THE BETRAYER BETRAYED
Sagaris, making his best speed, soon arrived at Aquinum. He and his
horse were bathed in sweat; the shelter of an inn, where he had dinner,
tempted him to linger more than he need have done, and the fierce sun
was already declining when he rode forth along the Latin Way. As yet he
had seen no Goths. Every one talked of Totila, but he had a difficulty
in ascertaining where at this moment the king was to be found; some
declared he was as near as Venafrum, others that he lay much further
down the valley of the Vulturnus. Arrived at Venafrum, the messenger
learnt that he could not have less than another whole day's journey
before him, so here be harboured for the night.
His wily and unscrupulous mind had all day long been busy with
speculations as to the errand on which he was sent. Knowing that his
master wrote to Goths in the Gothic tongue, he was spared temptation to
break open the letter he carried; otherwise he would assuredly have
done so, for the hatred which Sagaris naturally felt for any one in
authority over him was now envenomed by jealousy, and for the last
month or two he had only waited an opportunity of injuring Marcian and
of advancing, by the same stroke, his own fortunes.
Having started from Rome in ignorance of his master's purpose, the
events of the night at Praeneste at once suggested to him the name of
the person who was being so cautiously and hurriedly conveyed under
Marcian's guard, and by the end of the journey he had no doubt left.
Here, at last, was the Gothic maiden who had been sought so
persistently by Marcian, by Basil, by Bessas, by Heliodora, and
doubtless by many others, since her disappearance from Surrentum.
Whither was she now being conducted? Sagaris did not know that among
her seekers was King Totila himself; on the other hand, he had much
reason for suspecting that Marcian pursued Veranilda with a lover's
passion, and when the journey ended at the island villa, when the
convoy of horsemen was dismissed, when he himself was sent off to a
distance, he saw his suspicion confirmed. By some supreme subtlety,
Marcian had got the beautiful maiden into his power, and doubtless the
letter he was sending to Totila contained some device for the
concealing of what had happened.
Now to the Syrian this would have been a matter of indifference, but
for his secret communications with Heliodora and all that had resulted
therefrom. Heliodora's talk was of three persons--of Marcian, of Basil,
of Veranilda--and Sagaris, reasoning from all the gossip he had heard,
and from all he certainly knew, concluded that the Greek lady had once
loved Basil, but did so no more, that her love had turned to Marcian,
and that she either knew or suspected Marcian to be a rival of Basil
for the love of Veranilda. Thus had matters stood (he persuaded
himself) until his own entrance on the scene. That a woman might look
with ardent eyes on more than one man in the same moment, seemed to
Sagaris the simplest of facts; he consequently found it easy to believe
that, even whilst loving Marcian, Heliodora should have conceived a
tenderness for Marcian's slave. That Heliodora's professions might be
mere trickery, he never imagined; his vanity forbade it; at each
successive meeting he seemed to himself to have strengthened his hold
upon the luxurious woman; each time he came away with a fiercer hatred
of Marcian, and a deeper resolve to ruin him. True, as yet, he had fed
only on promises, but being the man he was, he could attribute to
Heliodora a selfish interest in combination with a lover's desire; what
more intelligible than that she should use him to the utmost against
those she hated, postponing his reward until he had rendered her
substantial service? Thus did Sagaris feel and reason, whilst riding
along the Latin Way. His difficulty was to decide how he should act at
this juncture; how, with greatest profit to himself, he could do most
scathe to Marcian.
Was his master serving the Greeks or the Goths? Uncertainty on this
point had long troubled his meditations, and was now a cause of grave
embarrassment. Eager to betray, he could not be sure to which side
betrayal should direct itself. On the whole he himself favoured Totila,
feeling sure that the Goth would bring the war to a triumphant end; and
on this account he was disposed to do his errand faithfully. If the
king interrogated him, he could draw conclusions from the questions
asked, and could answer as seemed best for his own ends. So he decided
to push on, and, despite the storm which broke on this second morning,
he rode out from Venafrum.
A few hours' travel, and, drenched with the furious rain, he came to
Aesernia. This town stood in a strong position on an isolated hill; its
massive walls yet compassed it about. On arriving at the gate he found
himself unexpectedly challenged by armed men, who, though Italians, he
at once suspected to be in the Gothic service. A moment's hesitancy in
replying to the questions, 'Whence?' and 'Whither?' sufficed to put him
under arrest. He was led to the captain, in whom with relief he
recognised Venantius of Nuceria. His doubts being at an end, for he
knew that this Roman noble had long since openly joined Totila, he
begged that Venantius would hear him in private, and this being
granted, began by telling in whose service he was.
'I thought I somehow remembered your face,' said the captain, whose
look seemed to add that the face did not particularly please him. 'And
where is the lord Marcian?'
'In Rome, Illustrious.'
'You have come straight from Rome, then?'
The answer was affirmative and boldly given.
'And whither are you bound? On what business?'
Sagaris, still obeying his master's injunctions, declared that he
carried a verbal message to the King of the Goths, and for him alone.
Having reflected for a moment, Venantius called the soldier who stood
without the door.
'See to the wants of this messenger. Treat him hospitably, and bring
him hither again in an hour's time.'
The captain then walked to a house close by, where, admitted to the
atrium, he was at once met by an elderly lady, who bent respectfully
before him.
'Has the traveller yet risen?' he began by asking.
'Not yet, my lord. A little while ago his servant told me that he was
still sleeping.'
'Good; he will recover from his fatigue. But pray inquire whether he is
now awake, for I would speak with him as soon as may be.'
The lady was absent for a minute or two, then brought word that the
traveller had just awoke.
'I will go to his bedside,' said Venantius.
He was led to an upper chamber, a small, bare, tiled-floored room,
lighted by a foot-square window, on which the shutter was half closed
against the rays of the sun. Some aromatic odour hung in the air.
'Do you feel able to talk?' asked the captain as he entered.
'I am quite restored,' was the reply of a man sitting up in the bed.
'The fever has passed.'
'So much for the wisdom of physicians!' exclaimed Venantius with a
laugh. 'That owl-eyed Aesernian who swears by Aesculapius that he has
studied at Constantinople, Antioch, and I know not where else,
whispered to me that you would never behold to-day's sunset. I
whispered to _him_ that he was an ass, and that if he uttered the word
_plague_ to any one in the house, I would cut his ears off.
Nevertheless, I had you put into this out-of-the-way room, that you
might not be disturbed by noises. Who'--he sniffed--'has been burning
perfumes?'
'My good fellow Felix. Though travel-worn and wounded, he has sat by me
all the time, and would only go to bed when I woke up with a cool
forehead.'
'A good fellow, indeed. His face spells honesty. I can't say so much
for that of a man I have just been talking with--a messenger of your
friend Marcian.'
The listener started as though he would leap out of bed. A rush of
colour to his cheeks banished the heavy, wan aspect which had partly
disguised him, and restored the comely visage of Basil. A messenger
from Marcian? he exclaimed. With news for _him_? And, as if expecting a
letter, he stretched forth his hand eagerly.
'He has nothing, that I know of, for you,' said the captain. 'If he
tells the truth, he is charged with a message for the king.'
'Is it Sagaris--a Syrian slave?'
'A Syrian, by his looks; one I remember to have seen with Marcian a
year ago.'
'Sagaris, to be sure. Then you can trust him. He has the eye of his
race, and is a prating braggart, but Marcian has found him honest. I
must see him, Venantius. Will you send him to me, dear lord?'
Venantius had seated himself on a chair that was beside the bed; he
wore a dubious look, and, before speaking again, glanced keenly at
Basil.
'Did you not expect,' he asked, 'to meet Marcian in the king's camp?'
'My last news from him bade me go thither as fast as I could, as he
himself was leaving Rome to join the king. I should have gone a little
out of my road to visit his villa near Arpinum, on the chance of
hearing news of him there; but our encounter with the marauders drove
me too far away.'
'So much,' said Venantius, 'I gathered from your talk last night, when
you were not quite so clear-headed as you are now. What I want to
discover is whether this Syrian has lied to me. He declares that he
left Marcian in Rome. Now it happens that some of our men, who were
sent for a certain purpose, yesterday, along the Latin Way, came across
half a dozen horsemen, riding westward, and as their duty was, learnt
all they could from them. These six fellows declared themselves
servants of the bishop of Praeneste, and said that they had just been
convoying a Roman noble and a lady to a villa not far from Arpinum. And
the noble's name--they had it, said they, from his own servants at the
villa, where they had passed a night--was Marcian.'
Basil stared; he had gone pale again and haggard.
'What lady was with him?' he asked, under his breath.
'That I cannot tell you. The bishop's men knew nothing about her, and
had not seen her face. But'--Venantius smiled--'they left her safely
housed with our friend Marcian. How comes this Syrian to say that his
master is at Rome? Does he lie? Or did the horsemen lie? Or are there,
perchance, two Marcians?'
'I must speak with him,' said Basil. 'Leave me to find out the truth
for you. Send Sagaris here, Venantius, I entreat you.'
The captain appeared to hesitate, but, on Basil's beseeching him not to
delay, he agreed and left the room. As soon as he was alone, Basil
sprang up and dressed. He was aching from head to foot, and a parched
mouth, a hot hand, told of fever in his blood. On receipt of Marcian's
last letter, he had not delayed a day before setting forth; all was in
readiness for such a summons, and thirty well-mounted, well-armed men,
chosen from the slaves and freedmen on his Asculan estate in Picenum,
rode after him to join the King of the Goths. The journey was rapidly
performed; already they were descending the lower slopes of the
westward Apennine, when they had the ill-luck to fall in with that same
band of marauders which Marcian so narrowly escaped. Basil's first
thought was that the mounted troop coming towards him might hem the
Gothic service, but this hope was soon dispelled. Advancing with fierce
threats, the robbers commanded him and his men to alight, their chief
desire being no doubt to seize the horses and arms. Though outnumbered,
Basil shouted defiance; a conflict began, and so stout was the
resistance they met that, after several had fallen on either side, the
brigands drew off. Not, however, in final retreat; galloping on in hope
of succour, Basil found himself pursued, again lost two or three men,
and only with the utmost difficulty got clear away.
It was the young Roman's first experience of combat. For this he had
been preparing himself during the past months, exercising his body and
striving to invigorate his mind, little apt for warlike enterprise.
When the trial came, his courage did not fail, but the violent emotions
of that day left him so exhausted, so shaken in nerve, that he could
scarce continue his journey. He had come out of the fight unwounded,
but at nightfall fever fell upon him, and he found no rest. The loss of
some half dozen men grieved him to the heart; had the brave fellows
fallen in battle with the Greeks, he would have thought less of it; to
see them slain, or captured, by mere brigands was more than he could
bear. When at length he reached Aesernia, and there unexpectedly met
with Venantius, he fell from his horse like a dying man. A draught
given by the physician sent him to sleep, and from the second hour
after sunset until nearly noon of to-day he had lain unconscious.
What he now learnt from Venantius swept into oblivion all that he had
undergone. If it were true that Marcian had travelled in this direction
with a lady under his guard, Basil could not doubt for a moment who
that lady was. The jest of Venantius did not touch him, for Venantius
spoke, it was evident, without a thought of Veranilda, perhaps had
forgotten her existence; not the faintest tremor of uneasiness stirred
in Basil's mind when he imagined Veranilda at his friend's house;
Marcian had discovered her, had rescued her, had brought her thither to
rest in safety till her lover could join them--brave Marcian, truest of
friends! For this had he sent the summons southward, perhaps not daring
to speak more plainly in a letter, perhaps not being yet quite sure of
success. This had he so often promised--O gallant Marcian!
Quivering with eagerness, he stood at the door of his chamber.
Footsteps sounded; there appeared a slave of the house, and behind him
that dark, handsome visage which he was expecting.
'Sagaris! My good Sagaris!' he cried joyously.
The Syrian knelt before him and kissed his hand, but uttered no word.
At sight of Basil, for which he was not at all prepared, Sagaris felt a
happy shock; he now saw his way before him, and had no more anxiety.
But, on rising from the obeisance, he let his head drop; his eyes
wandered: one would have said that he shrank from observation.
'Speak low,' said Basil, standing by the open door so as to guard
against eavesdropping. 'What message have you for me?'
Sagaris replied that he had none.
'None? Your lord charged you with nothing for me in case you should
meet me on your way?'
Again Sagaris murmured a negative, and this time with so manifest an
air of confusion that Basil stared at him, suspicious, angry.
'What do you mean? What are you keeping from me?'
The man appeared to stammer incoherencies.
'Listen,' said Basil in a low, friendly voice. 'You know very well that
the lord Marcian has no secrets from me. With me you can speak in
entire confidence. What has come to you, man? Tell me--did your lord
leave Rome before or after you?'
'At the same time.'
No sooner had this reply fallen from his lips than Sagaris seemed
stricken with alarm. He entreated pardon, declared he knew not what he
was saying, that he was dazed by the weariness of travel.
'I should have said--neither before nor after. My lord remains in the
city. I was to return with all speed.'
'He remains in the city?'
Basil reflected. It was possible that Marcian had either purposely
concealed his journey from this slave, and had suddenly found himself
able to set forth just after Sagaris had started.
'You bear a letter for the king?' he asked.
'A letter, Illustrious,' answered the slave, speaking very low.
'Ah, a letter?'
Sagaris went on to say that he had kept this a secret from Venantius,
his master having bidden him speak of it to no one and deliver it into
the king's own hand.
'It is in the Gothic tongue,' he added, his head bent, his look more
furtive than ever; 'and so urgent that I have scarce rested an hour
since leaving the villa.'
A terrible light flashed into Basil's eyes. Then he sprang at the
speaker, caught him by the throat, forced him to his knees.
'Scoundrel, you dare to lie to me! So you started from the villa and
not from Rome?'
Sagaris cried out for mercy, grovelled on the floor. He would tell
everything; but he implored Basil to keep the secret, for, did his
master learn what had happened, his punishment would be terrible.
'Fool!' cried Basil fiercely. 'How come you to have forgotten all at
once that I am your lord's chosen friend, and that everything
concerning him is safe with me. In very deed, I think you have ridden
too hard in the sun; your brains must have frizzled. Blockhead! If in
haste, the lord Marcian did not speak of me, he took it for granted
that, should you meet me--'
Something so like a malicious smile flitted over the slave's
countenance that in extremity of wrath he became mute.
'Your Nobility is deceived,' said Sagaris, in the same moment. 'My lord
expressly forbade me to tell you the truth, should I see you on my
journey.'
Basil stared at him.
'I swear by the holy Cross,' exclaimed the other, 'that this is true.
And if I did not dread your anger, I could tell you the reason. I dare
not. By all the saints I dare not!'
A strange quiet fell upon Basil. It seemed as if he would ask no more
questions; he half turned away, and stood musing. Indeed, it was as
though he had already heard all the slave had to tell, and so overcome
was he by the revelation that speech, even connected thought, was at
first impossible. As he recovered from the stupefying blow, the blood
began to boil in his veins. He felt as when, in the fight of two days
ago, he saw the first of his men pierced by a javelin. Turning again to
Sagaris, he plied him with brief and rapid questions, till he had
learnt every detail of Marcian's journey from Rome to the villa. The
Syrian spoke of the veiled lady without hesitation as Veranilda, and
pretended to have known for some time that she was in a convent at
Praeneste; but, when interrogated as to her life at the villa, he
affected an affectation of doubt, murmuring that he had beheld nothing
with his own eyes, that perhaps the female slaves gossiped idly.
'What do they say?' asked Basil with unnatural self-control.
'They speak of her happy mien and gay talk, of her walking with my lord
in private. But I know nothing.'
Basil kept his eyes down for a long minute, then moved like one who has
taken a resolve.
'Show me the letter you bear,' he commanded.
Sagaris produced it, and having looked at the seal, Basil silently
handed it back again.
'Thrice noble,' pleaded the slave, 'you will not deliver me to my
lord's wrath?'
'Have no fear; unless in anything you have lied to me. Follow.'
They descended the stairs, and Basil had himself conducted to the house
where Venantius sate at dinner. He spoke with the captain in private.
'This slave has a letter, not merely a message, for the king. He says
it is urgent, and so it may be; but, from what I have learnt I doubt
whether he is wholly to be trusted. Can you send some one with him?'
'Nothing easier.'
'I,' continued Basil, 'ride straightway for Arpinum. Ask me no
questions, Venantius. When I return, if I do return, you shall know
what sent me there. I may be back speedily.'
He took food, and in an hour's time was ready to start. Of his
followers, he chose ten to accompany him. The rest remained at
Aesernia. Felix, worn out by watching and with a slight wound in the
side which began to be troublesome, he was reluctantly obliged to
leave. Having inquired as to the road over the mountains by which he
might reach Arpinum more quickly than by the Latin Way, he rode forth
from the town, and was soon spurring at headlong speed in a cloud of
dust.
His thoughts far outstripped him; he raged at the prospect of long
hours to elapse ere he could reach Marcian's villa. With good luck he
might arrive before nightfall. If disappointed in that, a whole night
must pass, an eternity of torment, before he came face to face with him
he had called his dearest friend, now his abhorred enemy.
What if he did not find him at the villa? Marcian had perhaps no
intention of remaining there. Perhaps he had already carried off his
victim to some other place.
Seeing their lord post so furiously, the men looked in wonder at each
other. Some of them were soon left far behind, and Basil, though
merciless in his frenzy, saw at length that his horse was seriously
distressed; he slackened pace, allowed his followers to rejoin him, and
rode, perforce, at what seemed to him a mere crawl. The sun was a
flaming furnace; the earth seemed to be overspread with white fire-ash,
which dazed the eyes and choked. But Basil felt only the fire in his
heart and brain. Forgetful of all about him, he had not ridden more
than a few miles, when he missed the road; his men, ignorant of the
country, followed him without hesitation, and so it happened that, on
stopping at one of the few farms on their way, to ask how far it still
was to Arpinum, he learnt that he must ride back for nearly a couple of
hours to regain the track he should have taken. He broke into frantic
rage, cursed the countrymen who directed him, and as he spurred his
beast, cursed it too because of its stumbling at a stone.
There was now no hope of finishing the journey to-day. His head on his
breast, Basil rode more and more slowly. The sun declined, and ere long
it would be necessary to seek harbourage. But here among the hills no
place of human habitation came in view. Luckily for themselves some of
the horsemen had brought provender. Their lord had given thought to no
such thing. The sun set; the hills cast a thickening shadow, even Basil
began to gaze uneasily ahead. At length there appeared a building,
looking in the dusky distance like a solitary country house. It proved
to be the ruin of a temple.
'Here we must stop,' said Basil. 'My horse can go no further. Indeed,
the darkness would stay us in any case. We must shelter in these walls.'
The men peered at each other, and a whisper went among them. For their
part, said one and all, they would rest under the open sky. Basil
understood.
'What! you are afraid? Fools, do as you will. These walls shall shelter
me though all the devils in hell were my bedfellows.'
What had come to him? asked his followers. Never had Basil been known
to speak thus. Spite of their horror of a forsaken temple, two or three
entered, and respectfully made offer of such food as they had with
them. Basil accepted a piece of bread, bade them see to his horse, and
crept into a corner of the building. He desired to be alone and to
think; for it seemed to him that he had not yet been able to reflect
upon the story told by Sagaris. What was it that lurked there at the
back of his mind? A memory, a suggestion of some sort, which would have
helped him to understand could he but grasp it. As he munched his bread
he tried desperately to think, to remember; but all within him was a
passionate misery, capable only of groans and curses. An intolerable
weariness possessed his limbs. After sitting for a while with his back
against the wall, he could not longer hold himself in this position,
but sank down and lay at full length; and even so he ached, ached, from
head to foot.
Perhaps an hour had passed, and it was now quite dark within the
temple, when two of the men appeared with blazing torches, for they, by
means of flint and iron, had lit a fire in a hollow hard by, and meant
to keep it up through the night as a protection against wolves. They
brought Basil a draught of water in a leather bottle, from a little
stream they had found; and he drank gratefully, but without a word. The
torchlight showed bare walls and a shattered roof. Having searched all
round and discovered neither reptile nor beast, the men made a bed of
leaves and bracken, with a folded cloak for a pillow, and invited their
master to lie upon it. Basil did so, turned his face away, and bade
them leave him alone.
What was that memory at the back of his mind? In the effort to draw it
forth he ground his teeth together, dug his nails into his hands. At
moments he forgot why he was wretched, and, starting up, strained his
eyes into the darkness, until he saw the face of Sagaris and heard him
speaking.
For a while he slept; but dreadful dreams soon awoke him, and,
remembering where he was, he shook with horror. Low sounds fell upon
his ear, movements, he thought, in the black night. He would have
shouted to his men, but shame kept him mute. He crossed himself and
prayed to the Virgin; then, raising his eyes, he saw through the broken
roof a space of sky in which a star shone brilliantly. It brought him
comfort; but the next moment he remembered Sagaris, and mental anguish
blended with his fears of the invisible.
Again sleep overcame him. He dreamt that an evil spirit, with a face he
knew but could not name, was pursuing him over trackless mountains. He
fled like the wind; but the spirit was close behind him, and wherever
he turned his head, he saw the familiar face grinning a devilish
mockery. A precipice lay before him. He leapt wildly, and knew at once
that he had leapt into fire, into hell. But the red gleam was that of a
torch, and before him, as he opened his eyes, stood one of his faithful
attendants who had come to see if all was well with him. He asked for
water, and the man fetched him a draught. It was yet long till dawn.
Now he could not lie still, for fever burned him. Though awake, he saw
visions, and once sent forth what seemed to him a yell of terror; but
in truth it was only a moan, and no one heard. He relived through the
fight with the marauders; sickened with dread at the gleam of weapons;
flamed into fury, and shouted with savage exultation as he felt his
sword cut the neck of an enemy. He was trying to think of Veranilda,
but all through the night her image eluded him, and her name left him
cold. He was capable only of hatred. At daybreak he slept heavily; the
men, approaching him and looking at his haggard face, thought better to
let him rest, and only after sunrise did he awake. He was angry that
they had not aroused him sooner, got speedily to horse, and rode off
almost at the same speed as yesterday. Now, at all events, he drew near
to his goal; for a ride of an hour or two he needed not to spare his
beast; sternly he called to his men to follow him close.
And all at once, as though his brain were restored by the freshness of
the morning, he grasped the thought which had eluded him. Marcian's
treachery was no new thing: twice he had been warned against his
seeming friend, by Petronilla and by Bessas, and in his folly he had
scorned the accusation which time had now so bitterly justified.
Forgotten, utterly forgotten, until this moment; yet how blinded he
must have been by his faith in Marcian's loyalty not to have reflected
upon many circumstances prompting suspicion. Marcian had perhaps been
false to him from the very day of Veranilda's disappearance, and how
far did his perfidy extend? Had he merely known where she was
concealed, or had he seen her, spoken with her, wooed her all along? He
had won her; so much was plain; and he could scarce have done so during
the brief journey to his villa. O villainous Marcian! O fickle, wanton
Veranilda!
So distinct before his fiery imagination shone the image of those two
laughing together, walking alone (as Sagaris had reported), that all
reasoning, such as a calmer man might have entertained, was utterly
forbidden. Not a doubt crossed his mind. And in his heart was no desire
but of vengeance.
At length he drew near to Arpinum. Avoiding the town, he questioned a
peasant at work in the fields, and learnt his way to the island. Just
as he came within view of the eastward waterfall, a girl was crossing
the bridge, away from the villa. Basil drew rein, bidding his men do
likewise, and let the girl, who had a bundle on her head, draw near. At
sight of the horsemen, of whom she was not aware till close by them,
the maid uttered a cry of alarm, and would have run back but Basil
intercepted her, jumped from his horse, and bade her have no fear, as
he only wished to ask a harmless question. Easily he learnt that
Marcian was at the villa, that he had arrived a few days ago, and that
with him had come a lady.
'What is that lady's name?' he inquired.
The girl did not know. Only one or two of the slaves, she said, had
seen her; she was said to be beautiful, with long yellow hair.
'She never goes out?' asked Basil.
The reply was that, only this morning, she had walked in the wood--the
wood just across the bridge--with Marcian.
Basil sprang on to his horse, beckoned his troop, and rode forward.