"Dash on the foemen!Strive with and strike themDown in close combat!"
"Dash on the foemen!
Strive with and strike them
Down in close combat!"
rose in a roar from Zazo's troops, whom the latter again led to the left shore.
"They must repeatedly see the backs of the dreaded Byzantines before they have the courage to defeat them entirely," he said to Gibamund, who urged pursuit. "And where is Belisarius?"
The latter, with his five hundred horsemen, had reached the centre from Carthage just in time to see the flight of his men. When he learned that this was the second attack which had been repulsed, he ordered all his bodyguard, men trained to fight on foot as well as on horseback, to dismount and advance with Althias's Thracians for the third assault. His own special standard, the "General's banner," he commanded to be borne before them.
It was a mighty, a menacing spectacle. The tuba of the Romans blared to greet the standard of the commanding General. The Byzantines, in firmly closed ranks, advanced like a moving wall of bronze, their long lances levelled. Zazo saw that his men hesitated. "Forward! Cross the stream! On to the attack!"
He dashed on in advance of his troops. But he soon perceived that only a very few--the Gundings and their boar-helmeted kinsmen--were following. "Forward!" he commanded again. But the Vandals delayed. They felt that the rush down from the height had made their success far easier; they did not wish to leave the vantage-ground, and--they had seen Belisarius in the distance. The ranks of levelled lances, terrible, threatening, drew nearer and nearer.
"If we only had our spears!" cried voices in the ranks behind him. The Byzantines had already reached the stream; now they were wading through the marshy rivulet,--yet the Vandals on the heights did not obey the command to charge.
"Youwillnot cross?" cried Zazo, furiously. "Then youmust!" With these words he tore Genseric's dragon banner from the hand of the horseman at his right and shouting: "Bring back the standard and your honor!" he hurled it with all his strength across the stream into the midst of the Byzantines. Loud cries rose from friends and enemies.
One of the Byzantines instantly snatched the banner from the ground, raised it aloft, and was hurrying with it to Belisarius. But he did not go far. For when they saw the treasure of the kingdom in the hands of the foe, all the Vandals, on horseback and on foot, following their nobles, rushed down the slope into the stream and the midst of the enemy. By Zazo's side, on a powerful stallion, rode a strange figure,--a monk without helmet, shield, or breastplate; he wore a gray cowl and carried a sword. Breaking a passage through the hostile ranks, he reached the captor of the scarlet banner, tore it from his hand, and, with a single sword-stroke, cleft helmet and skull. It was Valerianus, the commander of the lance-bearers.
The victor swung the rescued standard high aloft, and instantly fell from his horse, pierced by five lances. But Gundobad, the Gunding, raised the banner from the hand of the sinking figure.
"Here, to the rescue," he shouted, "kinsmen of the Gundings! Here, you boars!"
Immediately his brother and the whole troop of boar helms gathered around him; the banner and its bearer were cut out for the moment. The ranks of the foe nearest to the Vandal banner wavered, yielded.
"Victory!" shouted the Vandals, pressing boldly forward, singing,--
"Forward to battle!Follow the standard,The fame-heraldedConsort of victory."
"Forward to battle!
Follow the standard,
The fame-heralded
Consort of victory."
They struck their sword-blades on their shields till the sound echoed far and wide.
"Victory!" cried Hilda, exultantly, as she witnessed the whole magnificent spectacle.
Belisarius also witnessed it from his station on the hill. "Fly," he cried to Procopius; "fly to Fara and the Herulians! They must swing to the left and take those red rags."
"And the Huns?" asked Procopius under his breath. "Look yonder; they are riding slowly forward, but not westward, not against the Vandals."
"Obey! This German war dance around the red banner must first be put to a bloody end, or their Teutonic battle fiend will take possession of them, and then all is over. My face alone will keep the Huns in check, should there be need of it."
Meanwhile the dragon banner had again changed bearers. All the lances and arrows were aimed at the dangerous emblem, visible far and wide. Gundobad's horse fell; its rider did not rise again. But his brother Gundomar took the standard from the dying noble's hand and ran the point of its shaft into the throat of Cyprianus, the second leader of the Thracians, whose battle-axe had cleft Gundobad's helmet and head as he tried to spring up from his dead charger.
Hilda had seen the red banner disappear for a moment, and anxiously gave her stallion a light blow with her hand. The fiery animal shot forward in frantic haste; not until she reached the edge of the stream could the Princess draw rein. Her companions gained the new position much later.
Althias now reached the second Gunding. Unequal, unfavorable to every bearer of the standard was the conflict. His left hand, holding the bridle and the heavy standard, could not use the shield, and this burden also impeded very considerably the action of his right arm in defence. After a short struggle Gundomar, transfixed by the Thracian's spear, sank from his horse. But Gibamund was already on the spot, and Zazo, dashing close behind him, no sooner saw the standard safe in his brother's hand than he shouted, "Belisarius has a banner too."
Turning swiftly to the left, by the mere weight of his horse he burst through a rank of the Thracians, reached Belisarius's bodyguard, who bore the gold-embroidered standard, and, with a sword-stroke through the front of the helmet into his brow, felled him. The Roman General's banner sank, while Gibamund, surrounded and protected by his band of picked warriors, waved the scarlet dragon standard high in the air.
Hilda saw it distinctly. Involuntarily she obeyed the impulse to go forward after the victory. The stallion, yielding to the lightest movement, bore her across the stream, whose water barely wet the edge of her long white robe. She was on the other side. She was pursuing victory. Before her, a little to the left, she already saw Gelimer and his troops; the whole Vandal centre was advancing. It was the crisis, the turning-point of the battle.
Again Althias tried to force his way through the Vandal ranks to Gibamund himself; he had almost reached him, and they had exchanged two whizzing sword-strokes, which made the sparks fly from their blades, when from the left cries of grief and rage fell on the Thracian's ear from the Byzantines. He turned, and saw his General's banner sink.
This was the second time; for Zazo had already struck down the second man who bore it. The victor was stretching his hand toward the shaft, which no third man seemed inclined to lift.
Just at that moment, close at hand on the right, German horns sounded in Zazo's ears. The Herulians, dashing on their snorting horses upon the Vandals' flank, broke through several of their ranks to their leader.
A spear--well aimed, for Fara had hurled it--shattered the buffalo helm on the hero's head. He could no longer think of Belisarius's banner. He was obliged to consider his own safety.
"Help, brother Gelimer!" he shouted.
"I am here, brother Zazo," rang the answer. For the King was already at hand. Slowly following the advance of the brothers, he had led his Vandals and Moors nearer and nearer, and noticed the second charge and the moment of peril.
"Forward! Cut Zazo out," he shouted, dashing upon the Herulians at the head of his men. A warrior sprang to meet him, clutched the bridle of the cream-colored charger with his left hand, and aimed his spear with the right. Before it flew, Gelimer's sword had pierced the Herulian's throat. Hilda saw it; for, as if irresistibly attracted by the battle, she rode nearer and nearer.
Just at this moment she perceived Verus in full priestly robes, unarmed, dash past her straight to the King. It was no easy task to force a passage to his side through the Moors and Vandals. Gelimer struck down a second spear-man, a third. Already he was close to Zazo. The charge of his Vandals now came full upon the Herulians. The latter did not yield, but they no longer gained a foot of ground. As two wrestlers, with arms interlocked, each unable to move the other from the spot, measure equal strength, the German warriors surged to and fro. Victory hung in the balance.
"Where are the foot-soldiers?" asked Belisarius, glancing anxiously toward the distant heights where the Numidian road extended toward Carthage.
"I have sent out three messengers," answered Procopius. "There! The Thracians are yielding! The Armenians are falling back! The Herulians are now pressed by greatly superior numbers."
"Forward, Illyrians, save the battle for me. Belisarius himself will lead you--"
And with a loud blare of trumpets, the General dashed down the hill to the aid of the Herulians. Gelimer heard the flourish, saw the charge, and summoned reinforcements from the rearguard.
"There," he shouted, pointing with his sword, "and join me in the battle-song,
"Vengeance is preparingThe avenger of right."
"Vengeance is preparing
The avenger of right."
"You here, Verus? What news do you bring? Your face is--"
"O King!" cried the priest, "what blood-guiltiness!"
"What has happened?"
"The messenger I sent to the prisoners--one of my freedmen--misunderstood your words: 'Have them taken away, where no one can free them.'"
"Well?"
"He has--he reported it to me, and fled when he saw my wrath."
"Well, what is it?"
"He has--killed Hilderic and Euages."
"Omniscient God!" cried the King, paling. "That was not my wish."
"But still more," Verus went on.
"Help, Gelimer!" Zazo's voice shouted from the densest ranks of the conflict.
Belisarius and his Illyrians had now reached him. Gibamund was by his side. Gelimer also spurred his horse.
But Verus grasped his bridle, shouting in his ear: "The letter, the warning to Hilderic--I found it just now, wedged between two drawers in the coffer. Here it is. Hilderic did not lie! He only wished to protect himself against you. Innocent--he was deposed, imprisoned, slain!"
Gelimer, speechless with horror, stared for a moment into the priest's stony face; he seemed stupefied. Then the battle-song of his men echoed in his ears:--
"Vengeance is preparingHigh in the heavensThe avenger of right!"
"Vengeance is preparing
High in the heavens
The avenger of right!"
"Woe, woe is me! I am a criminal, a murderer," the King shrieked aloud. The sword slipped from his grasp. He covered his face with both hands. A terrible convulsion shook him. He seemed falling from the saddle. Verus supported him, wheeled the King's horse so that his back was toward the foe, and gave the animal a blow on the hind quarter with all his strength. The charger dashed madly away. Sersaon and Markomer, the leaders of the cavalry, supported the swaying figure on the right and left.
"Help! help! I am being overcome, brother Gelimer!" Zazo's voice again rose,--more urgently, nay, despairingly. But it was drowned by the wild, frantic cries of the Vandals.
"Fly! fly! The King himself has fled! Fly! Save the women, the children!" And the Vandals, by hundreds, now wheeled their horses and dashed away toward the stream and the camp.
Then Hilda, now only a few paces from the tumult, saw Zazo's towering figure disappear. His horse, pierced by a spear, fell; it was bleeding from more than one wound. But the hero sprang up again.
Fara the Herulian reached him from the left, and cleft his dragon-shield with his battle-axe. Zazo flung the pieces at the helmet of the Herulian, stunning him so that he swayed in his saddle. Now Barbatus, the Illyrian leader, his long lance levelled, pressed upon Zazo from the right. With his last strength Zazo pushed it aside, sprang to the right, the shieldless side of the rider, and thrust his sword into his neck between the helmet and breastplate. Barbatus sank slowly from the saddle toward the left. But, in springing back, Zazo had fallen on his knees. Before he could rise, two horsemen with levelled lances stood before him.
"Help, Gibamund!" called the kneeling Prince, raising his left arm above his head in place of a shield. He looked around. Everywhere foes, no Vandal. Yes,--one. Yonder still waved the scarlet banner. "Help, Gibamund!" he cried.
One of his two assailants fell from his horse. Gibamund was at Zazo's side. He had struck the man under the shoulder of his upraised arm with the spear-point of the banner staff. But now Fara, who meanwhile had recovered from Zazo's blow, dropping his bridle, grasped with his left hand at the shaft of the scarlet standard. With great difficulty Gibamund defended himself with his sword against the tremendous blows the Herulian's right arm dealt with his battle-axe. And already the other horseman, in front of Zazo, bent a leonine face toward him.
"Yield, brave man. Yield to me. I am Belisarius."
But Zazo shook his head. With failing strength he sprang up, his sword raised to strike. Then the Roman General drove the point of his spear with all his force through his breastplate up to the handle.
The dying warrior cast one more glance toward the left. He saw Gibamund's white horse, covered with blood-stains, falling; he saw the scarlet banner sink. "Woe betide thee, Vandalia!" he cried, as his eyes grew dim in death.
"That was indeed a hero," said Belisarius, bending over him. "Where is Genseric's banner, Fara?"
"Gone!" replied the latter, wrathfully. "Far away. Do you see? It is already vanishing over there, beyond the stream."
"Who has--?"
"A woman. In a falcon helmet. With a shining white shield. I believe it was a Valkyria," said the pagan, with a slight shiver of fear. "It happened so swiftly I scarcely saw it. I had just struck down the young standard-bearer's horse. Just at that moment a black steed--I never saw such an animal--plunged against my own horse so that it fell back upon its haunches. I heard a cry: 'Hilda! I thank you!' At the same moment the black charger dashed far, far away from me. I think it now carried two figures! A long fluttering white mantle--or was it swan-wings?--and above floated the scarlet banner. There, now they are vanishing in that cloud of dust. 'Hilda!' the German murmured to himself. The name suits too. Yes, the Valkyria bore him away."
"Forward!" shouted Belisarius. "Follow! Over the stream! There is no longer a Vandal army. The centre is broken and defeated. Their left wing--aha, look yonder, our right wing, the faithful Huns--" He laughed grimly. "Now they are rushing from their hill, hewing down the flying Barbarians. What heroism! And how they are all struggling to reach the camp to plunder! Now, at last, our infantry have joined our left wing; there, too, the Vandals are flying without a struggle. On, to the camp! Do not let the Huns secure the whole booty. All the gold and silver for the Emperor, the pearls and precious stones for the Empress! Forward!"
Procopius to Cethegus:
I have witnessed many a battle, many a conflict of Belisarius,--usually from a very safe distance,--but never have I seen so strange an encounter. In this, which decides the fate of the Vandal kingdom, we have lost in all only forty-nine men, but solely picked warriors, and among them eight commanders. Fara, Althias, and Johannes,--all three are wounded. Yet we have not many--perhaps a hundred--wounded men, as the Vandals fought only with the sword. That yields almost as many killed as wounded. Most of our dead and wounded may be credited to the three Asdings, two noblemen in boar helmets, and an apparently crazy monk. Eight hundred Vandal corpses covered the field, by far the larger number of these fell during the flight. We have captured, sound and wounded, about ten thousand men; women and children unnumbered. In our two wings we did not lose a single warrior, except one Hun whom Belisarius was unfortunately compelled to hang. He had stuffed pockets, shoes, hair, and ears with pearls and gems which he picked up in the Vandal camp, especially in the women's tents, and which our Empress has honestly earned.
Our pursuit of the Vandals was checked only by our greed. The fallen and captive Vandals had many ornaments of gold and silver on their persons, their horses, and themselves; our heroes plundered every one before passing on. Our horsemen, who reached the camp first, did not venture, in spite of their longing to pillage, to enter it at once; they thought it impossible that a force so superior in numbers should not defend their own camp, their wives and children.
The King is said to have paused a moment as if stupefied; but when Belisarius with our whole body appeared before the tents, he exclaimed, "The avenger!" and pursued his flight toward Numidia, attended by a few relatives, servants, and faithful Moors. Now all the Vandal warriors who had reached the camp scattered in wild confusion, surrendering their shrieking children, their weeping wives, their rich possessions, without a single sword-stroke; and these men are, or were, Germans! It would be no wonder if Justinian should now try at once to liberate Italy and Spain from the Goths.
Our men dashed after the fugitives. All the rest of the day and the whole moonlight night they slaughtered the Vandals without resistance; they seized women and children by thousands to use them as slaves. Never yet have I beheld so much beauty. Nor have I ever seen such heaps of gold and silver money as in the tents of the King and the Vandal nobles. It is incredible.
Belisarius was tortured after his victory by the most terrible anxiety. For in this camp, filled to overflowing with the most beautiful women, treasures of every description, wine and provisions, the whole army forgot every trace of discipline. Fairly intoxicated with their undreamed of good fortune, they lived solely for the pleasure of the moment; every barrier gave way, every curb broke; they could not satisfy themselves. The demon of Africa, pleasure, seized upon them. They roved, singly and in couples, through the camp and its vicinity, following the track of the fugitives wherever the search for booty or revelry lured them. There was no thought of the enemy, no fear of the General. Those who were still sober, laden with treasure and driving their captives before them, tried to escape to Carthage. Belisarius says that if the Vandals had attacked us again an hour after we took possession of their camp, not a man of us all would have escaped. The victorious army, even his bodyguard, had entirely thrown off his control.
At the gray dawn of morning with the blast of the trumpets he summoned all the warriors; that is, all who were sober. His bodyguard now came hastily in deep shame. Instead of thanks and praise, he gave leaders and men a lecture such as I never before heard from his lips. We have become mere hired soldiers, adventurers, ruffians, fierce and brave, like greedy beasts of prey; well suited for bloody pursuit, like hunting leopards, but not fit to leave the captured game to the hunter or bring it in and fasten it in a cage; we must first have our share of the blood and the food. It is by no means beautiful; yet it is far more enjoyable than philosophy and theology, rhetoric, grammar, and dialectics. But the Vandal War is over, I think. To-morrow we shall doubtless capture the fugitive King.
* * * * *
I always say so. The most weighty decisions hinge upon the most trivial incidents. Or, as I express it when I am in a very poetical mood, the goddess Tyche likes to sport with the destinies of men and nations, as boys toss coins in the air and determine gain and loss by "heads" or "tails."
You, O Cethegus, have condemned my philosophy of the world's history as old wives' croaking. But judge for yourself. A bird's cry, a blind delight in hunting, a shot sent to the wrong mark, and the result is this: the Vandal King escapes when already within the grasp of our fingers; the campaign, which seemed ended, continues, and your friend must spend weeks in an extremely tiresome besieging camp before an extremely unnecessary Moorish mountain village.
Belisarius had committed the pursuit of the fugitive King to his countryman, the Thracian Althias. "I choose you," he said, "because I trust you above all others where swift, tireless action is needed. If you overtake the Vandal before he finds refuge, the war will be over tomorrow; if you permit him to escape, you will give us long-continued severe toil. Choose your own men, but do not take time to breathe by night or day until you seize the tyrant, dead or alive."
Althias blushed like a flattered girl. He took besides his Thracians several of the bodyguard and about a hundred Herulians under Fara. He asked me also to accompany him, less, probably, for the sake of my sword than my counsel. I willingly consented.
And now a flying chase, such as I had never imagined possible, began in the rear of the Vandals. Five days and five nights, almost without a pause, we pursued the fugitives; their hoofmarks and footprints in the sand of the desert were unmistakable. We gained on them more and more, so that on the fifth night we were sure of overtaking and stopping them the next day before they reached the protection of the mountain--Pappua, it is called.
But the capricious goddess did not wish to have Gelimer fall into the hands of Althias. Uliari, one of the Alemanni bodyguards of Belisarius, is a brave, strong man, but reckless, fond of drink like all Germans, and, like nearly all his countrymen, a passionate lover of the chase. He had been repeatedly punished because, while on the march, he pursued every animal that appeared. On the morning of the sixth day, just at sunrise, as we were remounting our horses after a short rest, Uliari saw a big vulture perched on a prickly bush about the height of a man, which rose alone from the desert plain. To seize his bow, snatch an arrow from the quiver, aim, and shoot was the work of a single instant. The cord twanged, the bird flew away, a cry rose. Althias, who had again dashed forward in advance of us all, fell from his horse, wounded in the back of the head under his helmet. Uliari, usually an unerring marksman, had not yet slept off his potations of the night before. Horrified by his deed, he set spurs to his horse and fled to the nearest village to seek sanctuary in its chapel.
But we were all trying to help the dying Althias, though he commanded us by signs to leave him to his fate and continue the pursuit. We could not bring ourselves to do it. Nay, when Fara and I, after our friend had died in our arms, wished to go on; his Thracians demanded with threats that the body should first be buried, otherwise the soul would be condemned to wail around the place until the Day of Judgment. So we dug a grave and interred the dead hero with every honor. These few hours decided Gelimer's escape; we could not make up the lost time. The fugitives reached their goal, the Pappua Mountains on the frontier of Numidia, whose steep, inaccessible peaks everywhere bristle with jagged rocks. The Moors who dwell here are bound to Gelimer by ties of loyalty and gratitude. An ancient city, Medenus, now a mere hamlet of a few huts on the northern crest of the mountain, received him and his train. To storm this narrow antelope path is impossible; a single man can bar the ascent with his shield. The Moors have scornfully rejected an offer of a large reward to deliver up the fugitives. So the watchword is "patience." We must pitch our tents at the foot of the mountain, bar all the outlets, and starve the people into a surrender.
That may occupy a great deal of time. And it is winter; the mountain peaks are often covered in the morning with a light snow, which, it is true, the sun soon melts when he breaks through the clouds. But he does not always break through. On the other hand, mist and rain continually penetrate the camel-skin coverings of our tents.
We are still encamped before the entrance of the mountain ravine of Pappua. We cannot get in; they cannot get out. I have seen a cat watch a mouse-hole a long time in the same way,--very tiresome for the cat. But if the hole has no other outlet, the little mouse finally either starves or runs into the cat's claws.
To-day news and reinforcements came from Carthage. Belisarius, who had been informed of the state of affairs, gave the chief command to Fara in the place of Althias. Fara and his Herulians won Belisarius's most glorious victory, in the Persian battle at Dara, when the Roman ranks were beginning to waver and only the German boldness which is nearly allied to madness could save the day. Fara left more than half his Herulians dead on the field. The General himself is marching on Hippo.
* * * * *
Fresh news--from Hippo.
Belisarius took the city without resistance. The Vandals, among them numerous nobles, fled to the Catholic churches, and left these asylums only on the assurance that their lives would be spared. And again the wind blew, literally, rich gains into our hands. The Tyrant, distrusting the fidelity of the citizens and the broken walls, had prudently removed the royal treasure of the Vandals from the citadel of Carthage, and placed it on a ship. He ordered Bonifacius, his private secretary, in case the victory of the Vandals seemed uncertain, to sail to Hispania to Theudis, the King of the Visigoths, with whom, if the kingdom fell, Gelimer intended to seek refuge, perhaps with the expectation of recovering the treasure by the aid of the Visigoths.
A violent storm drove the ship back into the harbor of Hippo, just after Belisarius had occupied it. The treasure of the Vandals, gathered by Genseric from the coasts and islands of three seas, will go into the hands of the imperial pair at Constantinople. Theodora, your piety is profitable!
Yet no; the royal treasure of the Vandals will not reach Constantinople absolutely intact. And this is due to a singular circumstance, which is probably worth relating. Perhaps, too, I may mention the thoughts which the incident aroused in my mind. Of all the nations of whom I have any knowledge, the Germans are the most foolish: these fair-haired giants blindly follow their impulses and run to open ruin. True, these impulses and delusions are in a measure honorable--for Barbarians. But the excess, the fury with which they obey their impulses, must ruin them, aided by their so-called virtues. "Heroism," as they term it, they carry to the sheerest absurdity, even to contempt of death, keeping their promises from mere obstinacy; for instance, when, in the blind excitement of gambling, they stake their own liberty on the last throw. They call this fidelity. Sometimes they manifest the most diabolical craftiness, yet they often carry truthfulness to actual self-destruction, when a neat little lie, a slight, clever manipulation of the bald truth, or even a calm silence would surely save them. All this is by no means rooted in a sense of duty, but in their tameless pride, in arrogance, in defiance; and they call it honor. The key of all their actions, their final unspoken motive is this: "Let none think, far less be able to say, that a German does or fails to do anything because he fears any man, or any number of men; he would rather rush to certain death." Therefore, no matter what any one of these stubborn fools may have set his heart upon, to go to destruction for it is "heroic," "honorable." True, they often set their hearts on their people, liberty, fame; but just as frequently on swilling,--it cannot be called drinking,--on brawling, on dice-throwing. And they pursue the heroism of swilling and gambling just as blindly as that of battle. Anything rather than to yield! If "honor" (that is, obstinacy) is once fixed upon anything,--wise or foolish,--then pursue it even to destruction. Though pleasure in the game has long been exhausted, out-drink or out-wrestle the other man; do anything but own that strength and spirit are consumed; rather die thrice over. I can speak thus, because I know these Germans. Many thousands of them--from nearly every one of their numerous tribes--have I seen in war and peace, as soldiers, prisoners, envoys, hostages, mercenaries, colonists, in the service of the Emperor, as leaders of the army, and as magistrates. I have long wondered how any Germans are left; for, in truth, their virtues vie with their vices in hastening their destruction.
Of all the nations I know, the shrewdest are the Jews, if shrewdness consists first in the art of self-preservation, and then in the acquisition and increase of worldly goods. They are the least, as the Germans are the most ready, to rush upon ruin through blind passion, through noble or ignoble impetuosity and defiance. They are the most crafty of mortals and at the same time by no means the worst. But they are clever to a degree which makes one marvel why they did not long ago rule all other peoples; something must be lacking there too.
Do you ask, O Cethegus, how in the camp of Belisarius before Mount Pappua I have attained this singular view of the much-despised Hebrews? Very simply.
They have accomplished something which I consider the most impossible. They have not plundered; by no means, not even stolen, for they steal almost less than the Christians; but they have actually talked many thousand pounds of gold belonging to the Vandal booty out of the avaricious hands of the Emperor Justinian. The Emperor Titus, after the fall of Jerusalem, brought to Rome the treasures of the Jewish Temple,--candlesticks, vessels, dishes, jugs, and all sorts of gold and silver articles set with pearls and precious stones. When Genseric pillaged Rome, he bore away the Temple treasures on his corsair ships to Carthage. The Empress knew this, and probably it was not the least of the reasons for which the Bishop was compelled to dream. Belisarius wished to exhibit all the booty on his entrance into Constantinople; but when it was unloaded at Hippo, to be taken at once, with the rest of the treasure, to Carthage, the oldest of the Jews in Hippo went to him and said: "Let me warn you, mighty warrior! Do not convey these treasures to Constantinople. Listen to a tale from the lips of your humble servant.
"The eagle stole from the sacrifice burning on the altar a piece of meat and bore it to his eyrie. But a few glimmering coals clung to the offering which had been consecrated to God. And these glimmering coals set fire to the nest of the great bird of prey, and burned the young, which were not yet able to fly, and the eagle mother. The male eagle, trying to save the young brood, dashed into the flames and scorched his wings. So perished miserably the strong robber that had borne to his own abode what belonged to God. Indeed, indeed, I tell you, the capitol of Rome fell into the hands of the foe because it contained the sacred vessels of Jehovah; the citadel of the Vandals fell into the hands of the foe because it concealed these treasures. Must the stronghold of the Emperor--God bless the protector of justice--at Constantinople become the third eyrie which is destroyed for their sake? In truth I say unto you, thus saith the Lord: This gold, this silver, will wander over the earth, will destroy all the cities to which the stolen treasure is dragged, until the gold and the silver again lie in the holy city, Jerusalem."
And, lo, Belisarius was startled.
He wrote to the Emperor Justinian the story of the old Jew, and--really and truly--the patriarch Moses can work still greater miracles than Saint Cyprian. Justinian, more greedy and avaricious than the whole race of Jews put together, ordered these treasures to be taken, not to Constantinople, but Jerusalem, where they are to be divided among the Christian churches and the Jewish synagogues.
So the old Jew has recovered a portion of the treasures of his people,--without a single sword-stroke,--while Romans, Vandals, Byzantines, gained them only after fierce battles and much bloodshed. Does the old man believe in the curse that rests upon the treasure? I think he does. He does not lie, and it is useful for his purpose to believe it; so he credits it easily and seriously. The German says: "Gain by blood rather than by sweat." The Jew says: "Gain by sweat rather than by blood, and far, far rather by money than by sweat!" It may be said in praise of the Jews that both their faults and their virtues vie in preserving them and increasing their wealth and their numbers, while the Germans destroy themselves, their lives, their possessions, and their power by boundless indolence and boundless revelling no less than by their boundless obstinacy and their stupid heroism of honor. (True, these Vandals in their carousing have even forgotten their obstinacy and their love of fighting!) We hate and despise the Jews; I think we ought to fear and--in their good qualities strive to excel them.
* * * * *
I have read aloud my opinion of the Germans to my friend Fara, whose thirst for honor did not impel him toward reading and writing; he heard me quietly to the end, drained a cup of unmixed wine, stroked his long reddish-yellow beard thoughtfully, and said:
"Little Greek! You are a shrewd little Greek! Perhaps you are not altogether wrong. But to me my German faults are much dearer than the virtues of all other nations."
Gradually--so we learn--all the rest of the Barbarian kingdom will be plucked leaf by leaf, like an artichoke, without a sword-stroke, for Justinian's wide-open mouth. Belisarius's first care, after his victory over the land forces, was to secure the hostile fleet.
He discovered its landing-place from the prisoners, and also learned that it was lying at anchor almost wholly without men; Zazo had taken all his troops to his brother. A few of our triremes, sent from Carthage, were sufficient to capture the one hundred and fifty galleys which were occupied only by sailors; not a single spear flew. Genseric's much-dreaded dragon-ships were towed to Carthage; they allowed themselves to be captured without resistance, like a flock of wild swans, which, storm-beaten, wearied, and crippled, enter an inclosed pond; the proud birds can be grasped with the hand. One of Belisarius's commanders obtained Sardinia; it was necessary, but amply sufficient, to show them Zazo's head on a spear; the islanders would not believe in the defeat of the Vandals before; now that they could touch the head of their dreaded conqueror, they did believe it.
Corsica, too, submitted. Also populous Cæsarea in Mauritania, and one of the Pillars of Hercules; Septa, with Ebusa and the Balearic Isles. Tripolis was besieged by Moors, who, during the battle between the Byzantines and the Vandals, were trying to win land and people on their own account. The city was occupied by our troops and received from the hands of Pudentius for the Emperor.
One might think the whole Vandal nation existed in its royal family and a few of the nobles. When Zazo and the nobles about him fell, after the King vanished, all resistance ceased; it was like a bundle of sticks: when the string that fastens them is cut, they all fall apart. Since the day of Trikameron the Barbarians everywhere allow themselves to be seized like sheep without defence. They are mainly to be found weaponless in the Catholic basilicas, where, seeking refuge, they embrace the altars which they have so often dishonored. The men are just the same as the women and children.
Really, if their brothers in Italy and Spain, and their cousins, the Franks, Alemanni, or whatever else the Barbarians in Gaul and Germany are called, were as highly educated as these Vandal writers of Greek and Latin poetry, the Imperator Justinianus could speedily recover the whole West through Belisarius and Narses. But I fear the Vandals alone have attained such a degree of culture.
More news! Perhaps another war and conquest close at hand.
Am I really, O Cethegus, to be permitted speedily to seek you in your Italy and help to free Rome by the aid of Huns and Herulians? Your tyrants, the Ostrogoths, have made the bridge for us into this country; it was their Sicily. Justinian's gratitude is swift-winged. By the Emperor's command--Belisarius received it sealed, directly after our departure from Constantinople, with the direction not to open the papyrus until after the destruction of the Vandal kingdom--our General has already demanded from the court of Ravenna the cession of a considerable portion of Sicily,--Lilybæum, the important promontory and castle, and all that the Vandals had ever possessed in that island. For the Vandal kingdom had now lapsed to Constantinople, so everything that had ever belonged to that domain also fell to it. A man is not Emperor of the Pandects for nothing.
True, it seems to me somewhat brutal to set their limitless stupidity before the eyes of the deluded people quite so speedily. Though of course it is the acme of statecraft to defeat the first with the help of the second, and then, in token of gratitude, overthrow the second. Yet it is long since it was done so openly. Belisarius is obliged to threaten war at once, not only upon Sicily, but all Italy, Ravenna, and Rome. The letter to the Regent Amalaswintha concludes,--I had to compose it for Belisarius in his tent, according to the Emperor's secret order directly after the battle of Trikameron: "If you refuse, you must know that you will not incur merely thedangerof war, but war itself, in which we shall take from you not only Lilybæum, but everything you possess contrary to justice; that is, all!" To-day came the news that there had been a revolution in Ravenna. Very wicked men, who had already wished to support the Vandals against us, do not love Justinian (but also unfortunately do not fear him), barbaric names,--you will be more familiar with them than I, O Cethegus! Hildebrand, Vitigis, Teja, have seized the helm there and flatly refuse our demand. It seems to me that there is the blast of the tuba in the air.
But first of all we must subdue this Vandal King without a kingdom up above there. The siege is lasting too long for the patience of Belisarius. Hitherto all proposals for surrender have been refused, even those on the most absurdly favorable conditions, made because Belisarius desires to bring the war here swiftly to an end, as it seems to me that he may be able speedily to celebrate a triumph in Constantinople such as has not been witnessed there for centuries, and then continue in Italy what he had begun here.
And since this singular King, who sometimes seems to be soft wax, sometimes the hardest granite, is not to be influenced by fair words, we will address him to-morrow with spears.
Fara hopes that hunger has so enfeebled the Vandals and Moors that they cannot withstand a violent assault. The truth is: Fara, a German,--and a thoroughly admirable one,--can endure everything except long-continued thirst and inactivity. And we have very little wine left. Poor wine too! There is nothing to do except by turns to sleep and mount guard before the mouse-hole called Pappua. He is tired of it. He wants to take it by force. The Herulians will fight like madmen; that is their way. But I look at the narrow ascent in those yellow cliffs, and have my doubts of success. I think, unless Saint Cyprian and Tyche work in our behalf to-morrow, we shall get, not Gelimer and the Vandals, but plenty of hard knocks.
We have had them,--the hard knocks! And they were our just due. The Vandals and Moors up yonder vied with each other in trying which could serve us worst, and we paid the penalty. Fara, as leader and warrior, managed matters as well as it is possible to do in dealing with the impossible. He divided us into three bodies: first, the Armenians, then the Thracians, lastly, the Herulians. The Huns--whose horses can do much, but cannot climb like goats--remained below before our camp. In bands of two hundred strong we rushed in a long line of two men abreast up the only accessible path. I will make the story short. The Moors rolled rocks, the Vandals hurled spears, at us. Twenty Armenians fell without having even seen the crest of a foeman's helmet; the others drew back. The Thracians, despising death, took their places. They advanced probably a hundred feet higher; by that time they had lost thirty-five of their number, had not seen an enemy, and also turned back. "Cowardice," cried Fara. "It is impossible," replied Arzen, the severely wounded leader of the Armenians,--a Vandal spear with the house-mark of the Asdings, a flying arrow, had pierced his thigh.
"I don't believe it," shouted Fara, "follow me, my Herulians."
They followed him. So did I; but very near the last of the line. For, as the legal councillor of Belisarius, I do not consider myself under obligation to perform any deeds of special heroism. Only when he himself fights do I often foolishly imagine that my place is by his side.
I have never seen such a storm. Fragments of boulders and lances hurled by invisible hands crushed and spitted the men. But those who were left climbed, leaped, crept higher and higher. The top of the mountain--which neither of the two former scaling parties had approached--was gained. The hiding-places of many of the Moors concealed under the cliffs of the central portion were discovered, and numbers of these lean brown fellows paid for their loyal hospitality to the fugitives with their lives; I saw Fara himself kill three of them. He was just ranging his breathless band, and on the point of giving the order to rush up to the narrow gateway in the rocks that yawns in the mountain summit, when from this gateway burst the Vandals, the King in advance; the crown on his helmet betrayed him. I saw him very close at hand, and never shall I forget that face. He looked like a rapturous monk, and yet also like the hero Zazo, whom I saw fall before Belisarius. Behind him was a youth who strongly resembled him. The scarlet banner, I believe, was borne by a woman. Yet I am probably mistaken; for the whole charge fell upon us with the speed and might of a thunderbolt. The first rank of the Herulians was scattered as completely as if it had never stood there.
"Where is the King?" cried Fara, springing forward.
"Here," rang the answer.
The next instant five of his Herulians were supporting their sorely wounded leader. This I saw, then I fell backward. The young Vandal behind the King had sent his spear whizzing against my firm coat of mail; I staggered, fell, and slid like an arrow down the smooth sandy incline, much faster and more easily than I had climbed it. When I came to myself and rose again, Fara's faithful followers were bearing him past me on two shields. The leader of the Armenians was leaning on his spear.
"Do you believe it now, Fara?" he asked. "Yes," replied the German, pressing his bleeding head. "I believe it now. My beautiful helmet," he went on, laughing. "But better to have the helmet cleft than the skull under it, too." When he reached the bottom of the mountain he laughed no longer; one hundred and twenty of his two hundred Herulians lay dead among the rocks. I think this will be the only storming of Mount Pappua.
* * * * *
Fara's wound is healing. But he complains a great deal of headache.
* * * * *
They must be miserably starving to death on that accursed mountain. Deserters often come down now, but only Moors. Not a single Vandal during the whole campaign has voluntarily joined us, in spite of my fine invitation to treason and revolt! Of the much-lauded German virtues fidelity seems to be almost the only one which has remained to these degenerates.
Fara gave orders that no more should be received.
"The more mouths and stomachs Gelimer has, the smaller his stock of food will be," he said.
But now, as they will no longer be accepted as comrades in arms, the Moors sell themselves for slaves for a bit of bread. Fara also prohibited this sorrowful trading. He said to his men:
"Let them starve up there; you will get them all as captives of war so much the sooner."
Yet it does the Vandals (it is said that there are not more than forty of them) all honor that they still hold out while the Moors succumb. It is the strongest contrast conceivable; for everything we heard in Constantinople concerning the luxury and effeminacy of the Vandals was surpassed by what we saw in their palaces, villas, and houses, and by what the Carthaginians have told us. Two or three baths daily, their tables supplied with the dainties of all lands and seas, all their dishes of gold, nothing but Median garments, spectacles, games in the Circus, the chase,--but with the least possible exertion,--dancers, mimes, musicians, outdoor pleasures in beautifully kept groves of the finest fruit-trees, daily revels, daily drinking bouts, and the most unbridled enjoyment of every description. As the Vandals led the most luxurious, the Moors led the most simple lives of all peoples. Winter and summer, they are half clad in a short gray garment, and live in the same low felt hut or leather tents, where one can scarcely breathe; neither the snow of the high mountains nor the scorching heat of the desert affects them; they sleep on the bare ground, only the richest spread a camel-skin under them; they have neither bread, wine, nor any of the better foods. Like the animals, they chew unground, even unroasted barley, spelt, and corn.
Yet now the Vandals endure starvation without yielding, while the Moors succumb.
It is incomprehensible! Sons of the same nation from whom, in two short battles, we wrested Africa. To our wondering question how this can be, all the deserters make one reply: "The holy King." He constrains them by his eyes, his voice, by magic. But Fara says his magic cannot hold out long against hunger and thirst. And since, as these strong Moors, emaciated to skeletons, say that the King and his followers do not utter a word of complaint while enduring these sufferings, Fara thought, from genuine kindness of heart, that he would try to end this misery. He dictated to me the following epistle: "Forgive me, O King of the Vandals, if this letter seems to you somewhat foolish. My head was always more fit to bear sword-strokes than to compose sentences. And since you and my head met a short time ago, thinking has been still more difficult than usual. I write, or rather I have these words written, plainly, according to the Barbarian fashion. Dear Gelimer, why do you plunge yourself and all your followers into the deepest abyss of misery? Merely to avoid serving the Emperor? For this word, 'liberty,' is probably your delusion. Do you not see that, for the sake of this liberty, you are becoming under obligations of gratitude and service to miserable Moors, that you are dependent upon these savages? Is it not better to serve the great Emperor at Constantinople, than to rule over a little band of starving people on Pappua? Is it disgraceful to serve the same lord as Belisarius? Cast aside this folly, admirable Gelimer! Think, I myself am a German, a member of a noble Herulian family. My ancestors wore the badge of royalty of our people in the old home on the shore of the dashing sea, near the islands of the Danes--and yet I serve the Emperor, and am proud of it. My sword and the swift daring of my Herulians decided the victory on the day of Belisarius's greatest battle. I am a general, and have remained a hero, even in the Emperor's service. The same fate will await you. Belisarius will secure you on his word of honor life, liberty, estates in Asia Minor, the rank of a patrician, and a leadership in the army directly under him. Dear Gelimer, noble King, I mean kindly by you. Defiance is beautiful, but folly is--foolish. Make an end of it!"
* * * * *
The messenger has returned. He saw the King himself. He says the sight of him was almost enough to startle one to death. He looks like a ghost or the King of Shades; gloomy eyes burn from a spectral face. Yet when the unyielding hero read the well-meant consolation of his kind-hearted fellow-countryman, he wept. The very man who struck down the unconquerable Fara and endures superhuman privations wept like a boy or a woman. Here is the Vandal's answer:--
"I thank you for your counsel. I cannot follow it. You have given up your people; therefore you are drifting on the sea of the world like a blade of straw. I was, I am King of the Vandals. I will not serve the unjust foe of my people. God, so I believe, commands me and the remnant of the Vandals to hold out even now. He can save me if He so wills. I can write no more. The misery surrounding me benumbs my thoughts. Good Fara, send me a loaf of bread; a delicate boy, the son of a dead noble, is lying very ill, in the fever caused by starvation. He begs, he pleads, he shrieks for bread--it tears one's heart-strings! For a long time not one of us has tasted bread.
"And a sponge dipped in water; my eyes, inflamed by watching and weeping, burn painfully.
"And a harp. I have composed a dirge upon our fate, which I would fain sing to the accompaniment of the harp."
Fara granted the three requests,--the harp could be obtained only by sending to the nearest city,--but he guards even more closely than before the "Mountain of Misery," as our people call it.