Dull, misty, and gray, a cold damp morning in early March dawned upon the mountain. The sun could not penetrate the dense clouds.
The ancient city of Medenus had long since been abandoned by its Carthaginian and Roman founders and builders. Most of the houses, constructed of stone from the mountain, stood deserted and ruinous. Nomad Moors used the few which still had roofs as places of refuge in winter. The largest structure was the former basilica. Here the King and his household had found shelter. A scanty fire of straw and fagots was burning in the centre on the stone floor. But it sent forth more smoke than heat, for the wood was wet, and the damp fog penetrated everywhere through the cracks in the walls, through the holes in the roof, pressing down the slowly rising yellowish-gray smoke till, trailing and gliding along the cold wall, it sought other means of escape through the entrance, whose folding-doors were missing. In the semicircular space back of the apses coverlets and skins had been spread upon the marble floor. Here sat Gibamund, hammering upon his much-dented shield, while Hilda had laid the scarlet standard across her lap, and was mending it.
"Many, many arrows have pierced thee, ancient, storm-tried banner. And this gaping rent here,--it was probably a sword-stroke. But thou must still hold together to the end."
"The end," said Gibamund, impatiently completing the nailing of the edge of the shield with one last blow of the hammer. "I wish it would come. I can bear to witness the suffering--yoursuffering--no longer. I have constantly urged the King to put an end to it. Let us, let all the Vandals,--the Moors can surrender as prisoners,--charge upon the foe together, and--He would never let me finish. 'That would be suicide,' he answered, 'and sin. We must bear patiently what God has imposed upon us as a punishment. If it is His will. He can yet save us, bear us away from here on the wings of His angels. But the end is approaching--of itself. The number of graves on the slope of the mountain is daily increasing.'"
"Yes, the row constantly lengthens; sometimes the high mounds of our Vandals surmounted by the cross!"
"Sometimes the faithful Moors' heap of stones with the circle of black pebbles. Yesterday evening we buried the delicate Gundoric; the last scion of the proud Gundings, the darling of his brave father Gundobad."
"So the poor boy's sufferings are over? In Carthage the child was always clad in purple silk as he rode through the streets in a shell carriage drawn by ostriches."
"Day before yesterday the King brought to the miserable heap of straw where he was lying the fragrant bread he had begged from the enemy. The child devoured it so eagerly that we were obliged to check him. We turned our backs a moment,--I was getting some water with the King for the sick boy,--when a cry of mingled rage and grief summoned us. A Moorish lad, probably attracted by the smell of the bread, had sprung in through the open window and torn it from between the child's teeth. It made a very deep impression on the King. 'This child, too, the guiltless one? O terrible God!' he cried again and again. I closed the boy's dying eyes to-day."
"It cannot last much longer. The people have killed the last horse except Styx."
"Styx shall not be slaughtered," cried Hilda. "He bore you from certain death; he saved you."
"Yousaved me, with your Valkyria ride," exclaimed Gibamund; and, happy in the midst of all the wretchedness, he pressed his beautiful wife to his heart, kissing her golden hair, her eyes, her noble brow. "Hark! what is that?"
"It is the song which he has composed and is singing to the harp Fara sent him. Well for thee, Teja's stringed instrument, that thou art not compelled to accompany such a dirge," she cried wrathfully, springing up and tossing back her waving locks. "I would rather have shattered my harp on the nearest rocks than lent it for such a song."
"But it works like a spell upon the Moors and Vandals."
"They do not understand it at all; the words are Latin. He has rejected alliteration as pagan, as the magic of runes! He allows no one to mention his last battle-song."
"Of course they scarcely understand it. But when they see the King as, almost in an ecstasy, like a man walking in his sleep, with his burning eyes half closed, his wan, sorrowful face surrounded by tangled locks, his ragged royal mantle thrown around his shoulders, his harp on his arm, he wanders alone over the rocks and snows of this mountain; when they hear the deep, wailing voice, the mournful melody of the dirge, it affects them like a spell, though they understand little of the meaning. Hark! there it rises again."
Nearer and nearer, partly borne away by the wind, came in broken words, sometimes accompanied by the strings, the chant:
"Woe to thee! I mourn, I mourn!Woe to thee, O Vandal race!Soon forgot, will be thy name,Which the world, a tempest, swept."Gloriously didst thou ariseFrom the sea,--a meteor.Fame and radiance lost for aye,Thou wilt sink in blackest night."All the earth's rich treasures heapedGenseric in Carthage fair.Starving beggar with the foe,Now for bread his grandson pleads."Let thy heroes strengthen me;God's wrath on thee resteth sore;Leave fame and honor to the Goths,To the Franks:--they are but toys."
"Woe to thee! I mourn, I mourn!Woe to thee, O Vandal race!Soon forgot, will be thy name,Which the world, a tempest, swept.
"Woe to thee! I mourn, I mourn!
Woe to thee, O Vandal race!
Soon forgot, will be thy name,
Which the world, a tempest, swept.
"Gloriously didst thou ariseFrom the sea,--a meteor.Fame and radiance lost for aye,Thou wilt sink in blackest night.
"Gloriously didst thou arise
From the sea,--a meteor.
Fame and radiance lost for aye,
Thou wilt sink in blackest night.
"All the earth's rich treasures heapedGenseric in Carthage fair.Starving beggar with the foe,Now for bread his grandson pleads.
"All the earth's rich treasures heaped
Genseric in Carthage fair.
Starving beggar with the foe,
Now for bread his grandson pleads.
"Let thy heroes strengthen me;God's wrath on thee resteth sore;Leave fame and honor to the Goths,To the Franks:--they are but toys."
"Let thy heroes strengthen me;
God's wrath on thee resteth sore;
Leave fame and honor to the Goths,
To the Franks:--they are but toys."
"I will not listen; I will not bear it," cried Hilda. "He shall not revile all that makes life worth living."
Nearer, more distinctly, sounded the slow, mournful notes.
"Vanity and sin are allThou hast cherished, Vandal race;Therefore God hath stricken thee,Therefore bowed thy head in shame."Bow thee, bow thee to the dust,Bruised race of Genseric;Kiss the rod in gratitude.It is God the Lord Who smites."
"Vanity and sin are allThou hast cherished, Vandal race;Therefore God hath stricken thee,Therefore bowed thy head in shame.
"Vanity and sin are all
Thou hast cherished, Vandal race;
Therefore God hath stricken thee,
Therefore bowed thy head in shame.
"Bow thee, bow thee to the dust,Bruised race of Genseric;Kiss the rod in gratitude.It is God the Lord Who smites."
"Bow thee, bow thee to the dust,
Bruised race of Genseric;
Kiss the rod in gratitude.
It is God the Lord Who smites."
The dirge died away. The royal singer ascended with tottering steps the half-ruined stairs of the basilica, his harp hanging loosely from his left arm. Now he stood between the gray, mouldering pillars of the entrance, and, laying his right arm against the cold stone, pressed his weary head upon it.
Just at that moment a young Moor came hurrying up the steps; a few bounds brought him to the top. Gibamund and Hilda went toward him in astonishment.
"It is long since I have seen you move so swiftly, Sersaon," said Gibamund.
"Your eyes are sparkling," cried Hilda. "You bring good tidings."
The King raised his head from the pillar and, shaking it sorrowfully, looked at the Moor.
"Yes, wise Queen," replied the latter. "The best of tidings: Rescue!"
"Impossible!" said Gelimer, in a hollow tone.
"It is true, my master. Here, Verus will confirm it."
With a slow step, but unbroken strength, the priest ascended the mountain-top. He seemed rather to be prouder, more powerful than in the days of happiness; he held his head haughtily erect. In his hand he carried an arrow and a strip of papyrus.
"To-night," the young Moor went on, "I had the watch at our farthest point toward the south. At the earliest glimmer of dawn, I heard the call of the ostrich: I thought it a delusion, for the bird never ascends to such a height, and this is not the mating season. But this call is our concerted signal with our allies among the Southern tribes, the Soloes. I listened, I watched keenly; yes, yonder, pressing close against the yellowish-brown cliff, so motionless that he could scarcely be distinguished from the rock, crouched a Soloe. I softly answered the call; instantly an arrow flew to the earth close beside me,--a headless arrow, into whose hollow shaft, instead of the tip, this strip had been forced. I drew it out; I cannot read, but I took it to the nearest Vandals. Two of them read it and rejoiced greatly. Verus happened to pass by; he wanted to tear the papyrus, wished to forbid our speaking of it to you, but hunger, the hope of rescue, are stronger than his words--"
"I thought it treachery, a snare; it is too improbable," interrupted Verus.
Gibamund snatched the strip and read: "The path descending southward, where the ostrich called, is unguarded; it is supposed to be impassable. Climb down singly to-morrow at midnight; we will wait close by with fresh horses. Theudis, King of the Visigoths, has sent us gold to save you, and a little ship. It is lying near the coast. Hasten."
"There is still fidelity. There are still friends in need!" cried Hilda, exultingly, throwing herself with tears of joy, on her husband's breast.
The King's bowed figure straightened; his eyes lost their dull, hopeless expression.
"Now you see how wicked it would have been to seek death. This is the finger which God's mercy extends to us. Let us grasp it."
Verus, in order to make the enemy wholly unsuspicious, offered to propose to Fara an interview with Gelimer at noon the following day, on the northern slope of the mountain, in which the last offers of Belisarius should be again discussed. After some scruples of conscience, the King consented to this stratagem of war. Verus reported that Fara was very much pleased with his communication, and would await Gelimer on the following day. Nevertheless, the besieged band kept a sharp watch upon the besiegers' outposts and camp--the high mountain-top afforded a foil view of their position--to note any movement in the direction of the descent which might indicate the discovery of the intended flight or the Soloe hiding-place at the foot of the mountain. Nothing of the sort was apparent; the foemen below spent the day in the usual manner. The guards were not strengthened, and after darkness closed in, the watchfires were neither increased nor changed. At nightfall the besiegers also lighted their fires on the northern side in the same places as before.
Shortly before midnight the little procession began its march. The Moors, who were familiar with the way, went first provided with ropes and iron braces. At every step the fugitives were obliged to feel their way cautiously with the handles of their spears, testing the smooth, crumbling surface of the rock to try whether it would afford a firm foothold. Next followed Gibamund and Hilda; the Princess had folded Genseric's great banner closely and tied it about the pole, which she used as a staff; then came Gelimer, behind him Verus and the small remaining band of Vandals. So they moved for about half an hour along the summit of the mountain, until they reached the southern side, down which the narrow path led. Each step was perilous to life; for they dared not light torches.
As the little group began the descent, Gelimer turned. "Oh, Verus," he whispered, "death may be very near to us all. Repeat a prayer--where is Verus?"
"He hastened back some time ago," replied Markomer. "He wished to bring a relic he had forgot. He bade us go on, saying that he would overtake us at the next turn in the road before we descended the ravine."
The King hesitated, and began to murmur the Lord's Prayer.
"Forward!" whispered Sersaon, the leading Moor. "There is no more time to lose. We need only pass quickly around the next projecting rock--Ha! Torches, treason! Back to--"
He could say no more; an arrow transfixed his throat. Torches glared with a dazzling light into the eyes of the fugitives just as they turned the jutting cliff. Weapons flashed, and before the ranks of the Herulians stood a man holding aloft a torch to light the group.
"There, the second one is the King," he cried. "Capture him alive." He took a step forward.
"Verus!" shrieked Gelimer, falling back unconscious. Two Vandals caught him and bore him up the height.
"On! Storm the mountain!" Fara ordered below. But it was impossible to storm a height which could be climbed only by clinging with both hands to the perpendicular cliff. Fara himself instantly perceived it when, by the torchlight, he beheld the path and saw Gibamund standing with levelled spear on the last broader ledge of rock which afforded a firm footing.
"It is a pity!" he shouted. "But now this loophole will henceforth be barred also. Surrender!"
"Never!" cried Gibamund, hurling his spear. The man by Fara's side fell.
"Shoot! Quickly! All at once!" the Herulian leader angrily commanded. Behind the Herulians were twenty archers, dismounted Huns. Their bows twanged; Gibamund sank silently backward. Hilda, with a cry of anguish, caught him in her arms.
But Markomer, raising his lance threateningly, already stood in the place of the fallen man.
"Cease," Fara ordered. "But keep the outlet strongly guarded. The priest said that they must yield either to-morrow or on the following day."
* * * * *
Gelimer was roused from his unconsciousness by Hilda's shriek.
"Now Gibamund, too, has fallen," he said very calmly. "All is over."
Supported by his spear, he climbed wearily back. A few Vandals followed him. He vanished in the darkness of the night.
Hilda sat silent with the head of her lifeless husband in her lap, and the staff of the banner resting on her shoulder. She had no tears, but groped in the thick gloom for the beloved face. At last she heard a Vandal, returning from the King, say to Markomer:
"This was the final blow. To-morrow--I am to announce it to the enemy--Gelimer will submit."
Now she sprang up, and asking two of the men to help her--she would not release the dear head from her clasping hands--carried the dead Prince to the top of the mountain. In a little grove of pines, just outside the city, a small wooden hut had been built which had formerly contained stores of every kind. Now it was half empty except for a large pile of the wood used for fires. In this hut she spent the night and the dark morning alone with the dead. When it grew light she sought the King, whom she found in the basilica on the spot where formerly--the remains of some steps showed it--the altar had stood. Here Gelimer had placed in a crack between two stones a wooden cross, roughly made of boughs laid across each other. He lay prone on his face before it, clasping the cross with both arms.
"Brother-in-law Gelimer," she said in a curt, harsh tone, "is it true? Do you mean to surrender?"
He made no reply.
She shook him by the shoulder.
"King of the Vandals, do you mean to give yourself up as a captive?" she cried more loudly. "They will lead you through the streets of Constantinople as a spectacle! Will you shame your people--yourdeadpeople--still more?"
"Vanity," he answered dully. "Vanity speaks from your lips! All that you are thinking is sinful, vain, arrogant."
"Why do you do this so suddenly? You have held out for months."
"Verus!" groaned the King. "God has abandoned me; my guardian spirit has betrayed me. I am condemned on earth, and in the world beyond the grave. I can do nothing else!"
"Yes. Here, Gelimer, here is your sharp sword."
Stooping, she tore it from the sheath which lay with the sword-belt at the foot of the steps.
"'The dead are free' is a good motto."
But Gelimer shook his head.
"Vanity. Pride of heart. Pagan sin. I am a Christian. I will not kill myself. I will bear my cross--as Christ bore His--until I sink beneath it."
Hilda flung the sword clanking at his feet and turned from him without a word.
"Where are you going? What do you mean to do?"
"Do you suppose I loved less truly and deeply and fervently than that delicate Greek child? I come, my hero and my husband."
She walked across to a building now turned into a stable, the former curia of Medenus, where, a short time before, many horses had stamped. Only Styx, the stallion, now stood in it. Hilda grasped his mane, and the wise, faithful animal followed like a lamb. The Princess went with the horse to the hut. It hung back a moment before following her into the narrow inclosure, which was dimly lighted by a pine torch in an iron ring by the door.
"Come in," Hilda said coaxingly, drawing the horse gently after her. "It will be better for you too. You will perish miserably. Your beauty and your strength have gone. And after serving love in that brave ride through the battle, the enemy shall not seize you and torment you with base labor. What says the ancient song:
"Heaped high for the heroLog on log laid they:Slain, his swift steedShared the warrior's death.And, gladly, his wife,Nay, alas! his widow.Burden of life's wearyDays sad and desolateWould she, the faithful,Bear on no farther."
"Heaped high for the hero
Log on log laid they:
Slain, his swift steed
Shared the warrior's death.
And, gladly, his wife,
Nay, alas! his widow.
Burden of life's weary
Days sad and desolate
Would she, the faithful,
Bear on no farther."
She led the stallion to the side of the lofty pile of wood, where she had laid the beautiful corpse, drew Gibamund's sword from its sheath, and, searching with her hand for the throbbing of the heart, thrust the blade into it with one powerful blow. Styx fell lifeless. Hilda threw down the blood-stained weapon.
"Oh, my love!" she cried. "Oh, my husband, my life! Why did I never tell you how I loved you? Alas! because I did not know myself--until now! Hear it, oh, hear it, Gibamund, I loved you very dearly. I thank you. Friend Teja! Oh, my all, I follow you."
And now she drew from her girdle the keen black dagger. Severing with one cut the long floating banner from its staff, she spread it over the corpse like a pall. It was so wide that it covered the whole space beside the body. Then, with the blazing torch, she lighted the lowest wood, bent over the dead Prince, again kissed the pale lips fervently, and seizing the dark weapon, which flashed brightly in the light of the flames, buried it in her brave, proud heart.
She fell forward on her face over her beloved husband, and the fire, crackling and burning, seized first the scarlet banner which enfolded the young pair.
The morning breeze blew strongly through the half-open door and the chinks between the logs--and the bright flames soon blazed high above the roof.
Procopius to Cethegus:
It is over! Thank God, or whoever else may be entitled to our gratitude. Three months, full of utter weariness, we remained encamped before the mountain of defiance. It is March; the nights are still cool, but at noonday the sun already burns with scorching heat. An attempted flight was baffled by treachery; Verus, Gelimer's chancellor and closest friend, deserves the credit of this base deed. Obeying the priest's directions we sought the Soloes concealed on the southern slope who were to accompany the fugitives to the sea, but found only the prints of numerous hoofs. We blocked the outlet. Then the King voluntarily, without any farther trouble, offered to surrender. Fara was greatly delighted; he would have granted any condition that enabled him to deliver the King a captive to Belisarius, who was even more impatient for the end of the war than we. At the entrance of the ravine, which we had never been able to penetrate, I received the little band of Vandals--about twenty were left. The Moors, too, came down; at Gelimer's earnest entreaty, Fara immediately set them at liberty. These Vandals--what images of misery, famine, privation, sickness, suffering! I do not understand how they could still hold out, still offer resistance. They could scarcely carry their arms, and willingly allowed us to take them.
But when I saw and talked with Gelimer--crushed though he is now--I realized that this man's mind and will could control, rule, support others as long as he desired. I have never seen any human being like him,--a monk, an enthusiast, and yet a royal hero.
I entreated Fara to let me shelter him in my tent. While we could scarcely restrain the others from immoderately greedy indulgence in meats and other foods of which they had long been deprived, he voluntarily continued the fast so long forced upon him. Fara with difficulty induced him to drink some wine; the Herulian probably feared that his prisoner would die on the way, before he could deliver him to Belisarius. For a long time he refused; but when I suggested that he was probably seeking death in this way, he at once drank the wine and ate some bread.
Long and fully, for nearly half the night, he talked with me, full of gentle submission, concerning his destiny. It is touching, impressive, to hear him attribute everything to the providence of God. But I cannot always follow his train of thought. For instance, I remarked that, after holding out so long, the baffled attempt to escape had probably caused the sudden resolution to surrender. He smiled sadly and replied: "Oh, no. Had our flight been frustrated by any other reason, I would have held out unto death. But Verus, Verus!" He was silent, then he added: "You will not understand it. But now I know that God has abandoned me, if He was ever with me. Now I know this, too, was sin, was hollow vanity, that I loved my people so ardently that from pride in the Asding blood, in our ancient warlike fame, I would not yield, would not surrender. We must love God alone, and live only for Heaven!"
Just at that moment Fara broke into the tent somewhat rudely.
"You have, not kept your promise. King!" he cried wrathfully. "You agreed to deliver up all the weapons and field flags, but the most important prize,--Belisarius specially urged me to look to it, for he saw it rescued from the battle, and I myself noticed it in a woman's hand a short time ago, when we made the attack,--King Genseric's great banner, is missing. Our people, I myself, guided by Vandals, have searched everywhere on the mountain; we found nothing except, among the ashes of a burned hut, with some bones, these gold nails,--the Vandals say they belonged to the pole of the banner. Did you burn it?"
"Oh, no, my Lord, I should not have grudged you and Belisarius the bauble; a woman did it Hilda. She killed herself. O God, I beseech Thee for her: forgive her!" And this is not hypocrisy. I hardly understand it. Yet these strange events force upon me thoughts which usually I would willingly avoid. Whoever has once meddled with philosophy--I shun it, but carry it ever in my brain--will never again escape the questioning concerning the Why?
Lucky accidents have always happened in the destinies of men; but whether any enterprise has ever been attended with such good fortune as ours is doubtful. Belisarius himself marvels. Five thousand horsemen,--for our foot-soldiers scarcely entered the battle,--strangers who, after they were put on shore, had no refuge, no citadel, possessed no spot of ground in all Africa except the soil on which they stood, did not know where they were to lay their heads,--five thousand horsemen, in two short conflicts, against ten times their number, destroyed the kingdom of the terrible Genseric, took his grandson prisoner, seized his royal citadel and royal treasures! It is incomprehensible. If I had not witnessed it myself, I would not have believed it. After all, is there a God dwelling in the clouds who wonderfully guides the destinies of men?
Belisarius's generalship, and our brave, battle-trained army did much; something, though not a large share, was accomplished, as now appears, by Verus's long-planned treachery, carried out to the end. Without our knowledge, he has corresponded all this time with the Emperor, and especially with the Empress. The most was due to the degeneracy of the people, except the royal House, which lost three men in the struggle. The incomprehensible, contradictory nature of this King also contributed to the destruction. Yet all these things would not have produced the result so speedily, but for the unexampled good fortune which has attended us from the beginning.
And this luck--is it blind? Is it the work of God, Who desired to punish the Vandals for the sins of their forefathers and for their own? It may be so. And not without reverence do I bow to such a rule. But--and here again the mocking doubt which never entirely deserts me, again rises in my mind--then we must say that God is not fastidious in His choice of tools, for this Gelimer and his brothers are hardly surpassed in virtue by Theodora, Justinian, Belisarius himself; perhaps, O Cethegus, not even by the friend who has written you these lines.
The day after Gelimer's surrender Fara's camp was broken up and the train of victors and captives began the march to Carthage. Couriers were despatched in advance to Belisarius.
At the head rode Fara, Procopius, and the other leaders on horses and camels; in the centre were led the captive Vandals, bound, for the sake of precaution, hand and foot with chains which permitted walking and even riding, but not running, and surrounded by foot-soldiers; the Hun cavalry formed the rear. So, resting at night in tents, they slowly traversed in fourteen days the road over which, in their swift pursuit, they had gone in eight.
Verus usually rode alone; he avoided the Vandals, and the Byzantines shunnedhim.
On the second day after the departure from Mount Pappua,--Fara and Procopius were far in advance,--at a turn in the road, the priest checked his horse and waited. The prisoners approached. Many a fettered hand was raised against him, many a curse was called down on his head; he neither saw nor heard. At last, holding in his manacled right hand a staff that extended into a cross, Gelimer tottered forward on foot. Verus urged his horse through the ranks of the guards, and now rode close beside him; the prisoner looked up.
"You, Verus!"
He shuddered.
"Yes, I, Verus. I waited for you here--you and this hour,--this hour which at last has come, slowly, lingeringly; this hour for which I have wished, longed, labored by prayer, by counsel and action, for which alone I have lived, suffered, struggled during years and tens of years."
"And why, O Verus, why? What injury have I done you?"
Verus uttered a shrill laugh, and reined in his horse, stopping suddenly.
Gelimer started. He had rarely seen this man smile, never had he heard him laugh aloud.
"Why? Ha! ha! You can still ask? Why? Because--But to answer this question I should have to repeat the whole story of our--the Romans', the Catholics'--sufferings from the first step which Genseric took upon this soil. Why? Because I am the avenger, the requiter of the hundred years of crime called 'the Vandal kingdom in Africa.' Hear it, ye saints in Heaven! This man--he was present when all my kindred were horribly murdered, and he asks why I have hated and, so far as I had power, destroyed him and his people?"
"I know--"
"You know nothing! For you can ask me:Why? You know, you mean, of my dying mother's curse. But this you do not know--for you had fallen senseless,--that when she hurled the curse at you I wrenched myself free from my ropes, from my martyr's stake, sprang to her into the midst of the flames, clasped her in my arms, and wished to die with her. But she thrust me back out of the fire, crying: 'Live, live and avenge me--and all your kindred--and fulfil the curse upon that Vandal and all his people!' Again I pressed forward, clasped the dying woman's hand, and swore it. Your warriors tore me away from her; I saw her fall back into the flames, and my senses failed.
"But when I recovered consciousness, I was no longer a boy--I was the avenger! I saw, heard, and felt nothing but that last clasp of my mother's hand, her glance, and my vow. And I abjured my religion--apparently. And you, miserable Barbarians, made stupid by arrogance, you believed that I had done this from cowardice, from fear of torture and the flames! Oh, how often in former years I have felt your silent, scarcely-concealed contempt, you foolish simpleton, and borne it with mortal hatred, with a fury which burned my heart. Arrogant brood of vain fools! Cowardice, fear, to you the most infamous of insults, you attributed to me without hesitation. Blind fools! As if I did not suffer more, ten times more than death in the flames, during all these years, while ruling myself, enduring without a word of explanation the scorn of the Carthaginians, the Catholics, for my apostasy; stifling every emotion of hate and wrath and hope in my heart, that you might not perceive them, wearing an outward semblance of stone, while my whole soul was seething with fury, to serve you, to conduct your blasphemous service of God as your priest, bearing your insufferable boasting! For you Germans, without boasting aloud (your loud braggart is easily endured, we despise him), are silent boasters. You walk over the earth as if you must constantly crush something; you throw back your heads as if you were greeting and nodding to your ancestors in heaven: 'Yes, yes, the world belongs to us!' And that you do not know and feel it, while you are insulting us mortally by such conduct, because it is a matter of course--is the most unbearable thing about it. Oh, how I hate you!" He struck with his whip at the figure walking by his side, who received the blow, but did not seem to feel it. "You Barbarians, who, a few generations ago, were cattle-thieves on the frontier of our empire, whom we slaughtered, enslaved, threw to the beasts by hundreds of thousands,--naked, starving beggars who gratefully picked up the crumbs flung to them by Roman generosity,--hence with you all, all, you wolves, you bulls, you bears, whom only bestial strength and God's permission--as a punishment for our sins--allowed to break into the Roman Empire! Hence with you!" He again raised his whip to strike, but seeing a Herulian warrior's eye fixed threateningly upon him, he lowered his arm in embarrassment.
Gelimer remained silent, except for frequent sighs.
"And your conscience?" he now said very gently. "Has it never rebuked you? I since escaping the lion--I have trusted you entirely, I laid my heart in your hands, you became my confessor; did you feel no shame then?"
A scarlet flush dyed the priest's pallid face for an instant, but it passed like a flash of lightning. The next moment he answered:
"Yes! So foolish was my heart--often. Especially at first. But," he went on wrathfully, "I always conquered this weakness by saying to myself whenever I felt it, and your insulting arrogance made me feel it daily (oh, that Zazo! I hated him most of all): They deem you so base that, in the presence of the dead bodies of all your kindred, you abjured your faith! These insolent, incredibly stupid Barbarians--but it is arrogance, even more than stupidity--believe that you, you, the son of these parents, could really be devoted to them, could forget your martyrs, to serve them and their brutal, imperious splendor. They think that you can be so inconceivably base! Avenge yourself, punish them for this unbearable presumption! Oh, hate, too, is a joy, the hatred of nation for nation! And so long as a drop of blood flows in the veins of other nations, you Germans must be hated, unto death, until you are trampled under foot."
He dealt a heavy blow with his clenched fist upon the uncovered head of the tottering King. Gelimer did not look up, did not even start.
"What threat are you muttering in your beard?" asked Verus, bending toward him.
"I was only praying, 'As we forgive our debtors.' But perhaps that, too, is vanity, sin. Perhaps--you are not my debtor. Perhaps you are really," again he shuddered, "my angel, whom God sends, not to protect me, as I supposed in my vanity, but in punishment."
"I was not yourgoodangel," laughed the other.
"But--if I may ask--?"
"Ask on! I want to enjoy this hour to the utmost."
"If you hated me so bitterly, desired to avenge your mother on me, why did you carry on this game for so many long years? Often and often,--when I lay helpless in the lion's power, you might have killed me, so why--?"
"A stupid question! Have you not understood even yet? Fool! True, I hated you, but even more--your nation. To kill you had its charm. And I struggled sorely with my hate at that time, in order not to kill you instead of the lion."
"I saw that."
"But I perceived: here, in this man, lives the soul of the Vandal people. To raise him to the throne, and then rule him, is to rule his people. If I should kill him now, I should drive Hilderic to a secret treaty with Constantinople. Zazo, Gibamund, others, will resist long and bravely. But if this man, who, above all, could save his people, should become king, and then, as king, be in my power, his countrymen will be most surely lost. If it should become necessary to kill him, an opportunity can probably always be found. Far better than to murder him is through him to rule--and ruin--the Vandal nation!"
Then Gelimer groaned aloud and, staggering, involuntarily caught at the horse's neck for support. Verus thrust his hand aside; he stumbled and fell on the sand, but instantly rose and pursued his way.
"Did the priest strike you. King?" cried the Herulian, threateningly.
"No, my friend."
But Verus went on:
"Hilderic must be removed from the throne, for he would not implicitly obey my will. He demanded all sorts of indulgences for the Vandals, and Justinianus was ready to grant them. But I desired not only to make Gelimer and his Vandals subjects of the Emperor,--I wanted to destroy them. Your rough brother discovered my intercourse with Pudentius; if I had been searched at that time, if Pudentius's letter had been found, all would have been lost. Instead, I gave it to him; I betrayed his hiding-place, but I knew he was already outside the walls, mounted on my best racer.
"The King and you both entered the trap of my warnings. I rejoiced at your readiness to believe in Hilderic's guilt, because you--desired it; because with secret, though repressed eagerness, you longed for the crown. Even though you dethroned Hilderic in good faith, how alert, how ardent you were to secure the throne! I aided, I saw you strike down poor Hoamer, who was perfectly right when he denied Hilderic's purpose of murder. You called the duel a judgment of God, you believed you thereby served Heaven's justice, and you served only your own lust for power and, through it,me! Your passion--stimulated by Satan, not God--gave you the impulse, the swift strength of arm, to which Hoamer instantly succumbed. It was a devil's judgment, a victory of hell, not a decree of God. Now I became your chancellor; that is, your destroyer. I quarrelled openly with the Emperor; I negotiated secretly with the Empress. I sent your fleet to Sardinia, after learning the day before that Belisarius had set sail with his army. After the battle of Decimum, I advised you to shut yourself with your troops in Carthage. The game would then have been over six months earlier, but this one move failed,--you would not accept my counsel. I was obliged to guard against Hilderic's vindicating himself, so I took out of the chest before I let Hilderic search it, the warning letter, which I had dictated. But I could permit no scion of Genseric's race to live: Justinian would have received your two captives with honors after the victory of Belisarius! I had them killed by my freedman and secured his escape. But you--I had long reserved it for the hour of your greatest supremacy, in case of the most extreme peril of our plans--you I crushed at the right moment by the revelation that you had dethroned Hilderic without cause and then murdered him. But my mother's curse and my oath would not be fulfilled until you walked in chains as Justinian's captive.
"Therefore, to prevent your escape, I shared all the suffering, all the privations, of these last three months. Letters from King Theudis, directly after the battle of Decimum, had offered you rescue through the coast tribes by the galleys of the Visigoths. You never saw those letters; I suppressed them. Not until deliverance really beckoned, when you already stretched your hand toward it, did I strip off the mask to destroy you utterly. Now I shall see you kiss Justinian's feet in the hippodrome at Constantinople; this is the final consummation of my mother's curse, my oath, and my people's vengeance."
He ceased, his face glowing, his eyes flashing down at the prisoner.
Gelimer stooped and kissed the shoe in Verus's stirrup.
"I thank you. So you are God's rod which struck and felled me. I thank God and you for every blow, as I thanked God and you when I believed you to be my guardian spirit. And if, meanwhile, you have committed any sin against me, against my people,--I know not how to express it,--may God forgive you, as I do."
Procopius to Cethegus:
HE went all the way to Carthage on foot, declining horse or camel, remaining silent or praying aloud in Latin, no longer in the Vandal language. Fara offered him suitable garments instead of the worn, half-tattered purple mantle which he had on his bare body. The captive declined, and asked for a penitent's girdle, with sharp points on the inside, such as the hermits wear in the desert. We did not know how to obtain such crazy gear, and Fara probably disapproved the wish, so the "Tyrant" himself made one from a cast-off horse-bridle which he found and the hard, sharp thorns of the desert acacia. Close to the gate of his capital, his strength failed, and he fell, face downward, in the road. Verus stopped behind him, hesitating. I believe he meant to set his foot on the King's neck; but Fara, who probably had the same suspicion, roughly pushed the priest forward, and raised the monarch with kind words. Directly beyond the Numidian gate, in the spacious square in the Aklas suburb, Belisarius had assembled the larger portion of his army, filling three sides; the fourth, facing the gate, remained open. Opposite the entrance, on a raised seat, the General, in full armor, sat throned; above his head rose the imperial field standards; at his feet lay the scarlet flags and pennons of the Vandals which we had captured by the dozen; every thousand had them. Only the great royal banner was missing; it was never found. Around Belisarius stood the leaders of his victorious bands, with many bishops and priests, then the Senators, aristocratic citizens of Carthage and the other cities, some of whom had returned from exile or flight during the past few months; Pudentius of Tripolis and his son were among them, rejoicing. To the left of Belisarius, on purple coverlets at his feet, lay heaped and poured in artistic confusion the royal treasure of the Vandals: many chairs of solid gold, the chariot of the Vandal Queen, a countless multitude of treasures of every description,--how the jewels glittered under the radiant African sun,--the whole silver table service of the King, weighing many thousand pounds, and all the rest of the paraphernalia of the royal household, besides weapons, countless weapons from Genseric's armories; old Roman banners, too, which, after a captivity of years, were again released; weapons enough in the hands of brave men to conquer the whole globe; Roman helmets with proudly curved crests, German boar and buffalo helmets, Moorish shields covered with panther skins, Moorish fillets with waving ostrich plumes, breastplates of crocodile skin,--who can enumerate the motley variety? But at the right of Belisarius, with their hands bound behind their backs, stood the prisoners of the highest rank, men, and also many women, beautiful in face and figure,--the whole picture, however, was inclosed, as though in an iron frame, by our squadrons of horsemen and the dense ranks of our foot-soldiers. How the horses neighed; how the plumes in the helmets waved; how the metal clanked and glittered with dazzling brightness! A magnificent spectacle which must fill with rapture the heart of every man who did not view it as a captive. Behind our warriors crowded eagerly the populace of Carthage, taught by many a blow with the handle of a spear that it had nothing to say, and bore no part in this celebration of its own and Africa's deliverance.
Our little procession stopped within the vaulted gateway, awaiting a preconcerted signal. A tuba blared; Fara and I, followed by some subordinate officers and thirty Herulians, rode into the square to Belisarius's throne. He commanded us to dismount, rose, embraced and kissed Fara, and hung around his neck a large gold disk,--the prize of victory for bringing as prisoner a crowned King. Then he pressed my hand and asked me to accompany him in all future campaigns. This is the highest reward I could receive, for I love this man who has the courage of a lion and the heart of a boy!
At a signal we took our places on the right and left of the throne. Two blasts of the tuba. Clad in the richest vestments of the Catholic priesthood,--I noticed that even the narrow Arian tonsure had been changed to the broader Catholic one,--Verus came from the gateway into the square, his figure drawn up to its full height, his head thrown back proudly. He was evidently thinking: "But for me you would not be here, you arrogant soldiers." Yet that is by no means true; we really should have conquered without him, though more slowly, with more difficulty. And in the degree to which it was correct--just so far it irritated my friend Belisarius. His brow contracted, and he scanned the approaching priest with a look of contempt which the latter could not endure. When he bowed he lowered his lashes--arrogantly enough. "I have a letter from the Emperor to read to you, priest," said Belisarius. He extended his hand for a purple papyrus roll, kissed it, and began:
"Imperator Cæsar, Flavius Justinianus, the devout, fortunate, glorious victor and triumphator, at all times Augustus, conqueror of the Alemanni, Franks, Germans, Antæ, Alani, Persians, now also the Vandals, Moors, and Africa, to Verus the Archdeacon.
"'You have preferred, instead of dealing with me, to conduct a secret correspondence with the Empress, my hallowed consort, concerning the fall of the Tyrant to be consummated, with God's assistance, by our arms. She promised you, if we conquered, to ask me for the reward you desired. Theodora does not intercede with Justinian in vain. After proving that you had only apparently adopted the faith of the heretics, while in your heart, and also to your Catholic confessor, who was authorized to grant you dispensation for that external semblance of sin, you had always been faithful to the true religion, you are recognized, having secretly received the Catholic consecration, as an orthodox priest. So I command Belisarius, immediately on the receipt of this letter, to proclaim you at once Catholic Bishop of Carthage.'--Hear, all ye Carthaginians and Romans: in the Emperor's name, I proclaim Verus Catholic Bishop of Carthage, and will put on the Bishop's mitre and deliver the Bishop's staff. Kneel, Bishop."
Verus hesitated. He seemed to wish to receive the gold-embroidered mitre standing; but Belisarius held it so low, so close to his own knees, that the priest could do nothing but submit, if the desired ornament and his head were to meet. The instant he felt it covered, he sprang up again. Belisarius now placed in his hand the richly gilded, crooked shepherd's staff. Then the Bishop, holding himself haughtily erect, was about to move to the right of the throne.
"Stop, Reverend Bishop," cried Belisarius, "the Emperor's letter is not yet finished." And he read on:
"'So the desired reward is yours. But Theodora, as you have learned, does not intercede with Justinian in vain; so I will also fulfil her second request. She thinks so bold and so crafty a man would be too dangerous in the bishopric of Carthage; you might serve your new master as you did the old one. Therefore she entreated me to have Belisarius, immediately on receipt of this message, seize you,'"--at a sign from the General, Fara, with the speed of lightning and with evident delight, laid his mailed right hand heavily on the shoulder of Verus, whose face blanched,--"'for you are exiled for life to Martyropolis on the Tigris, upon the frontier of Persia, as far as possible from Carthage. The Empress's confessor, whom she desires to have transferred from Constantinople to Carthage, will manage the affairs of the bishopric as your Vicarius, with the consent of the Holy Father in Rome. There are penal mines in Martyropolis. During six hours in the day you will care for the souls of the convicts. That you may be better able to do this, by thoroughly understanding their state of feeling, you will, during the other six hours, share their labor.' Away with him!"
Verus tried to answer, but already the tuba blared loudly again, and, before it sounded for the third time, six Thracians had hurried the priest far away from the square, and disappeared in the street leading to the harbor.
"Now summon Gelimer, the King of the Vandals," said the General, loudly.
And from the gateway into the square came Gelimer, his hands fettered with a chain of gold. One of the numerous pointed crowns found in the royal treasure had been pressed upon his long tangled locks, and over his ragged old purple mantle and penitent's girdle was flung a magnificent new cloak of the same royal stuff. He had submitted to everything unresistingly, motionless and silent, only at first he had objected to the crown; then he said gently, "Be it so--my crown of thorns." In the same unresisting, unmoved silence he now, like a walking corpse, crossed with slow, slow steps the space,--possibly three hundred feet,--which separated him from Belisarius. While, at the mention of his name, a loud whisper, mingled with occasional exclamations, had run through the ranks, all the many thousands were silent now that they saw him: scorn, triumph, curiosity, vindictiveness, pity no longer found any expression; they were silenced by the majesty of this spectacle, the majesty of utter misery.
The captive King crossed the square entirely alone. No other prisoner, not even a guard or warrior accompanied him. He kept his eyes, shaded by long lashes, fixed upon the ground; they were sunk deep in their sockets; his pale cheeks, too, were deeply sunken; the thin fingers of his right hand were clenched around a small wooden cross. Blood--visible when the mantle slipped back in walking--was trickling from his girdle, down his naked limbs, in slow drops upon the white sand of the square.
All were silent; a deathlike stillness pervaded the wide space; the people held their breath until the hapless King stood before Belisarius.
Deeply moved, the Roman General, too, found no words, but kindly extended his right hand to the man before him. Gelimer now raised his large eyes, saw Belisarius in all the glitter of gold and armor, glanced quickly around the three sides of the square, beheld the magnificence and pomp of warlike splendor, the victors' banners fluttering high in the air, on the ground the standards and sparkling royal treasure of the Vandals. Suddenly--we all started as this corpse burst into such wild emotion--he flung both hands, with their long gold chain, above his head, clasping them so that the metal clashed; the cross slipped from his grasp; he uttered a shrill, terrible laugh.
"Vanity!Allis vanity!" he shrieked, and threw himself prone upon the sand just at the feet of Belisarius.
"Is this illness?" whispered the General to me.
"Oh, no," I answered in the same tone. "It is despair--or piety. He thinks that life is not worth living; everything human, everything earthly, even his people and his kingdom are sinful, vain, empty. Is this the last word of Christianity?"
"No, it is madness!" cried Belisarius the hero. "Up, my brave warriors! Let the tubas blare again, the Roman tubas which echo through the world! To the harbor! To the ships! And to the triumph--to Constantinople!"