Silverius, Cethegus, and Rusticiana went together up the steps which led to the crypt of the basilica of St. Sebastian. From thence they passed through the church into the adjoining house of the archdeacon. On arriving there, Silverius convinced himself that all the inhabitants of the house were asleep, with the exception of an old slave, who was watching in the atrium near a half-extinguished lamp. At a sign from his master he lighted a silver lamp which stood near him, and pressed a secret spring in the marble wainscot of the room.
A slab of marble turned on its hinges and allowed the priest who had taken up the lamp to pass, with his two companions, into a small, low chamber, and then quickly and noiselessly closed behind them, leaving no trace of an opening.
The small chamber, now simply adorned by a tall wooden crucifix, a fall-stool, and a few plain Christian symbols on a golden background, had evidently, as the cushioned shelf which ran round the walls showed, served for those small banquets of one or two guests, whose unrestrained comfort Horace has so often celebrated in song. At the time of which I speak it was the private chamber in which the archdeacon brooded over his most secret priestly or worldly plans.
Cethegus silently seated himself on thelectus(a small couch), throwing the superficial glance of a critic at a Mosaic picture inserted into the opposite wall. While the priest was occupied in pouring wine from an amphora with large curving handles into some cups which stood ready, and placing a metal dish of fruit on the bronze tripod table, Rusticiana stood opposite Cethegus, measuring him with an expression of astonishment and indignation.
Scarcely forty years of age, this woman showed traces of a rare--and rather manly--beauty, which had suffered less from time than from violent passions. Here and there her raven-black braids were streaked with white, not grey, and strong lines lay round the mobile corners of her mouth.
She leaned her left hand on the table, and meditatively stroked her brow with her right, while she gazed at Cethegus. At last she spoke.
"Tell me, tell me, Cethegus, what power is this that you have over me? I no more love you. I ought to hate you. I do hate you. And yet I must involuntarily obey you, like a bird under the fascinating eye of a snake. And you place my hand,thishand, in that of that miserable man! Say, you evil-doer, what is this power?"
Cethegus was inattentively silent. At last, leaning back, he said: "Habit, Rusticiana, habit."
"Truly, 'tis habit! The habit of a slavery that has existed ever since I can remember. It was natural that as a girl I should admire the handsome son of our neighbours; that I believed in your love was excusable, did you not kiss me? And who could--at that time--know that you were incapable of loving anything--even yourself? That the wife of Boëthius did not smother the mad passion which, as if in sport, you again fanned into a flame, was a sin; but God and the Church have forgiven it. But that I should still, after knowing for years your utter heartlessness, when the glow of passion is extinguished in my veins, that I should still most blindly follow your demoniac will--that is folly enough to make me laugh aloud."
And she laughed wildly, and pressed her right hand to her brow.
The priest stopped in his domestic occupations and looked stealthily at Cethegus. He was intensely interested.
Cethegus leaned his head back against the marble moulding, and with his right hand grasped the drinking-cup which stood before him.
"You are unjust, Rusticiana," he said quietly, "and confused. You mix the sports of Eros with the works of Eris and the Fates. You know that I was the friend of Boëthius, although I kissed his wife. Perhaps just for that reason. I see nothing particular in that. And you--well, Silverius and the saints have forgiven you. You know further, that I hate these Goths, mortally hate them; that I have the will and--more than all others--the power to carry through that which is now your greatest wish, to revenge your father, whom you loved, and your husband, whom you honoured, on these barbarians.
"Therefore you obey my instigations, and you are wise in so doing; for you have a decided talent for intrigue, but your impetuosity often clouds your judgment. It spoils your finest plans. Therefore it is well that you follow cooler guidance. That is all. But now go. Your slave is crouching, drunk with sleep, in the vestibule. She believes that you are in the confessional with friend Silverius. The confession must not last too long. And we also have business to transact. Greet Camilla, your lovely child, for me, and farewell."
He rose, took her hand, and led her gently to the door. She followed reluctantly, nodded to the priest at parting, looked once more at Cethegus, who appeared not to observe her inward emotion, and went out, slightly shaking her head.
Cethegus sat down again and emptied his cup of wine.
"A strange struggle in this woman's nature," remarked Silverius, and sat down by Cethegus with stylus, wax-tablets, letters and documents.
"It is not strange. She wishes to atone for having wronged her husband by avenging him," said Cethegus. "And that she can accomplish this by means of her former lover, makes the sacred duty doubly sweet. To be sure, she is not conscious of it.--But what have we to do?"
The two men now began their business: to consider such points of the conspiracy as they did not judge advisable to communicate to all the members of the league.
"At present," began the archdeacon, "it is above all things necessary to ascertain the amount of this fortune of Albinus, and decide upon its appropriation. We assuredly require money, much money."
"Money affairs are your province,"--said Cethegus, drinking. "I understand them, of course, but they annoy me."
"Further," continued Silverius, "the most influential men in Sicilia, Neapolis, and Apulia must be won over to our cause. Here is the list of their names, with notes annexed. There are men amongst them who are not to be allured by the usual means."
"Give it to me," said Cethegus, "I will manage that," And he cut up a Persian apple.
After an hour's hard work, the most pressing business was settled, and the host replaced the documents, in a secret drawer in the wall behind the crucifix.
The priest was tired, and looked with envy at his companion, whose powerful frame and indefatigable spirit no late hours or exertion seemed able to exhaust.
He expressed something of the sort, as Cethegus again filled the silver cup.
"Practice, friend, strong nerves, and," added Cethegus, smiling, "a good conscience; that is the whole secret."
"Yes, but in earnest, Cethegus, you are a riddle to me in other respects."
"I should hope so."
"Oh ho! do you consider yourself such a superior being that I cannot fathom you?"
"Not at all. But still sufficiently deep to be to others no less a riddle than--to myself. Your pride in your knowledge of mankind may be at ease. I am no wiser about myself than you are. Only fools are transparent."
"In fact," said the priest, expatiating on the subject, "the key to your nature must be difficult to find. For example, look at the members of our league. It is easy to say what motives have led them to join us. The hot young courage of a Licinius; the pig-headed but honest sense of justice of a Scævola; as for myself and the other priests--our zeal for the honour of God."
"Naturally," said Cethegus, drinking.
"Others are induced by ambition, or are in hopes that they may cut off the heads of their creditors in a civil war; or they are tired of the orderly condition of this country under the Goths, or have been offended by one of these foreigners. Most of them have a natural repugnance to the barbarians, and are in the habit of seeing in the Emperor alone the master of Italy. But none of these reasons apply to you, and----"
"And," interrupted Cethegus, "that is very uncomfortable, is it not? For by knowledge of their motives one can govern men. Well, I am sorry, reverend friend, but I cannot help you. I really do not know myself what my motive is. I am so curious about it, that I would gladly tell it to you--and allow myself to be governed--if I could only find it out. Only one thing I feel--that these Goths are my antipathy. I hate these full-blooded fellows, with their broad flaxen beards. I cannot bear their brutal good humour, their ingenuous youthfulness, their stupid heroism, their unbroken natures. It is the impudence of chance, which governs the world, that this country, after such a history, possessing men like--like you and me--should be ruled by these Northern bears!"
He tossed his head indignantly, closed his eyes, and sipped a small quantity of wine.
"That the barbarians must go, we are agreed," said Silverius, "and with this, all is gained as far as I am concerned. For I only await the deliverance of the Church from these heretical barbarians, who deny the divinity of Christ, and make Him a demi-god. I hope that the primacy of all Christendom will, as is fitting, incontestably fall to the share of the Roman Church. But as long as Rome is in the power of the heretics, while the Bishop of Byzantium is supported by the only orthodox and legitimate Emperor----"
"The Bishop of Rome cannot be the first Bishop of Christendom, nor the master of Italy; and therefore the Roman Apostolic See, even when occupied by a Silverius, cannot be what it ought to be--the highest. And yet that is what Silverius wishes."
The priest looked up in surprise.
"Do not be uneasy, reverend friend. I knew this long ago, and have kept your secret, although you did not confide it to me. But further----" He again filled his cup. "Your Falernian has been well stored, but it is too sweet.--Properly speaking, you can but wish that these Goths may evacuate the throne of the Cæsars, and not that the Byzantines should take their place; for in that case the Bishop of Rome would have again a superior bishop and an emperor in Byzantium. You must therefore, instead of the Goths, wish--not for an Emperor--Justinian--but--what else?"
"Either," eagerly interrupted Silverius, "a special Emperor of the Western Empire----"
"Who, however," said Cethegus, completing the sentence, "would be only a puppet in the hands of the holy Petrus----"
"Or a Roman republic, a State of the Church----"
"In which the Bishop of Rome is master, Italy the principal country, and the barbarian kings in Gaul, Germany, and Spain the obedient sons of the Church. All very fine, my friend. But first the enemy must be annihilated, whose spoils you already divide. Therefore let us drink an old Roman toast: 'Woe to the barbarians!'"
He rose and drank to the priest.
"But," he added, "the last night-watch creeps on, and my slaves must find me in the morning in my bedchamber. Farewell!"
With this he drew thecucullus(hood) of his mantle over his head and departed.
His host looked after him. "A very important tool!" he said to himself. "It is a good thing that he is only a tool. May he always remain so!"
Cethegus walked away from the Via Appia in a north-westerly direction, towards the Capitol, beneath which, at the northern end of the Via Sacra, his house was situated, to the north-east of the Forum Romanum.
The cool morning air played refreshingly over his brow. He threw open his mantle and deeply inflated his strong broad chest.
"Yes, I am a riddle," he said to himself. "I join in a conspiracy and go about by night, like a republican or a lover at twenty. And wherefore? Who knows why he breathes? Because he must. And so I do what I must. But one thing is certain, this priest may--perhaps must--become Pope; but he must not remain so long, else farewell my scarcely-avowed thoughts, which are yet but dreams and cloud-mists. Perhaps it may be that from them will arise a storm that will decide my fate. See, it lightens in the east! 'Tis well; I accept the omen!"
With these words he entered his house.
In his bed-chamber he found a letter on the cedar table before his bed, tied with a silken string, and sealed with the royal seal. He cut the string with his dagger, opened the double waxen tablets, and read:
"To Cethegus Cæsarius, the Princeps Senatus, Marcus Aurelius Cassiodorus, Senator.
"Our lord and king lies on his death-bed. His daughter and heiress, Amalaswintha, wishes to speak with you before his end.
"You are to undertake the most important office in the kingdom.
"Hasten at once to Ravenna."
Over the King's palace at Ravenna, with all its gloomy splendour and inhospitable spaciousness, lay an air of breathless anxiety.
The old castle of the Cæsars had suffered many disfiguring changes in the course of centuries, and since the Gothic kings, with all their Germanic courtiers, had taken the place of the emperors, it had assumed a very inharmonious aspect, for many chambers, intended for the peculiar customs of Roman life, stood, still retaining the old magnificence of their arrangements, unused and neglected. Cobwebs covered the mosaic of the rich baths of Honorius, and in the toilet-chamber of Placidia the lizards climbed over the marble frames of the silver mirrors on the walls. On the one side, the necessities of a more warlike court had obliged the removal of many walls, in order to change the small rooms of the ancient building into wider halls for arsenals, banqueting and guard-rooms, and, on the other, neighbouring houses had been joined to the palace by new walls, so as to create a stronghold in the middle of the city.
In the dried-uppiscina maxima(large fish-pond) fair-haired boys now romped, and in the marble halls of thepalæstra1neighed the horses of the Gothic guards. So the extensive edifice had the dismal appearance partly of a scarcely-preserved ruin, and partly of a half-finished new erection; and thus the palace of the present ruler seemed a symbol of his Roman-Gothic kingdom, and of his whole half-finished, half-decayed political creation.
On the day, however, on which Cethegus, after years of absence, once again entered the house, there lay heavy upon it a cloud of anxiety, sorrow and gloom, for its royal soul was departing from it.
The great man, who here had guided, for the space of a man's life, the fate of Europe; who was wondered at, with love or with hate, by West and by East; the hero of his age; the powerful Theodoric of Verona, of whose name--even during his lifetime--Legend had possessed herself; the great Amelung, King Theodoric, was about to die.
So said the physicians--if not to himself, yet to his nearest relations--and the report soon spread in the great and populous city.
Although such an end to the secret sufferings of the aged King had been long held possible, the news that the blow was at hand now filled all hearts with the greatest excitement.
The faithful Goths were anxious and grieved, and a dull fear was the predominating feeling even of the Roman population, for here in Ravenna, in the immediate vicinity of the King, the Italians had had frequent opportunities of admiring his mildness and generosity, and of experiencing his beneficence.
And besides, it was feared that after the death of this King, who, during his lifetime--with the single exception of the last contest with the Emperor and the Senate, when Boëthius and Symmachus bled--had protected the Italians from the harshness and violence of his people--a new rule of severity and oppression would commence on the part of the Goths.
And, finally, another and more noble influence was at work; the personality of this hero-King had been so grand, so majestic, that even those who had often wished for the destruction of himself and his kingdom, could not--at the moment when this luminary was about to be extinguished--revel in a feeling of malicious joy, and were unable to overcome a deep depression.
So, since early morning--when servants from the palace had been seen rushing in all directions, and special messengers hurrying to the houses of the most distinguished Goths and Romans--the town had been in a state of great excitement.
Men stood together by pairs or in groups in the streets, squares and baths, questioning or imparting to each other what they knew; trying to detain some person of importance who came from the palace, and talking of the grave consequences of the approaching catastrophe. Women and children, urged by curiosity, crouched on the thresholds of the houses.
As the day advanced, even the populations of the nearest towns and villages--principally consisting of sorrowing Goths--streamed into the gates of the city to hear the news.
The counsellors of the King, pre-eminently the pretorian prefect, Cassiodorus, who earned great praise for preserving order in those days, had foreseen this excitement, and perhaps expected something worse.
At midnight all the entrances to the palace had been closed, and guarded by Goths. In the Forum Honorum, before the palace, a troop of cavalry had been placed. On the broad marble steps that led up to the grand colonnade of the principal entrance, lay, in picturesque groups, strong companies of Gothic foot-soldiers, armed with shield and spear.
Only there, according to the order of Cassiodorus, could admittance be gained to the palace, and only the two leaders of the infantry--Cyprian, the Roman, and Witichis, the Goth, were allowed to grant permission to enter.
It was to the first of these persons that Cethegus applied.
As he took the well-known way to the King's apartments, he found all the Goths and Romans whose rank or importance had procured them admittance, scattered in groups about the halls and corridors.
In the once noisy banqueting-hall the young leaders of the Gothic hundreds and thousands stood together, silent and sorrowing, or whispering their anxious inquiries, while here and there an elderly man--a companion-at-arms of the dying hero--leaned in the niche of a bow-window, seeking to hide his ungovernable sorrow. In the middle of the hall stood--pressing his head against a pillar and weeping loudly--a rich merchant of Ravenna. The King, now on the point of death, had once pardoned him for joining in a conspiracy, and had prevented his goods from being plundered by the enraged Goths.
Cethegus passed by them all with a cold glance of contempt.
In the next room--a saloon intended for the reception of foreign embassies--he found a number of distinguished Goths--dukes, earls, and other nobles--who evidently were assembled together to consult upon the succession, and the threatened overthrow of all existing conditions.
There was the brave Duke Thulun, who had heroically defended the town of Arles against the Franks; Ibba, the conqueror of Spain; and Pitza, who had been victorious over the Bulgarians and Gepidians--all mighty warriors, proud of their nobility, which was little less than that of the royal house of Amelung; for they were of the house of Balthe, which, through Alaric, had won the crown of the Visigoths; and no less proud of their services in war, which had protected and extended the kingdom.
Hildebad and Teja were with them. They were the leaders of the party which had long since desired a more severe treatment of the Italians, whom they at once hated and shunned; but had been forced, against their will, to give way to the milder opinions of the King.
What looks of hatred shot from their eyes upon the aristocratic Roman who now came to witness the death of the great Gothic hero!
Cethegus walked quietly past them, and lifted the heavy woollen curtain that divided this from the next apartment--the ante-chamber of the sick-room.
On entering, he greeted with a profound inclination a tall and queenly woman, enveloped in a black mourning veil, who, grave and silent, but composed and without tears, stood before a marble table covered with records. It was Amalaswintha, the widowed daughter of Theodoric.
A woman above thirty years of age, she was still extremely, though coldly, beautiful. She wore her rich dark hair parted and waved in the fashion of the Greeks. Her high forehead, her large, open eyes, her straight nose, the pride expressed in her almost manly features, and the majesty of her full form, gave her an imposing dignity, and, clad in a garment folded in true Grecian style, she resembled a Juno of Polycletus which had descended from its pedestal. Her arm, more supporting than supported, was laid within that of a youth of about seventeen years of age--Athalaric, her son, the heir of the kingdom of the Goths.
He did not resemble his mother, but had the nature of his unhappy father, Eutharic, whom a wasting heart disease had hurried to the grave in the bloom of life. For this reason, Amalaswintha saw with sorrow that her son grew daily more like his father; and it was no longer a secret at the court of Ravenna that all the signs of the disease were already visible in the young man.
Athalaric was as beautiful as all the other members of this royal house, descended from the gods. Heavy black eyebrows and long eyelashes shaded his beautiful dark eyes, that now melted with an expression of dreamy reverie, and now flashed with intellectual brilliancy. Dark brown tangled locks hung over his pale temples, on which, when he was excited, the blue veins swelled convulsively. On his noble brow physical pain or sad resignation had traced deep lines, strange to see on his youthful countenance. Marble paleness and vivid red quickly alternated in his transparent cheeks. His tall but bent-frame generally seemed to hang, so to speak, on its hinges, as if tired, and only at times he drew himself up with startling suddenness.
He did not notice Cethegus, for, leaning on his mother's breast, he had in his sadness flung his Grecian mantle over that young head, which was soon destined to wear a crown.
At some distance from these two figures, near an open window that afforded a view of the marble steps upon which lay the Gothic warriors, stood, lost in thought, a woman--or was it a girl?--of surprising and dazzling beauty; it was Mataswintha, the sister of Athalaric.
She resembled her mother in height and nobleness of form, but her more sharply-cut features were filled with fiery and passionate life, which was only slightly concealed under an aspect of artificial coldness.
Her figure, in which blooming fulness and delicate slenderness were harmoniously blended, reminded one of that Artemis in the arms of Endymion, in the group sculptured by Agesander, which, as legend reports, was banished from the town by the Council of Rhodes because the marble representation of the most perfect maidenly beauty and highest sensuousness had driven the youths of the island to madness and suicide. The magic of ripe virgin beauty trembled over the whole form of Mataswintha. Her rich waving hair was of a dark-red colour, with a glimmering metallic light upon it, and had such an extraordinary effect that it had procured for the Princess, even amongst her own nation, whose women were celebrated for their splendid golden locks, the appellation of "Beautiful-hair." Her nose was finely-shaped, with delicately-chiselled nostrils, which quivered at the slightest emotion; and freshly bloomed the full and rosy lips of her lovely mouth. But the most striking feature of this extraordinary beauty was the grey eye, not so much on account of its changing colour as from the wonderful expression with which, though generally lost in reverie, it could sometimes flash with burning passion.
Indeed, as she stood there leaning against the window, in the half-Hellenic, half-Gothic costume, which her fancy had combined, her full white arm wound round the dark column of porphyry, and gazing thoughtfully out into the evening air, her seductive beauty resembled that of those irresistible wood or water-nymphs, whose enchanting power of love has always been celebrated in Northern legend.
And so great was the power of this beauty, that even the burnt-out bosom of Cethegus, who had long known the Princess, was moved to new admiration as he entered.
But his attention was immediately claimed by Cassiodorus--the learned and faithful minister of the King, the first representative of that benevolent but hopeless policy of reconciliation, which had been practised in the Gothic Kingdom for many years--who was standing near Amalaswintha.
This old man, whose venerable and mild features were no less filled with an expression of sorrow at the loss of his royal friend than by anxiety for the future of the kingdom, rose, and went with tottering steps towards Cethegus, who reverently bent his head.
The aged man's eyes rested upon him for some moments, swimming in tears; at last he sank sighing upon the cold breast of Cethegus, who despised him for this weakness.
"What a day!" complained Cassiodorus.
"A fateful day," said Cethegus gravely. "Strength and presence of mind are necessary."
"You say truly, patrician, and speak like a Roman," said the Princess, leaving Athalaric--"welcome!"
She gave him her hand, which did not tremble. Her eye was clear and tearless.
"The disciple of the Stoics preserves, even on this day, the wisdom of Zeno and her own composure," said Cethegus.
"Say, rather, that the grace of God wonderfully upholds her soul," said Cassiodorus reprovingly.
"Patrician," began Amalaswintha, "the prætorian prefect has proposed you to me for the performance of an important business. His word would be sufficient, even had I not known you so long. You are the self-same Cethegus who transposed the first two songs of the? 'Æneid' into Grecian hexameters?"
"Infandum renovare jubes, regina, dolorem. A youthful sin, Queen," said Cethegus, smiling. "I bought up all the copies and burnt them on the day on which Tullia's translation appeared."
Tullia was the pseudonym of Amalaswintha. Cethegus knew it, but the Princess had no suspicion of his knowledge. She was flattered in her weakest point, and continued:
"You know how it stands with us. My father's moments are counted; according to the report of the physicians, he may, although yet strong and active, die at any moment. Athalaric here is the heir to his crown. But until he has reached the proper age, I shall conduct the regency, and act as his guardian."
"Such is the will of the King, and Goths and Romans have long since agreed to this wise arrangement," said Cethegus.
"They did so, but the mob is fickle. The rough men despise the government of a woman"--and at this thought Amalaswintha knit her brow in anger.
"It is certainly contrary to the political principles both of Goths and Romans," said Cassiodorus apologetically. "It is quite a new thing that a woman----"
"Whatever may be thought about it, it is a fact," interposed the Princess. "Nevertheless, I count on the fidelity of the Goths in general, though single aristocratic individuals may aim at the crown. I also fear nothing from the Italians here in Ravenna, nor in most towns. But I fear--Rome and the Romans!"
The attention of Cethegus was arrested. His whole being was suddenly excited, but his countenance remained impassive.
"Rome will never accustom herself to the rule of the Goths; she will always resist us--how can it be otherwise?" added Amalaswintha.
It seemed as if the daughter of Theodoric had a Roman soul.
"Therefore we fear," concluded Cassiodorus, "that, at the news of the vacancy of the throne, a movement may break out in Rome against the regency, be it for annexation to Byzantium, be it for the election of an Emperor of the Western Empire."
Cethegus, as if in reflection, cast down his eyes.
"For this reason," quickly interposed the Princess, "everything must be done before the news reaches Rome. A faithful, energetic man must receive the oaths of the garrison for me--I mean for my son; must take possession of the most important gates and squares, intimidate the Senate and the nobles, win the people to my cause, and irrevocably confirm my dominion before it is menaced. And to effect this, Cassiodorus has proposed--you. Speak; will you undertake it?"
At this moment the golden stylus which she held happened to fell to the ground.
Cethegus stooped to pick it up.
He had only this one moment for the crowding thoughts that passed through his mind on hearing this proposal.
Was the conspiracy in the Catacombs betrayed? Was he himself betrayed? Was this a snare laid by the crafty and ambitious woman? Or were the fools really so blind as to press this offer upon him? And if it were so, what should he do? Should he seize the occasion? Should he strike at once, in order to win Rome? And for whom? For Byzantium or for an Emperor of the West? And who should it be? Or were things not yet ripe? Should he, for this once, seemingly practise fidelity?
To resolve these and many other questions, he had only the one moment in which he stooped.
But his quick mind needed no more. He had seen, while in the act of stooping, the unsuspicious, trusting look of Cassiodorus, and, giving the stylus to the Princess, he spoke with decision:
"Queen, I undertake the business."
"That is well," said the Princess.
Cassiodorus pressed his hand.
"When Cassiodorus proposed me for this office," continued Cethegus, "he gave another proof of his deep knowledge of mankind. He has seen the kernel through the shell."
"What do you mean?" asked Amalaswintha.
"Queen, appearances might have deceived him. I confess that I do not like to see the barbarians--pardon, the Goths--reigning in Italy."
"This frankness honours you, and I pardon the feeling in a Roman."
"Besides that, I have taken no interest in public affairs for some years. After having experienced varied passions, I now live in the calm and retirement of my country villas, cultivating the sportive muse, enjoying my books, and untroubled by the cares of kings."
"Beatus ille qui procul negotiis," quoted the learned lady, sighing.
"But, because I honour science, because I, a scholar of Plato, desire that the wise should govern, I wish that a Queen should reign over my fatherland who is only a Goth by birth, but in her soul a Greek, and by her virtues a Roman. For her sake I will sacrifice my leisure to hated business. But only on condition that this shall be my last office of state. I will undertake your commission, and answer for Rome with my head."
"Good; here you will find the legal documents which you will need."
Cethegus looked rapidly through the records.
"This is the manifesto of the young King to the Romans, with your signature.Hisis still wanting."
Amalaswintha dipped the Cnidian reed-pen into the vessel filled with crimson ink, which was used by the Amelungs as well as by the Roman Emperors.
"Come, write thy name, my son," she said.
Athalaric, standing and leaning with both arms on the table, had keenly observed Cethegus during the above conversation. Now he stood erect. He was accustomed to act with the usual arrogance of a Crown Prince and the petulancy of an invalid.
"No," he said impatiently; "I will not write. Not only because I do not trust this cold Roman--I do not trust you in the least, you proud man--but it is revolting that, while my noble father still breathes, you already quarrel about his crown. You dwarfs! About the crown of a giant! Shame on your insensibility! Behind those curtains the greatest hero of the century is dying, and you think already of the partition of his garment!"
He turned his back upon them and went slowly to the window, where he passed his arm round his lovely sister, and stroked her shining hair. He stood there for some time; she did not notice him.
Suddenly she started from her reverie.
"Athalaric," she whispered, hastily grasping his arm, and pointing at the marble staircase, "who is that man in the blue steel helmet, who is just coming round that pillar? Say, who is it?"
"Let me see," said the youth, bending forward. "That? Oh! that is Earl Witichis, the conqueror of the Gepidæ, a famous hero."
And he told her of the deeds and triumphs of the Earl in the last war.
Meanwhile Cethegus had looked inquiringly at the Princess and the minister.
"Let him alone," sighed Amalaswintha. "If he will not, no power on earth can make him."
Further questions on the part of Cethegus were cut short, for the three-fold curtain, that shut out all the noise of the ante-chamber from the King's bedroom, was parted.
It was Elpidios, the Greek physician, who, lifting the heavy folds, now entered, and announced that the sick man, just awakened from a long sleep, had sent him away, in order to be alone with old Hildebrand, who never stirred from his side.
Theodoric's bed-chamber, which had served the same purpose under the Emperors, was decorated with the heavy splendour of late Roman style.
The superabundant reliefs of the walls and the gilded ornamentation of the ceiling still pictured the victories and triumphal processions of Roman consuls and emperors. Heathen gods and goddesses floated proudly above. Everywhere reigned the same oppressive magnificence.
The extreme simplicity of the Gothic King's couch formed a remarkable contrast to all this pomp.
The oval frame of unpolished oak was raised scarcely a foot from the ground, and contained few cushions. Only the costly crimson cover which hid the King's feet, and the lion's skin with golden claws that lay before the bed--a present from the King of the Vandals, in Africa--betrayed the royalty of the sick man. All the other furniture of the room was simple, plain, and almost barbarously clumsy.
On a pillar in the background hung the iron shield and broad-sword of the King, which had not been used for many years. At the head of the bed stood the old master-at-arms, with his eyes bent down, anxiously examining the features of the patient, who, leaning on his left arm, turned his majestic countenance towards him.
The King's sparse hair, rubbed off on the temples by years of friction caused by his heavy helmet, was still of a bright brown colour, and without a trace of grey. His heavy brow, sparkling eyes, large nose, and the deep lines in his cheeks, spoke of great tasks and great strength to accomplish them.
The expression of his face was commanding and even sublime; but the benevolent softness of his mouth, in spite of the grim and slightly-grey beard, gave evidence of the mildness and peaceful wisdom by means of which he had raised his kingdom to such a flourishing condition that it had already become a proverb and celebrated in story.
His golden-brown and piercing eyes rested for some time upon his gigantic sick-nurse, with an expression of love and favour.
At last he stretched out his thin, but nervous, right hand.
"Old friend," said he, "we must now take leave of each other."
The old man sank upon his knees and pressed the King's hand to his broad breast.
"Come, my friend, rise! Must I comfortthee?"
But Hildebrand remained upon his knees, and only lifted his head so that he could look the King in the face.
"See," said the King, "I know that thou, son of Hilding, hast received from thy ancestors and thy father a deeper knowledge of the ailings of mankind and their healing than all these Grecian physicians and Lydian quack-salvers. And, more than that, thou art sincere. Therefore, I beg thee honestly to confirm me in what I feel to be true. Tell me, must I not die to-day--even before the night?" And he looked at him in a manner that would brook no deception.
But Hildebrand did not wish to deceive him; he had regained his natural composure.
"Yes, King of the Goths, heir of the Amelungs, thou must die; the hand of Death has passed across thy brow. Never again wilt thou see the sun's setting."
"It is well," said Theodoric, without blenching. "Seest thou, the Greek whom I dismissed has lied to me all the day long. And yet time is precious to me."
"Wilt thou again send for the priests?" asked Hildebrand reluctantly.
"No; they can do me no good. I need them no more."
"Sleep has strengthened thee, and lifted the veil from thy soul. Hail! Theodoric, son of Walamer! thou wilt die like a hero!"
"I know," said the King, smiling, "that it was repugnant to thy feelings to see the priests near my couch. Thou art in the right. They cannot help me."
"And now--who or what has helped thee now?"
"God and myself. Hear! And what I am about to say are my parting words. In gratitude for thy fifty years' faithful service, I confide to thine ear alone--not to my daughter, and not to Cassiodorus--that which has so long troubled me. Tell me, what is reported among the people? What is believed was the cause of the melancholy which suddenly overcame me, and originated this disease?"
"The Italians say that it was remorse for the death of Boëthius and Symmachus."
"Didst thou believe this?"
"No; I could not believe that the death of traitors could so affect thee."
"Thou art in the right. Perhaps, according to law, they were not deserving of death; and I loved Boëthius much. But they were traitors a thousand times! Traitors in their thoughts, traitors to my trust, to my heart. I prized these Romans more than the best of my people. And they showed their gratitude by wishing that my crown were the Emperor's; they wrote flattering letters to the Byzantines; they preferred a Justinus and a Justinian to the friendship of a Theodoric! I am not sorry for them; I despise them. Guess again. What didst thou believe?"
"King, thy heir is a youth, and enemies encompass thy throne."
The sick man frowned.
"This time thou art nearer the mark. I always knew the weakness of my kingdom. When at the evening banquet I have shown the proud face of confidence to the foreign ambassadors, at night I have anxiously sighed at its inward disease. Old man, I know that thou hast often considered me all too confident. But none might see me tremble, neither friend nor foe. Else my throne had trembled. I sighed only when alone, and have borne my care in solitude."
"Thou art wisdom itself, my King, and I was a fool!" cried the old man.
"Thou seest," continued the King, stroking the old man's hand, "that I knew in what I displeased thee. I knew also thy blind hatred of these Italians. Believe me, itisblind, as was, perhaps, my love of them." Here he stopped and sighed.
"Why wilt thou distress thyself?"
"No, let me continue! I know that my kingdom--the work of my glorious and toilsome life--may easily fall. Perhaps owing to my generosity to these Romans. Be it so! No work of man is eternal, and the error of over-kindness is easily borne!"
"My great King!"
"But, Hildebrand, one night, as I was lying awake, anxious about the danger of my kingdom, there rose before my soul the ghost of another sin! Not of too much kindness, but of bloody force! And woe, woe to me, if my nation is to be destroyed in expiation of the crime of Theodoric! His,hisimage rises before me!"
The sick man spoke with difficulty, and lay for a moment overwhelmed with emotion.
"Whose image? of whom dost thou speak?" asked the old man softly, bending over him.
"Odoacer!" whispered the King, and Hildebrand bowed his head.
At last Theodoric broke the painful silence.
"Yes, old friend, this right hand, as thou knowest, struck down the mighty hero--my guest--at the banquet-table. His hot blood splashed into my face, and an ardent hate flashed upon me from his filming eyes. A few months past, during the night I speak of, his bloody, pale and angry form rose before me like an avenging god. My heart was contracted, my pulses beat with fever. The fearful conviction came over me that my kingdom would fall and my nation decay, because of this my bloody deed."
This time, after a short pause, Hildebrand, looking up defiantly, said:
"King, why dost thou fret like a woman? Hast thou not struck down hundreds with thine own arm, and thy people thousands at thy behest? Have we not descended from the mountains into this land in more than thirty battles, wading ankle-deep in blood? What is the blood ofoneman to all this? And remember the circumstances. For four years he had defied thee as the ure-ox defies the bear. Twice he had driven thee and thy folk to the brink of destruction. Hunger, sword, and pestilence carried off thy Goths. At last, at last, stubborn Ravenna fell, forced by famine. The deadly enemy lay at thy feet. Then a warning came that he contemplated treason; that he would renew the fearful strife; that he would attack thee and thine that night. What couldest thou do? Call him openly to account? If he were guilty, that could do no good, therefore thou wert beforehand with him, and did that to him in the evening which he intended doing to thee at night. Thatonedeed saved thy people, and prevented the renewal of a fearful strife. Thou forgavest all his followers, and for thirty years caused Goths and Italians to live as if in Paradise. And now thou wilt torment thyself with vain remorse? Two nations will ever thank thee for this deed! I--I would have killed him seven times over!"
The old man ceased; his eyes flashed; he looked like an angry giant. But the King shook his head.
"That is nothing, old warrior! I have repeated the same thing to myself a hundred times, and put it into more flattering forms than is possible to thy rude tongue. All in vain! He was a hero--the only one of my kind--and I murdered him without proof of his guilt, for I was jealous, suspicious, aye, it must be said, I wasafraid--afraid that I should be compelled again to strive with him. It was, and is, and ever will be a sin! I have found no peace in self-excuses. Since that night his image has followed me unceasingly. At the banquet and in the council-chamber; at the hunt, in the church, waking and sleeping. Then Cassiodorus sent the priests and bishops to me. They could not help me. They heard my confession, saw my grief and my faith, and absolved me from all my sins. But peace came not, and though they forgave me, I could not forgive myself. I know not whether it be the old manner of thought inherited from my heathen ancestors, but I cannot hide myself behind the Cross from the ghost of the murdered man! I cannot believe I am freed from my bloody deed by the blood of an innocent God who died upon the Cross!"
Hildebrand's face was suddenly lit up with joy.
"Thou knowest," he whispered in the King's ear, "that I could never believe the priests of the Cross. Speak, oh, speak! dost thou still believe in Thor and Odin? Havetheyhelped thee?"
The King smiled and shook his head.
"No, thou incorrigible old heathen! Thy Walhalla is nothing for me. Hear how I was helped. Yesterday I sent the bishops away, and retired into the recesses of my own heart. I thought and wrestled and entreated God, and I became calmer, and, behold! in the night a deep slumber came upon me, such as I had not known for long months. When I awoke, no fever of torture shook my limbs; I felt composed, and my mind clearer; I felt that no grace or miracle of God could undo the deed that I had committed. I knew that if God be indeed a God of vengeance, He could punish me and my house unto the seventh generation, and I dedicated myself and my kingdom to His eternal vengeance. But, if God be just, He cannot visit the sins committed by their King upon the people of the Goths. No, He will not do that. And if ever this people decay, I feel that it will not be owing to my deed; and thus peace hath entered into my soul, and I can die with courage."
He was silent, but Hildebrand bowed his head and kissed the hand which had killed Odoacer.
"These are my parting words to thee, my legacy and thanks for a whole life of fidelity. Now let us dedicate the remaining time to the Goths. Come, assist me to rise, I cannot die amid these cushions. There hang my weapons! Give them to me! No objections! I will, and I can!"
Hildebrand was obliged to obey. With his help the sick man rose, and threw a purple mantle over his shoulders, girded on his sword, set the low helmet-crown on his head, and supporting himself on the shaft of his heavy lance, leaned his back against the thick Doric column in the middle of the room.
"Now call my daughter, and Cassiodorus, and whoever else may be outside."