Outside Teja held the old man back by his mantle.
"Thou torturest the King in vain," he said. "He will never consent. Now least of all!"
"How dost thou know?" interrupted the old man.
"Peace; I guess it. As I guess all misfortune."
"Then thou wilt also acknowledge that hemustconsent."
"He--hewill not do it."
"But--thou meanest her?"
"Perhaps!"
"She will!" cried Hildebrand.
"Yes, she is a wonder of a woman," answered Teja.
While, during the next few days, the now childless pair lived in quiet seclusion, and Witichis scarcely ever left his tent, it happened that the outposts of the royal besiegers and the sentries of the Gothic garrison of Ravenna--taking advantage of the armistice which, as a matter of fact, had ensued--entered into frequent communication.
Scolding and disputing, they reproached each other with being the cause of the civil war.
The besiegers complained that the garrison had closed the gates of his royal fortress upon the King during the greatest distress of the nation. The Ravennese blamed Witichis for depriving the daughter of the Amelungs of her rights.
As old Earl Grippa was making the round of the walls, he listened, unobserved, to one of these conversations.
He suddenly came forward, and called to Witichis's soldiers who were standing below, praising their King.
"Indeed?" he cried; "is it acting nobly and rightly to attack us like a madman, instead of giving an answer to our moderate demand? And he could so easily spare the blood of the Goths! We only want Mataswintha for our Queen! Well, can he not remain King? Is it so hard to share throne and couch with the most beautiful woman in the world, with the Princess Beautiful-hair,' of whose charms the singers sing in the streets? Must so many thousand brave Goths die, rather than that? Well then, let him continue to attack. We will see which breaks down first; his obstinacy or these walls!"
These words of the old commander made an immense impression on all the Goths before the walls. They knew of nothing to say in defence of their King. They also knew as little of his marriage as the rest of the army. In this the presence of Rauthgundis in the camp had altered little, for truly she had not come like a queen.
They hastened back to the camp in great excitement, and told what they had heard; how that the obstinacy of the King had sacrificed their brethren.
"'Twas for this reason he kept the object of the embassy a secret!" they cried.
Soon groups were formed in every lane of the camp, all much excited, speaking of the affair, and blaming the King in tones which grew ever louder.
The Germans of those times treated their kings with a freedom of speech which horrified the Byzantines.
In this case, vexation at the retreat from Rome; the shame of the defeat before Ravenna; regret for their sacrificed comrades, and anger at this secrecy; all worked together to excite the Goths to a storm of indignation against the King, which was not the less violent, because it was still restrained.
This temper of the army did not escape the notice of the leaders. As they passed through the camp, the words of blame were scarcely restrained. But they would only have let loose the mischief if they had angrily rebuked it.
And often, when Earl Teja or Hildebad would have interposed a word in mitigation, old Hildebrand kept them back.
"Let the tide swell a little more," he said; "when it is high enough I will control it. The only danger would be--" he added, half to himself.
"If those in the rebel camp opposite were beforehand with us," said Teja.
"Right, thou guesser of riddles! But things go well for us there. Deserters relate that the princess steadfastly refuses. She threatens to kill herself rather than give her hand to Arahad."
"Bah!" said Hildebad; "I would risk that!"
"Because thou knowest not that passionate creature, that child of the Amelungs! She inherits the fiery blood of Theodoric, and will, after all, play us, too, a bad trick."
"Witichis is another kind of wooer than that boy of Asta," whispered Teja.
"I trust to that also," answered Hildebrand. "Leave him in peace a few days longer," added the old man; "his grief must have its way. Till it is assuaged he can be brought to do nothing. Do not disturb him. Let him remain quietly in his tent with his wife. I shall be obliged to disturb him soon enough."
But the old man was compelled to rouse the King from his grief sooner and in a different way from what he had intended.
The Assembly at Regeta had made a law against all Goths who deserted to the Byzantines, condemning [them] to an ignominious death.
On the whole, such desertions occurred very rarely, but still, in parts of the country where a few Goths lived among a crowded Italian population, and many intermarriages had taken place, they were more frequent.
The old master-at-arms was especially wroth with these renegades, who dishonoured themselves and their nation. It was he who had introduced this law against deserters from the army and the national flag.
Its application had not yet been necessary, and its intention was almost forgotten.
Suddenly it was brought to mind gravely enough.
Belisarius had not yet left Rome with his main army. For more than one reason he wished at present to make that city the principal support of all his movements in Italy; But he had sent numerous parties of skirmishers after the retreating Goths, to tease and disquiet them, and particularly to take possession of the many castles, strongholds and towns from which the barbarian garrison had been driven out and beaten by the Italians, or, hindered by no garrison, had simply gone over to the Emperor of the "Romani," as he called himself in Greek.
Such occurrences took place--particularly as, since the Gothic King was in full retreat, and, after the outbreak of the rebellion, the Gothic cause seemed half lost--almost daily.
Partly under the influence of the appearance of Belisarius's troops before the gates, partly without such pressure, many towns and castles surrendered.
As, however, most of them preferred to wait until they could plead the excuse of necessity, in case of an unhoped-for victory of the Goths, Belisarius had all the more reason to send forth against them small troops of skirmishers, under the command of the deserters, who were well acquainted with the country and the condition of things.
And these troops, encouraged by the continued retreat of the Goths, ventured far into the land; every newly-taken castle became a point of departure for further operations.
Such a party of skirmishers had lately won Castellum Marcianum, which crowned a rocky height above an extensive pine-wood near Cæsena, close to the royal camp.
Old Hildebrand, into whose hands Witichis had given the supreme command since receiving his wound, observed with indignation this dangerous success of the enemy and the treachery of the Italians.
And as he did not wish to occupy his troops against Duke Guntharis or Ravenna--always hoping for a peaceable solution of the difficulty--he decided to play these bold skirmishers a famous trick.
Spies had related that, on the day after Rauthgundis's arrival in the camp, the new Byzantine garrison of Castellum Marcianum had dared to threaten Cæsena itself, the important town in the rear of the Gothic camp.
The old master-at-arms furiously swore destruction to the insolent enemy. He put himself at the head of a thousand horsemen, and started in the stillness of the night, with straw twisted round the hoofs of the horses, in the direction of Cæsena.
The surprise succeeded perfectly. Unobserved they entered the wood at the foot of the rock upon which the castle was situated.
Hildebrand divided his men into two parties, one of which he ordered to surround the wood on all sides; the other to dismount and follow him silently up to the castle.
The sentinels at the gate were taken by surprise, and the Byzantines, finding that they were attacked by superior numbers, fled on all sides into the wood, where the greater part of those on horseback were taken prisoners.
The flames from the burning castle illuminated the scene.
But a small group retreated, fighting, over the little river at the foot of the rock, which was crossed by a narrow bridge.
Here Hildebrand's pursuing horsemen were checked by a single man--a leader, as it seemed from the splendour of his armour.
This tall, slender, and seemingly young man--his visor was down--fought as if in desperation, covered the retreat of his men, and had already overthrown four Goths.
Then up came the old master-at-arms, and looked on for a while at the unequal combat.
"Yield, brave man!" he cried to the lonely combatant. "I will guarantee thy life."
At this call the Byzantine started; for an instant he lowered his sword, and looked at the old man.
But the next moment he had leaped forward and back again; he had cut off the arm of his nearest adversary at one powerful stroke.
The Goths fell back a little.
Hildebrand became furious.
"Forward!" he cried. "No more pity! Aim at him with your spears!"
"He is proof against iron!" cried one of the Goths, a cousin of Teja. "I hit him three times; he cannot be wounded."
"Thinkest thou so, Aligern?" laughed the old man grimly. "Let me see if he be proof against stone."
And he hurled his stone battle-axe--he was almost the only one who still carried this ancient heathen weapon--at the Byzantine.
The heavy axe crashed upon the glittering helmet of the brave defender of the bridge, who fell as if struck by lightning.
Two men sprang towards him and raised his visor.
"Master Hildebrand," cried Aligern in astonishment, "it is no Byzantine!"
"And no Italian!" added Gunthamund.
"Look at his golden locks--it is a Goth!" observed Hunibad.
Hildebrand came forward--and started violently.
"Torches!" he cried; "light! Yes," he added gloomily, taking up his stone axe, "it is a Goth! And I--I have slain him," he concluded, with icy calmness.
But his hand trembled on the shaft of his axe.
"No, master," cried Aligern, "he lives. He was only stunned; he opens his eyes."
"He lives?" asked the old man, shuddering. "May the gods forbid!"
"Yes, he lives!" repeated the Goths, raising their prisoner.
"Then woe to him, and to me! But no! The gods of the Goths have delivered him into my power. Bind him upon thy horse, Gunthamund; but firmly. If he escape, it is at the peril ofthyhead, not his. Forward! To horse, and home!"
When they arrived at the camp, the escort asked the master-at-arms what they should prepare for their prisoner.
"A bundle of straw for to-night," he answered, "and for to-morrow early--a gallows."
With these words he entered the King's tent, and reported the result of his excursion.
"We have a Gothic deserter among our prisoners," he concluded grimly. "He must hang before sunset to-morrow."
"That is very sad," said Witichis, sighing.
"Yes; but necessary. I shall summon the court-martial for to-morrow. Wilt thou preside?"
"No," said Witichis, "exempt me from that. I will appoint Hildebad in my place."
"No," cried the old man, "that will not do. I am commander-in-chief as long as thou keepest thy tent. I demand the presidency as my right."
Witichis looked at him.
"Thou art so grim and cold! Is it an enemy of thy kindred?"
"No," said Hildebrand.
"What is the name of the prisoner?"
"Hildebrand--like mine."
"Meseems thou hatest him--this Hildebrand. Thou mayst judge; but beware of exaggerated severity. Do not forget that I pardon gladly."
"The well-being of the Goths demands his death," said Hildebrand quietly; "and he will die!"
Early the next morning the prisoner, with his head covered, was led to a meadow on the north, the "cold corner" of the camp, where were assembled the leaders of the army and a great part of the troops.
"Listen," said the prisoner to one of his escort; "is old Hildebrand on the Ting-place?"
"He is the head of the Ting."
"They are and will ever remain barbarians! Do me a favour, friend--I will give thee this purple belt for it. Go to the old man; tell him that I know that I must die, but I beg him to spare me, and still more my family--dost thou hear? myfamily--the shame of the gallows. Beg him to send me a weapon secretly."
The Goth, Gunthamund, went to seek Hildebrand, who had already opened the court.
The proceedings were very simple. The old man first caused the law of Regeta to be read aloud; then witnesses proved the taking of the prisoner, and afterwards he was led forward. A woolsack still covered his head and shoulders.
It was just about to be taken off, when Gunthamund reached Hildebrand and whispered in his ear.
"No," cried Hildebrand, frowning; "tell him that the shame of his family is hisdeed, not his punishment," And he called aloud: "Show the face of the traitor! It is Hildebrand, son of Hildegis!"
A cry of astonishment and horror ran through the crowd.
"His own grandchild!"
"Old man, thou shalt not preside! Thou art cruel to thy flesh and blood!" cried Hildebad, starting up.
"Only just; but to every one alike," answered Hildebrand, striking his staff upon the ground.
"Poor Witichis!" whispered Earl Teja.
But Hildebad hurried away to the camp.
"What canst thou say for thyself, son of Hildegis?" asked Hildebrand.
The young man hastily stepped forward; his face was red, but with anger, not with shame. He showed not a trace of fear. His long yellow hair waved in the wind.
The crowd was moved with compassion.
The mere report of his brave resistance, the discovery of his name, and now his youth and beauty, spoke powerfully in his favour.
With flashing eyes, he looked around at the crowd, and then fixed them with a proud expression on the old man's face.
"I protest against this court-martial!" he cried, "Your laws do not concern me. I am a Roman--no Goth! My father died before my birth; my mother was a Roman, the noble Cloelia. I have never felt as if this barbarous old man was my kinsman. I despised his severity as I did his love. He forced his name upon me, the child, and took me away from my mother. But I ran away from him as soon as I could. I have always called myself Flavius Cloelius, never Hildebrand. My friends were Romans; Roman was my every thought; Roman my life! All my friends joined Belisarius and Cethegus; could I remain behind? Kill me--you can and you will! But confess that it is a murder, and not an act of justice! You judge no Goth; you murder a conquered Roman, for Roman is my soul!"
The crowd had listened to his defence silently and with mixed feelings.
But the old man rose furiously from his seat; his eyes flashed fire; his hands trembled with rage.
"Miserable boy," he cried, "thou hast confessed that thou art the son of a Goth! Then art thou a Goth thyself; and if thy heart is Roman, thou deservest death for that alone. Soldiers, away with him to the gallows!"
Once more the prisoner advanced to the foot of the judgment-seat.
"Then be accursed," he cried, "you rude and savage people! May your nation be accursed! And, most of all, thou, old man with the wolf's heart! Do not think that your savagery and cruelty will do you any service! You shall be wiped away from the surface of this lovely land, and not a trace of you shall be left behind!"
At a sign from Hildebrand, the ban-officers again threw the cover over the prisoner's head, and led him away to a hill upon which stood a sturdy yew-tree, deprived of its boughs and leaves.
At this moment the eyes of the crowd were diverted towards the camp, whence the sound of horses' hoofs were heard. Soon a troop of riders with the royal banner was seen approaching, Witichis and Hildebad at their head.
"Stop!" cried the King from a distance. "Spare the grandchild of Hildebrand! Pardon, pardon!"
But the old man pointed to the hill.
"Too late, King," he cried; "it is all over with the traitor. So may all perish who forget their nation! The kingdom comes first. King Witichis, and afterwards wife and child and grandchild!"
This act of Hildebrand made a great impression upon the army, and a still greater one upon the King. He felt the weight which was given to any demand of the old man by his sacrifice. And with the conviction that resistance had now become much more difficult, he returned to his tent.
Hildebrand did not fail to take advantage of the King's humour.
In the evening he entered the royal tent with Teja.
The husband and wife were sitting silent, hand in hand, on the camp bed; upon a table before them stood the black urn; near it lay a small golden locket, something like an amulet, appended to a blue ribbon; a bronze lamp shed a faint light.
As Hildebrand gave his hand to the King, the latter looked into his face, and saw at one glance that he had entered the tent with the fixed resolve to carry out his intentions at whatever cost.
All present seemed silently moved by the impending conflict of feeling.
"Mistress Rauthgundis," began the old man, "I have to speak of sad things with the King. It will hurt thee to hear them!"
Rauthgundis rose, but not to go. Deep pain and earnest love for her husband gave to her fair and regular features a noble and elevated expression.
Without removing her right hand from that of her husband, she laid her left gently upon his shoulder.
"Speak freely, Hildebrand. I am his wife, and demand the half of these sad words!"
"Mistress," the old man repeated.
"Let her remain," said the King. "Dost thou fear to tell thy thoughts before her face?"
"Fear? no! And though I were forced to tell a god that the people of the Goths was dearer to me than he, I should do it without fear. Know then----"
"What! Thou wilt? Spare her, spare her!" cried Witichis, throwing his arms around his wife.
But Rauthgundis looked at him quietly and said:
"I know all, my Witichis. Yesterday, as I was walking through the camp, unrecognised, in the twilight, I heard the soldiers by the watch-fires blaming thee, and praising this old man to the skies. I listened and heard all. What he demands and what thou refusest!"
"And thou didst not tell me?"
"There was no danger. Do I not know that thou wouldst never put away thy wife? Not for a crown, and not for that wonderfully beautiful maiden. Who can part us? Let this old man threaten; I know that no star hangs more safely in heaven than I in thy heart."
This security made an impression on the old man. He frowned.
"I have not to argue with thee! Witichis, I ask thee before Teja--thou knowest how things stand: without Ravenna we are lost: Mataswintha's hand alone can open its gates--wilt thou take this hand or not?"
Witichis sprang from his seat.
"Yes, our enemies are right! We are barbarians! Before this heartless old man stands a splendid woman, unparalleled for her griefs as for her fidelity; here stand the ashes of her murdered child; and he would drag her husband away from this wife and these ashes to form another union! Never--nevermore!"
"An hour ago representatives of all the thousands of the army were on their way to this tent," said the old man. "They would have forced thee to do that which I only ask. I kept them back with difficulty."
"Let them come!" cried Witichis. "They can only deprive me of my crown--not of my wife!"
"Who wears the crown belongs to his people--not to himself!"
"Here"--Witichis took the coroneted helmet and laid it upon the table before Hildebrand--"once more and for the last time I give thee back the crown. I did not desire it, God knows! It has brought me nothing but this urn of ashes. Take it back; let who will be King, and woo Mataswintha."
But Hildebrand shook his head.
"Thou knowest that that would lead to certain destruction. We are already split into three parties. Many thousands would never acknowledge Arahad. Thou alone canst still uphold the kingdom. Wert thou gone, we should be dissolved. We shall become a bundle of separate sticks, which Belisarius will break as if in sport. Wouldst thou have that?"
"Mistress Rauthgundis, canst thou make no sacrifice for thy people?" asked Teja, drawing nearer.
"Thou too, haughty Teja, against me? Is this thy friendship!" cried Rauthgundis.
"Mistress Rauthgundis," replied Teja quietly, "I honour thee more than any other woman on earth, and therefore I ask of thee the greatest of sacrifices----"
But Hildebrand interrupted him.
"Thou art the Queen of this nation. I know of a Gothic Queen who lived in the heathen times of our forefathers. Hunger and plague lay heavy on her people. Their swords were useless. The gods were angry with the Goths. Then Swanhilde asked counsel of the oaks of the woods, and the waves of the sea, and they answered: 'If Swanhilde dies, the Goths will live. If Swanhilde lives, her people die.' And Swanhilde never returned home. She thanked the gods, and sprang into the flood. But truly, that was in the hero-time."
Rauthgundis was not unmoved.
"I love my people," she said; "and since these golden locks are all that remain of my Athalwin"--she pointed to the locket--"I believe I could gladly give my life for my people. I will die--yes!" she cried; "but to live and know the man of my heart loving another--no!"
"Loving another!" cried Witichis; "how canst speak thus? Knowest thou not, that my tortured heart beats ever and only at the sound of thy name? Hast thou then never felt, never yet, not even at the sight of this urn, that we are eternally one? What am I without thy love? Tear my heart out of my bosom, place another in its place; then perhaps I could forget thee! Yes, truly," he cried, turning to the two men, "you know not what you do; you little know your own interest. You know not that my love for this woman and this woman's love for me is the best that poor Witichis possesses. She is my good genius. You know not that you have to thank her, and her alone, if in anything I please you. I think of her in the tumult of battle, and the thought strengthens my arm. Of her I think when noble decisions must be made in the council; of her clear and serene soul, of her unblemished fidelity! Oh, this wife is the soul of my life! Deprive me of her, and your King is a shadow, without fortune and without strength!"
And he passionately folded Rauthgundis in his arms.
She was surprised and startled; overcome with a world of bliss. Never yet had the calm and reserved man, who habitually controlled his feelings, spoken so of her or of his love.
Never even when he had wooed her, had he spoken with such passion as now, when he was asked to leave her. Overpowered, she sank upon his breast.
"Thanks, thanks, O God, for this hour of pain," she whispered. "Yes, now I know that thy heart and soul are mine for ever!"
"And will remain thine," said Teja in a low tone, "even if another is called his Queen. She would only share his crown, never his heart!"
These words penetrated Rauthgundis's soul. She looked at Teja, moved by his words, with wide eyes.
Hildebrand saw it, and now considered how he should strike his final blow.
"Who would, who could, tamper with your hearts!" he said. "A shadow without fortune or strength! That thou wilt only become if thou refusest to listen to my words, or break thy sacred, solemn oath. For aperjureris more hollow than a shadow!"
"His oath?" asked Rauthgundis hastily. "What hast thou sworn?"
But Witichis sank down upon his seat and buried his face in his hands.
"What has he sworn?" repeated Rauthgundis.
Then Hildebrand, aiming every word at the hearts of the husband and wife, spoke:
"A few years ago a man concluded a mighty bond with four friends at the midnight hour. The sod was raised under a sacred oak, and they swore by the ancient earth and welling water, by the flickering flame and ethereal air. They mixed their living blood and swore a solemn oath; to sacrifice all that they possessed, son and kindred, life, weapons and wives and glory, to the welfare of the Goths! And if any one of them should refuse to keep the oath, when reminded by a brother in time of necessity, his red blood should run unavenged, like the water under the wood-sod. Upon his head heaven should fall and crush him, and he should be for ever subject to all the dark powers under the earth. His soul should be condemned to eternal torture; good men should trample over his grave, and his memory be dishonoured and covered with curses wherever Christians ring bells or heathens offer sacrifices; wherever the wind blows over the wide world, and mothers caress their children. This oath was sworn by five men: by Hildebrand and Hildebad, by Teja and Totila. But who was the fifth? Witichis, son of Waltaris."
And he suddenly drew back Witichis's left-hand sleeve.
"Look here, Rauthgundis, the scar has not yet vanished. But the oath has vanished from his soul. Thus he swore before he was made King. And when the thousands of Goths, on the field of Regeta, lifted him on the shield, he swore a second oath: 'My life, my happiness, all that I have, do I dedicate to you, the people of the Goths. I swear it by the God of heaven and by my faith.' Well, Witichis, son of Waltaris, King of the Goths, I now remind thee of that double oath. I ask thee whether thou wilt sacrifice, as thou hast sworn to do, thy wife and thy happiness to the people of the Goths? See, I too have lost three sons for this people, and, without shrinking, I have sacrificed and condemned my grandchild, the last scion of my race. Speak, wilt thou do the like? Wilt thou keep thine oath? or wilt thou break it and live accursed? cursed by the living and cursed amongst the dead?"
Witichis was convulsed with pain at the words of the old man.
Then Rauthgundis rose. She laid her left hand on her husband's breast, and stretched forth her right as if to protect him from Hildebrand.
"Cease," she said, "leave, him alone. It is enough! He will do what thou desirest. He will not dishonour and perjure himself for the sake of his wife."
But Witichis sprang up, and held her fast in both his arms as if they were about to tear her from him at once.
"Now go," she said to the two men; "leave me alone with him."
Teja turned to go; Hildebrand hesitated.
"Go, go!" she cried, laying her hand upon the marble urn; "I swear to thee by the ashes of my child, that at sunrise he shall be free!"
"No," cried Witichis, "I will not put away my wife! never!"
"Thou shalt not. It is not thou who sendest me away--I turn away from thee. Rauthgundis goes to save her people and her husband's honour. Thou canst never tear away thy heart from me; I know that mine it will remain, now more than ever! Go, Hildebrand and Teja, what we two have now to go through, will admit of no witness."
The two men silently left the place; silently they went together down the lane of tents; at the corner the old man stopped.
"Good-night, Teja," he said; "it is now done!"
"Yes; who knows if well done? A noble, noble sacrifice! Many more will follow, and, meseems there, in the stars, it stands written--in vain! But for honour then, if not for victory! Farewell."
He drew his dark mantle closely round his shoulders, and disappeared like a shadow into the night.
The next morning, before cockcrow, a veiled woman rode out of the camp. A man in a brown war-mantle walked beside her, holding her horse's bridle, and ever and again looking into her veiled face.
At an arrow's length behind them rode a servant, with a bundle at his back, where hung a heavy club.
They went on their way for some time in silence.
At last they reached a woody eminence; behind them lay the broad plain where stood the Gothic camp and the city of Ravenna; before them, to the north-west, the road which led to the Via Æmilia.
The woman checked her horse.
"The sun is just rising. I have sworn that it shall find thee free. Farewell, my Witichis!"
"Hurry not so away from me," he said, pressing her hand.
"I must keep my word if my heart breaks! It must be!"
"Thou goest more easily than I remain!"
She smiled painfully.
"I leave my life behind me; thou hast yet a life before thee."
"And what a life!"
"The life of a King for his people, as thine oath demands."
"Fatal oath!"
"It was right to swear it; it is a duty to keep it. And thou wilt think of me in the gilded halls of Rome, as I of thee in my hut, deep in the ravine. Thou wilt not forget thy wife, nor the ten years of our faith and love, nor our sweet boy."
"Oh, my wife, my wife!" cried the tortured man, pressing his face against the saddle-bow, and putting both arms around her.
She bent over him and laid her hand upon his head.
Meanwhile Wachis had overtaken them; he looked at the group for a short time, and then he could bear it no longer.
He pulled his master gently by the mantle.
"Master, listen; I can give you good advice. Do you not hear me?"
"What canst thou advise?"
"Come with us! Up, away! Mount my horse and ride away with Mistress Rauthgundis. I will follow afterwards. Leave those who torture you till the bright drops stand in your eyes; leave them, and all the rubbish of crown and kingdom. It has brought you no happiness. They do not mean well by you. Who would part man and wife for a dead crown? Up and away, I say! And I know a rocky nest where no one can find you but an eagle or a chamois."
"Shall thy master run away from his kingdom, like a bad slave from the mill?"
"Farewell, Witichis. Here, take the locket with the blue ribbon; the ringlet of our boy is in it, and one," she whispered, kissing him on the forehead, and hanging the locket round his neck, "one of Rauthgundis'. Farewell, thou, my heart's life!"
He raised himself to look into her eyes.
She suddenly struck her horse--"Forward, Wallada!"--and galloped away. Wachis followed.
Witichis stood motionless, and looked after her.
She stopped before the road turned into the wood--once more she waved her hand, and the next minute had disappeared.
Witichis listened to the tramp of the horses as if in a dream. When the sound ceased he turned.
But he could not leave the place.
He stepped out of the road. At the other side of the ditch lay a large mossy block of stone. There the King of the Goths seated himself, rested his arms upon his knees, and buried his face in his hands. He pressed them hard against his eyes, to shut out the whole world from his grief.
Tears trickled through his fingers. He did not notice them.
Horsemen galloped past. He scarcely heard them.
So he sat motionless for hours; so motionless, that the birds of the wood hopped close to him.
The sun stood in the south.
At last--he heard some one call his name.
He looked up. Earl Teja stood before him.
"I knew well," said Teja, "that thou hadst not fled like a coward. Come back with me, and save thy kingdom. When, this morning, thou wert not found in thy tent, the report spread through the camp that, despairing of kingdom and happiness, thou hadst fled. It soon reached the city of Ravenna and Guntharis. The Ravennese threaten a sally, and that they will go over to Belisarius. Arahad tempts the army to give him the crown. Two, three opposing Kings arise. Everything will fall to pieces if thou comest not to save us!"
"I come!" cried Witichis. "Let them take care! The best heart in the world has been broken for the sake of this crown; it is sacred, and they shall not desecrate it. Come, Teja, back to the camp!"
"But the Goths chose Witichis for their king, a man, not indeed of noble birth, but of great fame as a warrior."--Procopius: Wars of the Goths, i. 11.
When King Witichis readied the camp, he found it almost in a state of anarchy.
The pressing need of the moment forcibly roused him from his grief, and gave him sufficient occupation.
He found the army split into numerous parties, and on the point of dissolution. He acknowledged to himself that, if he had abdicated, or abandoned the camp, the complete ruin of the Gothic cause would have been the consequence. He found many of the troops already on the point of departure. Some were about to join Earl Grippa in Ravenna; others to go over to the rebels; others again to fly across the Alps. Many spoke of the choice of a new king, and here, too, the different parties opposed each other with threats of violence.
Hildebrand and Hildebad still kept together those who did not believe in the flight of the King. The old master-at-arms had declared that if Witichis had really deserted them, he would not rest until he had dealt to him the punishment of Theodoric, while Hildebad rated at those who could believe Witichis capable of such baseness.
They had guarded the roads to the city and to the rebel camp, and threatened to oppose force to every movement in those directions; while Duke Guntharis, having heard a report of the confusion, was already advancing against the royal camp.
Everywhere Witichis found discontented groups of troops on the point of departure; everywhere he heard words of blame and beheld uplifted weapons. At any moment the camp might become a scene of bloodshed.
Quickly resolved, he hurried to his tent, adorned himself with the coroneted helmet and the golden sceptre, mounted Boreas, his powerful charger, and galloped through the lines of tents, followed by Teja, who bore the blue banner of Theodoric.
In the middle of the camp they met with a crowd of men, women, and children--for the latter generally accompanied a Gothic army--who, murmuring and threatening, were moving towards the western gate.
Hildebad had sent his soldiers to bar this gate with levelled lances.
"Let us go out," cried the people. "The King has fled, the war is over, all is lost. We will save our lives."
"The King is no coward like thee!" cried Hildebad, pushing back the nearest man.
"Yes, he is a traitor!" cried the latter. "He has forsaken and betrayed us for the sake of a woman's tears."
"Yes," said another, "he has killed three thousand of our brothers and has fled."
"Thou liest!" said a quiet voice. Witichis had turned the corner of a tent.
"Hail, King Witichis!" cried Hildebad. "Do you see him, you rabble? Did I not tell you? But it was high time thou camest--things were getting to a desperate pass."
Just then Hildebrand came galloping up with a few horsemen.
"Hail, King Witichis!" he cried, and turning to his companions--"Hasten, heralds, through the camp," said he, "and tell what you have seen; and all the people will cry: 'Hail, Witichis, our faithful King!'"
But Witichis turned from him with a look of anguish.
The heralds galloped away in all directions, and shortly there arose through the whole camp the thundering shout, "Hail, King Witichis!" Even those who had just been murmuring joined unanimously in the cry.
Witichis listened to these acclamations with a look full of pride and pain, and Teja whispered to him: "Now thou seest that thou hast saved the kingdom."
"Up! lead us to victory!" cried Hildebad, "for Guntharis and Arahad approach! They think to surprise us without a chief and in complete disorder. At them! They shall find themselves mistaken. At them! and down with the rebels!"
"Down with the rebels!" thundered the soldiers, glad to find an outlet for their excited passions.
But the King made a sign.
"Peace! No more shall Gothic blood flow from wounds made by Gothic weapons. Wait patiently here. Thou, Hildebad, open the gate for me. None shall follow me. I alone go to the rebels. Thou, Earl Teja, control the troops until I return. But thou, Hildebrand," he cried, raising his voice, "ride to the gates of Ravenna, and loudly bid them open. Their desire is fulfilled, and, before evening, we will enter: King Witichis and Queen Mataswintha."
He spoke these words with such sorrowful dignity, that the hearers received them in reverent silence.
Hildebad opened the gate of the camp. Without could be discerned the rebels, approaching at a quick march; loudly sounded their war-cry as the gate opened.
King Witichis gave his sword to Earl Teja, and rode slowly to meet them. The gate closed behind him.
"He seeks death," whispered Hildebad.
"No," said Teja, "he seeks the salvation of the Goths."
On recognising the solitary horseman, the rebels were amazed. Near the brothers--who marched at the head of the troops--rode the chief of the Avarian archers. He held his hand over his small and twinkling eyes and cried:
"By the horse of the war-god, that is the King himself! Now, my boys, sons of the steppes, aim well, and the war is over!" and he quickly took his bow from his shoulder.
"Stop, Chan Warchun," cried Duke Guntharis, laying his mailed hand upon the other's shoulder. "Thou hast sadly erred twice in the same breath. Thou hast called Earl Witichis the King: that may be forgiven thee. Thou wouldst murder him who comes as a messenger of peace. That may be Avarian, but is not Gothic custom. Away with thee and thy troop out of my camp!"
The Chan started and looked at Guntharis in astonishment.
"Away, at once!" repeated Duke Guntharis.
The Avarian laughed and signed to his horsemen.
"'Tis all one to me. Children, we go to Belisarius. Queer people, these Goths! Giant bodies with children's hearts!"
Meanwhile Witichis had ridden up.
Guntharis and Arahad looked at him inquiringly.
Unusual solemnity was added to the customary simple dignity of his manner; the majesty of deep grief.
"I come to speak with you of the welfare of the Goths. Brother shall slay brother no more. Let us enter Ravenna together, and together conquer Belisarius. I shall wed Mataswintha, and you two shall stand nearest to my throne."
"Never!" cried Arahad passionately.
"Thou forgettest," said Duke Guntharis proudly, "that thy bride is inourtents."
"Duke Guntharis of Tuscany, I might answer that shortlyweshall be in your tents. We are more numerous and not less brave than you, and, Duke, we have right on our side. I will not speak of that, but only warn you of the fate of the Goths. Should you conquerus, you are too weak to conquer Belisarius. Even united, we are scarcely strong enough for that. Give way!"
"It is for thee to give way," said the Wölfung. "If thou lovest the Goths, lay down thy crown. Canst thou make no sacrifice for thy people?"
"I can. I have done so. Hast thou a wife, O Guntharis?"
"I have a dear wife."
"I too! Ihada dear wife. I have sacrificed her to my people. I have sent her away, in order to woo Mataswintha."
Duke Guntharis was silent.
But Arahad cried: "Then thou hast never loved her!"
Witichis started; the force of his grief and his love redoubled. His cheeks flushed, and casting an annihilating look at the alarmed youth, he cried:
"Talk not to me of love! Blaspheme not, thou foolish boy! Because red lips and white limbs flash before thee in thy dreams, darest thou to speak of love? What knowest thou of what I have lost in this wife, the mother of my sweet child? A world of love and faith! Irritate me not. My heart is sore. I control my pain and despair with difficulty. Do not exasperate them, or they will break loose!"
Duke Guntharis had become very thoughtful.
"I knew thee, Witichis, in the wars with the Gepidæ. Never saw I ignoble man deal such noble strokes. I know that there is nought false in thee. I know the love which binds a man to a good wife. And thou hast sacrificed such a wife to thy people? That is much!"
"Brother, of what thinkest thou?" cried Arahad. "What dost thou intend to do?"
"I intend not to allow the House of the Wölfungs to be outdone in generosity. Noble blood, Arahad, demands noble acts! Tell me one thing more, Witichis. Wherefore hast thou not rather sacrificed thy crown, even thy life, than thy wife?"
"Because it would have been the certain destruction of the kingdom. Twice I would have yielded the crown to Earl Arahad; twice the leaders of my army swore that they would never acknowledge him. Three, four Gothic kings might have been chosen, but, by my honour, Earl Arahad would never have been acknowledged. Then I tore my wife from my bleeding heart; and now, Duke Guntharis, remember thou also the people of the Goths. The House of the Wölfungs is lost if the Goths are lost. If Belisarius lay the axe to the roots of the trunk, the noblest branches will fall too. I have renounced my wife, the crown of my life; renounce thou the hope of a crown!"
"It shall not be sung in the halls of the Goths that the freedman Witichis was more self-sacrificing than the chief of the nobility! The strife is at an end; I greet thee, my King."
And the proud Duke bent his knee to Witichis, who raised him and pressed him to his heart.
"Brother! brother! what shame thou dost me!" cried Arahad.
"I look upon it as an honour," said Guntharis quietly. "And as a sign that my King sees no cowardice, but rather nobleness, in my homage, I beg a favour. Amelungs and Balthes have ousted my family from the place which belonged to it among the people of the Goths."
"At this moment," answered Witichis, "thou hast redeemed that place. The Goths shall never forget that the generosity of the Wölfungs has saved them from a civil war."
"And, as a sign of this, thou wilt give us the right to bear the standard of the Goths before the troops in every battle?"
"Be it so," said the King, giving him his right hand; "and none can be more worthy."
"Thanks, O King! Let us now go to Mataswintha."
"Mataswintha!" cried Arahad, who had looked on at this reconciliation, which buried all his hopes, in dismay. "Ha! you remind me at the right time. You can take the crown from me--let it go--but not my love, and not the duty of protecting my beloved. She has refused me, but I shall love her until death! I have protected her from my brother, who would have forced her to wed me. No less faithfully will I protect her now if you two attempt to force her to give her hand to my hated enemy. That hand, which is dearer to me than all the crowns of the world, shall be free!"
And he quickly mounted his horse, and galloped off to the camp.
Witichis looked after him anxiously.
"Let him go," said Duke Guntharis; "we two, united, have nothing to fear. Let us now reconcile the troops, since the leaders are friends."
While Guntharis first led the King through his lines of troops, and called upon them at once to do him homage, which they did with joy, and afterwards Witichis took the Wölfung and his leaders with him into his camp, where the victory so peacefully gained was looked upon as miraculous, Arahad collected together a small troop of about a hundred horsemen, who were faithfully attached to him, and galloped back with them to his camp.
He soon reached the tent of Mataswintha, who indignantly rose at his entrance.
"Be not angry. Princess. This time thou hast no right to be so. Arahad comes to fulfil his last duty. Fly! thou must follow me!" And, in the impetuosity of his excitement, he grasped her small white hand.
Mataswintha receded a step, and laid her hand upon the broad golden girdle which confined her white under-garment.
"Fly?" she asked. "Fly whither?"
"Over the sea! over the Alps! Anywhere for liberty; for thy liberty is endangered."
"Only by thee!"
"By me no longer; and I can protect thee no more. So long as only my happiness was at stake, I could be cruel to myself and honour thy will. But now----"
"But now?" repeated Mataswintha, turning pale.
"They intend thee for another. My brother, the army, and our enemies in Ravenna and the opposite camp, are all agreed. Soon a thousand voices will call thee, the victim, to the bridal altar. I cannot bear to think of it! Such a soul, such beauty, a sacrifice to an unloved marriage bond!"
"Let them come!" said Mataswintha. "We will see if they can force me!" And she pressed the dagger which she carried in her girdle to her heart. "Who is the new despot who threatens me?"
"Do not ask!" cried Arahad. "Thy enemy, who is not worthy of thee; who does not love thee; he--but follow me--fly! They already approach!"
Horses' hoofs were heard outside.
"I remain! Who can force the will of the grandchild of Theodoric?"
"No; thou shalt not, must not, fall into the hands of those heartless men, who value neither thee nor thy beauty, but only thy right to the crown. Follow me----"
At this moment the curtain at the entrance of the tent was pushed aside. Earl Teja entered. Two Gothic boys, dressed in festive garments of white silk, followed him; they bore a purple cushion, covered with a veil.
Teja advanced to the middle of the tent, and kneeled before Mataswintha. He, like the boys, wore a green spray of rue round his helmet. But his eyes and brow were gloomy, as he said:
"I greet thee. Queen of the Goths and Italians!"
Mataswintha looked at him amazed.
Teja rose, went up to the boys, took a golden circlet and a green wreath of rue from the cushion, and said:
"I give thee the bridal wreath and the crown, Mataswintha, and invite thee to the wedding and coronation; the litter awaits thee."
Arahad laid his hand on his sword.
"Who sends thee?" asked Mataswintha, with a beating heart, but her hand upon her dagger.
"Who but Witichis, the King of the Goths?"
On hearing this a ray of ineffable joy shone from Mataswintha's beautiful eyes. She raised both hands to heaven and cried:
"Thanks, O heaven! Thy stars and my true heart are not belied. I knew it!"
She took the coronet into her white hands and pressed it firmly upon her golden hair.
"I am ready," she said. "Lead me to thy master and mine."
And she majestically held out her hand to Earl Teja, who reverently led her out of the tent.
But Arahad looked after her in speechless wonder as she disappeared, his hand still upon his sword.
He was roused by the entrance of Eurich, one of his followers, who came up to him, and laying his hand upon his shoulder, asked:
"What now? The horses stand and wait. Whither?"
"Whither?" exclaimed Arahad, starting; "whither? There is only one way, and that we will take. To the Byzantines and death!"