Immediately, before his companion could stretch forth a hand to help him, the enraged man had tried to rise, but with a wild curse he sank again to the ground, and repelled vehemently the attempt of the other to assist him.
"Let me lie; the foot is broken or the ankle is sprained. No, it is the knee. I do not know. But I cannot stand--I must be carried."
"I will call the people of the house. The stone-mason is coming already."
"I will strike him dead if he touches me. I will have no help from him. On the other side of the road to the left I saw some of my people spear-throwing on the drill-ground. Call them to me, they shall carry me away."
And this was done.
While the money-changer had gone for the soldiers Fulvius came forward, but the Tribune turned away from him and would not speak; silent, suppressing any utterance of pain, he was carried by the strong Moors into the town, where they soon obtained a litter and took him to the Capitol.
In the meanwhile Fulvius had stopped the merchant at the entrance. "Not over the threshold, most excellent man!" said he, pushing him back. "I am superstitious; thou hast an evil look. As soon as I caught sight of thee and the Tribune I hastened to meet you, bringing the money which lies in that bag ready counted for thee. Here"----and he began to count out the silver money on the broad coping of the low wall. "Here, count then! It is reckoned correctly: fifty solidi principal, and at thirty per cent, interest, fifteen solidi more. And here--for I cannot transact business with thee without a receipt--on this wax tablet I have written the acquittance. Take the style, put thy name to it, and go thy way, never to return."
But with his lean hand Zeno pushed back disdainfully the silver pieces, so that they fell rattling on the stone slab and rolled round about.
"We do not separate so quickly, hospitable landlord and grateful debtor."
"Grateful! Thirty per cent, is, I think, thanks enough, and one is not hospitable to harpies and vampires. Take what belongs to thee and go!"
"When I have taken that which belongs to me," answered the Byzantiner fiercely, "then, not I, butthou, wilt go out of this house--out of this whole property."
"What does that mean?"
"That means, that my business is not merely with the fifty miserable solidi with interest. Thou art my debtor for more than twenty times that sum; mine is the house, mine the whole possession, most probably thyself also, at this moment, with every bone in thy body; mine also that slave daughter, who peeps anxiously there between the curtains, with the child at her breast. Mother-sheep and lamb are my own."
So maliciously were these words uttered, at first lightly whispered, then in rising anger, ever louder and more threatening, that Fulvius, alarmed, looked back to see if his young wife had perceived this disaster.
But Felicitas had again disappeared behind the curtain, satisfied that the wild officer, whom she feared, she knew not why, was no longer there. She knew well that the money was ready for the usurer.
Smiling, she bade farewell to her guest, who had emptied his beaker and now took his departure. Not a cloud overshadowed her white brow as she now sat down on the couch, and with a sweet smile on her maiden-like countenance raised the waking child, and proceeded to give it nourishment.
Zeno still delaying, Fulvius in fear and anger pushed him with his elbow a step farther from the entrance; the muscles of his naked arms tightened, his hands clenched; threatening but speechless, he stood before the man who had spoken such fearful words.
Crispus now came forward; he seized his young nephew firmly by the wrist of his right arm, which he was slowly raising for a blow.
"What means this?" cried the fat uncle, anxiously.
Fulvius spoke not a word.
But Zeno answered: "This means, that I have bought this property from the Imperial Exchequer, with all the old claims for State taxes, and seven times the rent due to the Emperor, for which, according to the accounts, this tenant and his father are many decades in arrear; this makes, together with the fines, a debt of seven thousand solidi."
Crispus calculated in an instant that if even he gave his whole possessions to save his nephew, they would not amount to a seventh part of this sum.
"That means," continued Zeno, "that as there is no doubt about the inability of the debtor to pay, I claim him as my slave for debt, and shall to-morrow be installed by the magistrate into the property."
"Oh, Felicitas!" groaned Fulvius.
"Be calm; I will take mother and child home with me till the suit is decided," comforted the good-natured uncle.
"Law-suit?" laughed Zeno. "A suit that begins with its accomplishment is quickly decided. My claim is indubitably shown by the Imperial tax-rolls; they give positive evidence, and that young creature"----
"Wilt thou also claim the wife for the debt of her husband? That is not Roman justice," cried Crispus.
"Stay with thy ridiculous statues, and do not teach me justice and its ways. The young wife is a slave-child, the property of the master of her parents. This man died without a will, without assignable heirs. His property fell to the Exchequer; to the Exchequer belonged the parents and belongs the child."
"The old Krates set the parents and the child free before his death."
"Where is the letter of emancipation?"
And when both were silent the usurer continued in a triumphant tone: "You are silent? It is, then, as I suspected: the papyrus was destroyed when her parents' house was burnt in the rising of the people against the tax-collectors. Her birth as a slave is undisputed, the letter of emancipation is not forthcoming, therefore she and her slave-brood are mine."
The young husband was overcome with passion and anguish, and a blow with his fist on the breast of the villain sent him staggering backwards. "Hast thou, then, thou old sinner, purchased my wife in advance from the Fiscus, as thou hast also me and my house?"
"No," said he, exasperated, "the beautiful Greek belongs to a handsome young lord, who suits her better. A lion will soon drag her to his den. Thou knowest well what kind of suitor the lion is."
"The Tribune!" cried Fulvius. "I will strangle him first with these fists; and thou, panderer, take"----
But Crispus slung both arms around him, holding him fast.
So Zeno gained time to make his escape. He quickly mounted the path which led to the main road; when he had gained the height he turned and looked through the bushes at the villa. He raised his fist menacingly, and cried to the two men, "Woe to the vanquished!"
Crispus then turned to go towards the house.
"What dost thou wish to do?? asked Fulvius.
"To ask Felicitas if there is no writing, no evidence of emancipation"----but the young husband stopped him.
"No, no! She must know nothing about it. The poor, tender, helpless, happy child! It would crush her--this horrid plot!"
"How wilt thou prevent her knowing it, when it will to-morrow be carried out? For I do not doubt it is all correct what the usurer says of the tax-dues and of his purchase of the property. And that is not the worst. Thou canst fly, as so many thousand debtors have already, to the mountains, to the forests, to the barbarians, for aught I care. Leave him here the heap of stones."
"The house of my parents! the place where we have been so happy!"
"You can be happy elsewhere, when you come together again. But Felicitas with the infant--she cannot yet share thy flight. She must stay, andcanstay with me. And that, I hope, can be arranged; for I have no doubt about the emancipation. The old people did not fabricate it. It is only the evidence that we want--the evidence!"
"The letter of emancipation is burnt; that is certain; burnt with the few ornaments and savings of the parents. They often told us about it. They had put all their valuables in a little box of cedar-wood, under the cushions of the bed, in their own room. In the night that the despairing tax-debtors and the peasants, the beasts of burden of the great landlords, had broken out in riot, the old people had, with the child, hastened into the street to inquire the cause of the fearful noise. They ran forward to the corner of the Vulcan market. Another crowd of fighting peasants and soldiers then poured in from behind, cutting off their return. The wooden storehouses of the small tradesmen that lived there, were set on fire. It was two days before they could return to their house, and then it was almost entirely burnt out; under the half-carbonised cushions of the bed, they found two melted gold pieces and the iron mounting of the cedar-box, yet glowing, and round about ashes:--from the wood of the box and its contents."
"The writing was not to be found?"
"In the house of her parents, certainly not; we searched it thoroughly before we sold it, after the death of the old people."
"Among the records of the Curies?"
"The freedom was given by letter, not by will. Krates intended to leave a will, but was overtaken by death before he had carried out his intention."
"Witnesses?"
"There were none. I tell you the freedom was given by letter."
"There is, then, no evidence. It is fearful."
"It makes one despair."
"But what thoughtlessness to live long years without"----
"Long years? It is not yet one year that I have called her mine. Before that it was the care of the parents; but these good old people--strangers here--what could they do? They could not awake the dead master, that he might repeat the emancipation."
"Had no one else read the letter?"
"Possibly! But these could only witness that they had read it, not that it was genuine."
"I see no escape but in flight--hasty flight."
"Hasty flight with the infant, and the young mother hardly convalescent, is impossible. And to fly! it is not my custom. Rather resistance by force."
"Thou, and I, and the lame Philemon, the force against the lancers of the Tribune! For he stands behind."
"I believe it! I saw his passionate look rest on her--on her neck--I could throttle him!"
"You are a dead man before you raise a hand against him."
"It is dark, hopeless night around us. Oh, where shall we find counsel, where a beam of hope, of light?"
"In the Church," spoke softly, but decidedly, a sweet voice. Felicitas put her arm round the neck of her beloved.
"Thou!"
"Thou here?"
"Yes, as thou didst not come back, I sought for thee; it is always so between us. The boy sleeps; I laid him in my bed. I found you both so deep in conversation, that you did not hear my step on the soft garden sand."
"What hast thou heard?" cried Fulvius, full of fear.
But the radiant, cheerful face, the smooth brow, the happy smile of his young wife, soon quieted his anxiety.
"I only heard that you wanted light in the darkness, and there came into my mind, as always, the word 'Church,' the name 'Johannes.'"
Fulvius was satisfied, almost joyful, because she had heard nothing of the lurking misfortune. He stroked tenderly her beautifully arched head, and said:
"And yet thou art not one of those devotees whose piety, or rather hypocrisy, peeps through the knees of their garments, worn threadbare by the altar steps."
"No; I am, alas, not pious enough. But it does not help me if I do go often to confession. Johannes always smiles when I have finished, and says: 'Thou hast onlyonesin; that is, Falvius.' But when I hear of darkness and light, I always think of the Church and Johannes. It is an experience of my earliest childhood," said she slowly, reflectively.
"What experience?" asked Crispus, becoming attentive.
"I had been obliged for many weeks, on account of a disease in the eyes, to wear a bandage, to remain in darkness, I know not how long. I was hardly six years old. I then heard the voice of Krates, the master, who was skilful in medicine, and had himself treated me. 'Take her with you this evening into the Basilica,' said he, 'it will not hurt her eyes; and she must be there, so says the law.'"
"What sayest thou? For what purpose?" asked the two men in breathless eagerness.
"I know not. You forget I was a child. But this stands yet clear before me: In the evening father and mother took me between them, each holding one of my hands; the master was also there; and they led me with bandaged eyes--for the raw evening air of the late autumn might have hurt them--into the Basilica. Here they took off the bandage and"----
"And now?"
"What didst thou see? What happened?"
"For the first time for months without pain, did my eyes again see the bright but gentle light. Before the altar, which was lighted with many wax candles, stood Johannes in shining white garments; the master placed us all three at the lowest step of the altar, and then spoke a number of words that I did not understand: the priest blessed us; my parents wept--but I noticed it was from emotion, not from pain--and kissed their master's knees; they then again put the bandage on my eyes, and we went from the light of the church out into the darkness. Since then light and Church and Johannes are to me one."
Felicitas could not quite understand what now happened to her.
Her husband warmly kissed her brow and eyes, and her uncle almost crushed her hand.
"Go thou back to the house," cried at last her husband. "We must go immediately to the church; thou art right--as always. Thou--thou hast given to us the best, the saving counsel."
And he led her eagerly, with a last kiss, back into the garden.
"It is quite certain," said Crispus, when Fulvius again appeared, "that it was not only by letter that they were set free; for greater safety there was the ceremony in the church, before the priest, according to all the forms of the law. And the child has all unsuspiciously revealed it to us in our greatest need!"
"And the priest"----
"Was Johannes himself!"
"He yet lives. Thanks be to the holy ones! He can testify to it."
"And he shall: before this night! Before witnesses, before the Curies shall he verify it! To the church!"
"To Johannes!"
And the two men hastened as fast as feet could carry them, down the high-road to the town, towards the Porta Vindelica.
In the meanwhile Felicitas went slowly back to the house, often stopping to look back at her husband until he had disappeared from view.
"What may they be doing?" said she quietly, bending her beautiful head. "Well, they are good: the holy ones are with them. The sun is now set behind Vindelicia. But in the forest the sweet bird still sings his evening song: how peaceful! how quiet! I will go to the bed of my little one. I can wait there most calmly; Fulvius will come back before night. For he loves us--yes, he loves us much, my little son!"
She then entered the house.
But Fulvius did not come back that night.
When he and Crispus had passed through the Porta Vindelica, and had turned into the Via Augustana, in which stood the church of Saint Peter and the little house of the priest, they noticed Zeno, who was knocking at the door of a magnificent building at the other end of the street. It was the house of the Judge.
"He is using despatch," said Crispus. "It is well that we are already here." And he touched the knocker, which in shape like a cross hung on the small door of the priest's house.
"He will manage all through the Judge, who is his son-in-law," said Fulvius, anxiously.
"And deeply indebted to the usurer. That holds everything together, like sticky mud."
The door was opened, and a slave led them through a long, narrow passage, dimly lighted by an oil lamp in a little niche in the wall, to the room of the priest; drew back the curtain, and ushered in the two guests.
The half-dark room was almost void of furniture: the lid of a large chest served as a table, on it stood writing materials; on the walls one saw a lamb, a fish, a dove, very roughly sketched and painted a red colour.
Johannes, although in conversation with two priests, immediately turned towards them; a meagre form, upright, in spite of his seventy years, by the force of a strong, enthusiastic will; a gray Capuchin dress, tied round the loins with a cord, was all his attire; a silver ring of white hair, which shone like a nimbus, encircled his head. A long white beard fell low on his breast.
"A moment's patience, dear friends," said he. "The business of my brothers here is urgent; you see, they have the traveller's hat and staff--but it will soon be concluded. Thou, Timotheus, wilt return to-night to thy post. It is well that thou hast given the warning; but only the hireling forsakes his flock, the good shepherd remains constant to it."
"I go," said the one addressed, a young subdeacon, blushing quite abashed: "I certainly did not wish to run away from the barbarians--I only wished"----
"To give a warning, certainly. And then, perhaps, the spirit of cowardice suggested this to thee--that Johannes would keep thee here within the safe walls of this fortress. But I say to thee: 'Except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain.' And if the troubles of war come over the poor people out there, thy consolations will be needed. Go with God, my son, back to thy cell at Isunisca."
"Are the barbarians already so near?" cried Crispus, alarmed.
"Apparently; at least, brother Timotheus heard, three nights ago, horsemen ride by his cell with unshod steeds. Those were not Romans."
"They were the night-riders, the gods of the heathen, led by Wotan, the devil chief, whom our fathers named Teutates, but the Romans Mercurius," said Bojorix, the deacon, an older man, and he trembled for fear.
"Hardly," said Johannes, with a quiet smile, "for afterwards in clear day, one of these night-phantoms, with a long flowing gray beard, and clad in a wolf's skin, dashed into a company of armed merchants at the bridge across the Inn, seized the largest wine-skin from the waggon, threw it on his horse, and rode away. Spectres do not drink this year's Räter wine. This news from thewestdisturbs me less than the absence of news from theeast--from Ovilava and Lentia! There certainly came from there, through the Porta Latina, a few peasants into the market; but I did not know them: I was suspicious of them. Well, we stand in the protection of the Lord, in the rising as in the setting of the sun! But thou, Stephen"----
But he who was addressed heard not.
Gently rebuking him, the Presbyter took hold of his garment: "Stephen, Stephen, dost thou still understand only the barbarian name Bojorix? Thou, my Stephen, say to the children of the widow at Foutes: I will pledge the silver vessels of the church, keeping back only one for use, and with the proceeds satisfy the money-lender, and save her from slavery. I will bring the money to-morrow, or the day following."
"O, sir, they are so anxious. Why not tonight?"
"To-night I must bind afresh the wounds of the poor leprous Jew, whom the doctors will no more touch, and watch by him. Go now, both of you, my brethren: and may the Angel of the Lord who led Tobias hover around your traveller's staff. Fear not, although it is night: you walk in light."
Reverently saluting, they departed; Johannes refused the kiss that they wished to press on his hand.
"And now to you, my friends," said he; "what can I do for you?"
With haste and excitement, each supplementing the other, they laid their anxieties before the priest; he listened gravely, attentively.
"It is," said he then, "as my dear penitent has said. Krates, the master, set free the parents and the child: before me, in this Basilica."
"Oh, then we are safe from that base man!" rejoiced Fulvius.
"So long as I live: but I am an old man; this night the Lord may call me. Haste is necessary against this profligate. Yon knew Galla, the child of Gaudentius, who lives near to the tax-office. She was eighteen years old. It was only a few days ago. The villain saw her at mid-day:--before night she had disappeared:--next morning she lay shattered at the foot of the rock of the Capitol;--it was said she had met with an accident while gathering berries--but a fisherman, who was drawing his nets at daybreak, confided to me that he saw her throw herself from the tower-window."
"The Tribune lives there!" cried Crispus.
Fulvius, speechless, grasped at the hammer in his tunic.
"Come! The Judge, the Curies will not take any declaration so late. They are feasting and carousing. We will seek out the elders of the congregation: I will swear before them my knowledge of the emancipation. And I will to-night consider with thee if we cannot protect thy wife's innocence, and also thyself and thy inheritance, brave stone-mason, against this usurer. Follow me."
They hastened all three into the street. It was still tolerably light; the twilight of the long Jane evening only very gradually deepened. As they reached the house of the Judge, the outer door opened: the master came out escorting the money-dealer.
"I will," said he, "send there early to-morrow. Thy right is undoubted; and as the flight of the debtor is probable, I will issue the warrant--but there he stands before us."
Zeno turned towards the street and saw the three men approaching; it displeased him to see his victim in company with the priest, whom the burghers loved, whom he feared and hated. He greeted him coldly; there were other people in the street, it would have injured himself to refuse one so honoured a greeting, but he wished to pass by him quickly.
"Halt, Zeno of Byzantium!" cried the priest aloud--and one would not have credited the old man with this strength of voice--"I have to warn thee, thee and that voluptuous Tribune. I know too well of your sins: the measure is full. If you do not repent, I cannot longer suffer you in the fellowship of the saints." The merchant grew pale. "A usurer thou art; and he--he is a murderer of body and soul. You will not carry it out. Know that, if the letter is burnt, the pure wife shall not be given up to you. She is free--set free before me in the church."
"Thou canst easily say that," said Zeno, with a crafty look.
"I go to swear it before witnesses."
"Then no one knows it except the old man," thought the other.
"But thou who takest thirty and more per cent., I will bring thee to account before the congregation. And not for that alone. Think of thy poor Syrian slave! I will also accuse thee, on her account, before the secular tribunal." The Byzantian trembled. "And thou and that commander-in-chief of lust and power, if you cannot clear yourselves from the blood of Galla, I will expel you next Sunday from the Church."
Before Zeno could answer there was a clang of weapons and the sound of heavy steps, and a company of the Tribune's Isaurians turned the corner. The centurion hastened to the merchant:
"I seek thee! I was directed from thy house here, to the Judge. Read! From the Tribune!"
Zeno took the small wax tablet, "Open?" asked he suspiciously.
"Sealed for us," laughed the soldier; "we do not read; we only fight."
Zeno read: "It was only the knee. My Greek slave has by friction reduced the swelling. I shall to-morrow again mount my horse. Threefold, if thou gettest the woman to-morrow!"
The Greek exchanged a quick look with the Judge; he then, with the reverse end of the style, rubbed the tablet smooth, effacing the writing, turned the style and wrote:
"The priest alone knows that she was set free. On Sunday he denounces thee publicly. Dead dogs do not bark."
"Take that to thy Tribune," said he to the centurion.
"I cannot. I go on guard at the Vindelician gate. But here, Arsakes, go back to the Capitol."
He gave the tablet to one of the soldiers, who saluted and disappeared.
"At the Vindelician gate? Wait, then!" And Zeno whispered a word to the Judge.
"Halt, centurion!" cried the latter, "My Carcerarii are not within call; in case of necessity I can exercise authority over you warriors, according to the law of the Emperor Diocletian. Seize that debtor of the state, whose escape is suspected, and take him to the prison for tax-debtors; it stands by the Vindelician gate."
Fulvius was in a moment surrounded; the centurion laid hold of his shoulder, four men seized his arms.
"Oh, Felicitas!" sighed he, utterly helpless.
"I will save her! I will go to her immediately!" cried Crispus, and he hastened away.
He was about to turn the comer, when there sounded suddenly the hoof-strokes of a horseman riding along in mad haste, followed by a tumultuous crowd: soldiers, burghers, women, children--all pell-mell.
"One of our Moorish horsemen!" cried the centurion, as he caught the horse's bridle. "Jarbas! Comrade in arms! What is the matter?"
The rider, who was dripping with water, raised himself high in the saddle; he had lost helmet and shield, he held a broken spear in his right hand, blood streamed over his naked left arm.
"Tell the Tribune," cried he in a hoarse voice, as if making a last effort. "I can do no more--the arrow in my neck--they are there--close the gates--the Germans stand before the town!" And dropping the bridle, he fell backwards from his horse.
He was dead!
Was it actually so? Did the Germans stand indeed before the gates of Juvavum?
The burghers racked their brains in tormenting uncertainty. They could learn nothing more at present of what had happened without the walls; the mouth that might have given farther information was silent for ever.
The gates were kept carefully shut. When the news first reached the Capitol, Leo, the Tribune, had sprung from his couch, "To horse!" cried he; "out, before the walls!" But with a cry of pain he had sunk back in the arms of his slave; and he did not wish to entrust to another the dangerous enterprise of a nightly reconnaissance outside the gates, against an enemy certainly far superior in numbers. Severus, the commander of the volunteers in the town, had only infantry at his disposal. With these alone, he could not and would not advance against the barbarians in the night. He contented himself with occupying the towers and gates. The strengthened guard on the ramparts watched and listened attentively in the mild night air; but there was nothing unusual to be observed, no light in the neighbourhood, no camp-fires in the distance, which the advancing Germans, with wives and children, men-servants and maidens, with herds, carts and waggons, certainly could not dispense with, and which it was not their custom to extinguish either from prudence or fear. No noise was heard, neither the clang of arms, nor the hoof-strokes of horses; only the regular, gentle murmuring of the stream, which hastened through the valley from south to north, struck on the ears of the watchers. A burgher once thought he heard a noise in the direction of the river, like the gentle neighing of a horse, and a splash of the waves, as if a heavy body had fallen or sprung into the stream; but he convinced himself that he had been deceived, for everything remained still as before.
The nightingales sang in the bushes around the villas; their undisturbed song testified, as one rightly judged, that neither waggons, horses, nor warriors were in movement there.
So to gain information they turned again to the corpse of the horseman, and to his steed, yet trembling in every limb.
They saw that the horse had swum the stream, man and horse were running with water. Why had not the fugitive made use of the bridge below the town? Because he did not know if it were occupied? or because he did not wish to do so? Because he had striven to bring his news the most direct road? He had no other wound than that in the neck, caused by the deadly arrow, from which the blood had flowed over his shoulder and shieldless left arm. It was undoubtedly a missile like those the Germans carried; the three-barbed point had entered very deeply, the shot was given at a close range; the long shaft of alder-wood was winged with the feathers of the gray heron; the blade of his long cavalry sword was missing, the leather sheath hung empty at the right side of his girth; the spear, which the closed right hand still grasped, was broken at the first iron clasp by which the point was attached, by a powerful blow from a battle-axe, not from a sword; so that the rider had lost in close combat, helmet, shield, sword, and spear, and in flight had received the arrow shot by his pursuer. The dead man could be questioned no more.
But what had become of his comrades in arms?
Leo, the Tribune, had the day before sent out five of the Moorish cavalry to take possession of a hill, two hours' journey north-west of the town, which commanded a view of the country as far as the thick forest to the north. A half-fallen watch-tower stood there, which had last been repaired and occupied in the time of the Emperor Valentinian I., now a hundred years ago.
What had become of the other four Moors?
Nobody knew.
The citizens passed an anxious night. The watch went their rounds on the ramparts with torches, and small fires burnt at the spots where broad flagstones covered the surface of the earth and turf.
The fires were extinguished at dawn of the early June morning; the sentinels looked carefully out into the country in the full morning light; there was nowhere a trace of the enemy.
Peasants came as usual from all parts into the town to sell or to buy. They were astonished to find the gates closed. They were allowed to pass in singly, all being carefully examined to see if they were trustworthy people or spies, perhaps even barbarians in disguise.
But the inoffensive peasants were terrified at this unusual sharpness of the gate-watch; to question them was without rhyme or reason. They evidently knew nothing, and were much more zealous and anxious to inquire in the town what had taken place.
From the north-west, in the direction of Vindelicia, from which the approach of the barbarians was expected, the country people had come in, as usual, in numbers; they had observed nothing suspicious. But from the south-east hardly anyone came. It excited no remark, few villas and houses lay that way, and it was only seldom that a frequenter of the market came from thence. One might have considered the fright of the previous evening as a dream, only the dead horseman was a silent witness to its actuality.
The first hours of the day passed away without any threatening indications; there was no enemy visible even in the far distance; the bridge over the Ivarus below the town (a second joined the two banks within the walls) was seen to be unoccupied.
As the Tribune was still kept a prisoner in the Capitol by the accident to his knee, Severus ordered the Vindelician gate to be opened; he went with a company to the bridge, caused the end on the left, western bank to be barricaded with pieces of rock and timber, left there thirty spearmen and slingers, and then returned to the town quite satisfied that there was no trace of the enemy. But the old soldier did not relax his watchfulness; he ordered the gates to be kept closed and the towers garrisoned, and any occurrence was to be notified immediately to him in the Bath of Amphitrite, whither he now went, to wash away the cares of the night and the heat and dust of the march.
After having fully enjoyed the bath, he sat comfortably on the soft woollen rug covering the marble seat, which formed a semicircle around the porphyry bath, rubbing now arms, and now legs, from the hip to the knee.
This man of about fifty-five years was a model of healthy and vigorous strength; his limbs showed that the practice of the hunt and gymnastics had developed the power of his strongly-formed body.
He now ceased his movements, and sank gradually into deep thought. His head fell deeper and deeper on his breast; at last he extended his right arm and began to draw figures in the clean white sand, which covered the space between the marble seat and the edge of the bath.
"Must rank our men still deeper against the German wedge," murmured he to himself. "Ten men--twelve men deep. No, they don't waver yet. And yet--it must be just a question of arithmetic to defeat these Germans. It is only a problem of stroke and counter-stroke. Who may solve it? It would be best"----
"It would be best," broke in gently a melancholy voice, "that we lay in our last long sleep, where there is no longer either stroke or counterstroke."
Severus turned; the white woollen curtain of the inner bath was moved aside; a handsome man in the strength of youth, and fully armed, stood behind it.
"Thou, Cornelius! What meanest thou?"
"Thou knowest my meaning. The best for man is not to have been born."
"Shame on thee! thirty years old, and already so tired of life."
"Shame onthee! Nearly sixty years, and still so foolishly fond of life."
"What dost thou bring?"
"Advice: evacuate the town, all the citizens to the Capitol. An express messenger over the Alps for help."
"Thou seest spectres!"
"Ah! If I saw onlythem! But I see the Germans!"
"There is no trace of them far and wide."
"It is exactly that which is mysterious. They must be near, quite near; and no one knows where they are."
"Whymust they be quite near?"
"Because the gray heron does not go southwards in the month of June; and because he never flies so low."
"What has that to say to it?"
"I will tell you. I was making the midnight round to relieve the guard at the Porta Latina. From the battlements of the tower I looked out sharply into the night. Nothing was to be seen, and nothing to be heard, except the song of the nightingale. Then suddenly I heard the cry of the gray heron."
"They are not numerous here," said Severus; "but they do appear in the stagnant waters and in the marshes of the Ivarus."
"Certainly; but the cry did not come from the river; it sounded on this side of the stream, out of the mountain forest."
"Making an eyrie there, perhaps."
"It was themigratory call. And they migrate in August. And after the first call there was a second, a third, a fourth answer, till the sounds died away in the distance."
"The echo from the hills!"
"That is conceivable. But the cry did not come from high in the air; it came from below, from the ground, up to me on the battlements of the tower. The heron does not fish at night."
The old man smiled pleasantly. "Do, my Cornelius, believe the old huntsman. It fishes at night when it has a brood to feed. I have myself caught one in the morning in the fishing-net which I had set the evening before."
"But that arrow was winged with the feathers of the--gray heron. And as often as the heron called, there answered still deeper out of the eastern forest the shrill cry of the black eagle."
"Accident! And how could the Germans come here from the east? From the west, from Vindelicia only, could the Alemanni come, who are the nearest Germans to us. How could they have crossed the river unnoticed, unless they have wings, like the gray heron himself? Foresight is very praiseworthy, my young friend, and thou seest I am not wanting in vigilance. But thou art too anxious; youth and age have exchanged theirrôle, I know," hastened Severus to add, as an angry look flashed across the handsome face of the young man, "I know Cornelius Ambiorix is only anxious for Rome, not for himself."
"Why should I be anxious about a life that has no charm and no value?" asked the other, again composed, and sitting down by the old man. "The philosophy of the sceptics has destroyed the old gods for us; and I cannot believe in the Jew of Nazareth. A blind fate guides the world. Rome--my pride, my dream--sinks, sinks irretrievably."
"Thou errest there," answered the other, quite composed. "I would to-day throw myself on this sword"--he grasped the weapon which lay near him on a cushion--"if I shared thy belief. But this sword--it is inherited from my imperial ancestor, Probus--gives me always fresh encouragement. Nine German kings knelt before that hero's tent, when he drew this sword out of the scabbard, and commanded the trembling ones, according to their own custom, to swear allegiance by the sword. And they swore it."
"That is long ago."
"And with this sword is also bequeathed in our family the oracular promise: 'This sword is conqueror in every battle.' It has been proved in many generations of our house. I myself, while I was allowed to serve, had defeated the Germans in twenty battles and fights, with this sword." And the old man pressed the weapon tenderly to his breast.
"Pardon, if I correct thee," said the young man, smiling sadly; "not with this sword, but with Isaurians, Moors, Illyrians, and, most of all, with Germans, hast thou other Germans conquered. Rome, Latium, Italy has no more men. There are no more Romans. Celtic blood flows in my veins, Dacian in thine. And why canst thou no longer serve? Because thou hast often conquered, the mistrustful Emperor has taken the general's staff from thy hand, and in gratitude for thy services sent thee here in honourable banishment."
"It was very--undeserved," said Severus, rising; "but no matter! I can be of use to the Roman state here also."
"Too late!" sighed the other. "Fuimus Troes!It is over with us. Asia to the Parthians, Europe to the Germans, and to us--destruction. It seems to me that each people, as each man, lives out its life. Twelve centuries have gone by since Romulus was suckled by the she-wolf. We must allow that she had good milk--the venerable beast--and the wolf's blood in our veins has lasted long. But now it is diseased, and the baptismal water has utterly ruined it. How can the government of the world be maintained, when hardly any Roman marries, and the few children that are born are not suckled by the mothers, while these broad-hipped German women are filling the land with their numerous progeny. They literally eat us up, these forest people; they dispossess us from the earth more through their chaste fruitfulness than by their deadly courage. Three hundred and forty thousand Goths did the Emperor Claudius destroy; in four years after there stood four hundred thousand in the field. They grow like the heads of the Hydra. And we have no Hercules. I have had enough of it. I shall bring it to an end in the next battle. One does not suffer long after a blow from a German battle-axe."
Severus seized the hand of the young man who had spoken so bitterly. "I honour thy sorrow, Cornelius, but thou shouldest act according to thy own words: thy Thalamos stands empty; thou must again make Hymen sound forth under the gray pillars."
"Ha!" laughed the young man fiercely, "that a second Emperor may entice away from me a second spouse, as a bishop the first bride, an Emperor the first wife led astray? No! truly there are no more Romans; but still fewer Roman women. Pleasure, love of ornament, and love of power, are the three Graces whom they invoke. Have you ever heard that the priests among these barbarians befool the young girls? or their kings entice wives from the hearths of their free husbands? I have not. But a people without gods, without native warriors, without true wives, without children--such a people can no longer live. A people that has every reason to tremble before its own slaves, ten times more numerous than itself! If thou hadst only seen the murderous dark looks with which the slaves of Zeno, the usurer, threatened their lord and the slave-master, as they were just now driven in chains through the street! But I myself? How stands it with me? I have been everywhere, and held many different offices in Rome, in Ravenna, in Byzantium: soldier, magistrate, writer--all with success; and yet I found it all--vain, hollow. I have tried everything, it is all naught. Now, returned home to the town of my fathers, I find it ruled by a usurer from Byzantium and a sensualist and brawler from Mauritania; and the only one who still makes any opposition to this alliance, is notthou, and notI; we are only two honourable Romans! no: a Christian priest, whose fatherland, as he boasts, is not the Roman Empire, but heaven!--I have had enough of it!--I say it again: a people without gods, without wives, without mothers, without children--a people whose battles are fought by levied barbarians--such a people can no longer live! It must die; and that soon. Come, then, come, ye Alemanni! I cannot swallow hemlock. I will fall with the clang of the tuba, and imagine that I am falling under Camillus or Scipio."
Cornelius was wildly excited. Severus seized him by both shoulders:
"Promise me not to seek death until you see the next battle lost, and that you will be willing to live if we conquer."
Cornelius nodded, sadly smiling, "I think I can boldly promise that. Thou and thy conquering sword--you will no longer keep back the quickly approaching ruin."
At this moment a shrill blast from the tuba struck on their ear. The curtain of the inner bath was torn aside; an armed burgher rushed in and cried: "Hasten, Severus; now they are coming. German horsemen are galloping hither out of the western forest on the other side of the river!"