On the last day of the armistice, Cethegus was again able to appear upon the walls of the Mausoleum, where his legionaries and Isaurians greeted him with loud cheers.
His first walk was to the monument of Kallistratos. He laid a wreath of laurels and roses upon the black marble slab.
While he was superintending the strengthening of the fortifications from this point, Syphax brought him a letter from Mataswintha.
The contents were laconic enough:
"Put an end to it. I cannot bear to see this misery any longer. The sight of the interment of forty thousand of my countrymen has broken my heart. The death-choruses all seem to accuse me. I shall succumb if this continue. Famine rages fearfully in the camp. The army's last hope is a large convoy of corn and cattle, which is on the way from South Gaul. In the next calends it is expected off Portus. Act accordingly; but make an end."
"Triumph!" said the Prefect. "The siege is over. Hitherto our little fleet lay idle at Populonium; but now it shall have work enough. This Queen is the Erinnys of the barbarians."
And he himself went to Belisarius, who received him with noble generosity.
The same night--the last of the armistice--Johannes marched out of the Pincian Gate, and wheeled to the left, towards the Flaminian high-road. Ravenna was his goal.
And swift messengers sped by sea to Populonium, where a small Roman squadron lay at anchor.
The fight for the city, in spite of the expiration of the armistice, was scarcely renewed.
About a week after this the King, who was only now able to leave his bed of pain, took his first walk through the lines of tents, accompanied by his friends.
Three of the seven camps, formerly crowded with soldiers, were completely desolated and abandoned; and the other four were but sparsely populated.
Tired to death, without complaint, but also without hope, the famished soldiers lay before their tents.
No cheer, no greeting, rejoiced the ears of their brave King upon his painful way; the warriors scarcely raised their tired eyes at the sound of his approaching footsteps.
From the interior of the tents sounded the loud groaning of the sick and dying, who succumbed to wounds, hunger, and pestilence. Scarcely could healthy men enough be found to occupy the most necessary posts.
The sentries dragged their spears behind them, too weak to carry them upright or to lay them across their shoulders.
The leaders arrived at the outwork before the Aurelian Gate; in the trench lay a young archer, chewing the bitter grass.
Hildebad called to him:
"By the hammer, Gunthamund! what is this? Thy bow-string has sprung; why dost thou not bend another?"
"I cannot, sir. The string broke yesterday as I shot my last shot; and I and my three comrades have not strength enough to bend another."
Hildebad gave him a drink from his gourd-bottle.
"Didst thou shoot at a Roman?"
"Oh no, sir!" said the man. "A rat was gnawing at that corpse down there. I happily hit it, and we divided it between us."
"Iffaswinth, where is thine uncle Iffamer?" asked the King.
"Dead, sire. He fell behind you, as he was carrying you away from that cursed marble tomb."
"And thy father Iffamuth?"
"Dead too. He could no longer bear the poisonous water from the ditches. Thirst, King! burns more fiercely than hunger; and it will never, never rain from these leaden skies."
"Are you all from the Athesis valley?"
"Yes, sire; from the Iffinger mountains. Oh! what delicious spring water there is at home!"
Teja observed another warrior at some distance drinking from his helmet. His features grew darker and darker.
"Hey, thou, Arulf!" he cried to the warrior; "thou seem'st to suffer no thirst."
"No; I often drink," said the man.
"What dost thou drink?"
"Blood from the wounds of the newly-fallen. At first it disgusts one terribly; but in despair one gets used to it."
Witichis passed on with a shudder.
"Send all my wine into the camp, Hildebad; the sentries shall share it."
"All thy wine? O King! my office of cup-bearer has become very light. There are but one and a half skins left; and Hildebrand, thy physician, says that thou must strengthen thyself."
"And who will strengthenthese, Hildebad? They are reduced to the state of wild animals!"
"Come back to thy tent," said Totila; "it is not good to be here." And he put his hand on the King's shoulder.
Arrived at the tent, the friends seated themselves silently round the beautiful marble table, upon which, in golden dishes, lay mouldy bread, as hard as stone, and a few pieces of meat.
"It was the last horse in the royal stables," said Hildebad, "except Boreas."
"Boreas must not be slaughtered. My wife, my child, have sat upon his back." And Witichis rested his weary head upon both his hands. A sad pause ensued. "Friends," the King at last began, "this cannot go on. Our people perish before these walls. After a hard struggle, I have come to a painful decision--"
"Do not pronounce it yet, O King!" cried Hildebad. "In a few days Earl Odoswinth, of Cremona, will arrive with the ships, and we shall luxuriate in good things."
"He is not yet here," said Teja.
"And will not our heavy loss of men be replaced by fresh troops when Earl Ulithis arrives from Urbinum with the garrisons which the King has summoned from all the forts of Ravenna, in order to fill our empty tents?"
"Ulithis also is not yet here," said Teja. "He is said to be still in Picenum; and if he happily arrive, then the greater will be the want."
"But the Roman city hungers too," said Hildebad, breaking the hard bread upon the table with his fist. "Let us see who can bear it the longest!"
"I have often wondered, during these heavy days and sleepless nights," the King slowly said, "why--why all this must be. I have ever conscientiously weighed right and wrong between our enemies and us, and I can come to no other conclusion but that we have right on our side. And, truly, we have never failed in strength and courage."
"Thou least of all," said Totila.
"And we have grudged no sacrifice," sighed the King. "And yet if, as we all say, there is a God in heaven, just and good and almighty, why does He permit this enormous and undeserved misery? Why must we succumb to Byzantium?"
"But we must not succumb!" cried Hildebad. "I have never speculated much, about our Almighty God; but if He permitsthatto happen, we ought to storm heaven and overthrow His throne!"
"Do not blaspheme, my brother," said Totila. "And thou, my noble King, take courage and trust. Yes, a good God reigns above the stars; therefore the just cause must win at last. Courage, my Witichis; hope till the end."
But the heart-broken man shook his head.
"I confess that I have been able to find butoneway out of this error; one way to get rid of this terrible doubt of God's justice. It cannot be that we suffer guiltless. And as our nation's cause is, without doubt, a just one, there must be hidden guilt in me, your King. Repeatedly, so say our heathen songs, has a King sacrificed himself for his people when defeat, pestilence, or scarcity had persecuted the nation for years. Then the King took upon himself the hidden sin which seemed to weigh upon his people, and atoned by his death, or by going sceptreless into exile, an outlawed fugitive. Let me put off the crown from my unfortunate head. Choose another King, with whom God is not angry; choose Totila, or----"
"Thou ravest still in the fever of thy wounds," interrupted the old master-at-arms. "Thouweighed down with guilt--thou, the most faithful of all? No! I tell you, you children of too young days, who have lost the old strength of your fathers with your fathers' old belief, and now know of no comfort for your hearts--I tell you, your distrustful speeches grieve me!" and his eyes flashed with a strange radiance as he continued, "All that rejoices or pains us here upon earth is scarcely worth our notice. Here below there is but one thing necessary, and that is, to have been a true man, and no perjurer, and to die on the battle-field, and not upon a straw bed. Then the Walkyri bear the faithful hero from the bloody field, and carry him on rosy clouds to Odin's halls, where the Einheriar greet him with full cups. There he daily rides forth at dawn to the hunting-field or the fencing-court, and at eve he returns to the banquet and the song in the golden halls. And lovely virgins caress the youths, and the elders chat about wise primeval times with the old primeval heroes. And there I shall meet again all the valiant companions of my youth; bold Winithar and Waltharis of Aquitania, and Guntharis of Burgundy. There I shall again behold him for whom I have so longed. Sir Beowulf; and I shall see the Cheruskians of ancient days, the first who ever beat the Romans, and of whom the singer of the Saxons still sings. And again I shall carry the shield and spear of my master, the King with the eagle eyes. And thus we shall live for all eternity in light and joy, the earth below and all its woes forgotten."
"A fine poem, old heathen!" said Totila, with a smile. "But if all this can no longer console us for actual and heart-rending suffering? Speak thou also, Teja, thou gloomy guest. What is thy opinion of our sorrows? Thy sword never fails us; why dost thou withhold thy words? What makes thy comforting harp dumb, thou singer of singers?"
"My words?" answered Teja, rising; "my words and my thoughts would be perhaps harder to bear than all our suffering. Let me yet be silent, my sun-bright Totila. Perhaps a day will come when I may answer thee. Perhaps, also, I may once more play on my harp, if but a string will vibrate."
And he left the tent; for outside in the camp a confused and inexplicable noise of calling and questioning voices arose. The friends looked silently after Teja.
"I guess his thoughts," at last said old Hildebrand, "for I have known him from his boyhood. He is not as other men. And in the Northland there are many who think like him, who do not believe in Thor and Odin, but only in necessity and in their own strength. It is almost too heavy a burden for a human heart to bear, and it makes no one happy to think as he does. I wonder that he can sing and play the harp notwithstanding."
Just then Teja, returning, tore open the curtain of the tent; his face was still paler than before; his dark eyes flashed; but his voice was as quiet as ever as he said:
"Break up the camp. King Witichis. Our ships have fallen into the enemy's hands at Ostia. They have sent the head of Earl Odoswinth into the camp. And upon the walls of Rome, before the very eyes of our sentinels, they slaughter the cattle taken from the Goths. Large reinforcements from Byzantium, under Valerian and Euthalius--Huns, Slaves and Antians--have been brought into the Tiber by many ships. For Johannes has marched through Picenum."
"And Earl Ulithis?"
"Has been killed and his troops beaten. Ancona and Ariminum are taken, and----"
"Is that not yet all?" cried the King.
"No, Witichis. Johannes threatens Ravenna, He is only a few miles distant from that city. And urgent haste is necessary."
The day after the arrival of this news, so fateful for the Goths, King Witichis abandoned the siege of Rome and led his thoroughly disheartened troops out of the four remaining camps.
The siege had lasted a whole year and nine days. All courage and strength, exertion and sacrifice, had been unavailing.
Silently the Goths marched past the proud walls, against which their power and good-fortune had been wrecked. Silently they suffered the taunting words cast at them from the battlements by Romans and Byzantines.
They were too much absorbed by their grief and rage to feel hurt by such mockery. But when the horsemen of Belisarius, issuing from the Pincian Gate, would have pursued them, they were fiercely repulsed, for Earl Teja led the Gothic rearguard.
So the Gothic army, avoiding the strongholds occupied by the enemy--Narnia, Spoletium and Perusia--marched with expedition from Rome through Picenum to Ravenna, where they arrived in time to crush the dangerous symptoms of rebellion among the population, some of whom, upon hearing of the misfortunes of the barbarians, had already entered into secret negotiations with Johannes.
As the Goths approached the latter withdrew into the fortress of Ariminum, his last important conquest.
In Ancona lay Konon, the navarchus of Belisarius, with the Thracian spearmen and many ships of war.
The King, however, had not taken to Ravenna the whole of the army which had besieged Rome, but had, during the march, left several regiments to garrison the fortresses which he passed.
One thousand men he had left under Gibimer in Clusium; another thousand in Urbs Vetus, under Albila; five hundred men in Tudertum under Wulfgis; in Auximum four thousand men under Earl Wisand, the brave bandalarius; in Urbinum two thousand under Morra; and in Cæsena and Monsferetrus five hundred.
He sent Hildebrand to Verona, Totila to Tarvisium, and Teja to Ticinum, for the north-eastern part of the peninsula was also endangered by Byzantine troops, coming from Istria.
In acting thus he had been also influenced by other reasons. He wished first of all to check Belisarius on his march to Ravenna. Secondly, he was afraid, in case of a siege, that if all his troops were with him, they would speedily be exposed to the evils of starvation, and, lastly, he wished to attack the besiegers in their rear from various sides.
His plan was to occupy his stronghold of Ravenna, limiting himself to defensive proceedings until the foreign troops which he expected, Longobardians and Franks, should place him in a position to take the open field.
But his hope of checking Belisarius on his way to Ravenna was disappointed, for the Byzantine contented himself with investing all the Gothic fortresses with a portion of his army, marching on with the main army to the capital city and last important refuge of the Goths.
"If I have mortally wounded the heart," he said, "the clenched fists will open of themselves."
And so, very soon, the tents of the Byzantines were seen stretching in a wide semicircle round the royal residence of Theodoric, from the harbour-town of Classis to the canals and branches of the Padus, which, particularly to the west, formed a natural line of defence.
The old aristocratic city had indeed, even at that time, lost much of the glory in which it had rejoiced for nearly two centuries as the residence of the Roman emperors; and the last rays which the splendid reign of Theodoric had shed over it, were extinguished since the breaking out of the war.
But even thus, what a different impression must the still thickly-populated city--similar to the present Venice--have made at that period, in comparison with its aspect at present; when the interior of the city, with its silent streets, its deserted squares and its lonely basilicas, appears to the beholder no less melancholy than the plain outside the walls, where the desolate and marshy levels of the Padus stretch far away, until they are lost in the mud of the receding sea.
Where once the harbour-town of Classis was filled with active life on land and sea; where the proud triremes of the royal fleet of Ravenna rocked on the blue waters, now lie swampy meadows, in whose tall reeds and grass the wild buffalo feeds; the streets foul with stagnant water; the harbour choked with sand; the once joyous population vanished; only one gigantic tower of the time of the Goths still stands near the sole remaining Basilica, of Saint Apollonaris inClasse fuori, which, commenced by Witichis and completed by Justinian, now rises sadly out of the marshy plain, far from any human abode.
In the time of which our story speaks the strong fortress was considered impregnable, and for that reason the emperors, when their power began to decay, had chosen it for their residence.
The south-eastern side was at that time protected by the sea, which rolled its waves to the very foot of the walls, and on the other three sides nature and art had spun a labyrinthine network of canals, ditches, and swamps, begotten by the many-armed Padus, among which all besiegers were hopelessly entangled.
And the walls! Even yet their mighty ruins fill the traveller with amazement. Their colossal width, and less their height than the number of strong round towers, which even now (1863) rise above the battlements, defied, before the invention of gunpowder, every means of attack.
It was only by starving the city that, after a resistance of nearly four years, the great Theodoric won this, Odoacer's last place of refuge.
In vain had Belisarius attempted to take the city by storm, as soon as he had reached the walls.
His attack was bravely repulsed, and he was obliged to content himself with closely investing the fortress, in order by cutting off all supplies, as had formerly been done by Theodoric, to force that city to capitulate.
But Witichis was able to look upon this proceeding with composure, for, with the prudence which was peculiar to him, he had, before marching to Rome, heaped up provisions of all kinds, principally corn, in extraordinary quantities. He had stored them in granaries built of wood and erected within the walls of the immense marble Circus of Theodosius. These extensive wooden edifices, situated exactly opposite to the palace and the Basilica of Saint Apollonaris, were the pride, joy, and comfort of the King.
It had been impossible to convey much of the provisions to the army before Rome, and with reasonable economy these magazines would without doubt suffice for the wants of the population and the no longer formidable army for another two or three months.
By that time the Goths expected the arrival of an allied army, in consequence of the newly-opened negotiations with the Franks. On its arrival the siege would necessarily be raised.
But Belisarius and Cethegus knew or guessed this as well as Witichis, and they indefatigably sought on all sides for some means of hastening the fall of the city.
The Prefect, of course, tried to make use of his secret relations with the Queen for the furtherance of this end. But, on the one hand, communication with Mataswintha had become very difficult, for the Goths carefully guarded all the entrances to the city; and, on the other hand, Mataswintha herself seemed greatly changed, and no longer so ready and willing as before to allow herself to be used as a tool.
She had expected the speedy destruction or humiliation of the King. The long delay wearied her, and, at the same time, the immense suffering of her people had begun to shake her resolution. Lastly, the sad change in the manner of the usually strong and healthy King, the resigned but profound grief which he evidently felt, touched her heart.
Although she accused him, with all the injustice of pain and the bitter pride of insulted love, of having rejected her heart and yet forced her to give him her hand; although she believed that she hated him with all the passion of her nature, and did indeed in some sort hate him, yet this hatred was only love reversed.
And now, when she saw him humbled by the terrible misfortunes of the Gothic army and the failure of all his plans--to which failure she had so greatly contributed by her own treason--so humbled, that his mind had begun to be affected by sickly melancholy, and he tormented himself with reproaches; the sight powerfully affected her impulsive nature, strangely compounded as it was of the contradictory elements of tenderness and harshness.
In the first moment of angry grief, she would have seen his blood flow with delight. But to see him slowly devoured by self-reproach and gnawing pain that she could not endure.
This softer feeling on her part had, besides, been greatly brought about by her having noticed, since their arrival in Ravenna, a change in the King's behaviour towards herself.
She thought that she observed in him traces of remorse for having so forcibly encroached upon her life, and she involuntarily softened her harsh and blunt manner to him during their rare interviews, which always took place in the presence of witnesses.
Witichis considered the change as a sign that a step had been taken towards reconciliation, and silently acknowledged and rewarded it, on his part, by a more friendly manner.
All this was sufficient to induce Mataswintha, with her emotional nature, to repulse the overtures of the Prefect, even when they sometimes reached her by means of the clever Moor.
Now the Prefect had already learned from Syphax during the march to Ravenna, that which was known later by other means, namely, that the Goths expected assistance from the Franks.
He had therefore forthwith renewed his old and intimate relations with the aristocrats and great men who ruled in the name of the mock Kings of the Merovingians in the courts of Mettis (Metz), Aurelianum (Orleans) and Suessianum (Soissons), in order to induce the Franks--whose perfidy, even then become a proverb, gave good hope that his efforts would be successful--to renounce the Gothic alliance.
And when the affair had been properly introduced by these friends, he himself wrote to King Theudebald, who held his court in Mettis, impressively warning him of the risk he would run if he supported such a ruined cause as that of the Goths had undeniably become since their ill-success in the siege of Rome.
This letter had been accompanied by rich gifts to his old friend, the Major Domus of the weak-minded King, and the Prefect impatiently waited, day by day, for the reply; the more impatiently because the altered demeanour of Mataswintha had cut off all the hopes he had entertained of effecting a more speedy conquest of the Goths.
The answer came--at the same time with an imperial letter from Byzantium--on a day which was equally pregnant with the fate of the heroes both in and out of Ravenna.
Hildebad, impatient at the long pause of idleness, had, one day at dawn, made a sudden sally upon the Byzantines from the Porta Faventina, which was under his special command. He had at first won great advantages, had burnt a portion of the enemies' implements of siege, and had spread terror all around.
He would, without doubt, have done still more mischief had not Belisarius, hurrying up, displayed at once all his heroism and generalship.
Without helmet or armour, just as he had hurried from his tent, he had first checked his own flying outposts, and had then thrown himself upon the Gothic pursuers, and by the utmost personal exertion had brought the fight to a standstill.
Afterwards he had manœuvred his two flanks so cleverly, that Hildebad's retreat was greatly endangered, and the Goths were obliged to retreat speedily into the city.
Cethegus, who lay encamped before the Porta Honorius with his Isaurians, had found, on hastening to the assistance of Belisarius, that the fight was already over. He could not, therefore, avoid paying a visit to the commander-in-chief in his tent, in order to express his admiration of the heroes conduct, both as a general and a soldier; praise which was greedily listened to by Antonina.
"Really, Belisarius," concluded the Prefect, "Emperor Justinian can never requite your valour sufficiently."
"There you speak truly," answered Belisarius haughtily; "he can only requite me by his friendship. The mere honour of bearing his marshal's staff would never have induced me to do that which I have already done, and shall yet accomplish. I do it only because I really love him. With all his failings, he is a great man. If he could but learn one thing--to trust me! But patience--he will learn it in time."
Just then Procopius entered, bringing a letter for Belisarius, which had been delivered by an imperial messenger.
With a countenance beaming with delight, Belisarius, forgetting his fatigue, sprang from his cushions, kissed the letter, and with his dagger cut the purple cord which tied it. He unfolded the paper with the words:
"From my Emperor himself! Ah, now he will send me the gold and the rest of the body-guard!"
And he began to read.
Antonina, Procopius, and Cethegus observed him attentively. His features grew darker and darker; his broad chest began to heave; both the hands with which he held the letter trembled.
Antonina anxiously approached him, but before she could question him, Belisarius uttered a low cry of rage, cast the letter on the ground, and rushed madly out of the tent. His wife followed him.
"Antonina alone dare now approach him," said Procopius, as he picked up the letter. "Let us see; no doubt it is another piece of imperial gratitude." And he glanced over the letter. "The commencement is, as usual, mere phrases. Ah, now comes something better: 'Notwithstanding, we cannot deny that we expected, according to your own former boasts, a more speedy termination to the war against these barbarians; and we believe that, with greater exertion, this would not have been impossible. For this reason we cannot comply with your repeatedly-expressed wish to have the remaining five thousand body-guards sent from Persia, and the four thousand centenari of gold which lie in your palace at Byzantium. Certainly, both, as you rather superfluously remark in your letter, are your own property; and your offer to carry this war to a conclusion, paying the expenses out of your own purse, because of the existing exhaustion of the imperial exchequer, is worthy of all praise. As, however, all your property, as you more justly add in the aforesaid letter, is at the service of your Emperor, and as your Emperor considers the desired employment of your treasure and body-guard in Italy superfluous, we have decided to appropriate it otherwise, and have already sent troops and treasure to your colleague, Narses, to be used in the Persian wars.' Ha! this is unheard of!" cried Procopius, interrupting himself.
Cethegus smiled. "It is a tyrant's thanks for the services of a slave!"
"And the end seems to be just as pleasant," continued Procopius. "'An increase of your power in Italy seems to us the less desirable, because we are daily warned against your boundless ambition. You are reported to have said lately, while sitting at wine, that the sceptre originated in the general's staff, and the general's staff in the stick. Dangerous thoughts and unseemly words! You see that we are faithfully informed of your ambitious dreams. This time we will warn without punishing; but we have no desire to furnish you with more wood for your general's staff; and we would remind you that the tree, which most proudly tosses its summit, is nearest to the imperial lightning.' It is shameful!" cried Procopius.
"No, it is worse; it is silly!" said Cethegus. "It is whipping fidelity into rebellion."
"You are right!" cried Belisarius, who had caught these words as he again rushed into the tent. "Oh, he deserves that I should desert him, the base, ungrateful, wicked tyrant!"
"Be silent, for God's sake! You will ruin yourself!" cried Antonina, who had entered with her husband, and now tried to take his hand.
"No, I will not be silent!" cried the angry man, as he paced to and fro close to the open door of the tent, before which Bessas, Acacius, Demetrius, and many other leaders stood listening in astonishment. "All the world shall hear me! He is an ungrateful, malicious tyrant! He deserves that I should overthrow him! that I should confirm the suspicions of his false soul!"
Cethegus cast a look at those who stood outside; they had evidently heard all. Glancing at Antonina, he now went to the door and closed it carefully. Antonina thanked him by a look. She again drew near her husband, but he had thrown himself upon the ground before his couch, striking his clenched fist upon his brow and stammering:
"O Justinian! have I deserved this from you? It is too much, too much!"
And the strong man burst into tears.
At this Cethegus contemptuously turned away.
"Farewell," he said in a low voice to Procopius, "It disgusts me to see men blubber!"
Lost in thought, the Prefect left the tent, and went round the camp to the rather distant outwork, where he had entrenched himself and his Isaurians before the Gate of Honorius.
It was situated on the south side of the city, near the harbour wall of Classis, and the way led partly along the sea-shore.
Although the lonely wanderer was at this moment preoccupied by the great thought which had become the pulse of his life, although he was oppressed by anxiety as to how Belisarius--that man of impulse--would act, and worried with impatience for the arrival of the answer from the Franks, his attention was yet involuntarily attracted by the singular appearance of the landscape, the sky, and the sea.
It was October; but the season had seemed for weeks to have altered its laws. For almost two months it had never rained. Not a cloud, not a stripe of mist had been seen in this usually so humid part of the country. But now, quite suddenly--it was towards sunset--Cethegus remarked in the east, above the sea horizon, a single, dense, and coal-black cloud.
The setting sun, although free from mist, shed no rays.
Not a breath of air rippled the leaden surface of the sea; not the smallest wavelet played upon the strand.
Not an olive-leaf moved in all the wide plain; not even the easily-shaken reeds in the marshy ditches trembled.
No cry of an animal, no flight of a bird could be heard or perceived; and a strange choking smell, as if of sulphur, seemed to lie oppressively over land and sea, and to check respiration. The mules and horses in the camp kicked uneasily against the posts to which they were tied. A few camels and dromedaries, which Belisarius had brought with him from Africa, buried their heads in the sand.
The wanderer heaved a deep breath, and looked about him in surprise.
"How sultry! Just as it is before the 'wind of death' arises in the deserts of Egypt," he said to himself. "Sultry everywhere--outside and inside. Upon whose head will the long-withheld fury of Nature and Passion be let loose?"
He entered his tent.
Syphax accosted him.
"Sir, if I were at home, I should think that the poisonous breath of the God of the Desert was coming over us." And he handed a letter to the Prefect.
It was the answer of the King of the Franks. Hastily Cethegus tore open the great shining seal.
"Who brought it?"
"An ambassador, who, as he did not find you, immediately asked to be conducted to Belisarius. He desired to go the shortest way--through the camp."
So thus Cethegus had missed him.
He read eagerly:
"'Theudebald, King of the Franks, to Cethegus, the Prefect of Rome.
"'You have addressed to us wise words, and still wiser words you have not trusted to the letter, but have sent to us through our Major Domus. We are not disinclined to act accordingly. We accept your advice, and the gifts which accompany it. Their misfortunes have dissolved our treaty with the Goths. They may blame their evil fate and not our withdrawal. Whom Heaven forsakes, men, if they be pious and wise, should forsake also. It is true that the Goths have paid beforehand the price for the army of alliance. But, in our eyes, that is no hindrance. We will keep the treasure as a pledge, until such time as they shall cede to us the towns in South Gaul, which lie within the frontier formed by God and nature for the kingdom of the Franks. But, as we have prepared for a campaign, and our brave soldiers, who already scent the battle, would but impatiently bear the tedium of peace and might become dangerous, we are inclined, notwithstanding, to send our valiant troops over the Alps. Only, instead of fightingforthe Goths, they will fight against them. However, we do not wish to serve the Emperor Justinian, who continually denies us the title of King, and inscribes himself on his coins, 'Master of Gaul;' who will not allow us to impress our own image on our own coins; and has offered other unbearable affronts to our dignity. We rather think of extending our own power in Italy. Now, as we well know that the whole strength of the Emperor in that country is embodied in his commander-in-chief, Belisarius, and that the latter has a great number of old and new injuries to complain of, inflicted by his ungrateful master, we shall propose to the hero, Belisarius, to set himself up as Emperor of the West, to which end we will send him an army of a hundred thousand Frankish heroes. In return, we desire the cession of only a small part of Italy, extending from our frontier to Genoa. We hold it to be impossible that any mortal can refuse such an offer. In case you will co-operate with us, we promise you a sum of twelve centenari of gold; and, upon a return payment of two centenari, we shall place your name on the list of our messmates. The ambassador who brings you this letter--Duke Lintharis--has our order to communicate with Belisarius.'"
Cethegus had read to the end with difficulty. He now broke out:
"Such an offer at such a moment! In such a humour! He will accept it! Emperor of the West, with a hundred thousand Prankish warriors! He must not live!"
And he hurried to the door of his tent; but he suddenly checked himself.
"Fool that I am!" he laughed, "Still so hot-blooded? He is Belisarius, and not Cethegus! He will not accept. He can rebel as little as the moon can rebel against the earth, or a tame house-dog suddenly become a raging wolf. He will not accept! But now let us see to what purpose we can put the cupidity and falsity of this Merovingian. No, King of the Franks!" and he looked bitterly at the crumpled letter. "As long as Cethegus lives, not a foot of Italian soil shall you have!"
He paced rapidly through his tent.
Another turn--with a slower step.
And a third--then he stood still, and over his mighty brow came a flash of light.
"I have it!" he joyously cried. "Syphax," he called, "go and fetch Procopius."
As he again paced the tent, his eyes fell upon the fallen letter of the Merovingian.
"No," he laughed triumphantly, as he took it up from the ground. "No, King of the Franks, you shall not win as much of Italy's holy soil as is covered by this letter."
Procopius soon appeared. The two men sat talking earnestly through the whole night.
Procopius was startled at the bold and daring plans of the Prefect, and for some time refused to enter into them. But the genius of the man held him fast, overcame every objection before it was expressed, and at last he was so entangled in an inextricable network of argument, that he lost all power of resistance.
The stars were pale, and the dawn illumined the east with a grey stripe of light, when Procopius took leave of his friend.
"Cethegus," he said, rising, "I admire you. If I were not the historian of Belisarius, I should like to be yours."
"It would be more interesting," said the Prefect quietly, "but more difficult."
"But," continued Procopius, "I cannot help shuddering at the biting acrimony of your spirit. It is a sign of the times in which we live. It is like a poisonous but brilliant flower in a swamp. When I recollect how you have ruined the Gothic King by means of his own wife----"
"I have something to tell you about that. Lately I have heard very little from my fair ally----"
"Your ally? Your ways are----"
"Always practical."
"But not always---- But never mind. I am with you--for yet a little while, for I wish to get my hero out of Italy as soon as possible. He shall gather laurels in Persia instead of thorns here. But I will only go with you as far----"
"As it suits you, of course."
"Enough! I will at once speak with Antonina. I do not doubt of success. She is tired to death here. She burns with desire, not only to see many an old friend in Byzantium, but also to ruin the enemies of her husband."
"A good bad wife!"
"But Witichis? Do you think he will believe a rebellion on the part of Belisarius possible?"
"King Witichis is a good soldier, but a poor psychologist. I know a much cleverer man, who yet, for a moment, believed it possible. Besides, you will bring proofs in writings and just now, forsaken as he is by the Franks--the water is up to his neck--he will snatch at any straw. Therefore I, also, do not doubt of success. Only make sure of Antonina----"
"That shall be my care. At mid-day I hope to enter Ravenna as an ambassador."
"Good--and do not forget to speak to the lovely Queen."
At mid-day Procopius rode into Ravenna.
He carried with him four letters: the letter of Justinian to Belisarius, the letters of the King of the Franks to Cethegus and Belisarius, and a letter from Belisarius to Witichis.
This last had been written by Procopius and dictated by Cethegus.
The ambassador had no suspicion of the mood in which he should find the King of the Goths and his beautiful Queen.
The healthy but simple mind of the King had begun to darken, if not to despair, under the pressure of continual misfortune. The murder of his only child, the terrible wrench of parting from his beloved wife, had shaken him to the very soul; but he had borne it all in the hope of securing victory to the Goths.
And now this victory obstinately tarried.
In spite of all efforts, the state of his people became more hopeless every month. With the single exception of the battle fought and won on the march to Rome, fortune had never smiled upon the Goths.
The siege of Rome, undertaken with such proud hopes, had ended in a woeful retreat and the loss of three-fourths of the army. New strokes of fortune, bad news that followed each other like rapid blows, increased the King's depression, until it degenerated into a state of dull despair.
Almost all Italy, except Ravenna, was lost. Belisarius, while yet in Rome, had sent a fleet to Genoa, under the command of Mundila the Herulian, and Ennes the Isaurian. The troops had landed without resistance, had conquered the sea-ruling harbour of Genoa, and, from that point, almost all Liguria.
Datius, the Bishop of Mediolanum, himself invited the Byzantines to that important city. Thence they easily won Bergomum, Comum, and Novaria.
On the other side, the discouraged Goths in Clusium and the half-ruined Dertona surrendered to the besiegers and were led prisoners out of Italy.
Urbinum, after a brave resistance, was taken by the Byzantines; also Forum Cornelii and the whole district of Æmilia by Johannes. The Goths failed to retake Ancona, Ariminum, and Mediolanum.
Still worse news presently arrived to increase the despondency of the King. For meanwhile famine was making ravages in the wide districts of Æmilia, Picenum and Tuscany.
There were neither men, cattle, nor horses to serve the plough. The people fled into the woods and mountains, made bread of acorns, and devoured grass and weeds.
Devastating maladies were the consequence of insufficient or unwholesome nourishment.
In Picenum alone perished fifty thousand souls; a still greater number succumbed to hunger and pestilence on the other side of the Ionian Gulf, in Dalmatia, Pale and thin, those still living tottered to the grave; their skins became black and like leather; their glassy eyes started from the sockets; their intestines burned as if with fire.
The vultures despised the corpses of the victims of pestilence; but human flesh was devoured by men. Mothers killed and ate their newly-born children.
In a farm near Ariminum only two Roman women had remained alive. These women murdered and devoured, one after another, seventeen men, who, singly, had sought a shelter in their house. The eighteenth awoke as they were about to strangle him in his sleep. He killed the fiendish women, and discovered the fate of their earlier victims.
Lastly, the hopes placed in the Franks and Longobardians were utterly destroyed.
The Franks, who had already received large sums for the promised army of alliance, were silent. The messengers of the King, who were sent to urge the fulfilment of their promise, were detained at Mettis, Aurelianum, and Paris; no answer came from these courts.
The King of the Longobardians sent word that he could decide nothing without the consent of his warlike son Alboin. That the latter was absent in search of adventures. Perhaps he would at some time reach Italy; he was an intimate friend of Narses. Then he could observe the country for himself, and advise his father and his countrymen as to the course to be taken.
It is true that the important fortress of Auximum withstood, for months, all the efforts of the powerful army which besieged it under Belisarius, accompanied by Procopius. But it wrung the King's heart when a messenger (who had, with much difficulty, stolen his way through the two investing armies to Ravenna) brought him the following message from the heroic Earl Wisand:
"When Auximum was entrusted to my care, thou saidst that therewith I should hold the keys of Ravenna; yea, of the kingdom. Thou badest me resist manfully until thou camest thyself with thy whole army to my assistance. We have manfully resisted not only Belisarius, but famine. Where is thy relief? Woe to us if thy words are true, and with this fortress the keys of our kingdom fall into the enemy's hands! Come therefore, and help us; more for the kingdom's sake than for our own!"
This messenger was soon followed by a second: Burcentius, a soldier belonging to the besieging army, who had been bribed with much gold. His message ran--the short letter was written in blood:
"We have now only the weeds that grow between the stones to eat. We cannot hold out longer than four days more."
As this last messenger was returning with the King's reply, he fell into the hands of the besiegers, who burnt him alive in sight of the Goths before the walls of Auximum.
And the King could give no help.
The small party of Goths in Auximum still resisted, although Belisarius cut off the supply of water by destroying the aqueducts and poisoning the remaining wells with the corpses of men and animals, thrown in with lime.
Wisand still fiercely repelled every attack. On one of these occasions Belisarius only escaped death at the sacrifice of one of his body-guard.
Finally, Cæsena, the last of the Gothic towns on the Æmilia, was the first to fall; and then Fæsulæ, which was besieged by Cyprianus and Justinus.
"My poor Fæsulæ!" exclaimed the King, when he learned this last disaster, for he had been the Count of that town, and close to it lay the house where he had lived so happily with Rauthgundis;--"My poor Fæsulæ! the Huns will run riot in my deserted home!"
When, later, the garrison taken prisoner at Fæsulæ were led in chains before the eyes of the defenders of Auximum, and reported to the latter the hopelessness of any relief from Ravenna, the famished troops of Wisand compelled him to surrender.
He stipulated for himself a free escort to Ravenna. His men were led prisoners out of Italy.
And, so deeply sunk was the courage and patriotism of the conquered troops, that, led by Earl Sisifrid of Sarsina, they accepted service against their own countrymen under the flag of Belisarius.
The victor had strongly garrisoned Auximum and then led the army back to the camp before Ravenna, where he now again took the command, which had been entrusted to Cethegus during his absence.
It was as if a curse rested upon the head of the Gothic King, who so sorely felt the weight of his crown.
As he could not ascribe the cause of his failure to any weakness or oversight on his own part; as he did not doubt in the justice of the Gothic cause, and as his simple piety could see nothing but the hand of Heaven in all his misfortunes, he conceived the torturing thought that God was punishing the Goths for some unforgiven sin committed by himself, a conviction imparted to his conscience by the then dominating doctrine of the Old Testament no less than by many features of the old Germanic legends.
Day and night the King was tortured by this idea, which undermined his strength and resolution. Now he tried to discover his secret guilt; now he reflected how he could at least turn aside the curse from his people.
He would long since have abdicated, but that such an act at such a moment would have been considered cowardly both by himself and others. So this escape from his misery--the quickest and best--was closed to him.
His soul was bowed to the very earth. He often sat motionless for hours, silent and staring at vacancy; at times shaking his head or sighing deeply.
The daily recurring sight of this resigned suffering, this dumb and hopeless bearing of an oppressive fate, was not, as we have said, without effect on Mataswintha. She thought that lately the eyes of Witichis rested upon her with an expression of sorrow and even of beneficence.
And vague hope--which is so difficult to destroy in a living heart--remorse and compassion, attracted her more powerfully than ever to the suffering King.
They were now often thrown together by some common errand of mercy.
For some weeks the inhabitants of Ravenna had begun to suffer want, while the besiegers ruled the sea from Ancona, and received plentiful provisions from Calabria and Sicily.
None but rich citizens could afford to pay the high price asked for corn.
The King's kind heart did not hesitate, when he had provided his troops, to share the wealth of his magazines--which, as we have seen, contained sufficient for the wants of all for more than double the time required for the arrival of the Franks--amongst the poor of the city. He also hoped for the arrival of many ships laden with corn, which the Goths had collected in the northern districts of the Padus, and which lay in that river, waiting for an opportunity to reach Ravenna.
In order to avoid any misuse of his bounty, or extravagance in the granting of rations, the King himself superintended the distribution; and Mataswintha, who one day met him among the groups of grateful people, placed herself near him upon the marble steps of the Basilica of Saint Apollonaris, and helped him to fill the baskets with bread.
It was a touching sight to see this royal pair standing before the church doors, distributing their gift to the people.
As they were standing thus, Mataswintha remarked among the crowd--for many country-people had fled to the city from all sides--sitting upon the lowest step of the Basilica, a woman in a simple brown mantle, which was half drawn over her head.
This woman did not press forward with the others to demand bread, but leaned against a high sarcophagus, with her head resting upon her hand, and, half concealed by the corner pillar of the Basilica, looked sharply and fixedly at the Queen.
Mataswintha thought that the woman was restrained by fear, pride, or shame, from mixing with the more importunate beggars who pushed and crowded each other upon the steps, and she gave Aspa a basket of bread, telling her to go down and give it to the woman. With care she heaped up the sweet-scented bread with both her hands.
As she looked up, she met the eye of the King, which rested upon her with a more soft and friendly expression than she had ever seen before.
She started slightly, and the blood rushed into her cheeks as she cast down her beautiful eyes.
When she again looked up and glanced towards the woman in the brown mantle, she perceived that the place by the sarcophagus was empty. The woman had disappeared.
She had not observed, while filling the basket, that a man, clad in a buffalo-skin and a steel cap, who had been standing behind the woman, had caught her arm and drawn her away with gentle violence.
"Come," he had said; "this is no place for thee."
And, as if in a dream, the woman had answered:
"By God, she is wonderfully lovely!"
"I thank thee, Mataswintha," said the King, in a friendly manner, when the rations for the day had been distributed.
The look, the tone, the words, penetrated her heart.
Never before had he called her by her name; he had ever met and spoken to her only as the "Queen."
How happy those few words from his mouth had made her; and yet how heavily his kindness weighed upon her guilty soul!
Evidently she had earned his more affectionate feeling by her active compassion for the poor.
"Oh, he is good!" she cried to herself, half weeping with emotion. "I also will be good!"
As, occupied by this thought, she entered the court of the left wing of the palace, which was assigned to her--the King inhabited the right wing--Aspa hurried to meet her.
"A messenger from the camp," she eagerly whispered. "He brings a secret message from the Prefect--a letter, in Syphax's handwriting--in our language. He waits for a reply."
"Leave me!" cried Mataswintha, frowning. "I will hear and read nothing.--But who are these?" And she pointed to the steps leading from the court to her apartments.
There, upon the cold stones, crouched women, children, and sick people, clothed in rags--a group of misery.
"Beggars," said Aspa; "poor people. They have lain there the whole morning. They will not be driven away."
"They shall not be driven away," said Mataswintha, drawing near.
"Bread, Queen! Bread, daughter of the Amelungs!" cried many voices.
"Give them gold, Aspa. All that thou hast with thee; and fetch----"
"Bread, bread. Queen--not gold! No more bread is to be had for money in all the city."
"It is dispensed freely outside the King's magazines. I have just come thence. Why were you not there?"
"Queen! we could not get through the crowd," said a haggard woman. "I am aged, and my daughter here is sick, and that old man is blind. The strong and young push us away. For three days we tried to go in vain. We could not get through."
"Yes, and we starve," grumbled the old man. "O Theodoric! my lord and King, where art thou? Under thy rule we had enough and to spare! Then the poor and sick were not deprived of bread. But this unhappy King----"
"Be silent," said Mataswintha. "The King, my husband"--and a lovely flush rose into her cheeks--"does more than you deserve. Wait here. I will bring you bread. Follow me, Aspa." And she hastened away.
"Whither goest thou?" asked the slave, astonished.
Mataswintha drew her veil closely over her face as she answered:
"To the King!"
When she reached the antechamber of the King's apartments, the door-keeper, who recognised her with amazement, begged her to wait a moment.
"An ambassador from Belisarius has been admitted to a private audience. He has been in the room already for some time, and no doubt will soon leave it."
Just then the door of the King's apartment was opened, and Procopius stood hesitating upon the threshold.
"King of the Goths," he said, as he once again turned round, "is that your last word?"
"My last; as it was my first," answered the King, with dignity.
"I will give you time--I will remain in Ravenna till to-morrow----"
"From this moment you are welcome as a guest, but not as an ambassador."
"I repeat: if the city be taken by storm, all the Goths who are taller than the sword of Belisarius--he has sworn it--will be killed! The women and children will be sold into slavery. You understand that Belisarius will suffer no barbarians inhisItaly. The death of a hero may be tempting to you, but think of the helpless people--their blood will accuse you before the throne of God----"
"Ambassador, you, as well as we, are in God's hand. Farewell."
And these words were uttered with such majesty, that the Byzantine was obliged to go, however reluctantly.
The simple dignity of the King had had a strong effect upon him; but still more upon the listening Queen.
As Procopius slowly shut the door, he saw Mataswintha standing before him, and started back, dazzled by her great beauty. He greeted her reverently.
"You are the Queen of the Goths!" he said. "You must be she."
"I am," said Mataswintha. "Would that I had never forgotten it!"
And she passed him with a haughty step.
"These Germans, both men and women," said Procopius, as he went out, "have eyes such as I have never seen before!"