The fall of Neapolis had occurred a few days after the meeting at Regeta, and Totila, on his march thither, met at Formiæ with his brother Hildebad, whom King Witichis had at once sent off with a few thousands to strengthen the garrison at Neapolis, until he himself could follow with a larger force.
As things stood at present, the brothers could do nothing but fall back upon the main army at Regeta, where Totila reported the sad events of the last few days in Neapolis.
The loss of the third city of the realm--one of the main bulwarks of Italy--changed the whole plan of the Gothic campaign.
Witichis had reviewed the troops assembled at Regeta; they amounted to about twenty thousand men. These, with the little troop brought back by Earl Teja on his own account, were, for the moment, the whole available force. Before the strong divisions which Theodahad had sent away to southern Gaul and Noricum, to Istria and Dalmatia--although they had been summoned in all haste--could return, all Italy might be lost.
Notwithstanding, the King had resolved to throw himself, with these twenty thousand, into the fortress of Neapolis, and there oppose the superior forces of the enemy, until reinforcements should arrive.
But now that the strong city had fallen into Belisarius's hand, Witichis gave up this plan. His composed courage was as far from foolhardiness as from timidity. And the King was obliged to force himself to a far more painful resolve.
While, during the days following Totila's arrival in the camp before Rome, the grief and anger of the Goths sought relief in cursing the traitor Theodahad, Belisarius, and the Italians; while the bold youth here and there began to grumble at the King's delay, who would not lead them against these degenerate Greeks, four of whom it took to stand against one Goth; while the impatience of the army already began to rebel against inactivity, the King acknowledged to himself, with a heavy heart, that it was necessary to retreat still farther, and even give up Rome.
Day by day news came of the increase of the army of Belisarius. At Neapolis alone he had gained ten thousand men--at once hostages and comrades. From all sides the Italians joined his flag; from Neapolis to Rome, no place was strong enough to oppose such a force, and the smaller towns on the coast opened their gates to the enemy with rejoicing.
The Gothic families dwelling in those parts fled to the camp of the King, and told how, the very day after the fall of Neapolis, Cumæ and Atilla had succumbed; then followed Capua, Cajeta, and even the fortified Benevento.
The vanguard of Belisarius--Huns, Saracens, and Moorish horsemen--was already stationed before Formiæ.
The Goths expected and desired a battle before the gates of Rome. But Witichis had long since seen the impossibility, with an army of only twenty thousand men, of encountering Belisarius, who, by that time, would be able to muster a hundred thousand in the open field.
For a time he entertained the idea of being able to hold the mighty fortifications of Rome--Cethegus's proud work--against the Byzantine incursion; but he was soon obliged to renounce even this hope.
The population of Rome now counted--thanks to the Prefect--more armed and practised men than they had possessed for many a century, and the King daily convinced himself of the spirit which animated them.
Even now the Romans could scarcely restrain their hatred of the barbarians; it was not only evinced by unfriendly and mocking gestures; already the Goths dared not venture into the streets except in well-armed numbers, and every day single Gothic sentries were found dead, stabbed from behind.
Witichis could not conceal from himself that the different elements of the popular feeling were organised and guided by cunning and powerful leaders: the heads of the Roman aristocracy and the Roman clergy. He was obliged to confess that, so soon as Belisarius should appear before the walls, the Roman population would rise, and, together with the besiegers, would overcome the weak Gothic garrison.
So Witichis had unwillingly resolved to give up Rome and all central Italy; to throw himself into the strong and faithful city of Ravenna; there to complete the very incomplete armament of the troops, to unite all the Gothic forces, and then to seek the enemy with an equally powerful army.
This resolution was a great sacrifice. For Witichis had his full share of the Germanic love of fight, and it was a hard blow to his pride to retreat and seek for means of defence, instead of striking at once.
But there was still more.
It was inglorious for a king who had been raised to the throne of the cowardly Theodahad because of his known courage, to begin his rule with a shameful retreat. He had lost Neapolis during the first days of his reign; should he now voluntarily give up Rome, the city of splendours? Should he give up more than the half of Italy? And if he thus controlled his pride for the sake of his people--what would that people think of him?
These Goths, with their impetuosity, their contempt of the enemy! Could he be sure of enforcing their obedience?
For the office of a Germanic king was more to advise and propose, than to order and compel. Already many a ruler of this people had been forced against his will to engage in war and suffer defeat. He feared a similar thing.
With a heavy heart, he one night paced to and fro his tent in the camp at Regeta.
All at once hasty steps drew near, and the curtain of the tent was pulled open.
"Up! King of the Goths!" cried a passionate voice. "It is no time now to sleep!"
"I do not sleep, Teja," said Witichis; "since when art thou returned? What bringest thou?"
"I have just entered the camp; the dews of night are still upon me. First know that they are dead!"
"Who?
"The traitor and the murderess!"
"What! hast thou killed them both?"
"I kill no woman. I followed Theodahad, the traitor-king, for two days and two nights. He was on the way to Ravenna; he had a fair start. But my hatred was swifter than his cowardice. I overtook him near Narnia; twelve slaves accompanied his litter. They had no desire to die for the miserable man; they threw away their torches and fled. I tore him out of his litter, and put my own sword into his hand. But he fell upon his knees, begged for his life, and, at the same moment, aimed a treacherous stroke at me. Then I slew him like an ox at the altar; with three strokes--one for the realm, two for my parents. And I hung him up by his belt to a withered yew-tree on the high-road, a prey to the birds of the air, and a warning to the kings of the earth."
"And what became of her?"
"Her end was terrible," said Teja, shuddering. "When I first passed through Rome, nothing was known of her but that she had refused to follow the coward-king. He fled alone. Gothelindis called her Cappadocian mercenaries together, and promised them heaps of gold, if they would keep by her, go with her to Dalmatia, and occupy the fortress of Salona. The men hesitated and wished to see the gold. Then Gothelindis promised to bring it, and left them. Since then she had disappeared. When I passed through Rome the second time, she had been found----"
"Well?"
"She had ventured into the Catacombs alone, without a guide, to fetch the treasure which had been hidden there. She must have lost herself in the labyrinth; she could not find the way out. Mercenaries who were sent to seek her, found her still alive; her torch was not burnt down, but was almost entire; it must have gone out soon after she had entered the Catacombs. Madness shone from her eyes; fear of death and a long despair had overcome this bad woman; she died as soon as she was brought to the light."
"Horrible!" cried Witichis.
"A just punishment!" said Teja. "But listen!"
Before he could continue, Totila, Hildebad, Hildebrand, and several other Goths rushed into the tent.
"Does he know!" asked Totila.
"Not yet," said Teja.
"Rebellion!" cried Hildebad, "rebellion! Up, King Witichis! Defend thy crown! Off with the boy's head!"
"What has happened?" asked Witichis quietly.
"Earl Arahad of Asta, the vain fool! has rebelled. Immediately after you had been chosen King, he rode off to Florentia, where his elder brother, Guntharis, the proud Duke of Tuscany, lives and rules. There the Wölfungs have found many adherents. Arahad called upon the Goths everywhere to protect the 'Royal Lily,' as they call her, Mataswintha, the true heir to the throne! They have proclaimed her Queen. She was in Florentia at the time, and therefore fell at once into their hands. It is not known if she be the prisoner of Guntharis or the wife of Arahad. It is only known that they have enlisted Avarian and Gepidian mercenaries, and armed all the adherents of the Amelungs and their kith and kindred, together with the numerous adherents of the Wölfungs. Thee they call the 'Peasant-King;' they intend to take Ravenna!"
"Oh, send me to Florentia, with only three thousand," cried Hildebad angrily; "I will bring you this Queen of the Goths, together with her aristocratic lover, imprisoned in a bird-cage!"
But the others looked anxious.
"Things look bad," said Hildebrand. "Belisarius with his hundred thousands before us--at our backs the wily Rome--our main forces still fifty miles off--and now civil war and rebellion in the heart of the nation!"
But Witichis was as quiet and composed as ever.
"It is perhaps better so," he said. "We have now no choice. Wemustretreat."
"Retreat!" asked Hildebad angrily.
"Yes; we dare not leave an enemy at our backs. To-morrow we break up the camp and go----"
"Forward to Neapolis!" asked Hildebad.
"No. Back to Rome. And farther! To Florentia, to Ravenna! The spark of rebellion must be trampled out ere it burst into a flame."
"What? Thou wilt retreat before Belisarius?"
"Yes, to advance all the more irresistibly, Hildebad. The string of the bow is also stretched backward to hurl the deadly arrow with the greater force."
"Never," cried Hildebad; "thou canst not--thou darest not do that!"
But Witichis stepped quietly up to him and laid his hand upon his shoulder.
"I am thy King. Thou thyself hast chosen me. Loud above all the others soundedthycry: 'Hail, King Witichis!' Thou knowest--God knows--that I did not stretch forth my hand for the crown. You yourselves have pressed it upon my brow. Take it off, if you can entrust it to me no longer. But as long as I wear it, trust me and obey. Otherwise you and I are lost!"
"Thou art right," said sturdy Hildebad, and bent his head. "Forgive me; I will make it good in the next fight."
"Up, my generals," concluded Witichis, putting on his helmet. "Thou, Totila, wilt hasten to the Frank Kings in Gaul, on an important embassy. You others hasten to your troops; break up the camp; at sunrise we march to Rome."
A few days later, on the eve of the entry of the Goths into Rome, we find the young "knights," Lucius and Marcus Licinius, Piso the poet, Balbus the corpulent, and Julianus the young advocate, assembled in confidential talk at the Prefect's house.
"So this is the list of the blind partisans of the future Pope Silverius--of my envious enemies? Is it complete?"
"It is. I have made a great sacrifice for you, general," cried Lucius Licinius, "If, as my heart impelled me, I had at once joined Belisarius, I should have already shared in the taking of Neapolis, instead of watching here the stealthy footsteps of the priests, and teaching the plebeians to march and manœuvre."
"They will never learn it again," observed Marcus.
"Be patient," said Cethegus quietly, and without looking up from a roll of papyrus which he held in his hand. "You will be able, soon enough and long enough, to wrestle with these Gothic bears. Do not forget that fighting is only a means, and not an end."
"I don't know that," said Lucius doubtfully.
"Freedom is our aim, and freedom demands power," said Cethegus. "We must first again accustom these Romans to shield and sword, or else----"
He was interrupted by the entrance of the ostiarius, who announced a Gothic warrior.
The young Romans exchanged indignant looks.
"Let him in," said Cethegus, putting his writings into a casket.
There entered hastily a young man, clad in the brown mantle of the Gothic soldier, a Gothic helmet on his head, who threw himself on the Prefect's neck.
"Julius!" exclaimed Cethegus, coldly repulsing him. "Do we meet again thus? Have you, then, become a complete barbarian? How did you come to Rome?"
"My father, I accompanied Valeria, under Gothic protection. I come from smouldering Neapolis."
"Aha!" cried Cethegus. "Have you fought with your blond friend against Italy? That becomes a Roman well! Does it not, Lucius?"
"I have neither fought nor will fight in this unhappy war. Woe to those who have kindled it!"
Cethegus measured him with cold looks.
"It is beneath my dignity, and beyond my patience, to represent to a Roman the infamy of such sentiments. Alas! that my Julius should be such a renegade! Shame upon you, before these your compatriots! Look, Roman knights, here is a Roman without love of freedom, without anger against the barbarians!"
But Julius quietly shook his head.
"You have not yet seen the Huns and Massagetæ of Belisarius, who are to bring you freedom. Where, then, are the Romans of whom you speak? Has Italy risen to throw off her fetters? Can she still rise? Justinian fights with the Goths, not we. Woe to the people which is liberated by a tyrant!"
In secret Cethegus confessed that Julius was right; but he would not suffer such words to be spoken before his friends.
"I must dispute with this philosopher in private," he said. "Let me know if anything occur among the priesthood."
And the tribunes went, casting contemptuous looks at Julius.
"I should not like to hear what my friends say of you," said Cethegus, looking after them.
"It is quite indifferent to me. I listen to my own thoughts, and not to those of others," responded Julius.
"He has become a man!" said Cethegus to himself.
"My deepest and best feelings have brought me here," continued Julius. "I feel that this war is accursed. I come to save you, and take you from this sultry air, from this world of deceit and lies. I beseech you, my friend, my father, follow me to Gaul!"
"Ileave Italy at the moment of the liberators' approach! You must know that it was I who called them;Ikindled this war, which you call accursed!"
"I feared it," said Julius sadly. "But who will deliver us from our deliverers? Who will end the struggle?"
"I!" said Cethegus, with quiet majesty. "And you, my son, shall help me. Yes, Julius, your fatherly friend, whom you think so cold and indifferent, can also be enthusiastic, though not for girls' eyes and Gothic friendships. Leave these boys' pastimes; you are now a man. Give me the last joy of my desolate life, and be the sharer of my battles and the inheritor of my victories! It is for Rome, freedom, power! Boy, can my words not move you? Imagine," he continued, more warmly--"imagine these Goths, these Byzantines--I hate them as heartily as you do--exhausted by each other and overcome. On the ruins of their power Italy--Rome--will rise in all its ancient splendour! Again the ruler of the East and West will sit enthroned upon the Capitoline Hill. A new Roman Emperor, prouder than ever your Cæsar-forefather dreamed of, will extend order, blessing, and awe over all the earth----"
"And the ruler of this Empire will be called--Cethegus Cæsarius!"
"Yes; and after him, Julius Montanus! Up, Julius! you are no man if this goal does not tempt you!"
"I am dizzy," said Julius admiringly. "The goal is high as the stars; but your ways--are crooked. Ah! if they were straight, by God! I would share your steps! Yes; call the Roman youth to arms; cry to both the barbarian forces, 'Out of our holy Latium!' make open war against the barbarians and against the tyrants, and I will stand or fall at your side."
"You know well that this is impossible."
"And, therefore--it is your aim!"
"Fool! do you not see that it is common to form a structure from good material, but that it is divine by one's own strength to create a new world out of nothing?"
"Divine? By cunning and lies? No!"
"Julius!"
"Let me speak plainly; for that purpose am I come. Oh that I could call you back from the demoniac path, which will only lead you to destruction! You know that I ever loved and honoured you. But what I hear whispered of you by Greeks, Goths, and Romans, is not in tune with this reverence."
"What do they whisper?" asked Cethegus proudly.
"I do not like to think of it. But everything terrible that has happened lately--the death of Athalaric, Camilla, and Amalaswintha, the landing of the Byzantines--is named as the work of a demon, who is the author of all evil; and this demon--is you! Tell me, simply and truly, that you are free from this dark----"
"Boy," exclaimed Cethegus, "are you my confessor, and would call me to account? First learn to understand the aim before you blame the means. Do you think that history is built of roses and lilies? Who wills what is great must do great things, whether the small call it good or bad."
"No, no, I repeat. Cursed be the aim which only leads to crime! Here our paths divide."
"Julius, do not go. You despise what was never before offered to mortal man. Let me have a son, for whom I can strive, to whom I can bequeath the inheritance of my life."
"Curses and blood stick to it! And even if I could enter at once upon this inheritance, I should reject it. I will go, so that I may not see your image grow still darker. But I beg one thing: when the day comes--and it will come--when you are weary of all this bloodshed and crime, and of the aim itself which necessitated such deeds, then call me. I will come to you, wherever I may be, and I will wrest you from the demoniac power which enthralls you, were it at the price of my own life."
At first a smile of mockery passed across the Prefect's lips, but he thought, "He still loves me. 'Tis good; I will call him when the work is finished. Let us see if he can then resist--if he will refuse the Empire of the world."
"Well," he said aloud, "I will call you when I need you. Farewell."
And, with a cold gesture, he dismissed the youth, who was overcome with emotion.
But as the door closed behind Julius, the Prefect took a small medal of embossed bronze from a box, and contemplated it for some time.
He was about to kiss it.
But suddenly the sarcastic expression again passed across his lips.
"Shame on thee, Cethegus!" he exclaimed, "before Cæsar's face!"
And he put the medal back into the box.
It was the head of a woman, and very like Julius.
Meanwhile it had become quite dark. The slave brought the pretty bronze lamp of Corinthian workmanship--an eagle, which carried the ball of the sun in its beak, filled with scented Persian oil.
"A Gothic warrior waits outside, sir; he wishes to speak with you alone. He looks very insignificant. Shall he lay down his arms?"
"No," answered Cethegus. "We do not fear the barbarians. Let him in."
The slave went, and Cethegus laid his right hand upon the dagger in the bosom of his tunic.
A stately Goth entered, the cowl of his brown mantle drawn over his head. He now threw it back.
Cethegus started forward in astonishment.
"What leads the King of the Goths to me?"
"Softly!" said Witichis. "No one need know what we two transact. You know that yesterday and to-day my army has entered Rome from Regeta. You do not know that we leave Rome to-morrow!"
Cethegus looked amazed.
"It surprises you?"
"The city is secure," said Cethegus quietly.
"Yes; but not the fidelity of the Romans. Benevento has already gone over to Belisarius. I have no wish to allow myself to be crushed between Belisarius and you."
Cethegus was prudently silent; he did not know to what this would lead. At last he asked:
"Wherefore are you come. King of the Goths?"
"Not to ask you how far the Romans may be trusted; and also not to complain that we can trust you so little--you, whom Theodoric and his daughter overwhelmed with benefits--but honestly and simply to arrange a few things with you, for our mutual well-being."
Cethegus was surprised. In the proud frankness of this man lay something which he envied. He would gladly have despised it.
"We shall leave Rome," continued Witichis, "and shortly afterwards the Romans will admit Belisarius. It is sure to be so; I cannot hinder it. I have been advised to take the heads of the aristocracy as hostages."
Cethegus started, and with difficulty hid the movement.
"You before all, the Princeps Senatus."
"Me?" said Cethegus, smiling.
"I shall leave you here. I know well that you are the soul of Rome."
Cethegus cast down his eyes, "I accept the oracle," he thought.
"But for that very reason I leave you here," Witichis continued. "Hundreds who call themselves Romans would like the Byzantines for masters. You--you would not have it."
Cethegus looked inquiringly at him.
"Do not deceive me. Do not try to deceive me. I am no man of craft or cunning! but my eye penetrates men's natures. You are too proud to serve Justinian, and I know that you hate us. But neither do you love these Greeks, and you will suffer them no longer than is necessary. Therefore I leave you here; I know you love this city."
There was something about this man which compelled Cethegus to admiration.
"King of the Goths," he said, "you speak plainly and nobly, like a king. I thank you. It shall not be said of Cethegus that he does not understand magnanimous words. It is as you say. I shall keep my Rome Roman with all my might."
"Good!" said Witichis. "See, I have been warned against your wiles; I know much of your secret plans; I guess still more; and I know that I have no weapon against deceit. But you are no liar. I knew that a manly word would touch you; and trust disarms every enemy who is worthy of being called a man."
"You honour me. King of the Goths. That I may deserve your trust, let me warn you. Do you know who are the warmest friends of Belisarius?"
"I know it: Silverius and the priests."
"Right! And do you know that, as soon as the old Pope, Agapetus, is dead, Silverius will ascend the Bishop's Chair?"
"So I hear. I was advised to take him as a hostage too. I shall not do so. The Italians hate us enough already. I will not meddle with the wasps' nest of the priests. I fear martyrs."
But Cethegus would gladly have been rid of the priest, "He will be dangerous in the Chair of Peter," he said warningly.
"Let him alone! The possession of this country will not be decided by the schemes of the priesthood."
"Well," said Cethegus, taking the roll of papyrus, "I have here, accidentally, the names of his warmest friends; there are men of importance amongst them."
He would have pressed the list upon Witichis, hoping that then the Goths would take his most dangerous enemies away with them.
But Witichis refused the list.
"'Tis no matter! I shall take no hostages at all. Of what use is it to take off their heads?You, shall answer to me for Rome."
"What do you mean by that? I cannot keep Belisarius away."
"You shall not. Belisarius is sure to come, but, rely upon it, he will go away again. We Goths will overcome this enemy; perhaps only after a hard fight, but most certainly. And then there will be a second fight for Rome!"
"A second?" asked Cethegus quietly. "With whom?"
Witichis laid his hand upon the Prefect's shoulder, and looked into his face with eyes as clear as sunshine.
"With you, Prefect of Rome!"
"With me?" and Cethegus tried to smile, but could not.
"Do not deny what is dearest to you, man. It is not worthy of you. I know for whom you have built the gates and ramparts round this city; not for us and not for the Greeks! for yourself! Be quiet! I know you meditate, or I guess it. Not a word! Be it so. Shall Greek and Goth struggle for Rome, and no Roman? But listen: let not a second wearing war carry off our people. When we have overcome the Byzantines and driven them out of our Italy--then, Cethegus, I will expect you before the walls of Rome. Not for a battle between our people, but for single combat. Man against man, you and I will lose or win Rome."
In the King's look and tone lay such dignity, magnanimity, and sublimity, that the Prefect was confused.
In secret he would have mocked at the simplicity of the barbarian, but it seemed to him as if he could never more respect himself, if he were incapable of esteeming, honouring, and responding to such greatness.
So he spoke without sarcasm.
"You dream, Witichis, like a Gothic boy."
"No, I think and act like a Gothic man. Cethegus, you are the only Roman whom I would honour thus. I have seen you fight in the wars with the Gepidæ. You are worthy of my sword. You are older than I; well, I will give you the advantage of the shield!"
"You Germans are very singular," said Cethegus involuntarily. "What fancies!"
But now Witichis frowned.
"Fancies! Woe to you, if you are not able to feel what speaks in me. Woe to you, if Teja be right! He laughed at my plan and said, 'The Roman will not understand that!' Andheadvised me to take you with me a prisoner. I thought more highly of you and Rome. But know: Teja has surrounded your house; and are you so mean or so cowardly as not to comprehend me, we shall take you from your Rome in chains. Shame upon you, that you must be forced to do what is honourable!"
But now it was Cethegus's turn to get angry.
He felt abashed. The chivalry of Witichis was strange to him, and it vexed him that he could not mock at it. It vexed him to be compelled; that his free choice had been mistrusted. A furious hatred in return for Teja's contempt, and anger at the King's brutal frankness, flamed up in his soul. He would gladly have thrust his dagger into the Goth's broad breast.
He had been almost on the point of giving his word in good earnest from a soldierly feeling of honour.
But now a very different, hateful feeling of malignant joy flashed across his mind. The barbarians had mistrusted him, they had despised him; now they should certainly be deceived!
Coming forward with a keen look, he grasped the King's hand.
"Be it so!" he said.
"Be it so!" repeated Witichis, giving his hand a strong pressure. "I am glad that I was right and not Teja. Farewell! Guard our Rome! From you I will demand her again in honourable combat."
And he left the house.
"Well!" said Teja, who waited outside with the other Goths. "Shall I storm the house?"
"No," said Witichis; "he has given his word."
"If he will only keep it!"
Witichis started back in indignation.
"Teja! thy gloomy mind renders thee too unjust! Thou hast no right to doubt a hero's honour. Cethegus is a hero!"
"He is a Roman! Good-night!" said Teja, sheathing his sword. And he turned another way with his Goths.
But Cethegus tossed all night upon his couch. He was at variance with himself.
He was vexed with Julius.
He was bitterly vexed with Witichis, more bitterly still with Teja.
But most with himself.
The next day Witichis once again assembled people. Senate, and the clergy of the city, at the Thermæ of Titus. From the highest step of the marble staircase of the handsome building, which was filled with the leaders of the army, the King made a simple speech to the Romans.
He declared that he must leave the city for a short time, but that he would soon return. He reminded them of the mildness of the Gothic government, of the benefits of Theodoric and Amalaswintha, and called upon them courageously to oppose Belisarius, in case of his advance, until the Goths returned to reinforce them. The newly-drilled legionaries and the strong fortifications made a long resistance possible.
Finally he demanded the oath of allegiance, and asked them once more to defend their city to the death against Belisarius. The Romans hesitated; for their thoughts were already in Belisarius's camp, and they disliked to perjure themselves.
Just at this crisis a solemn hymn was heard in the direction of the Via Sacra; and past the Flavian Amphitheatre came a long procession of priests, swinging censers, and singing psalms.
In the night Pope Agapetus had died, and, in all haste, Silverius, the archdeacon, had been appointed as his successor.
Solemnly and slowly the crowd of priests advanced; the insignia of the Bishop of Rome were carried in front; choristers with silvery voices sang sweet and sacred airs. At last the Pope's litter appeared open, richly gilt, and shaped like a boat.
The bearers walked slowly, step by step, in time to the music; pressed upon by crowds of people, who were eager to receive the blessing of their new Bishop.
Silverius bent his head to the right and left, and blessed the people repeatedly.
A number of priests and a troop of mercenaries, armed with spears, closed the procession.
It halted in the middle of the square. The Arian and Gothic warriors, who stood sentry at all the entrances of the place, silently watched the solemn and splendid procession, the symbol of a church which was their enemy; while the Romans greeted the appearance of their Apostolic Father all the more joyfully, because his voice could calm their scruples of conscience as to the oath to be given.
Silverius was just about to begin his address to the people, when the arm of a gigantic Goth, stretched over the side of his litter, pulled him by his gold-brocaded mantle.
Indignant at this very irreverent interruption, Silverius turned his face with a severe frown; but the Goth, unabashed, repeated the pull, and said:
"Come, priest, thou must go up to the King!"
Silverius thought it would have been more becoming if the King had come down to him, and Hildebad seemed to read something of this feeling on his features, for he cried:
"It cannot be helped! Stoop, priest!"
And herewith he pressed his hand upon the shoulder of one of the priests who carried the litter. The bearers now set the litter down; Silverius left it with a sigh, and followed Hildebad up the steps.
When the priest reached Witichis, the latter took his hand, advanced with him to the edge of the steps, and said:
"Roman citizens, your priest has been chosen for your Bishop; I ratify the choice; he shall become Pope, as soon as he has sworn the oath of allegiance, and has taken for me your oaths of fealty. Swear, priest!"
For one moment Silverius was confounded.
But immediately recovering himself, he turned with an unctuous smile to Witichis.
"You command?" he asked.
"Swear," said Witichis, "that in our absence you will do all that you can to keep this city of Rome faithful to the Goths, to whom you owe so much, to further us in all things, and to hinder the progress of our enemies. Swear fidelity to the Goths!"
"I swear," said Silverius, turning to the people. "And thus I, who have power to bind and to loose, call upon you, Romans, surrounded as you are by Gothic weapons, to swear in the same spirit in which I myself have taken the oath."
The priests and some of the nobility appeared to have understood, and lifted their hands to swear without delay.
Then the mass hesitated no longer, and the place echoed with the loud shout: "We swear fidelity to the Goths!"
"It is well, Bishop of Rome," said the King, "we count upon your oath. Farewell, Romans! We shall soon meet again."
And he descended the broad flight of steps. Teja and Hildebad followed him.
"Now I am only curious--" said Earl Teja.
"Whether they will keep their oath?" interposed Hildebad.
"No; not at all. But how they will break it. Well, the priest will find out the way."
With flying standards the Goths marched out of the Porta Flaminia, leaving the city to its Pope and the Prefect. Meanwhile Belisarius approached by forced marches upon the Via Latina.
The city of Florentia was full of eager and warlike activity. The gates were closed; on the ramparts and bastions paced numerous sentinels; the streets rang with the clatter of mounted Goths and armed mercenaries; for Guntharis and Arahad had thrown themselves into this fortress, and, for the present, had made it the main stronghold of the rebellion against Witichis.
The two brothers lived in a handsome villa which Theodoric had built on the shores of the Arnus, in the suburb but still within the enclosure of the walls.
Duke Guntharis of Tuscany, the elder, was a far-famed warrior, and had been for years the commander of the city of Florentia. Within this district lay the estates of his powerful family, cultivated by thousands of farmers and vassals; his power in this city and district was unlimited, and Duke Guntharis was resolved to use it to the utmost.
In full armour, his helmet upon his head, Guntharis walked impatiently to and fro his marble-wainscoted room, while his younger brother, in festive garments and unarmed, leaned silently and thoughtfully against a table, which was covered with letters and parchments.
"Decide; make haste, my boy!" cried Guntharis, "it is my last word. To-day thou wilt obtain the consent of the obstinate child, or I--dost thou hear?--I will go myself to fetch it. But then, woe be to her. I know better than thou how to manage a capricious girl."
"Brother, thou wilt not do that?"
"By the Thunderer! but I will. Dost think I will risk my head, and delay the good-fortune of my house, for the sake of thy sentimental consideration? Now is the time to procure the first place in the nation for the Wölfungs; the place which by right belongs to them, and from which the Amelungs and Balthes have ousted them for centuries. The last daughter of the Amelungs, once thy wife, no one can dispute thy possession of the throne; and my sword will protect it against the Peasant-King, Witichis. But we must not delay too long. I have yet no news from Ravenna, but I fear the city will only acknowledge Mataswintha, and not us; that is, not us alone. And whoever has Ravenna, has Italy, since Neapolis and Rome are lost; therefore that strong fortress must be ours. To insure this, Mataswintha must become thy wife before we reach the walls of Ravenna; else it will be reported that she is more our prisoner than our Queen."
"Who desires it more ardently than I? But yet I cannot use compulsion!"
"No? Why not? Seek her and win her, well or ill. I go to strengthen the guard upon the walls. When I return I must have an answer."
Duke Guntharis went; and his brother made his way, sighing, into the garden to seek Mataswintha.
This garden had been laid out by a skilled freedman from Asia Minor. In the background he had formed a kind of park, the glades of which, free from flowerbeds or terraces, were luxuriantly green. Through the flowery grass and amongst the thick oleanders flowed a clear brook.
Close to the edge of the brook lay, stretched upon the turf, a youthful female figure. She had thrown her mantle back from her right arm, and seemed to be playing, now with the murmuring ripples, now with the nodding flowers on the brink. She was buried in thought, and at intervals threw a violet or a crocus dreamily into the water, watching the blossoms with slightly opened lips, as they were swiftly borne away by the running stream.
Close behind her kneeled a young girl in the dress of a Moorish slave, busily weaving a wreath of flowers, which only wanted the finishing touches. Every now and then she looked at her meditative mistress, to see if she noticed her secret occupation. But the lady seemed quite lost in reverie.
At last the pretty wreath was finished; with laughing eyes the slave placed it lightly upon the splendid auburn hair of her mistress, and bent forward over her shoulder to meet her eyes. But the lady had not felt the flowers touch her head. Then the little slave became impatient, and, pouting, said:
"But, mistress, by the palms of the Auras! of what art thou thinking? With whom art thou?"
"With him!" whispered her mistress.
"By the white goddess! I can bear it no longer," cried the little slave-girl, springing up; "it is too bad; I shall die of jealousy! Thou not only forgettest me, thy gay gazelle, but also thine own beauty--and all for this invisible man! Only look into the water and see how beautifully thy bright hair contrasts with the dark violets and white anemones."
"Thy wreath is pretty!" said Mataswintha, taking it off and throwing it gently into the water. "What sweet flowers! Greet him from me!"
"Oh, my poor flowers!" cried the slave, looking after them; but she did not dare to scold. "Only tell me," she cried, sitting down again beside her mistress, "how all this is to end? We have been here now for many days, we do not rightly know if as Queen or prisoner? In any case we are in the power of strangers. We have never set our feet out of thy apartments or of this well-walled garden, and know nothing of the outside world. But thou art ever still and happy, as if it must be so!"
"And it must be so!"
"Indeed? and how will it end?"
"Hewill come and set me free."
"Truly, White Lily, thou hast strong faith. If we were at home in Mauretania, and I saw thee looking at night at the stars, I should say that thou hadst read everything there. But in this way I do not understand it," and she shook her black locks, "and I shall never understand it."
"But thou shalt and wilt, Aspa!" said Mataswintha, raising herself, and putting her white arm tenderly round the girl's brown neck; "thy faithful love has long since deserved this reward, the best that I can give thee."
A tear rose in the slave's dark eye.
"Reward?" she said. "Aspa was stolen by wild men with long red locks. Aspa is a slave. Every one has scolded and beaten her. Thou boughtest me as a flower is bought. But thou strokest my cheek and my hair. Thou art as beautiful as the Goddess of the Sun, and thou speakest of reward?"
And she nestled her head upon the bosom of her mistress.
"Thou art my gazelle!" said Mataswintha; "thou hast a heart of gold. Thou shalt know all; thou shalt hear what is known to none but myself. Listen; my childhood was without love, without joy; and yet my young soul needed both. My poor mother had ardently longed for a boy, for an heir to the throne--and she treated the girl who was born to her with dislike, coldness, and severity. When Athalaric was born, she became less harsh but more cold; all her love and care went to the heir to the throne. I should not have felt it, had I not seen just the contrary in my tender father. I felt that he also suffered under the coldness of his wife, and the sick man often pressed me to his heart with tears and sighs. And when he was dead and buried, all the love in the world was dead for me. I saw little of Athalaric; he was educated by other teachers in another part of the palace. I saw my mother still less; scarcely ever, unless she had to punish me. And yet I loved her so much! And I saw how my nurses and teachers loved their own children, and kissed and petted them; and my heart longed with all its might for similar warmth and affection. So I grew up like a pale flower without sunshine! My favourite place in all the world was the grave of my father Eutharic, in the large palace garden at Ravenna. There, with the dead, I sought the love which I did not find in the living; and whenever I could escape my attendants, I hurried there to indulge in my longing and to weep. The older I grew, the more this longing increased. In the presence of my mother I was forced to hide all my feelings; she despised me if I showed them. As I grew up I saw very well that people's eyes were fixed upon me as if in admiration; but I thought that they pitied me, and that pained me.
"And more and more frequently I took refuge by the grave of my father, until they told my mother that I always wept there and returned quite disordered. My mother angrily forbade me to go to the grave, and spoke of contemptible weakness. But I revolted against this prohibition. Then one day she surprised me there, and struck at me, and yet I was no longer a child. She took me back to the palace and scolded me violently, threatening to send me away; and, as she left me, she said angrily: why had heaven punished her with such a child! That was too much. Unspeakably miserable, I resolved to run away from this mother, to whom I was a punishment, and to go where no one knew me, I did not know whither. I would most gladly have joined my father in his quiet tomb. When evening came, I stole out of the palace, and hurried once more to the grave to take a long farewell. The stars were already out. I slipped out of the garden and the palace, and hastened through the dark streets to the Faventinian Gate. I managed to slip past the sentinel, and ran a little way along the high-road, into the night; straight to misery. But a man in armour came along the road towards me. As I tried to pass him, he suddenly came up to me, looked into my face, and gently laid his hand upon my shoulder, saying 'Whither, Lady Mataswintha, whither goest thon alone, and so late at night?' I trembled under his hand, tears burst from my eyes, and I cried, sobbing, 'I am desperate!' Then the man took hold of both my hands and looked at me; so kindly, so mildly, so sadly! He dried my tears with his mantle, and said, in a tone of the warmest kindness, 'Wherefore? what troubles thee so?' I felt both happy and miserable at the sound of his voice. And as I looked into his kind eyes, I could no longer control myself. 'Because my mother hates me,' I cried; 'because there is no love for me on earth!' 'Child, child, thou art sick,' he said, 'and ravest! Come, come back with me. Thou! only wait. Thou wilt yet be a queen of love.' I did not understand him. But I loved him, oh so much! for these words, for this kindness. Helplessly, inquiringly, and with astonishment I looked into his face. My trembling aspect must have touched him, or he thought it was the cold. He took off his warm mantle, folded it round me, and led me slowly back through the gate and little frequented streets to the palace. Helpless, and tottering like a sick child, I followed him, my head, which he carefully concealed, resting on his breast. He was silent, and only sometimes dried the tears from my eyes. Unremarked, as I believed, we reached the door of the palace staircase. He opened it and gently pushed me in. Then he pressed my hand. 'Be good,' he said, 'and quiet. Happiness will come to thee, be sure; and love enough.' And he gently laid his hand upon my head, pulled the door to behind him, and descended the steps. But I leaned against the half-closed door, and could not go away. My feet denied their service; my heart beat. Then I heard a rough voice below addressing him. 'Whom dost thou smuggle at night into the palace, my friend?' it asked. But he answered, 'Is it thou, Hildebrand? Thou wilt not betray her! It was the child Mataswintha; she had strayed into the city in the dark, and feared the anger of her mother.' 'Mataswintha!' said the other. 'She daily becomes more beautiful.' And my protector said----"
Mataswintha hesitated, and a vivid flush overspread her cheeks.
"Well!" asked Aspa, looking at her with open eyes, "what did he say?"
But Mataswintha drew Aspa's small head down upon her bosom.
"He said," she whispered--"he said, 'She will become the most beautiful woman on earth.'"
"He said truly," cried the little slave; "why shouldst thou become red? It is so. But go on. What didst thou do next?"
"I crept up to my bed and wept; wept tears of sorrow, delight, and love, all at once. That night a whole world, a heaven, was opened to me. He liked me, I felt it; and he called me beautiful. Yes, now I knew it. I was beautiful, and I was glad; for I wished to be so forhissake. Oh, how happy was I! Meeting with him had brought light into my darkness, and a blessing to my life. I knew now that I might be liked and loved. I took care of my person, whichhehad praised. The sweet power in my heart spread a mild warmth over my whole being; I became softer and more earnest. Even my mother's severity relaxed when I met her harshness with gentleness; and daily all hearts were turned to me more kindly, as I became more tender. And for all this I had to thank him. He had saved me from rushing into shame and misery, and had won for me a whole world of love. Since then I have lived, and live, only for him."
And she ceased, and laid her hand upon her beating heart.
"But, mistress, when did you see or speak to him again? Does your love live on such scanty nourishment?"
"I have never spoken to him again, and have only seen him once. On the day of Theodoric's death, he commanded the guards of the palace, and Athalaric told me his name; for I had never dared to inquire about him, lest my flight, and ah! my secret, should be discovered. He was not at court; and if he sometimes came there, I was away."
"So thou knowest nothing further of him? of his life; of his past?"
"How could I inquire! My blushes would have betrayed me. Love is the child of silence and of longing. But I know all about his--aboutourfuture."
"About his future?" laughed Aspa.
"Yes. At every solstice there used to come to the court an old woman named Radrun, and she received from King Theodoric strange herbs and roots, which he sent for from Asia and the Nile purposely for her. She had asked for this as the sole reward for having foretold his fortune when a boy, and everything had been fulfilled. She brewed potions and mixed salves; they called her in public 'the woman of the woods,' but in private, 'the Wala, the witch.' And we at court knew--all except the priests, who would have forbidden it--that every summer solstice, when she came, the King let her prophesy to him the events of the coming year. And when she left him, I knew that my mother, Theodahad, and Gothelindis, called her and questioned her, and what she foretold always came to pass. So the next solstice I took heart, watched for the old woman, and when I found her alone, enticed her into my room, and offered her gold and shining stones if she would tell me my fortune. But she laughed, and drew forth a little flask made of amber. 'Not for gold, but for blood!' she said, 'the pure blood of a king's child.' And she opened a vein in my left arm, and received the blood into her amber flask. Then she looked at both my hands, and said, 'He whom thou holdest in thy heart will give thee glory and good fortune, will bring thee paralysing pain, will be thy consort, but not thy husband!' And with this she went away."
"That is of little comfort as far as I can make it out."
"Thou dost not understand the old wife's sayings; they are all so dark. She adds a threat to every promise, so as to be safe in all cases. But I hold fast to the bright and not to the dark side. I know that he will be mine, and give me glory and good fortune; I will bear the accompanying pain. Pain for his sake is delight."
"I admire thee and thy faith, mistress. And for the saying of the witch thou hast refused all the kings and princes. Vandals and Ostrogoths, from Gaul and Burgondia, who have ever wooed thee? Even Germanus, the imperial prince of Byzantium? And you wait for him?"
"And I wait for him! But not only because of this saying. In my heart lives a little bird, which sings to me every day, 'He will be thine, he must be thine.' I know it for a certainty," she concluded, raising her eyes to the sky, and relapsing into her former reverie.
Steps were heard approaching from the villa.
"Ah!" cried Aspa, "thy dainty suitor! Poor Arahad! his trouble is in vain."
"I will make an end to it," said Mataswintha, rising, and on her brow and in her young eyes there now lay an angry severity, which told of the Amelung blood in her veins. There was a strange mixture of burning passion and melting tenderness in the girl. Aspa had often been astonished by the repressed fire which her mistress sometimes betrayed. "Thou art like the divine mountains of my home," she said, "snow on the summit, roses round the middle, but consuming fire in the interior, which often streams over snow and roses."
Meanwhile Earl Arahad turned out of the shady path, and approached the lovely girl with a blush which became him well.
"I come, Queen----" he began.
But she harshly interrupted him.
"I hope, Earl of Asta, that at last thou comest to put an end to this despicable game of force and lies. I will bear it no longer. Thy bold brother surprises me--me, the helpless orphan, lost in sorrow for her mother--in my apartments, calls me in one breath his Queen and his prisoner, and keeps me for weeks in unworthy confinement. He gives me the purple, and deprives me of liberty. Then thou comest and tormentest me with thy vain pursuit, which will never succeed. I refused thee when at liberty. Dost thou believe, thou fool, that, a prisoner in thy power, the child of the Amelungs will listen to thee? Thou swearest that thou lovest me; well, then, respect me! Honour my will and set me free, or tremble when my liberator comes."
And she advanced threateningly towards Arahad, who, confused, could find no words with which to answer her.
Just then Duke Guntharis hurried up with a hot and angry face.
"Up, Arahad!" he cried, "make an end. We must away at once! He approaches; he presses forward with a strong force."
"Who?" asked Arahad hastily.
"He says he comes to set her free. He has gained a victory--the Peasant-King! He has beaten our outposts at Castrum Sivium."
"Who?" now asked Mataswintha eagerly.
"Well," cried Guntharis angrily, "thou mayest as well know it; it can be no longer concealed--Earl Witichis of Fæsulæ!"
"Witichis!" cried Mataswintha with beaming eyes and a beating heart.
"Yes; the rebels at Regeta, forgetting the rights of the nobility, have chosen him King of the Goths."
"He! he my King!" said Mataswintha, as if in a dream.
"I should have told thee when I greeted thee as Queen, but in thy chamber stood his bust, crowned with laurel. That seemed to me suspicious. I saw it later more closely; it was an accidental resemblance; it was a head of Ares."
Mataswintha was silent, and tried to hide the blushes which rose into her cheeks.
"Well," cried Arahad, "what is to be done now?"
"We must away. We must reach Ravenna before him, Florentia will hinder him for a time. Meanwhile we shall take Ravenna, and when thou hast consummated thy marriage with Mataswintha in the palace of Theodoric, all the people of the Goths will turn to us. Up, Queen! I will order thy carriage to be prepared; in an hour thou wilt go to Ravenna, guarded by my troops."
And the brothers hurried away.
Mataswintha looked after them with flashing eyes.
"Yes! lead me away, bound and a prisoner. Like an eagle from the height my King will swoop upon you, and save me from your cruel clutches. Come, Aspa, the liberator approaches!"