In the peaceful light of late afternoon shone the chapel and convent which Valerius had built in order to release his daughter from the service of the Church. It was situated at the foot of the Apennines, to the northeast of Perusia and Asisum, and to the south of Petra and Eugubium, upon a rocky precipice above the little town of Taginæ.
The cloister, built of the dark red stone of the neighbourhood, enclosed in its quadrangle a quiet garden, green with shrubberies.
A cool arched passage ran round all its four sides, decorated in the grave Byzantine style, with statues of the apostles, mosaics, and frescoes on a golden background.
This ornamentation consisted in symbolic pictures from the sacred writings, especially from the Revelations of St. John, the favourite Gospel of that time.
Solemn stillness reigned over the place. Life seemed excluded from within these high and strong walls.
Cypresses and arbor-vitæ predominated in the groups of trees in the garden, where the song of a bird was never heard. The strict conventual order suffered no bird, lest the sweet song of the nightingale might disturb the pious souls in their devotions.
It was Cassiodorus who, already inclined to a severe monastic rule when minister of Theodoric, and full of Biblical learning, had sketched for his friend Valerius the plan for the outer and inner government of this convent--similar to the rules of the monastery which he himself had founded at Squillacium--and had watched over its execution. His pious but severe mind, so alienated from the flesh and the world, was expressed in the smallest details.
The twenty widows and maidens who lived here as nuns passed their days in prayer and psalm-singing, chastisement and penitence, and also in works of Christian charity; for they visited the sick and the poor of the neighbourhood, comforting and nursing body and soul.
It made a solemn, poetical, but very sad impression upon the beholder when one of these pious nuns came walking through the dark avenue of cypresses, clad in a flowing dark-grey garment, which trailed on the ground, and a white close-fitting kalantika upon her head, a costume which Christendom had received from the Egyptian priests of Isis.
Before every cross of the many which were cut in the box-trees the nuns stood still and folded their hands in adoration. They always walked alone, and dumb as shadows they glided past each other when they chanced to meet; for communication was reduced to the absolutely necessary.
In the middle of the garden a spring flowed from beneath a dark-coloured rock, surrounded by cypresses; marble seats were fixed in the rock.
It was a retired, lovely spot; wild roses formed a sort of arbour, and almost entirely concealed a rough bas-relief sculptured in the rock, representing the martyrdom of St. Stephen.
Near this spring sat, eagerly reading in a roll of papyrus, a beautiful maiden, clad in a snow-white garment, held up on the left shoulder by a golden clasp. A spray of ivy was twined in the dark brown hair, which flowed back from the brow in soft waves. It was Valeria.
When the columns of her home at Neapolis had been overthrown, she had found an asylum within these strong walls. She had become paler and graver in this lonely dwelling, but her eyes still beamed with all their former beauty.
She read with avidity; the contents of the papyrus seemed to entrance her; her finely-cut lips moved involuntarily, and at last she began to read aloud in a low voice:
"His child to Hector of the brazen helmWas given in marriage; she it was who nowMet him, and by her side the nurse, who boreClasped to her breast, his all-unconscious child,Hector's loved infant, fair as morning star;Silent he smiled as on his boy he gazed,But at his side, Andromache in tears,Hung on his arm, and thus the chief addressed:'Dear lord, thy dauntless spirit will work thy doom;Nor hast thou pity on this thy helpless child,Or me, forlorn to lie thy widow soon:For thee will all the Greeks with force combinedAssail and slay: for me, 'twere better far,Of thee bereft, to lie beneath the sod;Nor comfort shall be mine, if thou be lost,But endless grief: to me nor sire is left,Nor honoured mother;But, Hector, thou to me art all in one,Sire, mother, brethren! thou, my wedded love!'"
She read no further; her large eyes grew moist; her voice died away; her head sank upon her bosom.
"Valeria!" said a mild voice, and Cassiodorus bent forward over her shoulder; "tears upon the book of comfort! But what do I see--the 'Iliad?' Child, I gave you the Evangelists!"
"Pardon me, Cassiodorus; my heart clings to other gods than yours. You cannot imagine how, the more the shadow of earnest self-denial presses upon me since I entered these walls, the more tenaciously my resisting heart holds fast to the last ties that bind me to the world. And my mind vacillates between disgust and love."
At this moment a loud and cheerful sound broke the silence; a strange tone in these quiet precincts, which usually echoed only the low choral of the nuns.
Trumpets sounded the merry signal of the Gothic horsemen. The tones penetrated Valerians heart with a life-giving feeling. The gatekeeper came running from the dwelling-house.
"Master," he cried, "bold horsemen are outside the gate. They make a noise and demand meat and drink. They will not be refused, and their leader--there he is!"
"Totila!" cried Valeria, and flew to meet her lover, who appeared in his glittering armour and white mantle. "Oh, you bring me air and life!"
"And new hope and old love!" said Totila, and held her in a fast embrace.
"Whence come you? How long you have been away!"
"I come straightway from Paris and Aurelianum, from the courts of the Frank kings. Oh, Cassiodorus, how well off are those on the other side of the mountains! What an easy life have they! There heaven and earth and tradition do not fight against their German spirit. The Rhenus and Danubius are near, and uncounted Germanic races dwell there in old and unbroken strength; we, on the contrary, are like an advanced outpost, a forlorn hope, a single block of rock, worn away by the envious elements. But all the greater fame," he continued, drawing himself up, "if we can create and uphold a kingdom for the Germans in the centre of the country of the Romans! And what a magic lies in your fatherland, Valeria! And we have made it ours. How my heart rejoiced when olives and laurels and the deep deep blue of heaven again greeted my eyes! I felt that if my people can victoriously sustain themselves in this wondrous land, mankind will see its noblest ideal realised."
Valeria pressed his hand.
"And what have you accomplished?" asked Cassiodorus.
"Much! Everything! At the court of the Merovingian, Childebert, I met with ambassadors from Byzantium, who had already half persuaded him to invade Italy as their allies. The gods--forgive me, pious father--Heaven was with me and my words. I succeeded in altering Childebert's sentiments. In the worst case, his weapons will remain neutral. But I hope he will send an army to our assistance."
"Where did you leave Julius?"
"I accompanied him to his lovely home, Avenio. There I left him among blooming almond-trees and oleanders; there he wanders, no more with 'Plato.' but almost always with 'Augustinus' in his hand; and dreams and dreams of eternal peace between the nations, of perfect goodness, and of the kingdom of God! It is indeed lovely in those green vales; but I do not envy him his leisure. My ideal is folk and fatherland. And my only desire is to fight for this people of the Goths. Everywhere in my backward journey I drove the people to arms. I already met three strong troops on the way to Ravenna. I myself lead a fourth to our brave King. At last we shall advance against these Greeks, and then revenge for Neapolis!" and with flashing eyes he raised his spear. He was very beautiful to look upon.
Valeria threw herself into his arms.
"Oh see, Cassiodorus!" she cried; "this ismyworld!myjoy! my heaven! Manly courage and the glitter of arms and love of one's people, and the soul moved with love and hate--does not this satisfy the human soul?"
"Yes; while happy and young! It is pain which leads the mind to heaven."
"My pious father," said Totila, laying his right hand upon the shoulder of Cassiodorus, and drawing Valeria close to him with his left, "it ill becomes me to argue with you, who are older, wiser, and better. But I feel just the contrary. If I could ever doubt the goodness of God, it is when I see pain and undeserved suffering. When I saw my noble Miriam's eyes extinguished in death, my doubting heart asked: 'Does there then exist no God?' In happiness and the sunshine of life is the grace of the Supreme Being revealed to me. He certainly wills the happiness of mankind--pain is His sacred secret; I trust that also this riddle will be made clear to us. But meanwhile let us joyfully do our best upon earth, and allow no shadow to darken our minds too long. In this belief, Valeria, let us part. For I must go to King Witichis with my troop."
"You leave me? Already? Ah, when and where shall I see you again?"
"You shall see me again; take my word in pledge. I know the day will come when I shall have the right to take you from these gloomy walls and lead you to life and sunshine. Meanwhile, do not allow yourself to give way to sad thoughts. The day of victory and happiness will come; and I rejoice that I draw my sword at once for my people and my love."
While he was speaking the gatekeeper had brought a letter for Cassiodorus.
"I too must leave you, Valeria," said the latter. "Rusticiana, the widow of Boëthius, calls me to her death-bed. She wishes to ease her mind of old guilt. I go to Tifernum."
"My way leads thither also; we will go together, Cassiodorus. Farewell, my Valeria!"
After a brief leave-taking, the maiden watched her lover set forth.
She climbed a small tower on the garden wall, and looked after him.
She saw him swing himself into the saddle; she saw his horsemen gallop after him.
Their helmets glittered in the evening light; the blue flag fluttered merrily in the wind; it was a picture of life, strength, and youth.
She looked after the troop for some time with intense longing.
But as it disappeared more and more into the distance, the joyous courage with which her lover's visit had imbued her, gradually forsook her. Sad forebodings arose in her heart, and she unconsciously expressed her feelings in the words of her beloved Homer:
"'Achilles, too, thou see'st; how stalwart, tall, and fair! Yet must he yield to death and stubborn fate, Whene'er at morn, or noon, or eve, the spear Or arrow from the bow may reach his life.'"
Sighing painfully, she left the quickly darkening garden, and entered the damp walls of the convent.
Meanwhile King Witichis, in his armed city of Ravenna, displayed all the arts and activity of an experienced general.
As, week by week, and day by day, larger or smaller divisions of the Gothic troops which had been treacherously sent to the frontiers by Theodahad, returned to the city, the King was unceasingly occupied in arming, training, and regulating the whole army, which was gradually to be brought to the number of a hundred and fifty thousand.
For Theodoric's reign had been extremely peaceful; the garrisons of the frontier provinces had alone seen active service against the Gepidæ, Bulgarians, and Avarians; and during a peace of more than thirty years the regulations of the army had become somewhat rusty.
Therefore the King, supported by his friends and generals, had work enough on his hands.
The arsenals and docks were emptied; immense magazines were built in the city, and, between the threefold walls, endless rows of workshops were erected for smiths and armourers of all kinds, who were obliged to labour day and night, in order to satisfy the demands of the ever increasing army, and the eager exigence of the King.
All Ravenna had become a camp.
Nothing was heard but the hammers of the smiths, the neighing of horses, the rattle of arms, and the war-cry of manœuvring troops.
In this turmoil and restless activity Witichis sought to deaden his grief as well as he could, and looked eagerly forward to the day when he might lead his brave army to meet the enemy.
But though his first impulse was to lose himself in the vortex of a fierce struggle, he did not forget his duty as King, but sent Duke Guntharis and Hildebad to Belisarius with a proposal of peace on the most moderate conditions.
His time thus completely claimed by affairs of state, Witichis had scarcely a thought or look to spare for his Queen, upon whom, as he also imagined, he could bestow no greater favour than the undisturbed enjoyment of liberty.
But since the fatal marriage feast of Witichis and Mataswintha, at the end of which she had learned in the bridal chamber, from his lips, that he did not, could never love her, and had but called her wife to save the nation, Mataswintha had been possessed by a demon: the demon of insatiable revenge.
The most deadly hatred is that of revolted love.
From her childhood Witichis had been Mataswintha's ideal. Her pride, her hope, and her love were all centred in him; and she had as little doubted that the sun would rise on the morrow, as that her longing for him would be satisfied. And now she was forced to confess to herself that he had discovered her passion, and did not reciprocate it; and that, although she was his Queen, her love for him appeared criminal, with regard to his banished wife, who yet alone reigned in his heart.
He, whom she had looked upon as her destined liberator from unworthy bondage, had done her the greatest injury; he had caused her to enter into a marriage bond without love. He had deprived her of her liberty, and had refused his heart in exchange.
And wherefore? What had been the cause of this sin? The Gothic kingdom, and the Gothic crown; for, to uphold these, he had not hesitated a moment to blast her whole life.
"If he had merely failed to reciprocate my love," she said to herself, "I should have been too proud to hate him. But he draws me to him, bestows upon me, as if in mockery, the name of wife, leads me to the very brink of happiness, and then contemptuously thrusts me down into the night of unspeakable humiliation! And why all this? For the sake of an empty sound the Gothic kingdom! For a circlet of gold! Woe to him, and woe to his idol, to which he has sacrificed me! He shall repent it. Without mercy he has destroyed my idol--his own image. Well, then, idol for idol! He shall live to see his kingdom destroyed, his crown broken. I will shatter his ideal, for whose sake he has sacrificed the bloom of my life; and when he stands despairing and wringing his hands before the fragments, I will say: See! thus my idol, too, was shattered!"
So, with the unstable sophistry of passion, Mataswintha accused the unhappy man, who suffered more than herself; who had sacrificed not only her happiness, but that of his well-beloved wife, to his fatherland.
Fatherland!--Gothic kingdom! The words fell chilly upon the ear of the woman who, from her childhood upward, had connected all her sufferings with these names.
She had lived solely absorbed in the egoism of heronefeeling, the poetry of her passionate love, and her whole soul was now possessed with the desire of revenge for the loss of her happiness. She wished that she had the power to destroy the kingdom at one blow.
But the very madness of her passion endowed her with demoniac cunning.
She understood how to hide her deadly hatred and her secret thoughts of revenge from the King--to hide them as deeply as the love which she still entertained for him. She was also able to show an interest in the Gothic kingdom, which seemed to form the only tie between herself and the King; and indeed she really took a deep interest in it, although in an inimical sense. For she well knew that she could only injure the kingdom and ruin the King's cause if she were initiated into all its secrets, and intimately acquainted with its strength and weakness.
Her high position made it easy for her to learn all that she wished to know; out of consideration for her powerful party, the knowledge of the situation of the kingdom and army could not be withheld from the daughter of the Amelungs. Old Earl Grippa furnished her with all the information which he himself possessed. In more important cases she was present at the councils which were held in the King's apartments.
Thus she was perfectly well acquainted with the position of the kingdom; the strength, quality, and divisions of the army; the hopes and fears of the Goths, and the plans of attack formed by the generals. And she longed with impatience for a speedy opportunity of using her knowledge as destructively as possible.
She could not hope to enter into relations with Belisarius himself, therefore her eyes were naturally directed to the Italians in her vicinity, with whom she could easily and unsuspectedly communicate; and who, though neutral in the presence of the Goths, were, without exception, secretly favourable to the Byzantines.
But on recalling their names to her memory, she found that there was not one to whose wisdom and discretion she could entrust the deadly secret: that the Queen of the Goths desired the destruction of her kingdom.
These cowardly and insignificant men--for all the best had long since joined Cethegus or Belisarius were neither worthy of trust nor capable of dealing with Witichis and his friends.
Mataswintha cunningly tried to learn from the King and the Goths themselves, which of the Romans they held to be their most dangerous and powerful enemy; but in answer to such questions, she only heard one name, repeated again and again, and he who owned this name was beyond her reach in the Capitol of Rome--Cethegus the Prefect.
It was impossible for her to enter into communication with him. She could trust none of her Roman slaves with such an important mission as the bearing of a letter to Rome.
The clever and courageous Numidian, who fully shared the hatred of her beloved mistress to the rude barbarians, from whom she had always experienced contempt, had, in truth, offered, with much zeal, to find her way to Cethegus; but Mataswintha would not expose the girl to the perils of a journey through Italy during war-time. Therefore she was already reconciled to the thought that she must postpone her revenge until the march to Rome. But not the less zealously did she continue to inquire into the plans and stratagems of the Goths.
One day she was returning from the council of war, which had been held in the camp without the walls, in the King's tent; for, since the armament had approached its completion, and the Goths had been daily expecting the order to march, Witichis--partly to avoid Mataswintha--had left his rooms in the palace and taken up his abode among his warriors.
The Queen, accompanied only by Aspa, was walking slowly forward, pondering upon what she had just heard. She had avoided the press and noise of the inner camp, and pursued her way between a marshy arm of the river Padus to the left and the rows of white tents to the right. While she wandered on, noticing nothing, Aspa's sharp eyes were watching a group of Goths and Italians which surrounded the platform of a conjurer, who appeared, from the astonishment and laughter of the spectators, to be performing new and marvellous tricks.
Aspa lingered a little to see something of these wonders. The conjurer was a slender youth, a Celt, to judge by the dazzling white skin of his face and bare arms, and by his long yellow hair; but this supposition was belied by his coal-black eyes. And he really performed wonders in the eyes of his simple audience. Now he sprang up, turned over and over in the air, and fell, now on his hands, now on his feet. Then he seemed to devour glowing coals with great appetite, and in their place, to spit out coins; then he swallowed a dagger a foot long and afterwards drew it out of the back of his head, throwing it up in the air together with three or four others, and catching them in turn by the handle, to the great enjoyment of the spectators, who rewarded him with laughter and cries of admiration.
But Aspa had already lingered too long.
She looked after her mistress, and observed that her path was intercepted by a troop of Italian carriers and livery-servants, who evidently had not recognised the Queen, and who passed straight before her on their way to the river, joking and making a great disturbance. They appeared to be pointing and throwing stones at some object which Aspa could not distinguish.
She was just about to hurry after her mistress, when the conjurer upon the platform near her suddenly uttered a shrill cry. Aspa turned in affright, and saw the youth take an immense leap over the heads of the spectators, and rush at the Italians.
He was already in their midst, and, bending down, disappeared for a moment.
But he quickly rose to his feet, and one and then another of the Italians fell prone under his blows.
In a moment Aspa stood at the Queen's side, who had quietly withdrawn from the turmoil, but, to her surprise, stopped short at a little distance, pointing at the group with her finger.
And indeed the sight was a strange one.
With incredible strength and still greater agility the conjurer held his assailants off. Springing at his adversaries, turning and bending, retreating and then suddenly darting forward to pull the nearest down by his foot, or to overthrow him with a powerful blow, he defended himself bravely, and that without any weapon, with his right hand alone; for in the left he held something close to his breast, as if hiding and protecting it.
This unequal combat lasted several minutes.
The conjurer was pushed nearer and nearer to the water by the angry and noisy crowd. Suddenly a naked blade glittered. One of the livery servants, enraged at receiving a severe blow, drew his knife and sprang at the conjurer from behind. With a cry the latter fell; his enemies rushed upon him.
"Help! drag them away! help the poor man!" cried Mataswintha to the soldiers, who now approached from the forsaken platform; "I, your Queen, command you!"
The Goths hurried to the knot of struggling men; but before they could reach them, the conjurer, who had broken from his adversaries, sprang out of the tumbling group, and, with a last effort, darted straight off in the direction of the two women--followed by the Italians.
What a sight!
The Gallic tunic of the poor conjurer hung in rags from his body; his false yellow hair was torn off his head, and beneath appeared locks of glossy black; the white hue of his neck ended in a chest the colour of bronze.
With a last exertion of strength he reached the women, and recognised Mataswintha.
"Protect me, save me, white goddess!" he cried, and fell at her feet.
The Italians had already reached him, and the nearest raised his knife.
But Mataswintha spread her blue mantle over the fallen man.
"Back!" she cried with majesty. "Leave him. He is under the protection of the Queen of the Goths!"
The livery-servants fell back abashed.
"Indeed!" at last said the one with the dagger, "is this dog and son of a dog to go unpunished? and five of us lie half dead on the ground, and I have three teeth too few? Is there to be no punishment?"
"He is punished enough," said Mataswintha, pointing to the deep gash on the neck of the conjurer.
"And all this fuss about a worm!" cried another. "About a snake that escaped from his knapsack, which we tried to kill with stones."
"See, he has hidden the viper in his bosom. Take it from him!"
"Kill him!" screamed the others.
But now a number of soldiers came up, and procured respect for their Queen, pushing back the Italians, and forming a circle round the wounded man.
Aspa looked at the latter attentively, and suddenly cast herself down beside him, crossing her arms on her bosom.
"What is the matter, Aspa? Rise!" said her mistress, much astonished.
"Oh, mistress!" stammered Aspa, "the man is no Gaul! He is one of my people. He prays to the Snake-God. Look at his brown skin--as brown as Aspa's! And here--here is writing; letters are tattooed upon his breast; the sacred hieroglyphics of my country!" she cried with delight.
And, pointing with her finger, she began to read.
"Why this disguise?" asked Mataswintha. "It is suspicious. He must be arrested."
"No, no, mistress," whispered Aspa; "dost thou know what these letters mean? No other eye than mine can decipher them for thee."
"Well?" asked Mataswintha.
"They say," whispered Aspa, "Syphax owes a life to his master, Cethegus the Prefect.' Yes, yes, I know him; it is Syphax, the son of Hiempsal, a friend of my family. The gods have sent him to us."
"Yes, Aspa," said Mataswintha, "the gods have sent him: the gods of revenge! Goths, lay this wounded man upon a bier, and follow my slave to the palace. Henceforward he shall be employed in my service."
A few days later Mataswintha again repaired to the camp, this time unaccompanied by Aspa, for the latter never stirred, by day or night, from the bedside of her wounded countryman, who was rapidly recovering under her careful nursing.
King Witichis himself came to fetch the Queen with all his court, for a most important council of war was to be held in his tent. The arrival of the last reinforcements had been reported, and Guntharis and Hildebad were also expected to return with the reply of Belisarius to the proposal of peace.
"This will be a fateful day," said Witichis to his consort. "Pray to Heaven for peace."
"I pray for war," said Mataswintha, with a fixed stare.
"Does thy woman's heart so long for revenge?"
"For revenge alone, and it will be mine!"
They entered the tent, which was already crowded with Gothic leaders.
Mataswintha returned their reverent greetings with a haughty bend of her neck.
"Are the ambassadors here?" the King asked old Hildebrand, as he seated himself. "Then bring them in."
At a sign from the old man, the curtains at the side of the tent were withdrawn, and Duke Guntharis and Hildebad entered, bowing low.
"What bring you, peace or war?" Witichis asked eagerly.
"War! war, King Witichis!" cried both men with one voice.
"What! Belisarius refuses the sacrifice I offered him? Hast thou communicated my proposal to him in a friendly and earnest manner?"
Duke Guntharis stepped forward and answered:
"I met the commander in the Capitol, as the guest of the Prefect, and I said to him: 'The Gothic King, Witichis, sends thee greeting. In thirty days he will march before these walls with a hundred and fifty thousand valiant Goths, and there will be a strife and struggle for this venerable city, such as her bloodstained soil has not witnessed for a thousand years. The King of the Goths loves peace even more than victory, and he swears to yield the island of Sicilia to the Emperor Justinian, and stand by him in every war with thirty thousand Goths, if you will at once evacuate Rome and Italy, which belong to us by right of conquest, as well as according to the treaty with Emperor Zeno, who conceded them to Theodoric when he had overthrown Odoacer.' Thus I spoke, according to thy command. But Belisarius laughed, and cried: 'Witichis is very kind to yield to me the island of Sicilia, which belongs to me already, and is no more his. I will give him instead the island of Thule! No. The treaty of Theodoric with Zeno was a forced one, and as to the right of conquest--well, that speaks now for us. No peace except upon these conditions: that the whole Gothic army lay down their arms, and the entire nation march over the Alps, sending their King and Queen as hostages to Byzantium.'"
A murmur of indignation ran through the tent.
"Without making any reply to such a proposition," continued Guntharis, "we turned our backs angrily and departed. 'We shall meet again in Ravenna!' Belisarius cried after us."
"Then I turned," added Hildebad, "and cried: 'We shall meet again before Rome!' Up, King Witichis! to arms! Thou hast done thine utmost for peace, and hast only reaped humiliation. Up, then! Long enough hast thou lingered and prepared; lead us now to battle!"
Just then a flourish of trumpets was heard in the camp, followed by the sound of the hoof-beats of approaching horses.
Presently the curtain of the tent was lifted, and Totila entered in his shining armour, his white mantle floating round him.
"Hail, my King and my Queen!" he said, bowing, "My mission is fulfilled, I bring you the friendly greeting of the Frank King. He had an army ready for the service of Byzantium, and prepared to attack thee. I succeeded in changing his intentions. His army will not enter Italy against the Goths. Duke Markja of Mediolanum, who, until now, has defended the Cottian Alps against the Franks, is therefore free. He follows me in haste with all his thousands. On my way hither I gathered together whatever men I found capable of bearing arms, and also the garrisons of the fortresses. Further: until now we were short of cavalry. Be comforted, my King! I bring thee six thousand horsemen, splendidly mounted. They long to caper upon the plains of Rome.Onewish alone dwells in all our hearts: lead us to battle, to Rome!"
"Thanks, my friend, to thee and to thy horsemen! Speak, Hildebrand, how is the army now divided? Tell me, generals, how many men does each one of you command? Notaries, write the numbers down."
"I command three thousand foot-soldiers," cried Hildebad.
"And I forty thousand foot and horse with shield and spear," said Duke Guntharis.
"I lead forty thousand foot: archers, slingers, and spear-bearers," said Earl Grippa of Ravenna.
"I seven thousand with knives and clubs," counted Hildebrand.
"Then come Totila's six thousand horse, and fourteen selected thousands led by Teja, with battle-axes--where is he? I miss him here--and I have raised the number of my troops, foot and horse, to fifty thousand," concluded the King.
"Altogether that makes a hundred and sixty thousand," said the protonotary, writing down the numbers, and handing the parchment to the King.
A ray of warlike joy and exultation spread over the face of Witichis.
"A hundred and sixty thousand Gothic warriors! Belisarius, shall they lay down their arms before thee without a struggle?--What repose do you need before the march?"
Just then Teja hurried into the tent. As he entered he caught the last question. His eyes flashed; he trembled with rage.
"Repose? not an hour longer; up! revenge, King Witichis! a monstrous crime has been committed, which cries to Heaven for vengeance. Lead us at once to battle!"
"What has happened?"
"One of Belisarius's generals, the Hun Ambazuch, besieged, as thou knowest, the fortress of Petra with his Huns and Armenians. There was no relief for the garrison far and near. Only young Earl Arahad--he surely sought death--attacked the superior force with his small troop; he fell in brave combat. The little company of armed Goths in the fortress resisted desperately, for all the helpless people of the Goths, the Aged, the sick, women and children, coming from the plains of Tuscany, Valeria, and Picenum, and amounting to some thousands, had taken refuge in the fortress from the enemy. At last famine compelled them to open the gates, with the stipulation that they should be allowed to leave unhurt. The Hun swore that he would not allow a drop of Gothic blood to be shed. He entered, and ordered the Goths to assemble in the Great Basilica of St. Zeno. This they did, above five thousand people and a few hundred warriors. And when they were all assembled----"
Teja paused with a shudder.
"Well?" asked Mataswintha, turning pale.
"The Hun closed the doors, surrounded the church with his troops--and burnt all the five thousand, together with the church."
"And his promise!" cried Witichis.
"Yes, so cried the desperate people amidst the smoke and flames! 'My promise?' laughed the Hun, 'it will be fulfilled: not a drop of blood will be shed. The Goths must be burnt out of Italy, like field-mice and vermin.' And so the Byzantines looked on, while five thousand Goths, aged men, women, sick people, and children--King Witichis, dost thou hear?--children! were miserably suffocated and burnt to death! Such things happen, and thou--thou sendest offers of peace! Up, King Witichis!" cried the enraged man, drawing his sword. "If thou be a man, set forth at once to revenge thy people! The spirits of the murdered will march before us. Lead us to battle! Lead us to revenge!"
"Lead us to battle! lead us to revenge!" echoed the Goths with a shout.
Witichis rose with quiet majesty.
"So be it! the extremity has been reached. And our best armour is our right. To arms!"
And he gave the parchment, which he held in his hand, to Mataswintha, in order to take up the blue banner which hung over his chair.
"You see this old banner of Theodoric; he has carried it from victory to victory. It is now, alas, in weaker hands than his; but do not be discouraged. You know well that a foolish confidence is not in my nature, but this time I tell you beforehand that a present victory rustles in the folds of this flag--a great, proud, and avenging victory! Follow me! The army will march at once. Generals, order your troops. To Rome!"
"To Rome!" was echoed through the tent. "To Rome!"
In the meantime Belisarius prepared to leave the city of Rome with his main army, and during his absence he entrusted his command to Johannes.
He had resolved to attack the Goths in Ravenna.
His unchecked and victorious march, and the successes of his advanced troops of skirmishers--who, through the revolt of the Italians, had won all the fortresses, castles, and towns till within a short distance of Ravenna--had awakened in Belisarius the conviction that the campaign would soon be ended, and that the only thing left to do was to crush the helpless barbarians in their last strongholds.
For after Belisarius himself had won the whole southern part of the peninsula--Bruttia, Lucania, Calabria, Apulia, and Campania--and had afterwards occupied Rome and marched through Samnium and the Valeria, his lieutenant-generals, Bessas and Constantinus, with his own body-guard, commanded by the Armenian Zanter, the Persian Chanaranges, and the Massagetian Æschman, had been sent forward to conquer Tuscany.
Bessas advanced upon the strong fortress of Narnia. For the means of assault available at that time, this castled town was almost impregnable. It was situated upon a high mountain, at the foot of which runs the deep river Nar. The only two approaches to this fortress from the east and west are a narrow pass and the old lofty and fortified bridge erected by the Emperor Augustus.
But the Roman population overpowered the half-Gothic garrison which lay there, and opened the gates to the Thracians of Bessas.
In the same manner, Spoletium and Perusia succumbed to Constantinus without striking a blow.
Meanwhile another general, the Comes Sacri Stabuli Constantinus, had, on the east coast of the Ionian Gulf, avenged the death of two Byzantine leaders--the magister militum for Illyrium, Mundus, and his son Mauricius, who had fallen at the beginning of the war at Solona, in Dalmatia--had occupied Solona, and forced the scanty Gothic troops to retreat to Ravenna.
So all Dalmatia and Liburnia had fallen into the hands of the Byzantines.
From Tuscany, as we have seen, the Huns of Justinian were already devastating Picenum and the country as far as the Æmilia.
Therefore Belisarius held the peace proposals of the Gothic King to be a sign of weakness. It never occurred to him that the barbarians would advance to the attack. At the same time, he was eager to leave Rome; for he felt a strong repugnance to being called the guest of the Prefect. In the open field his superiority would soon be fully displayed.
The Prefect left the Capitol to the charge of his faithful tribune, Lucius Licinius, and followed the march of Belisarius.
In vain he warned the latter against too great confidence.
"Remain behind the rock of the Capitol if you fear the barbarians," Belisarius had answered sarcastically.
"No," retorted Cethegus; "a defeat of Belisarius is too rare a spectacle. I must not miss it."
In truth, Cethegus would have been glad to witness the humiliation of the great general, whose fame inspired the Italians with too great admiration.
Belisarius had led his troops out of the northern gate of the city, and had pitched a camp at a few miles distant, in order to hold a review and make a new division of the army, which was the more necessary as the influx of Italians who hastened to join his flag was very great.
He had also recalled Bessas, Constantinus, and Ambazuch, with the greater part of their troops. They had only left a small portion behind them to garrison the towns which they had conquered.
Vague rumours of the approach of a Gothic army had spread in the camp. But Belisarius would not believe them.
"They dare not come," he replied to Procopius's warnings; "they lie in Ravenna and tremble before Belisarius."
Late at night Cethegus lay sleepless upon his coach in his tent. He had left the lamp burning.
"I cannot sleep," he said to himself. "There is a sound of clashing arms in the air, and an odour of blood. The Goths are coming; they are most surely marching down through the Sabine mountains, on the Via Casperia and Salara."
On a sudden the curtain of his tent was pushed back, and Syphax rushed up to his couch breathless.
"I know," cried Cethegus, springing up, "what you come to announce--the Goths are coming!"
"Yes, master; to-morrow they will be here. They advance upon the Salarian Gate. I had the Queen's best horse; but this Totila, who leads the vanguard, rushes like the wind over the desert, and here in the camp no one has any suspicion."
"The great general," laughed Cethegus, "has placed no outposts on the watch."
"He relied upon the solid tower on the bridge over the Anius,1but----"
"Well, the tower is safe?"
"Yes; but the garrison--Roman citizens from Neapolis--at once went over to the Goths when young Totila appeared. The body-guards of Belisarius, who tried to stop them, were taken prisoners and delivered up to Totila; the tower and the bridge are in the hands of the Goths."
"Things are going on well! Have you any idea of the strength of the enemy?"
"Not merely an idea; I know it as exactly as Witichis himself. Here is the list of their troops; Mataswintha, their Queen, sends it to you."
Cethegus looked at him inquiringly.
"Do miracles take place to further the ruin of the Goths?"
"Yes, master, miracles! This lovely woman desires the ruin of her people, to revenge herself on one man. And this man is her husband!"
"You are mistaken," cried Cethegus. "She loved him from childhood, and even bought his bust."
"Yes, and she loves him still. But he loves not her; and the bust of Mars was shattered on the night of her marriage."
"She cannot have told you all this herself?"
"No; but Aspa, my countrywoman and her slave, told me all. She loves me; and she loves her mistress almost as much as I my master. Mataswintha wishes you to aid in the destruction of the kingdom of the Goths. She will write, through Aspa, in the secret cypher of my race. And if I were Cethegus, I would take this sun-like Queen to my wife."
"I too, if I were Syphax. But your message deserves a crown! A revengeful and cunning woman is worth more than legions! Now I defy you, Belisarius, Witichis, and Justinian! Ask a favour, Syphax--anything except your freedom, for I need you yet."
"My freedom is--to serve you.Onefavour--let me fight at your side to-morrow?"
"No, my beautiful panther; I do not need your claws--only your stealthy step. You will keep silence about the vicinity and strength of the Goths. Help me on with my armour, and give me the plan of the Salarian road out of that casket. Now call Marcus Licinius, and the leader of my Isaurians, Sandil."
Syphax disappeared.
Cethegus cast a look at the plan.
"So they come from the north-west, down the hill. Woe to him who shall try to stop them there. Then comes the deep valley in which we are encamped. Here the battle will be fought and lost. Behind us, to the south-east, our position lies along a deep brook; into this we shall be inevitably thrown--the bridges cannot be defended. Then a stretch of flat country. What a fine field for the horsemen to pursue us! Finally, still farther back, a dense wood and a narrow pass with the ruined Castle of Hadrian. Marcus," he cried, as the latter entered the tent, "my troops will march at once. We shall go down along the brook into the wood; and you will tell whoever questions you that we march back to Rome."
"March home, without fighting!" asked Marcus, astonished. "You surely know that a battle is pending?"
"Just for that very reason!"
And with these words Cethegus departed to wake Belisarius in his tent.
But he found him already up. Procopius stood near him.
"Do you know already. Prefect?" said Belisarius. "Fugitive country people say that a troop of horsemen approaches. The fools ride to their destruction; they think the road is open as far as Rome."
And he continued to don his armour.
"But the peasants also say that the horsemen are only the vanguard. A terrible army of barbarians follows," warned Procopius.
"Vain rumours! These Goths are afraid; Witichis dare not meet me. I have protected the bridge over the Anio with a tower, fourteen miles this side Rome; Martinus has built it after my plan. That alone will hinder the barbarian foot-soldiers for more than a week, even should a few hacks manage to swim across the water."
"You err, Belisarius. I know for a fact that the whole Gothic army approaches!" said Cethegus.
"Then go home, if you fear it."
"I will take advantage of this permission. I have had fever these last few days. And my Isaurians suffer from it also. With your leave, I will go back to Rome."
"I know this fever," said Belisarius; "that is, I know it in others. It passes as soon as ditches and walls are between the patient and the enemy. Go, if you will; we need you as little as your Isaurians."
Cethegus bowed, and left the tent.
"We shall meet again, O Belisarius!" he said. "Give the signal for the march of my Isaurians," he called loudly to Marcus; "and to my Byzantines also," he added in a low voice.
"But Belisarius has----"
"Iam their Belisarius. Syphax, my horse."
As he mounted, a troop of Roman horsemen galloped up; torches were carried before the leader.
"Who goes there? Ah! you, Cethegus! What? you ride away? Your people march towards the river! You surely will not leave us now, in this time of imminent danger?"
Cethegus bent forward.
"Hoho! it is you, Calpurnius? I did not recognise you; you look so pale. What news from the front?"
"Fugitive peasants say," answered Calpurnius anxiously, "that there are certainly more than a party of skirmishers. The King of the barbarians, Witichis himself, is on the march through the Sabine mountains. They have already reached the left bank of the Tiber. Resistance, then, is madness--destruction. I follow you; I will join your march."
"No," said Cethegus harshly; "you know that I am superstitious. I do not like to ride with men who are doomed to the Furies. The punishment for your cowardly murder of that boy will surely overtake you. I have no desire to share it with you."
"Yet voices in Rome whisper that Cethegus, too, does not shun an opportune murder," answered Calpurnius angrily.
"Calpurnius is not Cethegus," retorted the Prefect, as he proudly pranced away. "Meanwhile, greet Hades for me," he added.