The sound continued.
It was real--no dream! Blow after blow fell thundering against the door of his house.
Cethegus caught up his helm and sword.
At that moment Syphax and Lucius rushed into the room.
"Up, general!"
"Up, Cethegus!"
"Two hours cannot yet have passed. Why have you awakened me?"
"The Goths! They have been beforehand with us! They storm the bulwarks!"
"Damn them! Where do they storm?"
Cethegus had already reached the door of the room.
"Where does the King attack?"
"At the bolts on the river. He has sent fire-ships up the stream. Floats with heavy towers on deck, full of resin, pitch, and sulphur. The first bolt of masts and all the boats between are in flames! Salvius Julianus is wounded and taken prisoner. There! you can see the reflection of the flames in the south-east!"
"The bolt of chains--does it hold?"
"It holds still. But if it break--"
"Then I, as once before, am the bolt of Rome! Forward!"
Syphax led up the snorting horses.
Cethegus swung himself into the saddle.
"Away! Where is your brother Marcus?"
"At the bulwark by the Forum."
As Cethegus and Lucius were galloping off, they were met by a mass of mercenaries, Isaurians and Abasgians, who fled from the river.
"Fly!" they cried. "Save the Prefect!"
"Where is Cethegus?"
"Here--to save you! Turn back. To the river!"
He galloped on. The reflection of the burning masts plainly showed the way. Arrived at the river bank, Cethegus dismounted. Syphax placed his horse out of harm's way in an empty storehouse.
"Torches!" cried Cethegus. "Into the boats! There lie a dozen ready. Bowmen, into the boats! Follow me! Lucius, go into the second boat. Row up to the chain. Place yourselves close to it. Whatever comes up the river--shoot! They cannot land below the bolt, the walls are too high and descend straight into the water. Theymustcome up here to the chain!"
Already a few boats, filled with Goths, had ventured too near. Some caught fire at the burning masts; others were upset in the crush and confusion. One, which had approached within half an arrow's length of the chain, drove helplessly down the stream again: all the crew had been killed by the arrows of the Abasgians.
"Do you see! There goes a boat of corpses! Resist to the last man. Nothing is lost! Bring torches and firebrands! Kindle the wharf there! Fire against fire!"
"Look there, master!" cried Syphax, who never left the Prefect's side.
"Aye, now comes the struggle!"
It was a splendid sight.
The Goths had seen that the bolt of chains could never be forced by small boats, so they had hewn away so much of the burning bolt of masts that a space was left in the middle just broad enough to permit the passage of a ship of war.
But to try to pass up the river, exposed to the arrows of the Abasgians, between the flaming ends of the masts, and propelled only by their oars, might be more dangerous for the large vessel than for the "boat of corpses."
The Goths hesitated and stopped just before the burning beams.
But suddenly there arose a strong breeze from the south, rippling the surface of the water.
"Do you feel the wind? It is the breath of the God of Victory! Set the sails! Now follow me, my Goths!" cried a joyful voice.
The sails were set, and the wings of the royal galley, the "Wild Swan," spread wide to the breeze.
It was a magnificent spectacle as the great vessel, all its canvas spread, and urged by a hundred oarsmen, came majestically up the river, illuminated by the terrible light from the burning masts and boats.
With irresistible force the noble galley sailed up the stream.
On both sides of the upper deck, high above the heads of the oarsmen on the lower deck, kneeled close rows of Gothic warriors, their shields forming a brazen roof to protect them from the arrows of the foe.
Upon the bows of the ship an immense figure of a swan lifted high its snowy wings.
Between these wings, upon the back of the swan, stood King Totila, his sword in his right hand.
"Forward!" he cried. "Pull, my men, with all your might! Be ready, Goths!"
Cethegus recognised the youth's tall figure. He even recognised the voice.
"Let the galley approach quite close. When within twenty feet, shoot! Not yet!--Now! now shoot!"
"Crouch close, Goths!" cried Totila.
A hail of arrows fell over the galley. But they rebounded from a roof of shields.
"Damn them!" cried Piso, behind the Prefect. "They intend to break the chain with the force of the shock. And they will surely do it, even if every man on deck should fall! The oarsmen we cannot reach, and the south wind cannot be wounded!"
"Fire the sails! fire the ship! Bring firebrands!" cried Cethegus.
Ever nearer rustled the threatening "Swan."
Ever nearer approached the ruinous shock against the tightly-stretched chains.
Firebrands were hurled at the galley.
One flew into the sail of the main-mast, burnt quickly up, and then died out.
A second--Cethegus himself had hurled it--passed close to the golden locks of the King. It fell near him. He had not remarked it; but a shepherd-boy, who carried no weapon but a shepherd's staff, ran up and trampled it out.
The other brands rebounded from the shields and fell hissing into the river.
And now the prow of the galley was only eight feet from the chain.
The Romans trembled in expectation of the shock.
Cethegus stepped to the bow of his boat, balancing and aiming his heavy spear.
"Mark!" he said; "as soon as the King falls, be quick with more firebrands."
Never had the practised soldier aimed better. Drawing back his spear once more, he launched it at the King with all the force lent to his arm by hatred.
His followers waited breathlessly. But the King did not fall. He had caught sight of Cethegus while aiming; at the same moment he threw down his long and narrow shield and awaited the flying shaft with his left arm drawn back.
Whistling came the spear straight at the spot where the King's bare neck showed above his breastplate.
When within a few inches of his throat, the King caught the shaft with his left hand and immediately hurled it back at the Prefect, wounding him on the left arm just above his shield.
Cethegus fell on his knee.
At the same instant the galley struck the chain. It burst. The Roman boats which lay near, including that of Cethegus, were upset; and most of them drove masterless down the river.
"Victory!" shouted Totila. "Yield, mercenaries!"
Cethegus, bleeding, swam to the left bank of the river. He saw how the Gothic galley lowered two boats, into one of which sprang the King.
He saw how a whole flotilla of large vessels, which had sailed up in the wake of the King's galley, now broke through the boats of his bowmen, and landed troops on both sides of the river.
He saw how his Abasgians--neither armed nor in the mood for a hand-to-hand fight--surrendered themselves by companies to the Goths.
He saw how a rain of arrows from the royal galley fell upon the defenders on the left bank.
He saw how the little boat, in which stood the King, now approached the place where he himself stood, dripping with water.
He had lost his helmet in the river, his shield he had thrown away, in order the more speedily to gain the land.
He was on the point of attacking the King, who had just landed, with his sword alone, when a Gothic arrow grazed his neck.
"Well hit, Haduswinth?" cried a young voice; "better than at the Mausoleum!"
"Bravo, Gunthamund!"
Cethegus tottered.
Syphax caught his arm.
At the same moment a hand was laid on his shoulder. He recognised Marcus Licinius.
"You here! Where are your men?"
"Dead!" said Marcus. "The hundred Romans fell on the bulwark. Teja, the terrible Teja, stormed it. The half of your Isaurians fell on the way to the Capitol. The rest still keep the doors, and the half-bulwark in front of your house. I can no more. Teja's axe penetrated through my shield and entered my ribs. Farewell, O great Cethegus! Save the Capitol. But--look there! Teja is quick!"
And he fell to the ground.
From the Capitoline Hill flames rose high into the night.
"There is nothing more to be done here," the Prefect said with difficulty, for he was losing blood fast and becoming rapidly weak. "I will save the Capitol! To you, Piso, I leave the barbarian King. Once before you have wounded a Gothic King upon the threshold of Rome. Now wound a second, but this time mortally! You, Lucius, will revenge your brother. Do not follow me!"
As he spoke he cast one more furious glance at the King, at whose feet kneeled his Abasgians, and sighed deeply.
"You tremble, master!" said Syphax sadly.
"Rometrembles!" cried Cethegus. "To the Capitol!"
Lucius Licinius pressed the hand of his dying brother.
"I shall follow him notwithstanding," he said, "for he is wounded."
While Cethegus, Syphax, and Lucius Licinius disappeared in the distance, Piso crouched behind the columns of a Basilica close to which the street led upwards from the river.
Meanwhile the King had placed the Abasgians under the guard of his soldiers. He went a few steps up the bank of the river and pointed with his sword to the flames which arose from the Capitol.
Then he turned to the Goths who were landing.
"Forward!" he cried. "Make haste! The flames up there must be extinguished. The fight is over. Now, Goths, protect and preserve Rome, for it is yours!"
Piso took advantage of the moment.
"Apollo!" he exclaimed; "if ever my satires hit their mark, help now my sword!"
And he sprang from behind the column towards the King, who stood with his back turned to him. But before he could deal a blow, he let his sword fell with a loud cry. A sturdy stroke from a stick had lamed his hand.
Immediately a young shepherd sprang upon him and pulled him to the ground, kneeling on his breast.
"Yield, thou Roman wolf!" cried a clear boyish voice.
"Ah! Piso.... the poet He is thy prisoner, boy," said the King, who now turned. "He shall ransom himself with a goodly sum. But who art thou, young shepherd?"
"He is the saviour of your life, sire," interposed old Haduswinth. "We saw the Roman rush at you, but we were too far off to call or help you. We owe your life to this boy."
"What is thy name, young hero?"
"Adalgoth."
"And what wouldst thou here?"
"Cethegus, the traitor, the Prefect of Rome! where is he, King? Pray tell me. I was sent to the boats. I heard that he would oppose thy attack here."
"He was here. He has fled; most likely to his house."
"Wouldst thou overcome that King of Hell with this stick?" asked Haduswinth.
"No," cried the boy; "I have now a sword."
And he took up his prisoner's sword, which was lying on the ground; brandished it over his head and rushed away.
Totila gave Piso in charge to the Goths, who had now landed in great numbers.
"Hasten!" he cried again. "Save the Capitol, which the Romans are destroying!"
Meanwhile the Prefect had left the river and gone in the direction of the Capitol.
He passed the Porta Trigemina and arrived at the Forum Boarium.
Before the Temple of Janus he met with a crowd of people by which he was detained for a short time.
In spite of his wound he had made such haste that Lucius and Syphax could scarcely follow. They had repeatedly lost sight of him. Only now did they overtake him.
He now tried to go through the Porta Carmentalis, and thus gain the back of the Capitol.
But he found the gate already occupied by numerous Goths. Amongst them was Wachis. He recognised the Prefect from a distance.
"Revenge for Rauthgundis!" he cried.
A heavy stone struck the Prefect's helmless head. He turned and fled.
He now remembered that there was a sinking of the wall not far from the gate. He determined to climb it at that place.
As he neared it, the flames from the Capitol again shot high into the air.
Three men sprang over the wall just in front of him. They were Isaurians. They recognised him.
"Fly, general! The Capitol is lost! Teja, the black Gothic devil!"
"Did he--did Teja kindle the fire?"
"No; we ourselves set a wooden bulwark, which the barbarians had taken, on fire. The Goths do all they can to extinguish the flames."
"The barbarians save the Capitol!" said Cethegus bitterly, and supported himself upon a spear which was handed to him by one of the mercenaries.
"I must get to my house."
And he turned to the right, the shortest way to the principal entrance to his house.
"O master, that way is dangerous!" cried one of the Isaurians. "The Goths will soon be there. I heard the Black Earl ask repeatedly after you. He was seeking you everywhere upon the Capitol. He will now seek you in your house."
"Imustonce more go to my house!"
But he had scarcely gone a few steps, when a troop of Goths and Romans, carrying torches and firebrands, came towards him from the city.
The foremost, who were Romans, recognised him.
"The Prefect!"
"The destroyer of Rome!"
"He has set the Capitol on fire! Down with him!"
Arrows, stones, and spears were hurled at Cethegus. One of his Isaurians fell; the others took to their heels.
Cethegus was hit by an arrow; it penetrated slightly into his left shoulder. He tore it out.
"A Roman arrow, with my own stamp!" he cried with a terrible laugh.
With difficulty he gained a dark side-street.
Before his House there was a crowd of soldiers, trying in vain to break open the principal door.
Cethegus heard the uproar, and well understood the cries of rage with which the soldiers accompanied their ineffectual exertions.
"The door is strong," he said to himself. "Before they force an entrance, I shall be again out of the house."
He hurried to the back of the house. He pressed a secret spring which opened the door of the court, entered, and, leaving the door open behind him, hurried in.
Hark! a stroke--very different from all which had gone before--thundered against the front door of the house.
"That is a battle-axe!" thought Cethegus. "That is Teja?"
He hastened to a small gap in the wall, which afforded an outlook into the main street. It was Teja. His long black locks waved about his bare head; in his left hand he carried a firebrand; in his right the dreaded battle-axe. He was covered with blood.
"Cethegus!" he shouted at every stroke of his axe. "Cornelius Cethegus Cæsarius, where art thou? I sought thee in the Capitol, Prefect of Rome! Where art thou? Must I seek thee upon thy hearth?"
Cethegus, listening, heard hasty steps behind him.
Syphax had reached the court, and had followed his master through the open door. He now caught sight of him.
"O master, fly! I will protect thy threshold with my body."
And he hastened past Cethegus, through a suite of apartments to the front door.
Cethegus turned to the right. He could hardly keep himself upright. He managed to reach the "Hall of Jupiter." Here he sank to the ground. But the next moment he again sprang to his feet, for a fearful noise was heard from the front door.
At last it was broken in.
With a thundering crash it fell inwards, and Teja entered the dwelling of his enemy.
Upon the threshold, with a leap like that of a panther, the Moor sprang upon him, grasping his throat and raising a dagger in his hand.
But the Goth let fall his axe, seized him in his right hand, and, like a stone from a sling, the Moor flew sideways through the door and rolled down the steps into the street.
"Where art thou, Cethegus?" again sounded the voice of Teja, coming nearer and nearer, from the vestibule and the atrium.
Some doors, which had been bolted by the secretary, Fidus, were forced one after the other by Teja's axe.
With difficulty Cethegus dragged himself to the middle of the Hall of Jupiter. He still hoped to be able to reach the study and take the writings and treasure out of the statue of Cæsar.
He heard the crash of another falling door, and the voice of Teja now sounded from the study.
He heard how the soldiers, who had pressed forward after Teja into the library, were demolishing the statues and busts of his ancestors.
"Where is thy master, old man?" asked Teja's voice.
The slave had taken refuge in the study.
"I know not, by my soul!"
"Not even here! Cethegus! coward! Where hidest thou?"
It was now evident that the soldiers had also entered the study.
Cethegus could no longer stand upright.
He leaned against the marble statue of Jupiter, from which the hall took its name.
"What shall be done with this house?" he heard some one ask.
"It shall be burned!" cried Teja.
"The King has forbidden that," answered the voice of Thorismuth.
"Yes; but I have begged this house from the King. It shall be razed to the ground! Down with the temple of that devil! Down with the holiest of holies--this idol!"
A fearful blow resounded.
With a crash the Cæsar statue fell in fragments to the ground.
Gold, jewels, and rolls of papyrus covered the floor.
"Ah! the barbarian!" cried Cethegus, forgetting himself, and he was about to rush into the study with his drawn sword, when he fell senseless at the foot of the statue of Jupiter.
"Hark! What was that?" cried a boyish voice.
"The voice of the Prefect!" exclaimed Teja, and opening the door which led from the study into the hall, he sprang forward, swinging his battle-axe.
But the hall was empty.
A pool of blood lay at the feet of the Jupiter, and a broad track of the crimson fluid led to the window which opened into the inner court.
The court was empty.
But some Goths who entered it found the little door closed from outside; the key was still in the lock on the side of the street.
When they had forced this door--some of them had also gone round from the front of the house--and had searched the side-street and the dwellings in it, they only found the Prefect's sword, which was recognised by Fidus, the secretary.
With a gloomy look Teja took it up, and returned into the study.
"Take up carefully all that was concealed in the Prefect's idol, particularly the writings, and carry everything to the King. Where is the King?"
"When he left the Capitol, he, with all the Romans and Goths, went into the sanctuary of St. Peter, to attend a service of thanksgiving."
"'Tis well. Go to him in the church and give him everything. Also the sword of the fugitive. Tell him that Teja sends it."
"Thy order shall be obeyed," said Thorismuth. "But thou--wilt thou not go with us to the church?"
"No."
"Where wilt thou spend this night of victory, when all the others are giving thanks?"
"I will spend it in the ruins of this house!"
And he thrust the firebrand into the purple cushions of the Prefect's couch.
"Happy are we that this sunny youth still lives!"--Margrave Ruediger of Bechelaren, Act i., Scene i.
Thenceforth King Totila held his court in Rome with much splendour and rejoicing.
The heaviest task of all the war seemed to be completed.
After the fall of Rome, most of the small forts on the coast and in the Apennines opened their gates; very few remained to be taken by siege.
For this purpose the King sent forth his generals, Teja, Guntharis, Grippa, Markja, and Aligern; while he himself undertook the difficult political task of reducing to order the kingdom so long disturbed by war or rebellion. He had, indeed, almost to refound it.
He sent his dukes and earls into the towns and districts to carry out his intentions in all departments of the state; particularly to protect the Italians from the vengeance of the victorious Goths. He had published from the Capitol a general amnesty; excluding only one person: the ex-Prefect, Cornelius Cethegus Cæsarius.
Everywhere he caused the destroyed churches, both Catholic and Arian, to be restored; everywhere the landed property was settled, the taxes newly-laid and diminished.
The beneficial results of all this care were not long in making themselves felt.
Even when Totila had first assumed the crown and issued his manifesto, had the Italians resumed the long-neglected cultivation of the land. The Gothic soldiers were directed to refrain from disturbing this important work, and to do all in their power to prevent any such disturbance on the part of the Byzantines.
And a wonderful fertility of the soil, a harvest of grain, wine, and oil, such as had not been seen for ages, seemed to prove that the blessing of Heaven had fallen upon the young King.
The news of the taking of Neapolis and Rome spread rapidly through the Eastern Empire, where it was received with great astonishment, for all there had long since considered the Gothic kingdom to be extinct.
Merchants who had been tempted by the strong and just government, the security of the high-roads and of the sea--which were severally protected by patrols of soldiers and watchful squadrons of Gothic ships--to revisit the deserted towns and harbours of the peninsula, praised the justice and benevolence of the royal youth, and told of the flourishing state of his kingdom, and of the brilliancy of his court at Rome, where he gathered about him the senators who had repented of their rebellion, and gave to the populace liberal alms and splendid games in the Circus.
The Kings of the Franks acknowledged this change of circumstances. They sent presents--Totila rejected them; they sent ambassadors--Totila would not receive them.
The King of the Ostrogoths frankly offered an alliance against Byzantium and the hand of his daughter. The Avarian and Slavonian marauders on the eastern frontier were punished. With the exception of the few fortresses which were still in a state of siege--Ravenna, Perusium, and a few small castles--the whole country enjoyed as perfect peace as in Theodoric's most glorious days.
At the same time, the King was wise enough to be moderate. He acknowledged, in spite of his victories, the danger-fraught superiority of the East, and earnestly sought to make peace with the Emperor.
He resolved to send an embassy to Byzantium, to offer peace on the basis of a full acknowledgment of the Gothic rule in Italy. He would renounce all claim to Sicily--where not a Goth was now dwelling (the Gothic settlements on that island had never been very numerous); he would also resign those parts of Dalmatia now occupied by the Byzantines. On his side the Emperor should immediately evacuate Ravenna, which no perseverance or stratagem on the part of the Gothic besiegers had been able to reduce.
As the person most qualified to undertake this mission of peace and reconciliation, the King thought of a man who was distinguished by worth and dignity, by his love for Italy and the Goths, and who was renowned, even in the East, for his wisdom--the venerable Cassiodorus.
Although the pious old man had withdrawn from all affairs of state for many years, the young King succeeded in persuading him to leave the peaceful quiet of his lonely cloister, and brave the troubles and dangers of a journey to Byzantium in order to perform this noble and pious work.
But it was impossible to lay upon the old man the whole burden of such an embassy, and the King now sought for a younger and stronger man to accompany him. A man of similar benevolent and Christian feeling--a second apostle of peace.
A few weeks after the conquest of Rome, a royal messenger carried the following letter over the Cottian Alps into Provence:
"To Julius Manilius Montanus, Totila, who is called the King of the Goths.
"Come, my beloved friend, return to my heart! Years have passed; much blood has been shed, and many tears have fallen. More than once, terribly or fortunately, has everything changed around me since I pressed your hand for the last time. Everything around me has changed, but I remain the same. All is as it was between you and me. I still revere the idols at whose shrines we worshipped together in the first dreams of our youth, but growing experience has ennobled these idols. When sin, treachery, and all dark powers raged upon Italian soil, you abandoned it. See, they have disappeared, like moisture in the sun and wind. The conquered demons growl in the distance, and a rainbow stretches its brilliant arch over this my beloved kingdom. When nobler souls unhappily succumbed. Heaven preserved me to see the end of the fearful storm and to sow the seeds of a new time. Come now, my Julius; help me to carry out those dreams at which you so often smiled, thinking themmeredreams. Help me to create a new people of Goths and Italians, which will unite the advantages and exclude the weaknesses of both nations. Help me to found a realm of justice and of peace, of freedom and of beauty, ennobled by Italian grace, and strengthened by Gothic endurance. You, my Julius, have built a cloister for the Church--help me to build a temple for humanity. I am lonely, friend, at the summit of fortune. Lonely my bride awaits the full completion of my vow. The war has robbed me of my devoted brother. Will you not come, my Dioscuros? In two months I shall expect you at Taginæ with Valeria."
Julius read; and with emotion said to himself: "My friend, I come!"
Before King Totila left Rome for Taginæ, he resolved to pay an old debt of gratitude, and to give a worthy, that is a beautiful, form to an old connection that, until now, had not satisfied the desire for harmony which possessed his soul--his connection with the first hero of his nation, with Teja.
They had been friends from their earliest boyhood. Although Teja was several years older, he had always perceived and honoured the depth of the younger man's nature under the brilliant husk of his joyous temperament. And a common inclination to enthusiasm and idealism, besides a certain pride and magnanimity, had drawn them early together. Later, however, their opposite fates had caused their originally very different natures to deviate more and more.
The sunny brightness of the one seemed to contrast with the austerity of the other with painful brilliancy. And Totila, after repeated and impetuous attempts to dispel the gloom of his silent friend--the cause of which he did not know, and the nature of which he did not understand--had at last, attributing it to a morbid mind, withdrawn to a distance.
The milder, though grave and softer influence of Julius, and his passion for Valeria, gradually estranged Totila from the friend of his boyhood.
But the experience of late years, the sufferings and dangers he had endured since the death of Valerius and Miriam, the burning of Neapolis, the distress of Rome, the crimes committed at Ravenna and Castra Nova, and lately the cares and duties of royalty, had so completely matured the impatient and joyous youth, that he was now able to do full justice to his gloomy friend.
And what had not this friend accomplished since the night when they had sworn brotherhood!
When the others had become paralysed by suffering; when Hildebrand's impatience, Totila's enthusiasm, and the quiet steadfastness of Witichis, even old Hildebrand's icy fortitude, had wavered--Teja had never sighed, but always acted; never hoped, but always dared!
At Regeta, before Rome, after the fall of Ravenna, and again before Rome--what had he not accomplished! What did not the kingdom owe to his efforts! And he would receive no thanks.
When Witichis had offered him the dignity of a duke, gold, and land, he had rejected the offer as an offence.
Lonely, silent, and melancholy, he walked through the streets of Rome, the last shadow in the light of Totila's presence. He stood next to the King's throne, with his black eyes ever lowered to the ground. He stole away without a word from the royal table. He never laid aside his armour or weapons.
Only when in action did he sometimes laugh; when, with contempt of death, or the temerity which courts it, he sprang amid the spears of the Byzantines--then only did he seem to feel at ease, then all his being was life, movement, and fire.
It was known to all the nation--and Totila specially had known it from his boyhood--that this melancholy hero possessed the gift of song.
But since his return from captivity in Greece, no one had ever been able to persuade him to sing one of his glowing and inspiring songs; and yet every one knew that his little triangular harp was his constant companion in war or peace, inseparable as his sword. At the moment of attack he was sometimes heard to sing wild snatches of song to the measure of the Gothic horns. And whoever followed him into the wilderness of white marble and green bushes, among the old Roman ruins, where he was fond of passing his nights, might sometimes hear him play some long-forgotten melody, accompanying it with dreamy words. But if any one--which was seldom the case--ventured to ask what he wanted, he turned silently away.
Once, after the taking of Rome, he replied to a similar question put by Guntharis, by the words, "The head of the Prefect!"
The only person whose company he affected was Adalgoth, to whom he had lately attached himself.
The young shepherd had been raised to the office of herald and cup-bearer to the King, as a reward for his bold act at the storming of the Tiber shore.
He had brought with him, though little schooled, a decided gift for song. Teja was pleased with his genius; and it was reported that he secretly taught him his superior art, though they suited each other as little as night and morning.
"It is just on that account," said Teja, when his brave cousin Aligern once remarked this to him, "something must be left when the night sinks."
The King felt that the only thing that could be offered to this man was inhispower to offer--neither gold, nor land, nor dignities.
One night King Totila came to where the two bards were sitting. He followed the sounds which, arising at irregular intervals from a grove of cypresses, and interrupted by half-sung, half-spoken words, were borne to his ear by the night wind. Unnoticed and unbetrayed by the soft moonlight, Totila reached the avenue of half-wild laurels and cypresses which led into the centre of the garden.
But now Teja heard the approaching footsteps, and laid aside his harp.
"It is the King," he said; "I recognise his step. What seekest thou here, my King?"
"I seek thee, Teja," answered Totila.
Teja sprang from his seat upon a fallen column.
"Then we must fight!" he exclaimed.
"No," said Totila; "but I deserve this reproach."
He took Teja's hand, and affectionately drew him down to his former seat, placing himself at his side.
"I did not seek thy sword, Teja; I sought thyself. I need thee; not thine arm, but thy heart. No, Adalgoth; do not go. Thou mayst see--and I wish thee to see--how every one must love this proud man, the 'Black Earl.'"
"I knew it," said Adalgoth, "ever since I first saw him. He is like a dark forest, through the branches of whose lofty trees blows a mysterious breach, full of terror and charm."
Teja fixed his large and melancholy eyes upon the King.
"My friend," began Totila, "the gracious God of Heaven has endowed me richly. I have won back a kingdom which was half-lost; shall I not be able to win back the half-lost heart of a friend? And it was to this friend's efforts that most of my success was owing; he must now help me to regain my friend. What has estranged thee from me? Forgive me if I, or my good fortune, has offended thee. I know to whom I owe my crown; but I cannot wear it with gladness if only thy sword and not thy heart be mine. We were once friends, Teja; oh! let us be so again, for I miss thee sorely!"
And he would have embraced Teja, but the latter caught both his hands and pressed them to his heart.
"This evening's walk honours thee more than thy victorious march through Italy! The tear which I see glittering in thine eye is worth more than the richest pearl upon thy crown. Forgive thou me; I have been unjust. The gifts of fortune and thy careless joy have not corrupted thy heart. I have never been angered against thee; I have ever loved thee, and it was with sorrow that I saw our paths in life diverge; for, in truth, thou art more congenial to me, nearer than thou ever wert to the brave Witichis, or even to thine own brother."
"Yes," said Adalgoth; "you two complete each other like light and shade."
"Our natures are, indeed, equally emotional and fiery," said the King.
"If Witichis and Hildebad," continued Teja, "went the straight way with a steady pace, we two were borne, by our impatient enthusiasm, as if on wings. And being so congenial, though so different, it pains me that, in thy sunny bliss, thou seemest to think that any one who cannot laugh like thee is a sick fool! Oh, my King and friend! whoever has once experienced certain trials and woes, and conceived certain thoughts, has for ever lost the sweet art of laughter!"
Totila, filled with a deep sense of Teja's worth, answered:
"Whoever has fulfilled life's noblest duties with a heroism equal to thine, my Teja, may be pitied, but not blamed, if he proudly scorns life's light pleasures."
"And thou couldst think that I was envious of thy good fortune or thy cheerful humour? O Totila! it is not with envy, but with deep, deep sadness that I observe thee and thy hopefulness. As a child may excite our sadness who believes that sunshine, spring-time, and life endure for ever; who knows neither night, winter, nor death! Thou trustest that success and happiness will be the reward of the cheerful-hearted; but I for ever hear the flapping of the wings of Fate, who, deaf and merciless to curses, prayers, or thanks, sweeps high above the heads of poor mortals and their futile works."
He ceased, and looked out into the darkness, as if he saw the shadow of the coming future.
"Yes, yes," said the young cup-bearer, "that reminds me of an old adage which Iffa sang in the mountain, and which means something like that; he had learnt it from Uncle Wargs:
"'Good fortune or badIs not the world's aim;That is but vain folly,Imagined by men.On the earth is fulfilledA Will everlasting.Obedience, defiance--They serve it alike.'
"But," he continued thoughtfully, "if, with all our exertions, we can never alter the inevitable, why do we move our hands at all? Why do we not wait for what shall come in dull inaction? In what lies the difference between hero and coward?"
"It does not lie in victory, my Adalgoth, but in the kind of strife or endurance! Not justice, but necessity decides the fate of nations. Often enough has the better man, the nobler race, succumbed to the meaner. 'Tis true that generosity and nobility of mind are in themselves a power. But they are not always able to defy other and ignoble powers. Noble-mindedness, generosity, and heroism can always consecrate and glorify a downfall, but not always prevent it. And the only comfort we have is, that it is notwhatwe endure, buthowwe endure it, that honours us the most; it is often not the victor, but the conquered hero, who deserves the crown of laurels."
The King looked meditatively at the ground, leaning on his sword.
"How much thou must have suffered, friend," he then said warmly, "before thou couldst embrace such a dark error! Thou hast lost thy God in heaven! For me, that would be worse than to lose the sun in the sky--I should feel as if blinded. I could not breathe if I could not believe in a just God, who looks down from His heavenly throne upon the deeds of men, and makes the good cause to triumph!"
"And King Witichis?" asked Teja; "what evil had he done? that man without spot or blemish! And I myself, and----"
He suddenly became silent.
"Thy life has been a mystery to me since our early youth----"
"Enough for the present," said Teja. "I have this evening revealed more of my inmost heart than in many a long year. The time will surely come when I may unfold to thee my life and my thoughts. I should not like," he continued, turning to Adalgoth, and stroking his shining locks, "to dim too soon the bright harp-strings of the youngest and best singer of our nation."
"As thou wilt," said the King, rising. "To me thy sorrow is sacred. But, I pray thee, let us cherish our refound friendship. To-morrow I go to Taginæ, to my bride. Accompany me--that is, if it does not pain thee to see me happy with a Roman woman."
"Oh no--it touches me--it reminds me of---- I will go with thee!"