. To you, Ate and Tyche, mighty

sisters, not to Saint Cyprian, we must light lanterns to show our

gratitude. The goddess of Fortune is not weary of playing ball with the

destinies of the Vandals, but she could not do it, if Ate had not

placed this ball in her hands.

Yesterday a little sail-boat ran into the harbor from the north. It

bore the scarlet Vandal flag. Captured by our guard-ships, which were

lurking unseen behind the high wall of the harbor, the Barbarians on

board were frightened nearly to death; they had had no idea of the

capture of their capital. They had come directly from Sardinia! To send

the flower of their fleet and army there, while we were already lying

off Sicily, was surely prompted by Ate. On the captain was found a

letter with the following contents:

"Hail, and victory to you, O King of the Vandals! Where now are your

gloomy forebodings? I announce victory. We landed at Caralis, the

capital of Sardinia. We took harbor, city, and capitol. Goda, the

traitor, fell by my spear; his men are dispersed or prisoners; the

whole island is again yours. Celebrate a feast of victory. It is the

omen of a greater day, when you will crush the insolent foes who, as we

have just heard here, are really sailing against our coasts. Not one

must return from our Africa! This writes Zazo, your faithful General

and brother."

That was yesterday; and to-day one of our cruisers brought into the

harbor a Vandal galley captured on its way to Sardinia. It bore a

messenger from Gelimer with the following letter:

"It was not Goda who lured us to Sardinia, but a demon of hell in

Goda's form, whom God has permitted to destroy us. You did not set

forth that we might vanquish Sardinia, but that our foes might conquer

Africa. It was the will of Heaven, since God ordained your voyage. You

had scarcely sailed, when Belisarius landed. His army is small, but

fortune as well as heroism abandoned our people. The nation has no

good-luck, and its King no discernment; even wise plans are ruined by

the impetuosity of one or the kind heart of another. Ammata, our

darling, has fallen; Thrasaric the faithful has fallen; Gibamund is

wounded; our army was defeated at Decimum. Our ship-wharves, our

harbors, our armory, our horses, Carthage itself are in the hands of

the enemy. But the Vandals whom I still hold together seem to have been

stupefied by the first blow; they cannot be roused, though everything

is at stake. The short-lived outburst of energy has vanished from

nearly all. It is shameful to say, but there is far more capacity for

war in the twelve thousand Moorish mercenaries, whom I hired with heavy

gold and have assembled in a strong camp at Bulla, than in our whole

intimidated army. Should these men also fail me, the end would soon

come. Our sole hope is on you and your return. Let Sardinia and the

punishment of the rebellion go; fly hither with the whole fleet. Do not

land at Carthage, however, but far to the left, on the boundary between

Mauritania and Numidia. Let us avert or bear together the threatening

destruction.

GELIMER."

The letters of the brothers cross each other, and both fall into our

hands! And now the King will vainly await his fleet in the west. Come,

Goddess Tyche, puff out your cheeks, blow upon the sails of the Vandal

galleys, and bring them all in safety with the victorious army,

Gelimer's last hope, into the harbor of Carthage--to captivity.

* * * * *

The Goddess Tyche, too, is just a woman, like the rest. Suddenly she

turns her back upon us--at least a little--and coquets with the

fair-haired warriors. I might be inclined to turn again to the

holy lamplighter. The "Tyrant" is making progress. How? By his kind

heart and friendliness, people say. He is winning the country

population,--not the Moors, no,--the Romans, the Catholics. Hear and

help, O Saint Cyprian! He is drawing them from us to his side. He

maintains strict discipline; but the only time our Huns do not rob,

plunder, and steal is when they are standing in rank and file before

Belisarius--or when they are asleep; but then they at least dream of

pillaging. So the peasants whom we have liberated flee in throngs from

their deliverers to the camp of the Barbarian King. They prefer the

Vandals to the Huns. They collect together, fall upon our plundering

heroes (true, they are largely camp-followers), cut off their pagan,

nay, even their Christian heads, and receive in exchange from the

"Tyrant" a heretical gold-piece. That alone would not be so bad, but

the peasants serve the Vandal as spies, and tell him everything he

desires to know, so far as they know it themselves. This kindness of

heart is undoubtedly hypocrisy, but it helps,--perhaps more than if it

were genuine.

* * * * *

I am really almost sorry for the Sphinx. She was so wonderfully

beautiful! Only it is a pity that she did not become an animal instead

of a woman. Fara discovered that she also allowed Althias the Thracian

and Aigan the Hun to divine the mystery of her nature. At first the

three heroes intended to fight to the death for the marvel. But this

time the Hun was wiser than either the German or the Thracian. By his

suggestion, they fraternally divided the woman into equal portions by

strapping her on a board, and, with two blows of an axe, separating her

into three parts. Fara received the head, as was fair; he had the best

right to it. For when she noticed his distrust, she tried to soothe him

by the offer of some fruit which she broke fresh from the tree. But she

made a mistake there; Fara, the Herulian and pagan, likes horse-flesh

far better than he does peaches. He gave it to her ape. The animal bit

it, shook itself, and lay dead. This disturbed the German, and he did

not rest until he had solved all the riddles of the many-sided Sphinx,

even her natural faithlessness. Then, as I said, they divided the

beautiful body into three parts. I advised them to bury the corpse very

deep, or at night scorching red flames would burst from her grave.

* * * * *

A little defeat.

Belisarius was complaining he knew too little of the enemy. So he sent

one of the best men of his body-guard, Diogenes, towards the southwest

to obtain news. He and his men spent the night in a village. The

peasants swore that there was not a Vandal within two days' march. Our

heroes slept in the best house,--it belonged to the villicus,--in the

second story; of course they had first been a long time under the lower

story, that is, in the cellar. They posted no sentinels, certainly not;

they are the liberators of the peasants. The fact that they had just

drunk all the wine contained in all the amphorae in the village, killed

the people's cattle, embraced their wives, had nothing to do with the

matter. Peasants must expect such things.

Soon they were all snoring, Diogenes in the lead. Night fell. The

peasants quickly brought the Vandals,--from the immediate

neighborhood,--who surrounded the house. But Saint Cyprian is stronger

than the heaviest drunken sleep. He caused a sword to drop on a metal

shield below; it waked--this is a miracle in which I believe, for no

mortal could accomplish it--it waked one of the sleepers. Under cover

of the darkness most of the men succeeded in escaping; Diogenes came

back, too--with three wounds in his face and neck, minus the little

finger of his sword-hand, and without a single piece of useful

information.

* * * * *

The Goddess Tyche is blowing badly. The Vandal fleet has not yet run

into Carthage to its destruction.

* * * * *

The Tyrant seems to have roused his army from its stupor. Our outposts,

horsemen whom we send forth around the city, report: "Vast clouds of

dust are rising in the southwest, which can be caused only by an

approaching army."

* * * * *

No Zazo. Has he, in spite of the capture of that letter, received

warning and chosen another landing-place? The Vandals were undoubtedly

hidden in that cloud of dust. Our Herulians have captured a few

peasants; we have already perceived in this almost liberated Africa

that the peasants must be captured by their deliverers, if we wish to

get sight of them. They seek refuge with the Barbarians from liberty.

The prisoners say that the King himself is marching against us. He

ordered a Vandal noble who had stolen a colonist's wife to be hanged on

the high door of the colonist's house. And this nobleman's

shieldbearer, who had taken two of the colonist's geese, to be hanged

on the low stable door, beside his master. Strange, is it not? But it

pleases the peasants. "Equalizing justice," Aristoteles calls it. This

wonderful Vandal hero must surely have studied philosophy, as well as

the art of throwing spears.

Belisarius has sent an urgent warning to Constantinople concerning the

long-delayed pay of the Huns. They are growing troublesome. It is now

six months since we left the city; December has come. Desert storms

sweep over Carthage to the leaden-hued sea, which long since lost its

beautiful blue. The Huns are threatening to leave the service. They

excuse their pillaging on the ground that the citizens of Carthage and

the peasants will trust neither them nor the Emperor (in which they are

not wrong). We cannot pay with money lying in Constantinople, they say.

To-day a ship arrived from there, but did not bring a single solidus in

money. There were, however, thirty tax-collectors, and a command to

send the first taxes from the conquered province.

* * * * *

If King Gelimer hangs, we hang too. But we hang Romans, not Vandals.

The resentment against us is no longer confined to the peasants. It is

seething in Carthage, under our own eyes. The common people, the

tradesmen and the smaller merchants especially, who did not feel the

oppression of the Barbarians as heavily as the wealthy Senators, are

growing rebellious. A conspiracy has been discovered. Gelimer's army is

not far from the western, the Numidian gate. His horsemen range at

night as far as the walls of the suburb of Aklas. The Vandals were to

be admitted under cover of the darkness through the gaps still

remaining in the walls of the lower city. Belisarius ordered two

Carthaginian citizens convicted of this agreement, Laurus and Victor,

to be hanged on the hill outside of the Numidian gate. Belisarius likes

hills for his gallows. Then the General's administration of justice can

be seen for a long distance swaying in the wind. But Belisarius does

not dare to leave the city with the army while the Carthaginians are in

such a mood. At least the walls must first be repaired. The citizens

are now compelled to work on them at night too; it is making them very

discontented.

* * * * *

No Zazo! and the Huns are on the brink of open mutiny. They declare

that they will not fight in the next battle; that they have had no pay

yet, and that they have been lured here across the sea, contrary to the

agreement for military service. They are afraid that, after the defeat

of the Vandals, they will be left here to do garrison duty, and never

be taken home. Belisarius has already looked for a more spacious hill,

but has not found one that would be large enough. There are too many of

them. And the rest of us are, on the whole, too few. Besides, they are

among our best troops. So the General invited their leaders (the order

to hang them was written yesterday) to dine with him to-day. This is

the greatest honor and pleasure to them; unfortunately it is much less

pleasant to the regular guests of Belisarius. He praised them, and

offered them wine. Soon all were drunk and perfectly content.

* * * * *

They have slept off their carouse, and now are more dissatisfied than

ever,--thirstier too. We have an ample supply of wine, but, during the

last three hours, no water. The Vandals have cut the magnificent

aqueduct outside the Numidian gate. The Huns can do without it, easily;

but not we, the horses, the camels, and the Carthaginians. So the King

will thus force a decisive battle in the field. He cannot surround the

city, as we control the sea. He cannot storm it, since at last the

fortifications are completed according to Belisarius's plan. He

desires, he seeks a battle in the open field. His confidence, or that

of his "stupefied army," must have returned mightily since that

sorrowful letter.

Belisarius has no choice; he will lead us out early to-morrow morning

to meet the foe. He is anxious lest the Huns may secretly harbor some

evil design, and has charged Fara to keep a sharp watch upon them. If

the battle should waver, the Huns will waver too. Then we shall see in

the van a conflict between Byzantines and Vandals, and in the rear a

struggle between Herulians and Huns. That may become exciting. But this

very suspense, this charm of danger, attracted me to Belisarius's

service, drew me to his camp. Better a Vandal arrow in my brain than

the philosophy over which I had studied myself ill.--To-morrow!

CHAPTER XI

The following day, after again inspecting the restored fortifications

of Carthage, and finding them sufficiently strong to receive, in case

of necessity, his defeated army and defy a siege, Belisarius sent all

the cavalry, except five hundred picked Illyrians, out of the gates to

meet the foe. To Althias the Thracian he assigned the chosen body of

shield-bearers with the imperial banner. They were not to shun, but

rather invite a skirmish with the outposts. He himself was to follow

the next day with the main body of the infantry and the five hundred

Illyrian horsemen. Only the few soldiers absolutely required to guard

the gates, towers, and walls remained in the city.

At Trikameron, about seventeen Roman miles--seventeen thousand

paces--west of Carthage, Althias met the foe.

The front ranks of both troops exchanged a few arrow-shots, and

returned to their armies with the report. The Byzantines pitched

their camp where they stood. Not far from them blazed the numerous

watch-fires of the Vandals. A narrow brook ran between the two

positions. The whole region was flat and treeless, with the exception

of one hill of moderate size that rose from the sandy soil very near

the stream on the left wing of the Romans.

Without waiting for Althias's command or permission, Aigan, the

principal leader of the Huns, dashed up the hill as soon as he heard

that the men were to encamp here to-day and fight on the morrow. The

other leaders and their bands darted after him with the speed of an

arrow. He sent a message to Althias that the Huns would spend the night

on the hill, and take their position the next day. Althias avoided

forbidding what he could not prevent without bloodshed. But the hill

dominated the surrounding neighborhood.

At a late hour of the night, the chieftains of the Huns met on the top

of the hill.

"Is there no spy near?" asked Aigan. "This Herulian Prince never leaves

us."

"My lord, I obeyed your commands. Seventy Huns are lying on guard in a

circle around our station; not a bird can fly over them unnoticed."

"What shall we do to-morrow?" asked a third, leaning against his

horse's shoulder and patting its shaggy mane. "I no longer trust the

word of Belisarius. He is deceiving us."

"Belisarius is not deceiving us. His master is deluding _him_."

"I saw a strange sign," the second leader began anxiously. "Just as

darkness closed in, little blue flames danced upon the points of the

Romans' spears. What does that mean?"

"It means victory," cried the third, greatly excited. "There is a

tradition in our tribe, my great-grandfather saw it himself, and it was

transmitted from generation to generation, before the terrible day in

Gaul when the scourge of the great Attila broke."

"Atta in the clouds, great Atta, be gracious to us," murmured all

three, bowing low toward the east.

"My ancestor was on guard duty one dark night beside a rushing stream.

On the opposite shore two men, with spears on their shoulders, were

riding to examine the neighborhood. My great-grandfather and his

companions slipped among the tall rushes and bent their bows, which

never failed. They took aim. 'Look, AEtius,' cried one, 'your spear is

shining.' 'And yours too, King of the Visigoths,' replied the other.

Our ancestors looked up, and, in truth, blue flames were dancing around

the spears of the enemy. Our people fled in terror, not daring to shoot

those whom the gods protected. And the day after Atta--"

"Atta, Atta, be not angry with us!" they again whispered, gazing in

terror up at the clouds.

"What then meant victory to the Germans and misfortune to their foes,"

replied Aigan, distrustfully, "may have the same meaning now. We will

wait. Wherever victory turns, we will turn too; that is why I chose

this hill for our station. From here we can see clearly the whole

course of the battle. Either straight across the brook on the Vandals'

left flank--"

"Or to the right on the Romans' centre--like a whirlwind!"

"I would rather plunder the Vandals' camp. It is said to be very rich

in yellow gold."

"And in white-bosomed women."

"But all Carthage has more gold than the Vandal Prince in his tent."

"But the best part is, the decision will probably come before the Lion

of the Romans arrives."

"You are right: I would not willingly spur my horse against the

wrathful lightning of his eyes."

"Patience. Wait quietly. Wherever I send an arrow, we will rush; and

Atta will hover, high in the air, above his children."

Removing his helmet of thick black sheepskin, he threw it upward,

singing softly:

"Atta, Atta, booty grant us,

Booty to thy much-loved children,

Yellow gold and shining silver,

And the red blood of the vineyard,

And the foeman's fairest women."

All, with bared heads, repeated the words in the deepest, most fervent

reverence. Then Aigan replaced his helmet:

"Silence! Let us separate."

CHAPTER XII

In the Vandal camp on the left bank of the stream, Genseric's great

banner floated from the royal tent, its folds often lifted by the night

wind, rustling softly in the warm, dark air. In a somewhat lower tent,

close beside the King's, Gibamund and Hilda sat silent, hand in hand,

upon a couch. The table before them was covered with Gibamund's

weapons; the lamp hanging from the roof cast a dim light upon them,

which was reflected by the polished metal. Beside these bright arms lay

a dark dagger with a beautiful hilt in a black leather sheath, all of

very artistic work.

"It was hard for me," said Gibamund, starting up impatiently, "to

obey the King's order and take command in the camp to-day until his

return,--the suspense, the expectation is so great."

"Yes, if the Moors should fail us! How many are there, did you say?"

"Twelve thousand. They ought to have arrived the day before yesterday,

if they had hastened here from the camp at Bulla, according to the

agreement. The King sent messenger after messenger, urging haste,

in vain. At last, full of impatience, he himself rode along the

Numidian road to meet them. For if twelve thousand infantry fail us

to-morrow,--they were to form our whole left wing,--our position will

be--hark! that is the horn of the camp-guard. The King must have

returned. Let me ask."

But already footsteps and the clank of weapons were heard close at

hand; the husband and wife, springing up, hurried to the entrance of

the tent. The curtains were drawn back from the outside, and before

them, the helmet on his lofty head, stood Zazo.

"You, brother?"

"You back again, Zazo! Oh, now all is well!"

Graver, quieter than usual, but resolute and calm, the strong warrior

stood between the two who clung to him, pressing his hands. It was a

joy, a consolation, to look at the erect, steadfast man.

"All is not well, my sweet sister-in-law," he answered sadly though

firmly. "Alas for Ammata, and the whole day of Decimum! I do not

understand it," he added, shaking his head, "but much may yet be

retrieved."

"Whence came you so suddenly? Have you seen Gelimer?"

"He will be here soon. He promised me. He is still praying in his tent,

with Verus."

"You are from--?"

"Sardinia, direct. A letter from the King, sent by Verus, urging me to

a speedy return and warning me not to enter the harbor of Carthage, did

not reach me. But a second, despatched by my brother himself, brought

the whole tale of disaster. I landed at the point named, and marched to

Bulla to meet the Moorish mercenaries and lead them here. I reached

Bulla and found--" He stamped his foot.

"Well, what?"

"The empty camp."

"Had the Moors started to come here?"

"They have scattered, the whole twelve thousand, into the desert."

"For God's sake--"

"The traitors!"

"Not traitors. They sent the money back to the King. Cabaon, their

prophet and chief, warned them, forbade them to take part in this

battle. All obeyed. Only a few hundred men from the Pappua Mountains--"

"They are bound by the ties of hospitality to Gelimer, to the whole

Asding race."

"--accompanied us, led by Sersaon, their chief."

"This destroys the King's whole plan for to-morrow's battle."

"Well," said Zazo, quietly, "to make amends he has unexpectedly

received my troops. Not quite five thousand, but--"

"But you are their leader," cried Gibamund.

"He met on the Numidian road, first, the messengers I had sent in

advance, then me and my little army. What a sorrowful hour! How I had

rejoiced over my victory! But now Gelimer's tears flowed fast as he lay

on my breast, and I myself--Oh, Ammata! Yet, no, we must remain firm,

calm, and manly, ay, hard; for this King is far too soft-hearted."

"Yet he has recovered himself since the battle of Decimum," said

Gibamund. "At that time he was utterly crushed."

"Yes," cried Hilda, resentfully, "more than a man should permit himself

to be."

"I loved Ammata scarcely less than he," replied Zazo, and his lips

quivered. "But to let certain victory escape him merely to mourn for,

to bury the boy--"

"You would not have done so, my Zazo," said a gentle voice.

Gelimer had entered. He uttered the words very quietly; the others

turned, startled.

"Your censure is just," he added. "But I saw in this dispensation--he

was the first Vandal who fell in the war--a judgment of God. If the

most innocent of us all must die, God's punishment for the iniquity of

the fathers rests upon us all."

Zazo shook his head angrily and set his buffalo helmet on the table so

heavily that it rattled. "Brother, brother! This gloomy, brooding

delusion may destroy you and your whole people. I am not learned enough

to argue with you. But I, too, am a Christian, a devout one,--no pagan

like beautiful Hilda yonder, and I tell you--No, let me finish. How

that terrible verse concerning God's vengeance is to be interpreted I

do not know. It troubles me very little. But this I do know: if our

kingdom fall, it will fall not on account of the sins of our ancestors,

but of our own. The iniquity of the fathers--of course it, too, will be

avenged. Vices and disease are also hereditary. Enfeebled themselves,

they have begotten a feeble generation. They have bequeathed to their

children their love of pleasure and fostered it in them. And the

iniquity of the fathers is also avenged upon us in other ways, but

without any miracle of the saints. That the Catholics, tortured for

years, turned to the Emperor against us; that the Ostrogoths aid our

foes, are certainly punishments for the iniquity of our fathers. But

God needs to work no miracle for that; indeed, he would be compelled to

work a miracle to prevent it. And Ammata--is he innocent? Against your

command he dashed recklessly into the battle. And Thrasaric? Instead of

leaving the disobedient boy to his fate, according to his duty as

General, and not attacking until Gibamund was at hand, he followed only

the ardent desire of his heart to save your darling. And--"

He hesitated.

"And the King?" Gelimer went on. "Instead of doing his duty, he

succumbs at the sight of the dead. But that is the curse, the vengeance

of the Lord."

"No," replied Zazo. "This, too, is no miracle. This is because you,

also, O brother, are no longer a true Vandal; I have said so before.

You are absorbed,--not like the people, in luxury and pleasure,--but in

brooding. And again it is a consequence of the misdeed of the father;

if you had not when a boy witnessed that horrible scene of torture--But

it is useless to ask how the past is to blame for the present; the aim

should be to do our duty to-day, to-morrow, every day, firmly,

faithfully, and without brooding. Then we shall conquer, and that will

be well; or we shall fall like men, and that, too, is no evil thing. We

can do no more than our duty. And the dear Lord in Heaven will deal

with our souls according to His mercy. I am not anxious about mine, if

I fall in battle for my people."

"Oh," cried Hilda, joyously, "that does one good. It is like the fresh

north wind scattering the sultry mists."

Sorrowfully but with no reproach in his tone, Gelimer answered: "Yes,

the sound man cannot understand why the sick man does not sing and

leap. I _must_ 'brood,' as you call it; I cannot do otherwise. Yet

often I think my way through. Often I, too, in my way, break through

the mists. So now, by fervent prayer, I have again won my way to the

old strong consolation. Verus, my confessor, knows these conflicts and

the cause of my victory: right is on my side. I am not a usurper, as

the Emperor falsely calls me. Hilderic, the assassin, was justly

deposed. No guilt cleaves to me; I have done Hilderic no wrong; the

Emperor has no injustice to avenge on me. This is my stay, my support,

and my staff.--Ah, Verus, we never hear you enter."

Zazo measured the priest with a hostile glance.

"I came to summon you, O King. There are still some written orders to

prepare. Besides, I was to remind you of the prisoners."

"Oh, yes. Listen, Zazo; give the consent I have so long asked. Let me

release Hilderic and Euages."

"By no means," cried Zazo, striding up and down the narrow tent. "On no

account. Least of all on the eve of a decisive battle. Shall Belisarius

replace him on the throne of Carthage after we have fallen? Or shall

he, after we have conquered, be kept continually at the court of

Constantinople as a living pretext for attacking us again? Off with the

murderers' heads! Where are they?"

"Here in the camp, in safe keeping."

"And the hostages?"

"They were--Pudentius's son among them--confined in Decimum," Verus

answered. "After the lost battle, they were freed by the victors."

"That might be repeated to-morrow," cried Zazo, angrily. "Amid the

tumult of conflict, the foe might easily, for a short time, enter this

open camp. I entreat, my King--"

"So be it," interrupted the latter, and turning to Verus he ordered:

"Have Hilderic and Euages taken away."

"Where?"

"To some safe place where no Byzantine can liberate them."

Verus bowed and hurriedly left the tent.

"I will follow you," the King called after him. "Do not judge me too

sternly in your hearts, you thoroughly healthy people," he now added in

a gentle voice, turning to the others. "I am a tree blasted by the

lightning. But to-morrow," he went on, drawing himself up to his full

height, "to-morrow, I hope, you shall be satisfied with me. Even you,

Hilda! Send me your little harp; I believe you will not regret it."

Hilda brought the instrument from a corner of the tent. "Here! But you

know," she said, smiling, "its strings will break if any one tries to

play on them an accompaniment to Latin verses of penitential hymns."

"They will not break. Good-night."

The King left the tent.

"I think I have seen that harp of plain black wood in some other hand.

Where was it?" asked Zazo. "In Ravenna, was it not?"

Hilda nodded. "My friend Teja, my teacher on the harp and in the use of

arms, bestowed it on me as a wedding gift. And his noble, faithful

heart has not forgotten me. In my happiness he made no sign. But now--"

"Well?" asked Zazo.

"As soon as the first news of our defeat at Decimum reached Ravenna,"

said Gibamund, "brave Ostrogoths, the old instructor in the use of

arms, Teja, and several others, wished to come to our assistance with a

body of volunteers; for it was rumored that I had fallen. Probably the

mistake arose through the death of Ammata. The Regent strictly forbade

it. Then Teja sent to my widow, as he supposed, this magnificent dagger

of dark metal."

"The workmanship is exquisite," said Zazo, drawing out the blade and

examining it. "What a superb weapon!"

"And he forged it himself," cried Hilda, eagerly. "Look here; his

housemark on the hilt."

"And on the blade a motto inscribed in runes," added Zazo, stepping

under the lamp: "'The dead are free.' H'm, a stern consolation. But not

too stern for Hilda. Keep this carefully."

"Yes," replied Hilda, quietly. "The dagger in my girdle, and the

consolation in my thoughts."

"But not too soon, Hilda," said Zazo, in a tone of warning, as he left

the tent.

"Have no fear," she answered, throwing both arms around her husband;

"it is the consolation and weapon of the _widow_."

CHAPTER XIII

At sunrise the next morning the long-drawn notes of the horns aroused

the sleeping camp of the Vandals.

Concealed from the eyes of the Romans by the first row of tents, the

Barbarians' army was formed in order for battle within its own camp.

The leaders had received written orders the evening before concerning

their positions, and now executed them without confusion. A breakfast

of bread and wine was served to the men wherever they stood or lay. The

camp was a large one, narrow but very long, following the course of the

little stream. Besides the soldiers, it had been compelled to shelter

many women, children, and old men who had fled from Carthage and other

districts occupied or threatened by the foe.

Now the blare of trumpets summoned the subordinate officers and the

leaders of the thousands to the centre of the camp, where the King and

his two brothers, mounted on their chargers, were in the midst of a

large open space. With them, leaning against the shoulder of her

splendid stallion, stood Hilda, a muffled spear-shaft in her hand;

beside her, in full priestly insignia, Verus sat on horseback. Outside

the leaders were massed the men with whom Zazo had reconquered

Sardinia.

Again the blare of the trumpets echoed through the streets of tents,

then Zazo rode a few paces forward. Thundering cheers greeted him. In

loud, clear tones he began: "Listen, army of the Vandals. We shall

fight to-day, not for victory alone; we are struggling for all we are

and have,--the kingdom of Genseric and its renown, the wives and

children in yonder tents, who will become slaves if we yield. To-day we

must look death and the enemy closely in the eye. The King has

commanded that this battle is to be fought by the Vandals with the

sword only, not with bow and arrow, not with lance and spear. Look, I

cast my own spear from me; you will do the same; with sword in hand,

press close to the body of the foe." He dropped his lance; all the

soldiers followed his example. "One spear alone," he added, "will tower

aloft to-day in the Vandal army,--this."

Hilda stepped forward. Taking the shaft from her hand, he tore off the

cover and waved high aloft a floating scarlet banner.

"Genseric's flag! Genseric's conquering dragon!" shouted thousands of

voices.

"Follow this standard wherever it calls you. Do not let it fall into

the hands of the enemy. Swear to follow it unto death."

"Unto death!" came the answer in solemn tones.

"That is well. I believe you. Vandals. Now listen to your King. You

know that he has the gift of song and harp-playing. He has planned the

order of battle wisely, skilfully; he has also composed the battle-song

which is to sweep you into the conflict."

Then Gelimer, throwing back his long purple mantle, raised

Hilda's--Teja's--dark triangular harp, and, to the accompaniment of its

clear notes, sang:--

"On, on, Vandals brave,

Forward to battle!

Follow the standard,

The fame-heralded

Consort of Victory.

"Dash on the foemen!

Strive with and strike them,

Breast 'gainst breast pressing,

In close combat down!

"Guard ye, O Vandals,

The heritage noble

Of ancestors stainless,

Our kingdom and fame!

"Vengeance is preparing

High in the heavens

The avenger of right:

God crown with victory

The cause that is just."

"God crown with victory the cause that is just!" repeated the warriors,

in an exulting shout, and dispersed through the streets of the camp.

The King and his brothers now dismounted from their horses, to hold

another short council and to drink the wine which Hilda herself offered

to them. Just at that moment, as Gelimer gave back the harp to Hilda, a

strange figure pressed through the dispersing ranks; the King and the

Princes gazed at it in astonishment. A tall man clad from head to

ankles in a gown of camel's hair, fastened around the loins, not by a

rope, but by a girdle of thick braided strands of a woman's light-brown

tresses; no sandals protected the bare feet, no covering the closely

shaven head. The cheeks were sunken; glowing eyes sparkled from deep

sockets. Throwing himself before the King, he raised both hands

imploringly.

"By Heaven! I know you, man," said Gelimer.

"Yes," cried Gibamund, "it is--"

"Thrasabad, Thrasaric's brother," added Zazo.

"The vanished nobleman whom we have long believed dead," said Hilda,

with a timid glance at him, drawing nearer.

"Yes, Thrasabad," replied a hollow voice, "the miserable Thrasabad. I

am a murderer, her murderer. King, judge me!"

Gelimer bent forward, took his right hand, and raised him.

"Not the Greek girl's murderer. I have heard the whole story from your

brother."

"No matter; her blood rests on my soul. I felt that as I saw it flow.

Lifting the beautiful body on a horse that very night, I dashed away

with it from the eyes of men. Away, always deeper into the desert, till

the horse fell. Then, with these hands, I buried her in a sand ravine

not far from here. Her wonderfully beautiful hair I cut off; how often

I have stroked and caressed it! And I prayed and did penance

ceaselessly beside her grave. Pious desert monks found me there,

watching and fasting, almost dead. And I confessed to them my heavy

sin. They promised God's forgiveness if, as one of their brotherhood, I

would do penance beside that grave forever. I took the vows. They gave

me the dress of their order; I wound Glauke's hair around it to remind

me always of my sin; and they brought me food in the lonely ravine. But

since I heard of the day of Decimum and my brother's death; since the

decisive conflict drew nearer and nearer; since you and the enemy

pitched your camp close beside my hiding-place; since, two days ago, I

heard the war horns of my people,--I have had no peace in my idle

praying! Once I wielded the sword not badly. My whole heart yearned to

follow once more, for the last time, the call of the battle trumpets.

Alas! I dared not; I knew I was not worthy. But last night, in a dream,

_she_ appeared to me,--her human beauty transfigured into an angel's

radiant loveliness, no longer any trace of earth about her; and she

said: 'Go to your brothers-in-arms, ask for a sword, and fight and fall

for your people. That will be the best atonement.' Oh, believe me, my

King! I do not lie with the name of that saint on my lips. If you can

forgive me for her sake--oh, let me--"

Zazo stepped forward, drew the sword from the sheath of one of his own

warriors, and gave it to the monk. "Here, Thrasabad, son of Thrasamer!

I will answer for it to the King. Do you see? He, too, is nodding to

you. Take this sword and go with my men. You will probably need no

scabbard. Now, King Gelimer, let the horns bray. Forward! at the foe!"

CHAPTER XIV

The King, with a keen eye of a general, had seen that the crisis of the

battle would be decided in the centre of the two armies, where on the

southwest at the left, and on the northeast at the right of the little

stream, rose a succession of low hills. Besides, deserters from the

Huns had reported that in the next encounter these troops would either

not fight at all, or take a very inactive part; therefore Gelimer

expected from the right Roman wing no peril to his own left flank. He

stationed the right wing of the Vandal troops tolerably far back, so

that the enemy would have to march a considerable distance to reach it.

Perhaps by that time the centre might already have won the victory, and

thereby obtained the accession of the Huns.

So the King placed the best strength of his troops in the centre. By

far the larger portion consisted of cavalry; there was a small force of

infantry, Zazo's warriors, numbering nearly five thousand; here, too,

he had posted Gibamund with his faithful two hundred men; here were the

two Gundings and their numerous kinsmen, with boar helmets and boar

shields, like their leaders; here he himself took his station with a

large body of cavalry, to which he added the few faithful Moors from

the Pappua Mountains under their young chief, Sersaon. The command of

the two wings he had intrusted to two other noblemen. Before the

beginning of the battle and during its course, Gelimer dashed in person

on a swift horse everywhere through the ranks, rousing and stimulating

the courage of his men.

The conflict began as the King had planned, by a total surprise of the

foe. Just at the time the Byzantines were busied in preparing the

morning meal, Gelimer suddenly led the centre of his army from behind

the shelter of the row of tents to the left bank of the marshy little

brook. This stream was so small that it had no name, yet it never dried

up. And the left bank occupied by the Vandals was higher than the

right. Belisarius was not yet on the ground, but his subordinate

officers arranged their men as well as they could in their haste, where

each division happened to be standing or lying. The right Roman wing on

the hill consisted of the Huns, who did not move. Next to them,

according to secret orders, stood Fara with the Herulians, watching

these doubtful allies. Then followed, in the centre, Althias the

Thracian and Johannes the Armenian, with their picked troops of their

fellow-countrymen, and the shield and lance bearers of Belisarius's

bodyguard. Here gleamed the imperial standard, the _vexillum

praetorium_, the flag of the General, Belisarius. The left Roman wing

was formed of the other auxiliary troops except the Huns. The

Byzantines, too, had perceived that the victory would be decided in the

centre of the two armies. When Gibamund, on his white charger, led his

men forward, Hilda on her splendid stallion rode at his side. By her

husband's wish she had protected her beautiful head with a light

helmet, on which rose two white falcon wings; her bright golden locks

flowed over her white mantle. He had also pressed upon her a small,

shining shield, with a light silvery hue. Her white lower robe was

girdled with the black belt which supported the sheath of Teja's

dagger; but she had refused a breastplate on account of its weight.

"You will not let me fight with you or even ride by your side," she

complained.

Already the Byzantines' arrows were flying over the Vandals and

striking among Gibamund's men.

"Halt, love," he commanded, "go no farther! Not within reach of the

arrows! Wait here, on this little hill. I will leave ten men as a

guard. From this spot you can see a long distance. Watch the white

heron's wings on my helmet, and the dragon banner. I shall follow it."

A clasp of the hand; Gibamund dashed forward; Hilda quietly checked the

docile horse. Her face was very pale.

The first encounter came at once.

Johannes the Armenian, one of Belisarius's best leaders, pressed with

his countrymen through the stream, which reached only to their knees,

and rushed out of it up the steeper Vandal shore. He was instantly

hurled back. Zazo, with his foremost warriors, darted upon him with the

weight with which a bird of prey strikes small game. Down the slope,

into the midst of the stream, whose water was soon dyed red, and up the

opposite bank, swept the Vandal pursuit. Hilda saw it plainly from her

station. "Oh, at last, at last," she cried, "a breath of victory!"

But Zazo followed no farther. He prudently led his men back to the left

bank of the stream. "We will pitch them down here again," he said,

laughing; "we will profit once more by our position on the height."

The Armenians bore their brave leader away with them in their flight.

Johannes, who had received through his shield a wound in the arm from

Zazo's sword, said grimly to Marcellus, the commander of the bodyguard:

"The devil has got into the cowards of Decimum. It confuses my spearmen

to have them fight solely with the sword. The Barbarians thrust the

long spears to the right, run under them, and cut the men down. And

this fellow with the buffalo helm actually butts like a mountain bull.

Give me your shield-bearers; I will try again."

With the shield-bearers, led by Martinus, the Armenians renewed the

attack. Not an arrow, not a spear, flew to meet them; but as soon as

they began to climb the Vandal shore, the Germans dashed down on them

with the sword in a hand-to-hand conflict. Martinus fell by Gibamund's

sword. Then the shield-bearers fled; the Armenians hesitated, wavered,

fell into confusion, finally they, too, fled, pursued by the Vandals.

"Dash on the foemen!

Strive with and strike them

Down in close combat!"

rose in a roar from Zazo's troops, whom the latter again led to the

left shore.

"They must repeatedly see the backs of the dreaded Byzantines before

they have the courage to defeat them entirely," he said to Gibamund,

who urged pursuit. "And where is Belisarius?"

The latter, with his five hundred horsemen, had reached the centre from

Carthage just in time to see the flight of his men. When he learned

that this was the second attack which had been repulsed, he ordered all

his bodyguard, men trained to fight on foot as well as on horseback, to

dismount and advance with Althias's Thracians for the third assault.

His own special standard, the "General's banner," he commanded to be

borne before them.

It was a mighty, a menacing spectacle. The tuba of the Romans blared to

greet the standard of the commanding General. The Byzantines, in firmly

closed ranks, advanced like a moving wall of bronze, their long lances

levelled. Zazo saw that his men hesitated. "Forward! Cross the stream!

On to the attack!"

He dashed on in advance of his troops. But he soon perceived that only

a very few--the Gundings and their boar-helmeted kinsmen--were

following. "Forward!" he commanded again. But the Vandals delayed. They

felt that the rush down from the height had made their success far

easier; they did not wish to leave the vantage-ground, and--they had

seen Belisarius in the distance. The ranks of levelled lances,

terrible, threatening, drew nearer and nearer.

"If we only had our spears!" cried voices in the ranks behind him. The

Byzantines had already reached the stream; now they were wading through

the marshy rivulet,--yet the Vandals on the heights did not obey the

command to charge.

"You _will_ not cross?" cried Zazo, furiously. "Then you _must_!" With

these words he tore Genseric's dragon banner from the hand of the

horseman at his right and shouting: "Bring back the standard and your

honor!" he hurled it with all his strength across the stream into the

midst of the Byzantines. Loud cries rose from friends and enemies.

One of the Byzantines instantly snatched the banner from the ground,

raised it aloft, and was hurrying with it to Belisarius. But he did not

go far. For when they saw the treasure of the kingdom in the hands of

the foe, all the Vandals, on horseback and on foot, following their

nobles, rushed down the slope into the stream and the midst of

the enemy. By Zazo's side, on a powerful stallion, rode a strange

figure,--a monk without helmet, shield, or breastplate; he wore a gray

cowl and carried a sword. Breaking a passage through the hostile ranks,

he reached the captor of the scarlet banner, tore it from his hand,

and, with a single sword-stroke, cleft helmet and skull. It was

Valerianus, the commander of the lance-bearers.

The victor swung the rescued standard high aloft, and instantly fell

from his horse, pierced by five lances. But Gundobad, the Gunding,

raised the banner from the hand of the sinking figure.

"Here, to the rescue," he shouted, "kinsmen of the Gundings! Here, you

boars!"

Immediately his brother and the whole troop of boar helms gathered

around him; the banner and its bearer were cut out for the moment. The

ranks of the foe nearest to the Vandal banner wavered, yielded.

"Victory!" shouted the Vandals, pressing boldly forward, singing,--

"Forward to battle!

Follow the standard,

The fame-heralded

Consort of victory."

They struck their sword-blades on their shields till the sound echoed

far and wide.

"Victory!" cried Hilda, exultantly, as she witnessed the whole

magnificent spectacle.

CHAPTER XV

Belisarius also witnessed it from his station on the hill. "Fly," he

cried to Procopius; "fly to Fara and the Herulians! They must swing to

the left and take those red rags."

"And the Huns?" asked Procopius under his breath. "Look yonder; they

are riding slowly forward, but not westward, not against the Vandals."

"Obey! This German war dance around the red banner must first be put to

a bloody end, or their Teutonic battle fiend will take possession of

them, and then all is over. My face alone will keep the Huns in check,

should there be need of it."

Meanwhile the dragon banner had again changed bearers. All the lances

and arrows were aimed at the dangerous emblem, visible far and wide.

Gundobad's horse fell; its rider did not rise again. But his brother

Gundomar took the standard from the dying noble's hand and ran the

point of its shaft into the throat of Cyprianus, the second leader of

the Thracians, whose battle-axe had cleft Gundobad's helmet and head as

he tried to spring up from his dead charger.

Hilda had seen the red banner disappear for a moment, and anxiously

gave her stallion a light blow with her hand. The fiery animal shot

forward in frantic haste; not until she reached the edge of the stream

could the Princess draw rein. Her companions gained the new position

much later.

Althias now reached the second Gunding. Unequal, unfavorable to every

bearer of the standard was the conflict. His left hand, holding the

bridle and the heavy standard, could not use the shield, and this

burden also impeded very considerably the action of his right arm in

defence. After a short struggle Gundomar, transfixed by the Thracian's

spear, sank from his horse. But Gibamund was already on the spot, and

Zazo, dashing close behind him, no sooner saw the standard safe in his

brother's hand than he shouted, "Belisarius has a banner too."

Turning swiftly to the left, by the mere weight of his horse he burst

through a rank of the Thracians, reached Belisarius's bodyguard, who

bore the gold-embroidered standard, and, with a sword-stroke through

the front of the helmet into his brow, felled him. The Roman General's

banner sank, while Gibamund, surrounded and protected by his band of

picked warriors, waved the scarlet dragon standard high in the air.

Hilda saw it distinctly. Involuntarily she obeyed the impulse to go

forward after the victory. The stallion, yielding to the lightest

movement, bore her across the stream, whose water barely wet the edge

of her long white robe. She was on the other side. She was pursuing

victory. Before her, a little to the left, she already saw Gelimer and

his troops; the whole Vandal centre was advancing. It was the crisis,

the turning-point of the battle.

Again Althias tried to force his way through the Vandal ranks to

Gibamund himself; he had almost reached him, and they had exchanged two

whizzing sword-strokes, which made the sparks fly from their blades,

when from the left cries of grief and rage fell on the Thracian's ear

from the Byzantines. He turned, and saw his General's banner sink.

This was the second time; for Zazo had already struck down the second

man who bore it. The victor was stretching his hand toward the shaft,

which no third man seemed inclined to lift.

Just at that moment, close at hand on the right, German horns sounded

in Zazo's ears. The Herulians, dashing on their snorting horses upon

the Vandals' flank, broke through several of their ranks to their

leader.

A spear--well aimed, for Fara had hurled it--shattered the buffalo helm

on the hero's head. He could no longer think of Belisarius's banner. He

was obliged to consider his own safety.

"Help, brother Gelimer!" he shouted.

"I am here, brother Zazo," rang the answer. For the King was already at

hand. Slowly following the advance of the brothers, he had led his

Vandals and Moors nearer and nearer, and noticed the second charge and

the moment of peril.

"Forward! Cut Zazo out," he shouted, dashing upon the Herulians at the

head of his men. A warrior sprang to meet him, clutched the bridle of

the cream-colored charger with his left hand, and aimed his spear with

the right. Before it flew, Gelimer's sword had pierced the Herulian's

throat. Hilda saw it; for, as if irresistibly attracted by the battle,

she rode nearer and nearer.

Just at this moment she perceived Verus in full priestly robes,

unarmed, dash past her straight to the King. It was no easy task to

force a passage to his side through the Moors and Vandals. Gelimer

struck down a second spear-man, a third. Already he was close to Zazo.

The charge of his Vandals now came full upon the Herulians. The latter

did not yield, but they no longer gained a foot of ground. As two

wrestlers, with arms interlocked, each unable to move the other from

the spot, measure equal strength, the German warriors surged to and

fro. Victory hung in the balance.

"Where are the foot-soldiers?" asked Belisarius, glancing anxiously

toward the distant heights where the Numidian road extended toward

Carthage.

"I have sent out three messengers," answered Procopius. "There! The

Thracians are yielding! The Armenians are falling back! The Herulians

are now pressed by greatly superior numbers."

"Forward, Illyrians, save the battle for me. Belisarius himself will

lead you--"

And with a loud blare of trumpets, the General dashed down the hill to

the aid of the Herulians. Gelimer heard the flourish, saw the charge,

and summoned reinforcements from the rearguard.

"There," he shouted, pointing with his sword, "and join me in the

battle-song,

"Vengeance is preparing

The avenger of right."

"You here, Verus? What news do you bring? Your face is--"

"O King!" cried the priest, "what blood-guiltiness!"

"What has happened?"

"The messenger I sent to the prisoners--one of my

freedmen--misunderstood your words: 'Have them taken away, where no one

can free them.'"

"Well?"

"He has--he reported it to me, and fled when he saw my wrath."

"Well, what is it?"

"He has--killed Hilderic and Euages."

"Omniscient God!" cried the King, paling. "That was not my wish."

"But still more," Verus went on.

"Help, Gelimer!" Zazo's voice shouted from the densest ranks of the

conflict.

Belisarius and his Illyrians had now reached him. Gibamund was by his

side. Gelimer also spurred his horse.

But Verus grasped his bridle, shouting in his ear: "The letter, the

warning to Hilderic--I found it just now, wedged between two drawers in

the coffer. Here it is. Hilderic did not lie! He only wished to protect

himself against you. Innocent--he was deposed, imprisoned, slain!"

Gelimer, speechless with horror, stared for a moment into the priest's

stony face; he seemed stupefied. Then the battle-song of his men echoed

in his ears:--

"Vengeance is preparing

High in the heavens

The avenger of right!"

"Woe, woe is me! I am a criminal, a murderer," the King shrieked aloud.

The sword slipped from his grasp. He covered his face with both hands.

A terrible convulsion shook him. He seemed falling from the saddle.

Verus supported him, wheeled the King's horse so that his back was

toward the foe, and gave the animal a blow on the hind quarter with all

his strength. The charger dashed madly away. Sersaon and Markomer, the

leaders of the cavalry, supported the swaying figure on the right and

left.

"Help! help! I am being overcome, brother Gelimer!" Zazo's voice again

rose,--more urgently, nay, despairingly. But it was drowned by the

wild, frantic cries of the Vandals.

"Fly! fly! The King himself has fled! Fly! Save the women, the

children!" And the Vandals, by hundreds, now wheeled their horses and

dashed away toward the stream and the camp.

Then Hilda, now only a few paces from the tumult, saw Zazo's towering

figure disappear. His horse, pierced by a spear, fell; it was bleeding

from more than one wound. But the hero sprang up again.

Fara the Herulian reached him from the left, and cleft his

dragon-shield with his battle-axe. Zazo flung the pieces at the helmet

of the Herulian, stunning him so that he swayed in his saddle. Now

Barbatus, the Illyrian leader, his long lance levelled, pressed upon

Zazo from the right. With his last strength Zazo pushed it aside,

sprang to the right, the shieldless side of the rider, and thrust his

sword into his neck between the helmet and breastplate. Barbatus sank

slowly from the saddle toward the left. But, in springing back, Zazo

had fallen on his knees. Before he could rise, two horsemen with

levelled lances stood before him.

"Help, Gibamund!" called the kneeling Prince, raising his left arm

above his head in place of a shield. He looked around. Everywhere foes,

no Vandal. Yes,--one. Yonder still waved the scarlet banner. "Help,

Gibamund!" he cried.

One of his two assailants fell from his horse. Gibamund was at Zazo's

side. He had struck the man under the shoulder of his upraised arm with

the spear-point of the banner staff. But now Fara, who meanwhile had

recovered from Zazo's blow, dropping his bridle, grasped with his left

hand at the shaft of the scarlet standard. With great difficulty

Gibamund defended himself with his sword against the tremendous blows

the Herulian's right arm dealt with his battle-axe. And already the

other horseman, in front of Zazo, bent a leonine face toward him.