Heralds, with blasts of the tuba, announced the invitation throughout the whole spacious building, and, thanks to the admirable arrangements and the great number of exits, the arena was very quickly emptied. The thousands of spectators, amid the music of flute-players, now moved in a stately procession to the neighboring Amphitheatre.
This was an oval building, the axis of its inner ellipse measuring two hundred and forty feet. The plan resembled that of the Circus, an outer wall in two stories of arches, each story adorned with statues and pillars. Here, too, from the oval arena, the rows of seats ascended in steps divided by vertical walls, separated into triangles by the stairs leading to the exits, or vomitories.
The host and his most distinguished guests were assigned places in the raised gallery on the podium directly adjoining the arena, formerly occupied by the Senators of Carthage.
The Amphitheatre had a subterranean connection with the adjacent lake. From the grated cellars, concealed by curtains, the mingled cries of various animals greeted the entering spectators. Often the snarls and yells partially died away, and a mighty, ominous howl, or rather roar, rose from the farthest cellar, dominating the voices of the smaller beasts, which sank into silence, as if from fear.
"Are you afraid, my little bird?" asked Thrasaric, who was leading his bride by the hand. "You are trembling."
"Not of the tiger," she answered.
When the seats of honor were occupied, Thrasabad again appeared before them, and, bowing, said: "The Roman emperors long ago prohibited contests between gladiators and fights between animals. But we are not Romans. True, our own kings--especially our present sovereign, King Gelimer--repeated the command--"
"If he should hear of this!" interrupted Thrasaric, in a tone of warning.
"Pshaw! He is not expected here until tomorrow morning. Even if he returns sooner--he is now staying in the Capitol; it is two full leagues distant. The noise of the festival will not reach there for a long time; and we shall not tell him to-morrow."
"And the gladiators?"
"Nor they either. Dead men do not gossip. We will keep them fighting until none are left to betray us."
"Brother, that is almost too--Roman!"
"Ah, only the Romans knew how to live; our bear-like ancestors, at the utmost, only how to die. Do you suppose I have studied merely theversesof the Romans? No, I boast of vying with them in their customs. Speak, Gundomar; shall we fear King Gelimer?"
"We Vandal nobles will allow ourselves to be denied nothing that gives us pleasure. Let him try to keep us away from here!"
"And at my brother's wedding an exception is permitted, nay, required. So I will feast your eyes with old Roman 'hunts' and old Roman gladiatorial combats."
Roars of applause greeted this announcement. Thrasabad disappeared to give his orders.
"It is easy to say where he obtained the animals," remarked Gundomar. "Africa is their breeding-ground. But the gladiators?"
"He told me the secret," replied Modigisel. "Some are slaves; some are Moors captured in the last expedition. The white sand of the arena will soon be stained crimson."
"How I shall rejoice!" panted Astarte, who rarely spoke. Modigisel looked at her with an expression almost of horror.
"Gladiators!" cried Thrasaric, wrathfully. "Eugenia, do you want to go away?"
"I will shut my eyes--and stay. Only let me remain with you! Do not send me from you--I beseech!"
The roll of drums was heard, and a cry of astonishment from thousands of voices filled the Amphitheatre. The arena suddenly divided, moving to the right and left, in two semi-circles which, drawn sideways, disappeared in the walls. Twenty feet below, a second space, covered with sand, appeared, and over this poured from every direction, foaming and dashing, a flood of seething water. The bottom was swiftly transformed into a lake. Then two wide gateways at the right and left opened, and toward each other swept, fully manned and equipped for battle, two stately war-ships with lofty masts. These vessels, it is true, carried no sails, for there was no wind in the walled enclosure, but they were supplied with archers and slingers.
"Aha! a naumachia! A naval battle! Capital! Glorious!" shouted the spectators.
"Look, a Byzantine trireme!"
"And a Vandal corsair ship! How the scarlet flag glows!"
"And above it, at the mast-head, the golden dragon."
"The Vandal is attacking! Where are the rowers?"
"Out of sight. They are working under the deck. But above--look, in front, on the prow, stand the crew with spears and axes uplifted!"
"See, the Byzantine is going to ram. He is dashing forward with tremendous force."
"Look at the sharp spur close to the water line!"
"But the Vandal is turning swiftly. The ship has escaped the shock. Now the spears are flying."
"There! A Roman falls on the deck. He doesn't stir."
"A second is flung overboard. He is still swimming--"
"He is throwing his arms out of the water--"
"There he sinks."
"The water around him is stained with blood," said Astarte, bending eagerly forward.
"Let me go! oh, let me go, and come with me!" pleaded Eugenia.
"Child, not now; you must stay now. I must see this," replied Thrasaric.
"Now the Vandal is alongside of the Byzantine."
"They are leaping across--our men. How their fair locks fly! Victory, victory to the Vandals!"
"Why, Thrasaric! They are only slaves in disguise."
"No matter! They bear our flag. Victory, victory to the Vandals! But look, there is a terrible hand-to-hand conflict--man to man! How the shields crash! How the axes glitter! Alas! the Vandal leader is falling! Oh, if I were only on that accursed Roman ship!"
"There! Another Vandal falls! More Romans are coming up from the lower deck. Alas! That is treachery!"
"The Romans have the superior force. Two more Vandals have fallen."
"They lured our men on board by stratagem."
"Brother! Thrasabad! Where are you?"
"On a boat over yonder, beside the two ships," cried Glauke, full of terror.
"It is no use! The Vandals are overpowered; they are leaping into the water!"
"The others on the Roman ship are bound."
"The Romans are throwing fire into our ship. It is burning!"
"The mast is blazing brightly."
"The helmsman and rowers are jumping overboard."
"Where is Thrasabad?"
Mercury again appeared in the podium.
"Look you, brother, that is a bad omen," said Thrasaric.
Thrasabad shrugged his shoulders.
"The fortune of war. I did not allow myself to interfere. No agreement was made about the result. Five Romans and twelve Vandals are dead. Away, away with the whole! Vanish, sea!"
He waved the Hermes staff; the water sank rushing into the depths, with the corpses it had swallowed. The Roman ship, amply manned and obeying her helm, succeeded, by rowing powerfully to the right, in passing through the gate by which it had entered. The empty, burning, unguided Vandal vessel was drawn into the seething, whirling funnel; it turned more and more swiftly on its own axis; the water dashed over the deck, extinguishing the flames as far as it reached them; the mast leaned farther and farther to the right, still blazing brightly. Suddenly it fell completely over on the right side and disappeared in the abyss. Gurgling, whirling, and foaming, the rest of the water followed.
"The sea has vanished!" cried Thrasabad. "Let the desert and its monsters, warring with each other, appear in its place!"
And at the height of the former flooring, far above the level of the sea, the two halves of the arena, covered with white sand, were again pushed together from the right and left. Slaves, clad only with aprons--fair-skinned ones, yellow-complexioned Moors, and negroes--appeared in countless numbers and drew back the curtains which covered the gratings of the cages containing the wild animals.
"We will present to you--" Thrasabad cried amid the breathless silence.
But his voice died away; the terrible roar, which had either ceased or been drowned during the tumult of the naval battle, again echoed through the Amphitheatre, and a huge tiger leaped with such force and fury from the back of its tolerably long cage against the grating in front that its bars bent outward, splinters of the wood in which they were imbedded were hurled into the arena.
"Brother," said Thrasaric, in a low tone, "that cage is too long. Take care! The animal has too much space to run. And the wooden floor is rotten. Are you afraid, Eugenia?"
"I am withyou," the young bride answered quietly. "But I want to know no more about men fighting--dying. I did not look at them."
"Only at the end, little sister-in-law, a captive Moor."
"Where did you get him?" asked Modigisel.
"Hired, like most of the others, from a slave-dealer. But this one is sentenced to death."
"Why?"
"He strangled his master, who was going to have him flogged. He is a handsome, slender fellow, but very obstinate; he will name neither his tribe nor his father. The brother and heir of the murdered man offered him to me cheap for the naumachia, and if he survived--for the tiger. He could not be induced, no matter how many blows he received, to fight in the naval battle. His master was obliged to bind him hand and foot behind the scenes. Well, he will probably be compelled to fight when he stands fully armed in the arena, and we let loose the tiger; it has been kept fasting for two days."
"Oh, Thrasaric, my husband! My first entreaty--"
"I cannot help you, little bird! I promised to let him rule without interference to-day; and one's word must be kept, even though it should lead to folly and crime."
"Yes," whispered Modigisel, bending forward. "One's word must be kept. When shall we throw the dice?"
Thrasaric sprang up in fury.
"I will kill you--"
"That will be useless. Astarte knows it. Keep your word! I advise you to do it. Or to-morrow all the Vandal nobles shall know what your honor and faith are worth."
"Never! I will sooner kill the child with my own hands."
"That would be as dishonorable as if I should slay the horse from envy. Keep your word, Thrasaric; you can do nothing else."
Then a glance from Eugenia rested on Modigisel. She could not have understood anything; but he was silent.
"But when you have her," Astarte murmured under her breath to her companion, "you will set me wholly free?"
"I don't know yet," he growled. "It doesn't look as if I should win her."
"Set me free!" Astarte repeated earnestly.
It was meant for an entreaty, but the tone conveyed so sinister a threat that the nobleman gazed wonderingly into her black eyes, in whose depths lurked an expression which made him afraid to say no. He evaded an answer by asking rudely: "What is there in the giant that attracts you as a magnet draws iron?"
"Strength," said Astarte, impressively. "He could wrap you around his left arm with his right hand."
"Iwas strong enough, too," replied the Vandal, gloomily. "Africa and Astarte would suck the marrow out of a Hercules."
The whispering was interrupted by Thrasabad, who now, the tiger being silent, addressed the audience: "We will have brought out to fight before you six African bears from the Atlas, with six buffaloes from the mountain Valley of Aurasia! a hippopotamus from the Nile, and a rhinoceros; an elephant and three leopards, a powerful tiger--do you hear him? Silence, Hasdrubal, till you are summoned--with a man in full armour, who has been condemned to death."
"Aha! Good! That will be splendid!" ran through the Amphitheatre.
"And lastly,--as I hope Hasdrubal will be the victor,--the tiger will fight all the survivors of the other conflicts, and a pack of twelve British dogs."
Loud shouts of delight rang through the building.
"I thank you!" replied the director of the festival. "But we cannot live by gratitude alone. Your Mercury also desires nectar and ambrosia. Before we witness any more battles, let us enjoy a light luncheon, some cool wine, and a graceful dance. What say you, my friends? Come, fair Glauke!"
Without waiting for an answer--he seemed to be tolerably sure of it, and it came in the form of still more vehement applause--he again waved his staff. The heavy stone walls, separating the podium and the higher rows of seats from the arena and the lower rows, sank and were transformed into sloping stone steps that led down to the arena, into which at the same time invisible hands lifted long tables, hung with costly draperies and set with magnificent jugs, vessels, and goblets of gold and silver, and large shallow dishes filled with choice fruit and sweet cakes. In the centre of the arena rose an altar, its three steps thickly garlanded with wreaths of flowers, the top crowned by a figure closely wrapped in white cloths. From the sides of the building a hundred Satyrs and Bacchantes flocked in, who instantly began a pantomimic dance of pursuit and flight, whose rhythm was accompanied by the noisy, stirring music of cymbals and tympans from the open, wing-like sides of the Amphitheatre. Enraged by the uproar, more and more furiously roared the Hyrcanian tiger.
Many of the guests--all who had been seated in the podium--descended to the arena, helped themselves from the dishes, and ate the fruit and cakes. Gayly dressed slaves carried the refreshments to others, who had remained in the rows of seats.
As soon as the barriers between the arena and the spectators were removed, the guests passed freely to and fro, sometimes down to the arena, sometimes back to their places; nay, they even mingled in the dance of the Satyrs and Bacchantes. Many of the latter were suddenly embraced by the Vandals, who swung with them in the frantic whirl.
The confusion grew more chaotic. Cheeks glowed with a deeper crimson, fair and dark locks fluttered more wildly, and the musicians were constantly obliged to play faster to keep pace with the increasing excitement of the dancers.
Thrasabad now poured the wine most freely, for he was exhausted by his exertions, and his vanity was stirred by the applause bestowed upon his arrangements for the festival. Reclining on a soft panther-skin, in front of a low drinking-table, he drained one goblet after another.
Glauke, whom he clasped with one arm, gazed anxiously at him, but dared not utter a warning.
Thrasaric noticed her expression.
"Listen, brother," he said; "take care. The director of the festival is the only one who must remain sober. And the wine is heavy, and you know, little brother, you can't stand much because you talk too fast while you are drinking."
"There--is--no--no danger!" replied the other, already stammering the words with difficulty. "Come forth. Iris and ye gods of love!" He waved the staff; it fell from his hand and Glauke laid it by his side.
Suddenly the arched roof of the large silk tent which spanned the arena opened. A rain of flowers--principally roses and lilies--fell upon the altar, the tables, the dancers; a fragrant liquid, scarcely perceptible as a light mist, was sprinkled from invisible pipes over the arena and the seats of the spectators. All at once, breaking through a gray cloud high up at the back of the arena, appeared a sun, shedding a soft golden light.
"Helios is smiling through the shower of rain," cried Thrasabad; "so Iris is probably not far distant."
At these words the seven-striped bow, glowing magnificently in vivid colors, arched above the whole arena. A young girl, supported by golden clouds, and holding a veil of the seven hues draped gracefully about her head, flew from the right to the left high above the stage. As soon as she had vanished, the rainbow and the sun disappeared too, and while shouts of surprise still rang through the Amphitheatre, a band of charming Loves--children from four to nine years old, boys and girls--were seen floating by chains of roses from the opening of the tent to the steps of the altar. Received by slaves, who released them from the flowery fetters, they grouped themselves on the steps around the muffled figure, toward which all eyes were now directed with eager curiosity.
Then Thrasabad, still clasping Glauke, sprang from the drinking table to the altar. The Ionian had just taken a freshly filled goblet from his hand. The roars of applause which now burst forth fairly turned the vain youth's head; he staggered visibly as he stood on the highest step, dragging the struggling girl with him. "Look, brother," he called in an unsteady voice; "this ismywedding gift. In the senator's villa at Cirta--what is his name? He was burned because he clung obstinately to the Catholic faith. Never mind. I bought the villa from the fiscus; it stands on the foundations of a very ancient one, adorned with imperial splendor, superb mosaics, hunting scenes, with stags, hounds, noble horses, beautiful women under palm-trees! In repairing the cellar this statue was dug out from beneath broken columns; it is said to be more than five hundred years old,--a gem of the best period of Greek art. So my freedman says, who understands such things, an Aphrodite. Show yourself, Queen of Paphos! I give her to you, brother."
He seized a broad-bladed knife which lay on the pedestal, cut a cord, and dropped the knife again. The covers fell; a wonderfully beautiful Aphrodite, nobly modelled in white marble, appeared.
The Loves knelt around the feet of the goddess, and twined garlands of flowers about her knees. At the same moment a dazzling white light fell from above upon the altar and the goddess, brilliantly irradiating the arena, which was usually not too brightly illumined by lamps.
The acclamation of thousands of voices burst forth still more tumultuously, the dancers whirled in swifter circles, the drums and cymbals crashed louder than ever; but the sudden increase of uproar and the vivid, dazzling light also reached the open grating of the tiger's cage. He uttered a terrible roar and sprang with a mighty leap against the bars, one of which fell noiselessly out on the soft sand. No one noticed it, for another scene was taking place around the goddess on the high steps of the altar.
"I thank you, brother," cried Thrasaric. "She is indeed the fairest woman that can be imagined."
"Yes," replied Modigisel. "What do you mean, Astarte? Are you sneering? What fault can you find there?"
"That is no woman," said the Carthaginian, icily, scarcely parting her lips; "that is only a stone. Go there, kiss it, if it seems to you more beautiful than--"
"Astarte is right," shouted Thrasabad, madly. "She is right! What use is a stone Aphrodite? A lifeless, marble-cold goddess of love! She clasps her arms forever across her bosom; she cannot open them for a blissful embrace. And what a stern dignity of expression, as though love were the most serious, deadly-earnest, sacred thing. No, marble statue, you arenotthe fairest woman! The fairest woman--far more beautiful than you--is my Aphrodite here. The fairest woman in the world is mine. You shall acknowledge it with envy! I will, I will be envied for her! You shall all confess it!"
And with surprising strength he dragged the Greek, who resisted with all her power, up beside him, swung her upon the broad pedestal of the statue, and tore wildly at the white silk coverlet which, while on the ship, Glauke had thrown over her shoulders, and the transparent Coan robe.
"Stop! Stop, beloved! Do not dishonor me before all eyes!" pleaded the girl, struggling in despair. "Stop--or by the Most High--"
But the Vandal, who had lost all self-control, laughed loudly. "Away with the envious veil!"
Once more he pulled down the coverlet and the robe. Steel flashed in the light (the Ionian had snatched the knife from the pedestal), a warm red stream sprinkled Thrasabad's face, and the slight figure, already crimsoned with blood, sank at the feet of the marble statue.
"Glauke!" cried the Vandal, suddenly sobered by the shock.
But at the same moment, outside the Amphitheatre rose in a note of menace a brazen, warlike blare, dominating the loudest swell of the music,--for the dance of Satyrs and Bacchantes was still continuing,--the blast of the Vandal horns. And from the doors, as well as from the highest seats, which afforded a view of the grove, a cry of terror from thousands of voices filled the spacious building: "TheKing! King Gelimer!"
The spectators, seized with fear, poured out of all the exits.
Thrasaric drew himself up to his full height, lifted the trembling Eugenia on his strong arm, and forced his way through the throng. The voice of the director of the festival was no longer heard. Thrasabad lay prostrate at the feet of the silent marble goddess, clasping in his arms the beautiful Glauke--lifeless.
Soon he was alone with her in the vast deserted building.
Outside--far away--rose the uproar of voices in dispute, but the silence of death reigned in the Amphitheatre; even the tiger made no sound, as if bewildered by the sudden stillness and emptiness.
It was past midnight.
A light breeze rose, stirring the silk roof of the tent, and sweeping together the roses which lay scattered over the arena.
Thrasaric's guests were standing in the large open square of the grove, directly in front of the Amphitheatre they had just left, most of them with the expression and bearing of children caught by their master in some forbidden act.
Thrasaric had shaken off the last vestige of intoxication.
"The King?" he murmured in a low tone. "The hero? I am ashamed of myself." He pulled at the rose-wreath on his shaggy locks.
Gundomar, sword in hand, approached him with a defiant air.
"Fear was ever a stranger to you, son of Thrasamer. Now we must defy the tyrant. Face him as we do."
But Thrasaric made no answer; he only shook his huge head, and repeated to Eugenia, whom he had placed carefully on the ground by his side: "I am ashamed in the King's presence. And my brother! My poor brother!"
"Poor Glauke!" sighed Eugenia. "But perhaps she is to be envied."
Now the Vandal horns blared again, and nearer. The King, whose approach along the straight Street of the Legions was distinctly seen from a long distance, dashed into the square, far in advance of his soldiers. Only a few slaves bearing torches had succeeded in following him; his brothers, who had summoned a troop of horsemen, were behind with them. The King checked his snorting cream-colored charger directly in front of Thrasaric and the nobles so suddenly that it reared.
"Insubordinate men! Disobedient people of the Vandals!" he shouted reproachfully. "Is this the way you obey your sovereign's command? Do you seek to draw upon your heads the wrath of Heaven? Who gave this festival? Who directed it?"
"I gave it, my King," said Thrasaric, moving a step forward. "I deeply repent it. Punish me. But spare him who at my request directed it, my brother. He has--"
"Vanished with the dead girl," interrupted Gundobad. "I wanted to appeal to him also to support with us Gundings the cause of the nobles against the King--"
"For this hour," added Gundomar, "will decide whether we shall be serfs of the Asdings or free nobles."
"Yes, I am weary of being commanded," said Modigisel.
"We are of no meaner blood than his," cried Gundobad, with a threatening glance at the King. Already a large band of kinsmen, friends, and followers, many of whom were armed, was gathering round the Gundings.
Thrasaric was stepping into their midst to try to avert the impending conflict, but he was now surrounded by throngs of his own and his brother's slaves.
"My Lord," they cried, "Thrasabad has disappeared. What shall be done? The festival--"
"Is over. Alas that it ever began!"
"But the races in the Circus opposite?"
"Will not take place! Lead the horses out! Return them to their owners."
"I will not take the stallion until after we have thrown the dice," cried Modigisel. "Ay, tremble with rage. I hold you to your word."
"And the wild beasts?" urged a freedman. "They are roaring for food."
"Leave them where they are! Feed them!"
"And the Moorish prisoner?"
He could not answer; for while the racehorses, the stallion among them, were being led from the Circus into the square between it and the Amphitheatre, loud shouts rang from the exits of the latter.
"The Moor! The captive! He has escaped! He is running away! Stop him!"
Thrasaric turned, and saw the figure of the young Moor coming toward him. He had been bound hand and foot, and though successful in breaking the rope around his ankles, he had been unable to sever the one firmly fastened about his wrists, and was greatly impeded in forcing a way through the crowd by his inability to use his hands.
"Let him go! Let him run!" ordered Thrasaric.
"No," shouted the pursuers. "He has just knocked his master down by a blow of his fist. His master commanded it! He must die! A thousand sestertii to the man who captures him."
Stones flew, and here and there a spear whizzed by.
"A thousand sestertii?" cried one Roman to another. "Friend Victor, let us forget our quarrel and earn them together."
"Done. Halves, O Laurus!"
The fugitive now darted like an arrow straight toward Thrasaric. His lithe, noble figure came nearer and nearer. Lofty wrath glowed on the finely moulded young face. Then, close beside Thrasaric, Laurus grasped at the rope hanging from the Moor's wrists. A violent jerk, the youth fell. Victor grasped his arm.
"The thousand sestertii are ours," cried Laurus, drawing the rope toward him.
"No," exclaimed Thrasaric, snatching his short-sword from its sheath. The weapon flashed through the cord. "Fly, Moor!"
The youth was instantly on his feet again; one grateful glance at the Vandal, and he was in the midst of the race-horses.
"Oh, the stallion! My stallion!" shouted Modigisel. But the Moor was already on the back of the magnificent animal. A word in its ear, the horse sprang forward, the crowd scattered shrieking, and already Styx and his rider were flying over the road to Numidia in the sheltering darkness of the night.
"The stallion," muttered Modigisel. "That will cost me the casting of the dice for the young wife."
Thrasaric gazed after the horse in amazement. "O God, I thank Thee! I will deserve it; I will atone. Come, little one. To the King! He seems to need me."
Meanwhile the nobles and their followers had pressed forward threateningly against the King, who did not yield a step.
"We will not be ruled by you," cried Gundomar.
"We will not be forbidden to enjoy the pleasures of life!" exclaimed Modigisel. "To-morrow, whether you are willing or not, I will invite my friends. We will meet again in this arena."
"No, you will not," said the King, quietly, and taking the torch from the hand of the nearest slave he rose in his stirrups, and, with a sure aim, hurled it high over the heads of the crowd into the silk tent, which instantly caught fire and blazed up brightly. Loud roars came from the cages of the wild beasts.
"Do you dare?" shrieked Gundobad. "This house is not yours. It belongs to the Vandal nation! How dare you destroy their pleasures, merely because you do not share them?"
"And why do you not share them?" added Gundomar. "Because you are no true man, no real Vandal."
"An enthusiast--no king of a race of heroes!"
"Why do you so often tremble?"
"Who knows whether some secret sin does not burden you?"
"Who knows whether your courage will not fail when danger--"
Just at that moment, drowning every other sound, a shrill shriek of horror, of mortal fear, rang from many hundred throats; a short, exulting roar could scarcely be heard through the tumult. "The tiger! The tiger is free!" rose from the arena.
And rushing thence in a dense crowd, frantic with terror, came men, women, and children, all struggling together. Everywhere they met other throngs, and, unable to go farther, jostled, pushed, stumbled, fell, and were trampled under foot.
Above them, on the first story of the Amphitheatre, directly opposite to the King, the broken chain trailing from its collar, crouched the huge tiger, lashing his flanks with his tail, his jaws wide open, hesitating between the spur of his fierce hunger and the fear of the torches and human beings. At last hunger conquered. The beast's eyes had rested upon one of the race-horses in front of the Amphitheatre, and lingered on it as though spellbound. A throng of people surged between the animal and its prey. The leap was almost beyond its powers; but greed urged on the monster and, with a low cry, it sprang over the heads of the multitude upon its chosen victim.
All the shrieking people pressed in the same direction. The horses shied; the tiger's leap fell short; he reached the ground scarcely two feet from the racer, which broke its halter and dashed away. The tiger never repeats a spring it has missed. Hasdrubal was shrinking back, as if ashamed; but as he stretched out his right fore-paw, it fell upon warm, soft, living flesh. A child, a little girl about four years old, in the gay, spangled dress of a Love, had been torn from the side of her mother and thrown down by the fugitives. There she was, lying on her face in the soft grass, the delicate rosy flesh between her head and shoulders rising above her little white dress. The tiger thrust his paw forward and held the child down by the neck--but only for an instant. Suddenly he drew back the length of his body, uttering a roar whose fury far exceeded any previous one, for an enemy advancing on foot dared to dispute possession of his prey. The great cat gathered himself to leap, the terrible leap which must overthrow any man. But before the beast could straighten himself for the bound, his adversary thrust a Vandal sword between the yawning jaws to the very hilt, and pierced the spine.
Carried down by the impetus of the blow, the man fell for a moment on the dead tiger; but he instantly sprang up, stepped back, and lifted the stupefied child from the ground.
"Gelimer! Hail to King Gelimer! Hail to the hero!" shouted the crowd. Even the Romans joined in the acclamation. "Are you unharmed, O King?" asked Thrasaric.
"As the child," said the latter, calmly, placing the little one in the arms of its weeping, trembling mother, who kissed the hem of the white royal mantle, stained with the wild beast's blood.
Gelimer wiped his sword-blade on the tiger's soft skin and thrust it into the sheath. Then he went back to his horse and stood drawn up to his full height, leaning against its shoulder, his helmeted head held proudly erect. He had retained as king the old helmet with the wings of the black vulture (they seemed now to stir in menace), and merely added Genseric's pointed crown. A look of sorrowful contempt rested on the throng; Deep silence reigned for the moment; speech failed even the boldest of the nobles.
The King's brothers, at the head of their horsemen, now entered the square; they had witnessed the horrible incident from their saddles. Springing to the ground, they passionately clasped Gelimer's hands.
"What troubles you, brother?" asked Gibamund. "That is not the glance of the rescuer."
"O my brother," sighed Gelimer, "pity me! I feel a loathing for my people; and that is hard."
"Yes, for it is the best thing we possess," replied Zazo, gravely.
"On earth," answered the King, thoughtfully. "Yet is it not a sin to love even this earthly thing so ardently? All earthly possessions are but vanity. Is it not true of our people and our native land?--" He sank into a deep reverie.
"Wake, King Gelimer!" called a voice from the throng in friendly warning.
It was Thrasaric. The sudden change had roused his wonder. He, too, had turned to meet the tiger, but the King, who, from his seat on horseback, had seen the animal crouching to spring, anticipated him. Him--and another.
The older of the two foreigners had stood still, his spear poised to hurl.
"That was a good thrust, Theudigisel," he whispered. "But let us see how it will end. This King is losing the best moment."
And so it seemed. For meanwhile the nobles had somewhat recovered from their confusion, and, though no longer quite so insolently as before, but still defiantly enough, Gundomar stepped forward, saying: "You are a hero, O King! It was ungrateful to doubt it, but you are not easy to understand, yet we neither will nor can serve and obey even a hero as our ancestors, Genseric's bears, served him."
"It is neither necessary nor possible," Modigisel added. He attempted to lisp and drawl according to the Roman fashion, but, carried away by genuine emotion, soon forgot the affectation. "We are no longer Barbarians, like the comrades of the bloody sea-king. We have learned from the Romans to live and to enjoy. Spare us the heavy weapons. Ours, indisputably, securely ours, is this glorious country, where men can only revel, not toil. Pleasure, pleasure, and again pleasure is alone worth living for. When death comes, all will be over. So, as long as I live, I will kiss and drink, will not fight, and will--"
"Become a slave of Justinian," the King angrily interrupted.
"Pshaw, those little Greeks! They will not dare to attack us."
"Let them come! We will drive them pell-mell into the sea."
"Ah, if the kingdom were in peril--the Gundings know that honor calls them to the head of the wedge in every Vandal battle."
"But no war is threatening."
"No one is trying to quarrel with us."
"Only it pleases the Asdings to make it a pretext for ordering the noblest of the Vandals hither and thither like Moorish mercenaries or ready slaves."
"But we will no longer--We--"
Modigisel could not finish; the loud blast of a horn and the noise of galloping horses drowned his voice; a white figure on a dark charger was dashing forward at the head of several mounted men. Two torch-bearers were on the right and left, but could barely keep up with her; long golden locks were fluttering in the wind, and a large white mantle enveloped both horse and rider.
"That is Hilda," cried Gibamund.
"Yes, Hilda and war!" exclaimed the Princess, exultingly, instantly checking her snorting steed. Her eyes were blazing, and in her right hand she waved a parchment, crying: "War! King of the Vandals. And I--I was permitted to be the first to announce to you the fateful word which, like the brazen voices of the battle horns, summons you, all you Asdings, to victory and honor."
"She is glorious," said Thrasaric to Eugenia.
The bride nodded.
"A cloak," he went on. "She--Hilda--must not see me in this absurd, disgraceful guise. Lend me your cloak, friend Markomer."
Stripping off the panther-skin, and throwing down the thyrsus, he flung the brown cloak of the leader of the horsemen over his bare shoulders.
"How do you, a woman, come with such a message?" asked Gelimer, taking the parchment from her hand.
Hilda now sprang from the saddle into her husband's open arms. "Verus sends me. The swift-sailing ships which he expected have just run into the harbor. He intended to bring you this letter--the first one he received--himself. But several other important ones were immediately delivered,--some from the King of the Visigoths,--which he was obliged to translate in part from cipher. So he ordered that I should be waked. 'To wake Hilda means to wake battle,' my ancestor Hildebrand taught me," she added, laughing, with sparkling eyes.
"And in truth she came dashing among us like the leader of the Valkyries," said Thrasaric, rather to himself than to Eugenia.
"Verus of course knows nothing of that," Hilda went on. "Yet he smiled strangely as he said: 'You are the right bearer of this message and my errand to the King.' I did not linger. I bring you war, and--I feel it, O King of the Vandals--certain victory; read."
Gelimer unrolled the parchment, whose seal had been broken, and motioning to a torch-bearer, read aloud:
"'To Gelimer, who calls himself the King of the Vandals--'"
"Who is the insolent knave?" interrupted Zazo.
"Goda, formerly Governor, now King of Sardinia."
"Goda? The scoundrel! I never trusted him," cried Zazo.
"'Since, by a false accusation, you have dethroned and imprisoned King Hilderic, I refuse you allegiance, usurper. You credulous fools forgot that I am an Ostrogoth; but I never did. Almost the only one left alive in the massacre of my people, I have since thought only of vengeance. In blind confidence you gave me this governorship; but I have won the Sardinians, and shall henceforth rule this island as its sovereign. If you dare to attack me, I shall appeal, and I have received the promise of the great Emperor Justinian's protection. I would far rather serve a powerful Imperator than a Vandal tyrant.'
"Ay, this is war!" said Gelimer, gravely. "Certainly with Sardinia. Perhaps also with Constantinople, though the last letters from there spoke only of peace. Did you hear it?"--he now turned with royal dignity to the nobles. "Did you hear, you nobles and people of the Vandal race? Shall I tell the rebel, shall I write to the Emperor: 'Take and keep whatever you desire! Genseric's descendants shrink from the weight of their weapons'? Will you now continue to hold festivals in the Circus, or will you--"
"We will have war!" loudly shouted the giant Thrasaric, forcing his way swiftly through the group of nobles. "O King Gelimer, your deed, your words, the sight of this glorious woman, and that bold traitor's insolent letter have again waked in me--surely, in us all--what, alas! has slumbered far, far too long. And like the effeminate ornament of these roses,"--he snatched the wreath from his head and hurled it on the ground,--"I cast from me all the enervating, corrupting pleasures and luxuries of life. Forgive me, my King, great King and hero. I will atone. Believe me, I will make amends in battle for the wrongs I have done."
Stretching out both hands, he was bending the knee. But the King drew him to his breast:
"I thank you, my Thrasaric. This will rejoice your ancestor, the hero Thrasafrid, who now looks down upon you from heaven."
But Thrasaric, breaking from the embrace and turning to the nobles, cried: "Not I alone; I must win back all, all of you around me, to duty, to heroic deeds! Oh, if my brother were only here! Comrades, kinsmen, hear me! Will you, like me, aid the valiant King? Will you obey him? Follow him in battle loyally unto death?"
"We will! We will! To battle and death!" shouted the nobles. Modigisel's voice was louder than any of the rest. Gundomar alone hesitated a moment; then, drawing himself up to his full height, he stepped forward, saying, "I did not believe that war was threatening. I really thought it only a pretext of the over-strict King to force us from our life of pleasure to the pursuit of arms. But this Goda's insolence and the treacherous Emperor's promised aid to him are not to be borne. Now it is in truth a conflict for our kingdom. There the Gundings will stand on the shield side of the Asdings, now, as in former days and forever. King Gelimer, you are right. I was a fool. Forgive me!"
"Forgive us all," cried the nobles, surging in passionate excitement toward the King. Gelimer, deeply moved, held out both hands, which they eagerly clasped.
"Oh, Hilda," said Thrasaric, "you were waked at the right time. This is, in great measure, your work."
Before the Princess could answer, he drew Eugenia from the clump of myrtles, into which she had shyly retreated.
"Do you remember this little maid, my King? You nod? Well--I have won her for my wife. Not by force! She will say so herself; she loves me. It is hard to believe, isn't it? But she will say so herself. The priest has blessed our union in the presence of all the people. Marry us according to your ancient royal right."
The King smiled down upon the bride. "Well, then! Let this marriage be the symbol of reconciliation, the uniting of the two nations. I will--"
But a woman's haughty figure had forced a way through the crowd to Eugenia's side; a purple mantle gleamed in the red glare of the torches. Bending to the delicate, slender girl, she whispered something in her ear. Eugenia turned pale. The woman's low, hissing tones ceased, and she pointed with outstretched arm to the Numidian road, down which the stallion had vanished.
"Oh, can it be?" moaned the bride, interrupting the King's words; she tried to move away from Thrasaric's side, but her feet faltered. She sank forward fainting.
Soft arms received her. It was Hilda, the Valkyria who had just exulted so eagerly in the thought of battle. Holding the light figure to her bosom with her left arm, she extended her right hand as if to protect her against Thrasaric, who in bewilderment wished to seize her.
"Back," she said sternly. "Back! Whatever it may be that has bowed this lily's head, she shall first lift it again upon my breast and under my protection. It was a wrong not easy to forgive to celebrate a wedding with a Eugenia here in the Grove of Venus." A withering glance wandered over Astarte, without resting upon her. "Thrasaric, decide for yourself. Are you worthy to lead this bride home now, from this place?"
The giant's powerful figure trembled; his broad chest heaved; he panted for breath, then, sighing deeply, he shook his head and buried it in the folds of his cloak.
"Eugenia shall stay with me," said Hilda, gravely, pressing a kiss on the pale brow of the reviving girl. Thrasaric cast one more glance at her, then vanished in the throng.
Modigisel rushed angrily toward Astarte.
"Serpent!" he cried with no trace of lisping. "Fiend! What did you whisper in the poor girl's ear?"
"The truth."
"No! He never really, seriously meant it. And the stallion has gone to the devil; my game is over."
"Mine is not."
"But you shall not. I am ashamed of the base trick."
"I am not," she answered with a short laugh, gazing after Thrasaric.
"Obey, slave, or--"
He raised his arm for a blow. Again she threw back her beautiful head, but now so violently that the magnificent black hair burst from the gold fillets and fell over her rounded, dazzling shoulders; she closed her eyes and this time actually gnashed her beautiful little white teeth.
The Vandal dared not strike this threatening creature.
"Just wait till we reach home. There--"
"There we will make friends again," she answered, smiling, flashing a side glance at him from her black eyes. It was open mockery. But a feeling of horror stole over him, and he shuddered as if from fear.
"But grant me, my brother and my King, the joy of punishing this Goda," cried Zazo, who had long been struggling with his impatience, and could no longer control himself. "The fleet is ready to sail; let me go. Give me only five thousand picked men--"
"We Gundings will join you," cried Gundomar.
"And I will promise to force Sardinia back to allegiance in a single battle and to bring you the traitor's head."
Gelimer hesitated. "Now? Send away the whole fleet and the flower of the foot-soldiers? Now? When the Emperor may threaten us here on the mainland at any moment? This must be considered. I must consult Verus--"
"Verus?" cried Hilda, eagerly. "I forgot to tell you. Verus bade me say to you that he advised trampling out these first sparks without delay. 'I send you, Hilda,' he said with a peculiar smile, 'because I know that you will urge and fan the flame of a swift warlike expedition.' You, O King, ought at once, before you return to the Capitol, to prepare the fleet in the harbor for departure and send it to Sardinia under Zazo."
"It is prepared," cried the latter, joyously. "For three days it has been ready to meet the Byzantines. But the nearest foe is the best one. Oh, give the command, my King."
"Did Verus counsel it?" said the latter, gravely. "Then it is advisable, is for my welfare. Then, Zazo, your wish shall be fulfilled."
"Up! to the ships! to the sea! to battle!" shouted the latter, exultingly. "Up, follow me. Vandals! Tread the decks of the fame-crowned vessels again! The sea, the ocean, was ever the heaving blue battlefield of your greatest victories. Do you feel the breath of the morning wind, the strong south-southeast? It is the fair one for Sardinia."
"The god of wishes himself, who breathes in and rules the wind, is sending it to you, descendants of Genseric. Follow it; it is the breath of victory that fills your sails. To battle! To battle! On to the sea! On to the sea! On to Sardinia!" a thousand voices shouted tumultuously. Full of passionate excitement, overflowing with warlike enthusiasm, the Vandals poured out of the Grove of Venus toward Carthage and the harbor.
The Romans gazed after them in amazement; the whole living generation had never witnessed any trace of this spirit in their luxurious, effeminate rulers.
"What do you say now, my Lord?" asked the younger stranger. "Have you not changed your opinion?"
"No."
"What? Yet you saw--" he pointed to the dead tiger.
"I saw it. I heard the war-cry of the crowd too. I am sorry for the brave King and his family. Let us go to our ship. They will all be lost together."