The Scarlet Banner
by Felix Dahn · English · Gutenberg #32461 · 530,394 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Scarlet Banner
Author: Felix Dahn
Translator: Mary J. Safford
Release date: May 20, 2010 [eBook #32461]
Most recently updated: January 6, 2021
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/32461
Credits: Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SCARLET BANNER ***
Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
Transcriber's notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://www.archive.org/details/scarletbanner00dahngoog
2. The diphthongs OE and oe is represented by [OE] and [oe].
THE SCARLET BANNER
_Novels by Felix Dahn_
TRANSLATED BY MARY J. SAFFORD
A CAPTIVE OF THE ROMAN EAGLES. $1.50
FELICITAS. $1.50
THE SCARLET BANNER. $1.50
PUBLISHED BY A. C. MCCLURG & CO.
The Scarlet Banner
_By_ FELIX DAHN
Translated from the German by
MARY J. SAFFORD
TRANSLATOR OF
"A Captive of the Roman Eagles," "Felicitas," etc.
Chicago
A. C. McClurg & Co.
1903
COPYRIGHT
A. C. MCCLURG & CO.
1903
_Right of Dramatization Reserved_
Published October 14, 1903
UNIVERSITY PRESS . JOHN WILSON
AND SON . CAMBRIDGE . U.S.A.
DEDICATED
IN DEEP REVERENCE AND WARM FRIENDSHIP
TO
HIS EXCELLENCY
ACTING PRIVY-COUNCILLOR AND PROFESSOR
HERR DR. KARL HASE
OF JENA
_Only through the same virtues by which they were founded will kingdoms
be maintained._
SALLUSTIUS, Catilina.
_O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!_
SHAKESPEARE, Hamlet.
PREFACE
This story, published in Germany under the title of _Gelimer_ is the
third volume in the group of romances to which "Felicitas" and "The
Captive of the Roman Eagles" belong, and, like them, deals with the
long-continued conflict between the Germans and the Romans.
But in the present novel the scene of the struggle is transferred from
the forests of Germania to the arid sands of Africa, and, in
wonderfully vivid pen-pictures, the author displays the marvellous
magnificence surrounding the descendants of the Vandal Genseric, the
superb pageants of their festivals, and the luxury whose enervating
influence has gradually sapped the strength and courage of the rude,
invincible warriors--once the terror of all the neighboring coasts and
islands--till their enfeebled limbs can no longer support the weight of
their ancestors' armor, and they cast aside their helmets to crown
themselves with the rose-garlands of Roman revellers.
The pages glow with color as the brilliant changeful vision of life in
Carthage, under the Vandal rule, rises from the mists of the vanished
centuries, and the characters which people this ancient world are no
less varied. The noble king, the subtle Roman, Verus, the gallant
warrior, Zazo, Hilda, the beautiful, fearless Ostrogoth Princess, the
wily Justinian, his unscrupulous Empress, Theodora, and their brave,
impetuous general, Belisarius, are clearly portrayed; and, underlying
the whole drama, surges the fierce warfare between Roman Catholic and
Arian, while the place and the period in which the scenes of the
romance are laid, both comparatively little known, lend a peculiar
charm and freshness to the gifted author's narrative.
MARY J. SAFFORD.
HIGHFIELD COTTAGE,
DOUGLAS HILL, MAINE,
August 24, 1903.
THE
SCARLET BANNER
_BOOK ONE_
BEFORE THE WAR
CHAPTER I
TO CORNELIUS CETHEGUS CÆSARIUS, A FRIEND:
I send these notes to you rather than to any other man. Why? First of
all, because I know not where you are, so the missive will probably be
lost. Doubtless that would be the best thing which could happen,
especially for the man who would then be spared reading these pages!
But it will also be well for me that these lines should lie--or be
lost--in some other place than here. For here in Constantinople they
may fall into certain dainty little well-kept hands, which possibly
might gracefully wave an order to cut off my head--or some other useful
portion of my anatomy to which I have been accustomed since my birth.
But if I send these truths hence to the West, they will not be so
easily seized by those dangerous little fingers which discover every
secret in the capital, whenever they search in earnest. Whether you are
living in your house at the foot of the Capitol, or with the Regent at
Ravenna, I do not know; but I shall despatch this to Rome, for toward
Rome my thoughts fly, seeking Cethegus.
You may ask derisively why I write what is so dangerous. Because I
must! I praise--constrained by fear--so many people and things with my
lips that I condemn in my heart, that I must at least confess the truth
secretly in writing. Well, I might write out my rage, read it, and then
throw the pages into the sea, you say. But--and this is the other
reason for this missive--I am vain, too. The cleverest man I know must
read, must praise what I write, must be aware that I was not so foolish
as to believe all I extolled to be praiseworthy. Later perhaps I can
use the notes,--if they are not lost,--when at some future day I write
the true history of the strange things I have experienced and shortly
shall undergo.
So keep these pages if they do reach you. They are not exactly letters;
it is a sort of diary that I am sending to you. I shall expect no
answer. Cethegus does not need me, at present. Why should Cethegus
write to me, now? Yet perhaps I shall soon learn your opinion from your
own lips. Do you marvel?
True, we have not met since we studied together at Athens. But possibly
I may soon seek you in your Italy. For I believe that the war declared
to-day against the Vandals is but the prelude to the conflict with your
tyrants, the Ostrogoths. Now I have written the great secret which at
present is known to so few.
It is a strange thing to see before one, in clear, sharp letters, a
terrible fate, pregnant with blood and tears, which no one else
suspects; at such times the statesman feels akin to the god who is
forging the thunderbolt that will so soon strike happy human beings.
Pitiable, weak, mortal god! Will your bolt hit the mark? Will it not
recoil against you? The demi-god Justinian and the goddess Theodora
have prepared this thunder-bolt; the eagle Belisarius will carry it; we
are starting for Africa to make war upon the Vandals.
Now you know much, O Cethegus. But you do not yet know all,--at least,
not all about the Vandals. So learn it from me; I know. During the last
few months I have been obliged to deliver lectures to the two gods--and
the eagle--about these fair-haired fools. But whoever is compelled to
deliver lectures has sense enough bestowed upon him to perform the
task. Look at the professors at Athens. Since the reign of Justinian
the lecture-rooms have been closed to them. Who still thinks them wise?
So listen: The Vandals are cousins of your dear masters, the
Ostrogoths. They came about a hundred years ago--men, women, and
children, perhaps fifty thousand in number--from Spain to Africa. Their
leader was a terrible king, Gizericus by name (commonly called
Genseric); a worthy comrade of Attila, the Hun. He defeated the Romans
in hard-fought battles, captured Carthage, plundered Rome. He was never
vanquished. The crown passed to his heirs, the Asdings, who were said
to be descended from the pagan gods of the Germans. The oldest male
scion of the family always ascends the throne.
But Genseric's posterity inherited only his sceptre, not his greatness.
The Catholics in their kingdom (the Vandals are heretics, Arians) were
most cruelly persecuted, which was more stupid than it was unjust. It
really was not so very unjust; they merely applied to the Catholics,
the Romans, in their kingdom the selfsame laws which the Emperor in the
Roman Empire had previously issued against the Arians. But it was
certainly extremely stupid. What harm can the few Arians do in the
Roman Empire? But the numerous Catholics in the Vandal kingdom could
overthrow it, if they should rebel. True; they will not rise
voluntarily. But we are coming to rouse them.
Shall we conquer? There is much probability of it. King Hilderic lived
in Constantinople a long time, and is said to have secretly embraced
the Catholic faith. He is Justinian's friend: this great-grandson of
Genseric abhors war. He has dealt his own kingdom the severest blow by
transforming its best prop, the friendship with the Ostrogoths in
Italy, into mortal hatred. The wise King Theodoric at Ravenna made a
treaty of friendship and brotherhood with Thrasamund, the predecessor
of Hilderic, gave him his beautiful, clever sister, Amalafrida, for his
wife, and bestowed upon the latter for her dowry, besides much
treasure, the headland of Lilybæum in Sicily, directly opposite
Carthage, which was of great importance to the Vandal kingdom. He also
sent him as a permanent defence against the Moors--probably against us
too--a band of one thousand chosen Gothic warriors, each of whom had
five brave men under him. Hilderic was scarcely king when the royal
widow Amalafrida was accused of high treason against him and threatened
with death.
If Justinian and Theodora did not invent this high treason, I have
little knowledge of my adored rulers: I saw the smile with which they
received the news from Carthage. It was the triumph of the bird-catcher
who draws his snare over the fluttering prey.
Amalafrida's Goths succeeded in rescuing her from imprisonment and
accompanying her on her flight. She intended to seek refuge with
friendly Moors, but on her way she was overtaken and attacked by the
King's two nephews with a superior force. The faithful Goths fought and
fell almost to a man; the Queen was captured and murdered in prison.
Since that time fierce hate has existed between the two nations; the
Goths took Lilybæum back and from it cast vengeful glances at Carthage.
This is King Hilderic's sole act of government! Since that time he has
seen clearly that it will be best for his people to be subject to us.
But he is almost an old man, and his cousin--unfortunately the rightful
heir to the throne--is our worst enemy. His name is Gelimer. He must
never be permitted to reign in Carthage; for he is considered the
stronghold and hero, nay, the soul of the Vandal power. He first
defeated the natives, the Moors, those sons of the desert who had
always proved superior to the weak descendants of Genseric.
But this Gelimer--it is impossible for me to obtain from the
contradictory reports a satisfactory idea of him. Or could a German
really possess such contradictions of mind and character? They are all
mere children, though six and a half feet tall; giants, with the souls
of boys. Nearly all of them have a single trait,--the love of
carousing. Yet this Gelimer--well, we shall see.
Widely varying opinions of the entire Vandal nation are held here.
According to some they are terrible foes in battle, like all Germans,
and as Genseric's men undoubtedly were. But, from other reports, in the
course of three generations under the burning sun of Africa, and
especially from living among our provincials there--the most corrupt
rabble who ever disgraced the Roman name--they have become effeminate,
degenerate. The hero Belisarius of course despises this foe, like every
other whom he knows and does not know.
The gods have intrusted to me the secret correspondence which is to
secure success. I am now expecting important news from numerous Moorish
chiefs; from the Vandal Governor of Sardinia; from your Ostrogothic
Count in Sicily; from the richest, most influential senator in
Tripolis; nay, even from one of the highest ecclesiastics--it is hard
to believe--of the heretical church itself. The latter was a
masterpiece. Of course he is not a Vandal, but a Roman! No matter! An
Arian priest in league with us. I attribute it to our rulers. You know
how I condemn their government of our empire; but where the highest
statecraft is at stake,--that is, to win traitors in the closest
councils of other sovereigns and thus outwit the most cunning, there I
bow the knee admiringly to these gods of intrigue. If only--
A letter from Belisarius summons me to the Golden House: "Bad news from
Africa! The war is again extremely doubtful. The apparent traitors
there betrayed Justinian, not the Vandals. This comes from such false
wiles. Help, counsel me! Belisarius."
How? I thought the secret letters from Carthage were to come, by
disguised messengers, only to me? And through me to the Emperor? That
was his express order; I read it myself. Yet still more secret ones
arrive, whose contents I learn only by chance? This is your work, O
Demonodora!
CHAPTER II
The Carthage of the Vandals was still a stately, brilliant city, still
the superb "Colonia Julia Carthago" which Augustus had erected
according to the great Cæsar's plan in the place of the ancient city
destroyed by Scipio. True, it was no longer--as it had been a century
before--next to Rome and Constantinople the most populous city in the
empire, but it had suffered little in the external appearance and
splendor of its buildings; only the walls, by which it had been
encircled as a defence against Genseric, were partially destroyed in
the assault by the Vandals, and not sufficiently restored,--an
indication of arrogant security or careless indolence.
The ancient citadel, the Ph[oe]nician "Byrsa," now called the Capitol,
still overlooked the blue sea and the harbor, doubly protected by
towers and iron chains. In the squares and the broad streets of the
"upper city," a motley throng surged or lounged upon the steps of
Christian basilicas (which were often built out of pagan temples),
around the Amphitheatre, the colonnades, the baths with their beds of
flowers and groups of palms, kept green and luxuriant by the water
brought from long distances over the stately arches of the aqueduct.
The "lower city," built along the sea, was inhabited by the poorer
people, principally harbor workmen, and was filled with shops and
storehouses containing supplies for ships and sailors. The streets were
narrow, all running from south to north, from the inner city to the
harbor, like the alleys of modern Genoa.
The largest square in the lower city was the forum of St. Cyprian,
named, for the magnificent basilica dedicated to this the most famous
saint in Africa. The church occupied the whole southern side of the
square, from whose northern portion a long flight of marble steps led
to the harbor (even at the present day, amid the solitude and
desolation of the site of noisy, populous Carthage, the huge ruins of
the old sea gate still remain), while a broad street led westward to
the suburb of Aklas and the Numidian Gate, and another in the southeast
rose somewhat steeply to the upper city and the Capitol.
Into this great square one hot June evening a varied crowd was pouring
from the western gate, the Porta Numidia,--Romans and provincials,
citizens of Carthage, tradesmen and grocers, with many freedmen and
slaves, moved by curiosity and delight in idleness, which attracted
them to every brilliant, noisy spectacle. There were Vandals among
them, too; men, women, and children, whose yellow or red hair and fair
skins were in strong contrast to those of the rest of the population,
though the complexions of many were somewhat bronzed by the African
sun. In costume they differed from the Romans very slightly; many not
at all. Among these lower classes numbers were of mixed blood, children
of Vandal fathers who had married Carthaginian women. Here and there in
the concourse appeared a Moor, who had come from the border of the
desert to the capital to sell ivory or ostrich feathers, lion and tiger
skins, or antelope horns. The men and women of noble German blood were
better--that is, more eager, wealthy, and lavish--buyers than the
numerous impoverished Roman senatorial families, whose once boundless
wealth the government had confiscated for real or alleged high treason,
or for persistent adherence to the Catholic faith. Not even a single
Roman of the better class was to be seen in the noisy, shouting crowd;
a priest of the orthodox religion, who on his way to a dying man could
not avoid crossing the square, glided timidly into the nearest side
street, fear, abhorrence, and indignation all written on his pallid
face. For this exulting throng was celebrating a Vandal victory.
In front of the returning troops surged the dense masses of the
Carthaginian populace, shouting, looking back, and often halting with
loud acclamations. Many pressed around the Vandal warriors, begging for
gifts. The latter were all mounted, many on fine, really noble steeds,
descendants of the famous breed brought from Spain and crossed with the
native horses. The westering sun streamed through the wide-open West
Gate along the Numidian Way; the stately squadrons glittered and
flashed in the vivid light which was dazzlingly reflected from the
white sandy soil and the white houses. Richly, almost too brilliantly,
gold and silver glittered on helmets and shields, broad armlets,
sword-hilts, and scabbards, even on the mountings which fastened the
lance-heads to the shafts, and, in inlaid work, on the shafts
themselves. In dress, armor, and ornaments upon rider and steed the
most striking hues were evidently the most popular. Scarlet, the Vandal
color, prevailed; this vivid light-red was used everywhere,--on the
long, fluttering cloaks, the silken kerchiefs on the helmets, which
fell over the neck and shoulders to protect them from the African sun,
on the gayly painted, richly gilded quivers, and even on the saddles
and bridles of the horses. Among the skins which the desert animals
furnished in great variety, the favorites were the spotted antelope,
the dappled leopard, the striped tiger, while from the helmets nodded
and waved the red plumage of the flamingo and the white feathers of the
ostrich. The procession closed with several captured camels, laden with
foemen's weapons, and about a hundred Moorish prisoners, men and women,
who, with hands tied behind their backs, clad only in brown and white
striped mantles, marched, bareheaded and barefooted, beside the
towering beasts, driven forward, like them, by blows from the spears of
their mounted guards.
On the steps of the basilica and the broad top of the wall of the
harbor stairs, the throng of spectators was unusually dense; here
people could comfortably watch the glittering train without danger from
the fiery steeds.
"Who is yonder youth, the fair one?" asked a middle-aged man, with the
dress and bearing of a sailor, pointing over the parapet as he turned
to a gray-haired old citizen.
"Which do you mean, friend Hegelochus? They are almost all fair."
"Indeed? Well, this is the first time I have been among the Vandals! My
ship dropped anchor only a few hours ago. You must show and explain
everything. I mean the one yonder on the white stallion; he is carrying
the narrow red banner with the golden dragon."
"Oh, that is Gibamund, 'the handsomest of the Vandals,' as the women
call him. Do you see how he looks up at the windows of the palace near
the Capitol? Among all the crowd gazing down from there he seeks but
one."
"But"--the speaker suddenly started--"who is the other at his
right,--the one on the dun horse? I almost shrank when I met his eye.
He looks like the youth, only he is much older. Who is _he_?"
"That is his brother Gelimer; God bless his noble head!"
"Aha, so he is the hero of the day? I have often heard his name at home
in Syracuse. So he is the conqueror of the Moors?"
"Yes, he has defeated them again, the torments. Do you hear how the
Carthaginians are cheering him? We citizens, too, must thank him for
having driven the robbers away from our villages and fields back to
their deserts."
"I suppose he is fifty years old? His hair is very gray."
"He is not yet forty!"
"Just look, Eugenes! He has sprung from his horse. What is he doing?"
"Didn't you see? A child, a Roman boy, fell while trying to run in
front of his charger. He lifted him up, and is seeking to find out
whether he was hurt."
"The child wasn't harmed; it is smiling at him and seizing his
glittering necklet. There--he is unfastening the chain and putting it
into the little fellow's hands. He kisses him and gives him back to his
mother. Hark, how the crowd is cheering him! Now he has leaped back
into the saddle. He knows how to win favor."
"There you wrong him. It is his nature. He would have done the same
where no eye beheld him. And he need not win the favor of the people:
he has long possessed it."
"Among the Vandals?"
"Among the Romans, too; that is, the middle and lower classes. The
senators, it is true, are different! Those who still live in Africa
hate all who bear the name of Vandal; they have good reason for it,
too. But Gelimer has a heart to feel for us; he helps wherever he can,
and often opposes his own people; they are almost all violent, prone to
sudden anger, and in their rage savagely cruel. I above all others have
cause to thank him."
"You? Why?"
"You saw Eugenia, my daughter, before we left our house?"
"Certainly. Into what a lovely girl the frail child whom you brought
from Syracuse a few years ago has blossomed!"
"I owe her life, her honor, to Gelimer. Thrasaric, the giant, the most
turbulent of all the nobles, snatched her from my side here in the open
street at noonday, and carried the shrieking girl away in his arms. I
could not follow as swiftly as he ran. Gelimer, attracted by our
screams, rushed up, and, as the savage would not release her, struck
him down with a single blow and gave my terrified child back to me."
"And the ravisher?"
"He rose, laughed, shook himself, and said to Gelimer: 'You did right,
Asding, and your fist is heavy.' And then since--"
"Well? You hesitate."
"Yes, just think of it; since then the Vandal, as he could not gain her
by force, is suing modestly for my daughter's hand. He, the richest
noble of his nation, wishes to become my son-in-law."
"Why, that is no bad outlook."
"Princess Hilda, my girl's patroness--she often sends for the
child to come to her at the Capitol and pays liberally for her
embroideries--Princess Hilda herself speaks in his behalf. But I
hesitate; I will not force her on any account."
"Well, what does she say?"
"Oh, the Barbarian is as handsome as a picture. I almost believe--I
fear--she likes him. But something holds her back. Who can
read a girl's heart? Look, the leaders of the horsemen are
dismounting--Gelimer too--in front of the basilica."
"Strange. He is the hero,--the square echoes with his name,--and he
looks so grave, so sad."
"Yes, there again! But did you see how kindly his eyes shone as he
soothed the frightened child?"
"Certainly I did. And now--"
"Yes, there it is; a black cloud suddenly seems to fall upon him. There
are all sorts of rumors about it among the people. Some say he has a
demon; others that he is often out of his mind. Our priests whisper
that it is pangs of conscience for secret crimes. But I will never
believe that of Gelimer."
"Was he always so?"
"It has grown worse within a few years. Satanas--Saint Cyprian protect
us--is said to have appeared to him in the solitude of the desert.
Since that time he has been even more devout than before. See, his most
intimate friend is greeting him at the basilica."
"Yonder priest? He is an Arian; I know it by the oblong, narrow
tonsure."
"Yes," replied the Carthaginian, wrathfully, "it is Verus, the
archdeacon! Curses on the traitor!" He clinched his fists.
"Traitor! Why?"
"Well--renegade. He descends from an ancient Roman senatorial family
which has given the Church many a bishop. His great-uncle was Bishop
Laetus of Nepte, who died a martyr. But his father, his mother, and
seven brothers and sisters died under a former king amid the most cruel
tortures, rather than abjure their holy Catholic religion. This man,
too,--he was then a youth of twenty,--was tortured until he fell as if
dead. When he recovered consciousness, he abjured his faith and became
an Arian, a priest,--the wretch!--to buy his life. Soon--for Satan has
bestowed great intellectual gifts upon him--he rose from step to step,
became the favorite of the Asdings, of the court, suddenly even the
friend of the noble Gelimer, who had long kept him coldly and
contemptuously at a distance. And the court gave him this basilica, our
highest sanctuary, dedicated to the great Cyprian, which, like almost
all the churches in Carthage, the heretics have wrested from us."
"But look--what is the hero doing? He is kneeling on the upper step of
the church. Now he is taking off his helmet."
"He is scattering the dust of the marble stairs upon his head."
"What is he kissing? The priest's hand?"
"No, the case containing the ashes of the great saint. He is very
devout and very humble. Or shall I say he humiliates himself? He shuts
himself up for days with the monks to do penance by scourging."
"A strange hero of Barbarian blood!"
"The hero blood shows itself in the heat of battle. He is rising. Do
you see how his helmet--now he is putting it on again--is hacked by
fresh blows? One of the two black vulture wings on the crest is cut
through. The strangest thing is,--this warrior is also a bookworm, a
delver into mystic lore; he has attended the lectures of Athenian
philosophers. He is a theologian and--"
"A player on the lyre, too, apparently! See, a Vandal has handed him a
small one."
"That is a harp, as they call it."
"Hark, he is touching the strings! He is singing. I can't understand."
"It is the Vandal tongue."
"He has finished. How his Germans shout! They are striking their spears
on their shields. Now he is descending the steps. What? Without
entering the church, as the others did?"
"Yes, I remember! He vowed, when he shed blood, to shun the saint's
threshold for three days. Now the horsemen are all mounting again."
"But where are the foot soldiers?"
"Yes, that is bad--I mean for the Vandals. They have none, or scarcely
any: they have grown not only so proud, but so effeminate and lazy that
they disdain to serve on foot. Only the very poorest and lowest of the
population will do it. Most of the foot soldiers are Moorish
mercenaries, obtained for each campaign from friendly tribes."
"Ah, yes, I see Moors among the soldiers."
"Those are men from the Papua mountain. They plundered our frontiers
for a long time. Gelimer attacked their camp and captured their chief
Antalla's three daughters, whom he returned unharmed, without ransom.
Then Antalla invited the Asding to his tent to thank him; they
concluded a friendship of hospitality,--the most sacred bond to the
Moors,--and since then they have rendered faithful service even against
other Moors. The parade is over. See, the ranks are breaking. The
leaders are going to the Capitol to convey to King Hilderic the report
of the campaign and the booty. Look, the crowd is dispersing. Let us go
too. Come back to my house; Eugenia is waiting to serve the evening
meal. Come, Hegelochus."
"I am ready, most friendly host. I fear I may burden you a long time.
Business with the corn-dealers is slow."
"Why are you stopping? What are you looking at?"
"I'm coming. Only I must see this Gelimer's face once more. I shall
never forget those features, and all the strange, contradictory things
which you have told me about him."
"That is the way with most people. He is mysterious,
incomprehensible,--'daimonios,' as the Greeks say. Let us go now! Here!
To the left--down the steps."
CHAPTER III
High above, on the Capitolium of the city, towered the Palatium, the
royal residence of the Asdings; not a single dwelling, but a whole
group of buildings. Originally planned as an acropolis, a fortress to
rule the lower city and afford a view over both harbors across the sea,
the encircling structures had been but slightly changed by Genseric and
his successors; the palace remained a citadel and was well suited to
hold the Carthaginians in check. A narrow ascent led up from the quay
to a small gateway enclosed between solid walls and surmounted by a
tower. This gateway opened into a large square resembling a courtyard,
inclosed on all sides by the buildings belonging to the palace; the
northern one, facing the sea, was occupied by the King's House, where
the ruler himself lived with his family. The cellars extended deep into
the rocks; they had often been used as dungeons, especially for state
criminals. On the eastern side of the King's House, separated from it
only by a narrow space, was the Princes' House, and opposite to this,
the arsenal; the southern side, sloping toward the city, was closed by
the fortress wall, its gateway and tower.
The handsomest room on the ground-floor of the Princes' House was a
splendidly decorated, pillared hall. In the centre, on a table of
citrus wood, stood a tall, richly gilded jug with handles, and several
goblets of different forms; the dark-red wine exhaled a strong
fragrance. A couch, covered with a zebra skin, was beside it, on which,
clinging together in the most tender embrace, sat "the handsomest of
the Vandals" and a no less beautiful young woman. The youth had laid
aside his helmet, adorned with the silvery wing-feathers of the white
heron; his long locks fell in waves upon his shoulders and mingled with
the light golden hair of his young wife, who was eagerly trying to
unclasp the heavy breast-plate; at last she let it fall clanking beside
the helmet and sword-belt upon the marble floor. Then, gazing lovingly
at his noble face, she stroked back, with both soft hands, the
clustering locks that curled around his temples, looking radiantly into
his merry, laughing eyes.
"Do I really have you with me once more? Do I hold you in my embrace?"
she said in a low, tender tone, putting both arms on his shoulders and
clasping her hands on his neck.
"Oh, my sweet one!" cried the warrior, snatching her to his heart and
covering eyes, cheeks, and pouting lips with ardent kisses. "Oh, Hilda,
my joy, my wife! How I longed for you--night and day--always!"
"It is almost forty days," she sighed.
"Quite forty. Ah, how long they seemed to me!"
"Oh, it was far easier for you! To be ever on the move with your
brother, your comrades, to ride swiftly and fight gayly in the land of
the foe. While I--I was forced to sit here in the women's rooms; to sit
and weave and wait inactive! Oh, if I could only have been there too!
To dash onward by your side upon a fiery horse, ride, fight, and at
last--fall, with you. After a hero's life--a hero's death!"
She started up; her gray-blue eyes flashed with a wonderful light, and
tossing back her waving hair she raised both arms enthusiastically.
Her husband gently drew her down again. "My high-hearted wife, my
Hilda," he said, smiling, "with the instinct of a seer your ancestor
chose for you the name of the glorious leader of the Valkyries. How
much I owe old Hildebrand, the master at arms of the great King of the
Goths! With the name the nature came to you. And his training and
teaching probably did the rest."
Hilda nodded. "I scarcely knew my parents, they died so young. Ever
since I could remember I was under the charge and protection of the
white-bearded hero. In the palace at Ravenna he locked me in his
apartments, keeping me jealously away from the pious Sisters, the nuns,
and from the priests who educated my playmates,--among them the
beautiful Mataswintha. I grew up with his other foster-child,
dark-haired Teja. My friend Teja taught me to play the harp, but also
to hurl spears and catch them on the shield. Later, when the king, and
still more his daughter, the learned Amalaswintha, insisted that I must
study with the women and the priests, how sullenly,"--she smiled at the
remembrance,--"how angrily the old great-grandfather questioned me in
the evening about what the nuns had taught me during the day! If I had
recited the proverbs and Latin hymns, the _Deus pater ingenite_ or
_Salve sancta parens_ by Sedulius--I scarcely knew more than the
beginning!"--she laughed merrily--"he shook his massive head, muttered
something in his long white beard, and cried: 'Come, Hilda! Let's get
out of doors. Come on the sea. There I will tell you about the ancient
gods and heroes of our people.' Then he took me far, far from the
crowded harbors into the solitude of a desolate, savage island, where
the gulls circled and the wild swan built her nest amid the rushes;
there we sat down on the sand, and, while the foaming waves rolled
close to our feet, he told me tales of the past. And what tales old
Hildebrand could tell! My eyes rested intently on his lips as, with my
elbows propped on his knee, I gazed into his face. How his sea-gray
eyes sparkled! how his white hair fluttered in the evening breeze! His
voice trembled with enthusiasm; he no longer knew where he was; he saw
everything he related, or often--in disconnected words--sang. When the
tale ended, he waked as if from a dream, started up and laughed,
stroking my head: 'There! There! Now I've once more blown those saints,
with their dull, mawkish gentleness, out of your soul, as the north
wind, sweeping through the church windows, drives out the smoke of the
incense.' But they had taken no firm hold," she added, smiling.
"And so you grew up half a pagan, as Gelimer says," replied her
husband, raising his finger warningly, "but as a full heroine, who
believes in nothing so entirely as the glory of her people."
"And in yours--and in your love," Hilda murmured tenderly, kissing him
on the forehead. "Yet it is true," she added, "if you Vandals had not
been the nearest kinsfolk of my Goths, I don't know whether I should
have loved you--ah, no; I _must_ have loved you--when, sent by Gelimer,
you came to woo me. But as it is, to see you was to love you. I owe all
my happiness to Gelimer! I will always remember it: it shall bind me to
him when otherwise," she added slowly and thoughtfully, "many things
might repel me."
"My brother desired, by this marriage, to end the hostility, bridge the
gulf which had separated the two kingdoms since--since that bloody deed
of Hilderic. It did not succeed! He united only us, not our nations. He
is full of heavy cares and gloomy thoughts."
"Yes. I often think he must be ill," said Hilda, shaking her head.
"He?--The strongest hero in our army! He alone--not even Brother
Zazo--can bend my outstretched sword-arm."
"Not ill in body,--soul-sick! But hush! Here he comes. See how
sorrowful, how gloomy he looks. Is that the brow, the face, of a
conqueror?"
CHAPTER IV
A tall figure appeared in the colonnade leading from the interior of
the dwelling to the open doorway of the hall.
This man without helmet, breastplate, or sword-belt wore a
tight-fitting dark-gray robe, destitute of color or ornament. He often
paused in his slow advance as if lost in meditation, with hands clasped
behind his back; his head drooped forward a little, as though burdened
by anxious thought. His lofty brow was deeply furrowed; his light-brown
hair and beard were thickly sprinkled with gray, which formed a strange
contrast to his otherwise youthful appearance. His eyes were fixed
steadily on the floor,--their color and expression were still
unrecognizable,--and pausing again under the pillared arch of the
entrance, he sighed heavily.
"Hail, Gelimer, victorious hero!" cried the young wife, joyously. "Take
what I have had ready for you ever since your return home was announced
to-day." Seizing a thick laurel wreath lying on the table before her,
she eagerly raised it. A slight but expressive wave of the hand stopped
her.
"Wreaths are not suited for the sinner's head," said the new-comer in a
low tone, "but ashes, ashes!"
Hilda, hurt and sorrowful, laid down the garland.
"Sinner?" cried her husband, indignantly. "Why, yes; so are we all--in
the eyes of the saints. But you less than others. Are we never to
rejoice?"
"Let those rejoice who can!"
"Oh, brother, you too can rejoice. When the hero spirit comes, when the
whirl of battle surrounds you, with loud shouts (I heard it myself and
my heart exulted in your delight), you dashed before us all into the
thickest throng of the Moorish riders. And you cried aloud from sheer
joy when you tore the banner from the hand of the fallen bearer; you
had ridden him down by the mere shock of your charger's rush."
"Ay, that was indeed beautiful!" cried Gelimer, suddenly lifting his
head, while a pair of large brown eyes flashed from under long dark
lashes. "Isn't the cream stallion superb? He overthrows everything. He
bears victory."
"Ay, when he bears Gelimer!" exclaimed a clear voice, and a
boy--scarcely beyond childhood, for the first down was appearing on his
delicate rosy cheeks--a boy strongly resembling Gibamund and Gelimer
glided across the threshold and rushed with outstretched arms toward
the hero.
"Oh, brother, how I love you! And how I envy you! But on the next
pursuit of the Moors you must take me with you, or I will go against
your will." And he threw both arms around his brother's towering
figure.
"Ammata, my darling, my heart's treasure," cried Gelimer, tenderly,
stroking the lad's long golden locks with a loving touch, "I have
brought you from the booty a little milk-white horse as swift as the
wind. I thought of you the instant it was led before me. And you, fair
sister-in-law, forgive me. I was unkind when I came in; I was foil of
heavy cares. For I came--"
"From the King," cried a deep voice from the corridor, and a man in
full armor rushed in, whose strong resemblance to the others marked him
as the fourth brother. Features of noble mould, a sharp but finely
modelled nose, broad brow, and yellow, fiery eyes set almost too deeply
beneath arched brows were peculiar to all these royal Asdings, the
descendants of the sun-god Frey.
Gelimer's glance alone was usually subdued as if veiled, dreamy as if
lost in uncertainty; but when it suddenly flashed with enthusiasm or
wrath its mighty glow was startling; and the narrow oval of the face,
which in all was far removed from roundness, in Gelimer seemed almost
too thin.
The man who had just entered was somewhat shorter than the latter, but
much broader-chested and larger-limbed. His head, surrounded with
short, close-curling brown hair, rested on a strong neck; the cheeks
were reddened by health and robust vitality, and now by fierce anger.
Although only a year younger than Gelimer, he seemed still a fiery
youth beside his prematurely aged brother. In furious indignation he
flung the heavy helmet, from which the crooked horns of the African
bull buffalo threatened, upon the table, making the wine splash over
the glasses.
"From Hilderic," he repeated, "the most ungrateful of human beings!
What was the hero's reward for the new victory? Suspicion! Fear
of rousing jealousy in Constantinople! The coward! My beautiful
sister-in-law, you have more courage in your little finger than this
King of the Vandals in his heart and his sword-hand. Give me a cup of
wine to wash down my rage."
Hilda quickly sprang up, filled the goblet, and offered it to him.
"Drink, brave Zazo! Hail to you and all heroes, and--"
"To hell with Hilderic!" cried the furious soldier, draining the beaker
at a single draught.
"Hush, brother! What sacrilege!" exclaimed Gelimer, with a clouded
brow.
"Well, for aught I care, to heaven with him! He'll suit that far better
than the throne of the sea-king Genseric."
"There you give him high praise," said Gelimer.
"I don't mean it. As I stood there while he questioned you so
ungraciously, I could have--But reviling him is useless. Something must
be done. I remained at home this time for a good reason: it was hard
enough for me to let you go forth to victory alone! But I secretly kept
a sharp watch on this fox in the purple, and have discovered his
tricks. Send away this pair of wedded lovers, I think they have much to
say to each other alone; the child Ammata, too; and listen to my
report, my suspicion, my accusation: not only against the King, but
others also."
Gibamund threw his arm tenderly around his slender wife, and the boy
ran out of the hall in front of them.
CHAPTER V
Gelimer sat down on the couch; Zazo stood before him, leaning on his
long sword, and began,--
"Soon after you went to the field, Pudentius came from Tripolis to
Carthage."
"Again?"
"Yes, he is often at the palace and talks for hours, alone with the
King. Or with Euages and Hoamer, the King's nephews, our beloved
cousins. The latter, arrogant blockhead, can't keep silent after wine.
In a drunken revel he told the secret."
"But surely not to you?"
"No! To red-haired Thrasaric."
"The savage!"
"I don't commend his morals," cried the other, laughing. "Yet he has
grown much more sedate since he is honestly trying to win the dainty
Eugenia. But he never lies. And he would die for the Vandal nation;
especially for you, whom he calls his tutor. You begin education with
blows. In the grove of Venus--"
"The Holy Virgin, you mean," Gelimer corrected.
"If you prefer?--yes! But it does the Virgin little honor, so long as
the old customs remain. So, at a banquet in the shell grotto of that
grove, Thrasaric was praising you, and said you would restore the
warlike fame of the Vandals as soon as you were king, when Hoamer
shouted angrily: 'Never! That will never be! Constantinople has
forbidden it. Gelimer is the Emperor's foe. When my uncle dies, _I_
shall be king; or the Emperor will appoint Pudentius Regent of the
kingdom. So it has been discussed and settled among us.'"
"That was said in a fit of drunkenness."
"Under the influence of wine--and in wine is truth, the Romans say.
Just at that moment Pudentius came into the grotto. 'Aha!' called the
drunken man, 'your last letter from the Emperor was worth its weight in
gold. Just wait till I am King, I will reward you: you shall be the
Emperor's exarch in Tripolis.'
"Pudentius was greatly startled and winked at him to keep silence, but
he went on: 'No, no! that's your well-earned reward.' All this was told
me by Thrasaric in the first outbreak of his wrath after he had
rushed away from the banquet. But wait: there is more to come! This
Pudentius--do you believe him our friend?"
"Oh, no," sighed Gelimer. "His grandparents and parents were cruelly
slain by our kings because they remained true to their religion. How
should the son and grandson love us?"
Zazo went close up to his brother, laid his hand heavily on his
shoulder, and said slowly: "And _Verus_? Is _he_ to love us? Have you
forgotten how his whole family--?"
Gelimer shook his head mournfully: "Forget _that_? I?" He shuddered and
closed his eyes. Then, rousing himself by a violent effort from the
burden of his gloomy thoughts, he went on: "Still your firmly rooted
delusion! Always this distrust of the most faithful among all who love
me!"
"Oh, brother! But I will not upbraid you; your clear mind is blinded,
blinded by this priest! It seems as if there were some miracle at
work--"
"It _is_ a miracle," interrupted Gelimer, deeply moved, raising his
eyes devoutly.
"But what say you to the fact that this Pudentius, whom you, too, do
not trust, is admitted to the city secretly at night--by whom? By
Verus, your bosom friend!"
"That is not true."
"I have seen it. I will swear it to the priest's face. Oh, if only he
were here now!"
"He is not far away. He told me--he was the first one of you all to
greet me at the parade--that he longed to see me, he must speak to me
at once. I appointed this place; as soon as the King dismissed me I
would be here. Do you see? He is already coming down the colonnade."
CHAPTER VI
The tall, haggard priest who now came slowly into the hall was several
years older than Gelimer. A wide, dark-brown upper garment fell in
mantle-like folds from his broad shoulders: his figure, and still more
his unusually striking face, produced an impression of the most
tenacious will. The features, it is true, were too sharply cut to be
handsome; but no one who saw them ever forgot them. Strongly marked
thick black brows shaded penetrating black eyes, which, evidently by
design, were always cast down; the eagle nose, the firmly closed thin
lips, the sunken cheeks, the pallid complexion, whose dull lustre
resembled light yellow marble, combined to give the countenance
remarkable character. Lips, cheeks, and chin were smoothly shaven, and
so, too, was the black hair, more thickly mingled with gray than seemed
quite suited to his age,--little more than forty years. Each of his
rare gestures was so slow, so measured, that it revealed the rigid
self-control practised for decades, by which this impenetrable man
ruled himself--and others. His voice sounded expressionless, as if from
deep sadness or profound weariness, but one felt that it was repressed;
it was a rare thing to meet his eyes, but they often flashed with a
sudden fire, and then intense passion glowed in their depths. Nothing
that passed in this man's soul was recognizable in his features; only
the thin lips, firmly as he closed them, sometimes betrayed by a
slight, involuntary quiver that this rigid, corpse-like face was not a
death-mask.
Gelimer had started up the instant he saw the priest, and now, hurrying
toward him, clasped the motionless figure, which stood with arms
hanging loosely before him, ardently to his heart.
"Verus, my Verus!" he cried, "my guardian angel! And you!--_you_!--they
are trying to make me distrust. Really, brother, the stars would sooner
change from God's eternal order in the heavens than this man fail in
his fidelity to me." He kissed him on the cheek. Verus remained
perfectly unmoved. Zazo watched the pair wrathfully.
"He has more love, more feeling," he muttered, stroking his thick
beard, "for that Roman, that alien, than for--Speak, priest, can you
deny that last Sunday, after midnight, Pudentius--ah, your lips
quiver--Pudentius of Tripolis was secretly admitted by you through the
little door in the eastern gate and received in your house, beside your
basilica? Speak!"
Gelimer's eyes rested lovingly on his friend, and, smiling faintly, he
shook his head. Verus was silent.
"Speak," Zazo repeated. "Deny it if you dare. You did not suspect that
I was watching in the tower after I had relieved the guard. I had long
suspected the gate-keeper; he was once a slave of Pudentius. You bought
and freed him. Do you see, brother? He is silent! I will arrest him at
once. We will search for secret letters his house, his chest, the
altars, the sarcophagi of his church, nay, even his clothes."
Now Verus's black eyes suddenly blazed upon the bold soldier, then
after a swift side-glance at Gelimer were again bent calmly on the
floor.
"Or do you deny it?"
"No," fell almost inaudibly from the scarcely parted lips.
"Do you hear that, brother?"
Gelimer hastily advanced a step nearer to Verus.
"It was to tell you this that I requested an immediate interview," said
the latter, quietly, turning his back on Zazo.
"That's what I call presence of mind!" cried Zazo, laughing loudly.
"But how will you prove it?"
"I have brought the proof that Pudentius is a traitor," Verus went on,
turning to Gelimer, without paying the slightest attention to his
accuser. "Here it is."
He slowly threw back his cloak, passed his hand through the folds of
his under garment, and after a short search drew from his breast a
small, crumpled strip of papyrus, which he handed to Gelimer, who
hurriedly unfolded it, and read,--
"In spite of your warning, we shall persist. Belisarius is perhaps
already on the way. Give this to the King."
Both Vandals were startled.
"That letter?" asked Gelimer.
"Was written by Pudentius."
"To whom?"
"To me."
"Do you hear, brother?" exclaimed Zazo.
"He betrays--"
"The betrayers," Verus interrupted. "Yes, Gelimer, I have acted while
you were hesitating, pondering, and this brave fool was sleeping,
or--blustering. You remember, long ago I warned you that the King and
his nephews were negotiating with Constantinople."
"Did he do so really, brother?" asked Zazo, eagerly.
"Long ago. And repeatedly."
Zazo shook his brown locks, angry, wondering, incredulous. But he said
firmly,--
"Then forgive me, priest,--if I have really done you injustice."
"Pudentius," Verus continued, without replying, "was, I suspected, the
go-between. I gained his confidence."
"That is, you deceived him--as you are perhaps deluding us," muttered
Zazo.
"Silence, brother!" Gelimer commanded imperiously.
"It was not difficult to convince him. My family, like his, had by your
kings--" he interrupted himself abruptly. "I expressed my anguish; I
condemned your cruelty."
"With justice! Woe betide us, with justice!" groaned Gelimer, striking
his brow with his clenched fist.
"I said that my friendship for you was not so strong as my resentment
for all my kindred. He initiated me into the conspiracy. I was
startled; for, in truth, unless God worked a miracle to blind him, the
Vandal kingdom was hopelessly lost. I warned him--to gain time until
your return--of the cruel vengeance you would take upon all Romans if
the insurrection should be suppressed. He hesitated, promised to
consider everything again, to discuss the matter once more with the
King. There--this note, brought to me by a stranger to-day in the
basilica, contains the decision. Act quickly, or it may be too late."
Gelimer gazed silently into vacancy. But Zazo drew his sword and was
rushing from the hall.
"Where are you going?" asked the priest, in a low tone, seizing his
arm. The grasp was so firm, so powerful, that the Vandal could not
shake it off.
"Where? To the King! To cut down the traitor and his allies! Then
assemble the army and--Hail to King Gelimer!"
"Silence, madman!" cried the latter, startled, as if his most secret
wish were revealed to him, "you will stay here! Would you add to all
the sins which already burden the Vandal race--especially our
generation--the crime of dethronement, regicide, the murder of a
kinsman? Where is the proof of Hilderic's guilt? Was my long-cherished
distrust not merely the fruit, but the pretext,--inspired by my own
impatient desire for the throne? Pudentius may lie--exaggerate. Where
is the proof that treason is planned?"
"Will you wait till it has succeeded?" cried Zazo, defiantly.
"No! But do not punish till it is proved."
"There speaks the Christian," said the priest, approvingly.--"But the
proof must be quickly produced: this very day. Listen, I have reason to
believe that Pudentius is in the city now."
"We must have him!" cried Zazo. "Where is he? With the King?"
"They do not work so openly. He steals into the palace only by night.
But I know his hiding-place. In the grove of the Holy Virgin--the warm
baths."
"Send me, brother! Me! I will fly!"
"Go, then," replied Gelimer, waving his hand.
"But do not kill him," the priest called after the hurrying figure.
"No, by my sword! We must have him alive." He vanished down the
corridor.
"Oh, Verus!" Gelimer passionately exclaimed, "you faithful friend!
Shall I owe you the rescue of my people, as well as the deliverance of
my own poor life from the most horrible death?" He eagerly clasped his
hand.
The priest withdrew it.
"Thank God for your own and your people's destiny, not me. I am only
the tool of His will, from the hour I assumed the garb of this
priesthood. But listen: to you alone dare I confide the whole truth;
yonder blockhead would ruin everything by his blind impetuosity. Your
life is threatened. That does not alarm the hero! Yet you must preserve
it for your people. Fall if fall you must, in battle, under the sword
of Belisarius" (Gelimer's eyes sparkled, and a noble enthusiasm
transfigured his face), "but do not perish miserably by murder."
"Murder? Who would--?"
"The King. No, do not doubt. Pudentius told me. The nephews overruled
his opposition. They know that you will baffle their plans so long as
you live. You must never be permitted to become King of the Vandals."
Here the black eyes shot a swift glance, then fell again.
"We shall see!" cried Gelimer, wrathfully. "I _will_ be King, and
woe--"
Here he stopped suddenly. His breath came and went quickly. After a
pause, repressing his vehemence, he asked humbly,--
"Is this ambition a sin, my brother?"
"You have a right to the crown," the other answered quietly. "If you
should die, then, according to Genseric's law of succession, Hoamer, as
the oldest male scion of the race, would follow. So they have persuaded
the King to invite you on the day of your return to a secret interview
in the palace--entirely alone--and there murder you."
"Impossible, my friend. I have already seen the King. He received me
ungraciously, ungratefully; but," he smiled, "as you see, I am still
alive."
"You went to see the King, surrounded by all the leaders of your troops
fully armed. But beware that he does not summon you again alone."
"That would be strange. We discussed every subject of moment."
At that instant steps echoed in the corridor. A negro slave handed
Gelimer a letter. "From the King," he said, and left the hall.
The hero tore the cord that fastened the little wax tablet, glanced at
the contents, and turned pale.
It is true. Come at the tenth hour in the evening to my sleeping room,
with no companion. I have a secret matter to discuss with you.
HILDERIC.
"You see--"
"No, no! I will not believe it. It may be accident. Hilderic is weak;
he hates me; but he is no murderer."
"So much the better if Pudentius lied. But it is the duty of the friend
to warn. Do not go there!"
"I must! I fear for myself? Does my Verus know me so little?"
"Then do not go alone. Take Zazo with you, or Gibamund."
"Impossible, against the King's command! And no one is permitted to
have a private interview with the King except unarmed."
"Well, then, at least wear _under_ your robe the cuirass, which will
protect you from a dagger-thrust. And the short-sword? Cannot you
conceal it in your sleeve or girdle?"
"Over-anxious friend!" said Gelimer, smiling. "But for your sake I will
put on the cuirass."
"That is not enough for me. However, I will consider; there is one way
of helping you in case of need. Yes, that will do."
"What do you mean?"
"Hush! I will pray that my thoughts may be fulfilled. You, too, my
brother, pray. For you, we all, are to meet great dangers; and God
alone sees the--"
Here he stopped suddenly, clasped both hands around his head, and with
a hoarse cry sank upon the couch.
"Alas, Verus!" exclaimed Gelimer. "Are you faint?" Hastily seizing the
mixing vessel, he sprinkled water on the insensible man's face, and
rubbed his hands.
The priest opened his eyes again, and by a great effort, sat erect.
"Never mind; it is over! But the strain of this hour--was probably--too
much. I will go--no, I need no support--to the basilica, to pray. Send
Zazo there as soon as he returns--before you go to the King; do you
hear? God grant my ardent desire!"
CHAPTER VII
TO CETHEGUS, A FRIEND.
The Vandal war has been given up, and for what pitiable reasons! You
know that I have thought it far wiser for our rulers to attend to the
matters immediately around us than to meddle with the Barbarians. For
so long as this unbearable burden of taxation and abuse of official
power continues in the Roman Empire, so long every conquest, every
increase in the number of our subjects, will merely swell the list of
unfortunates. Yet if Africa could be restored to the Empire, we ought
not to relinquish the proud thought from sheer cowardice!
There stands the ugly word,--unhappily a true one. From cowardice? Not
Theodora's. Indeed, that is not one of the faults of this delicate,
otherwise womanly woman. Two years ago, when the terrible insurrection
of the Greens and Blues in the Circus swept victoriously over the whole
city, when Justinian despaired and wished to fly, Theodora's courage
kept him in the palace, and Belisarius's fidelity saved him. But this
time the blame does not rest upon the Emperor; it is the cowardice of
the Roman army, or especially, the fleet. True, Justinian's zeal
has cooled considerably since the failure of the crafty plan to
destroy Genseric's kingdom; almost without a battle, principally by
"arts,"--treachery, ordinary people term them. Hilderic, at an
appointed time, was to send his whole army into the interior for a
great campaign against the Moors; our fleet was to run into the
unprotected harbors of Carthage, land the army, occupy the city, and
make Hilderic, Hoamer, and a Senator the Emperor's three governors of
the recovered province of Africa.
But this time we crafty ones were outwitted by a brain still more
subtle. Our friend from Tripolis writes that he was deceived in the
Arian priest whom he believed he had won for our cause. This man,
at first well disposed, afterwards became wavering, warned,
dissuaded--nay, perhaps even betrayed the plan to the Vandals. So an
open attack must be made. This pleased Belisarius, but not the Emperor.
He hesitated.
Meanwhile--Heaven knows through whom--the rumor of the coming Vandal
war spread through the court, into the city, among the soldiers and
sailors; and--disgrace and shame on us--nearly all the greatest
dignitaries, the generals, and also the army and the fleet were seized
with terror. All remembered the last great campaign against this
dreaded foe, when, two generations ago--it was under the Emperor
Leo--the full strength of the whole empire was employed. The ruler of
the Western Empire attacked the Vandals simultaneously in Sardinia and
Tripolis. Constantinople accomplished magnificent deeds. One hundred
and thirty thousand pounds of gold were used; Basiliscus, the Emperor's
brother-in-law, led a hundred thousand warriors to the Carthaginian
coast. All were destroyed in a single night. Genseric attacked with
firebrands the triremes packed too closely together at the Promontory
of Mercury, while his swift horsemen at the same time assailed the camp
on the shore; fleet and army were routed in blood and flame. Even to
the present day do the Prefect and the Treasurer lament the loss. "It
will be just the same now as it was then. The last money in the almost
empty coffers will be flung into the sea!" But the generals (except
Belisarius and Narses), what heroes they are! Each fears that the
Emperor will choose him. And how, even if they overcome the terrors of
the ocean, is a landing to be made upon a hostile coast defended by the
dreaded Germans? The soldiers, who have just returned from the Persian
War, have barely tasted the joys of home. They are talking mutinously
in every street; no sooner returned from the extreme East, they must be
sent to the farthest West, to the Pillars of Hercules, to fight with
Moors and Vandals. They were not used to sea-battles, were not trained
for them, were not enlisted for the purpose, and therefore were under
no obligations. The Prefect, especially, represented to the Emperor
that Carthage was a hundred and fifty days' march by land from Egypt,
while the sea was barred by the invincible fleet of the Vandals. "Don't
meddle with this African wasp's nest," he warned him. "Or the corsair
ships will ravage all our coasts and islands as they did in the days of
Genseric." And this argument prevailed. The Emperor has changed his
mind. How the hero Belisarius fumes and rages!
Theodora resents--in silence. But she vehemently desired this war! I am
really no favorite of hers. I am far too independent, too much the
master of my own thoughts, and my conscience pricks me often enough
for my insincerity. She certainly has the best--that is, the best
trained--conscience: it no longer disturbs her. Doubtless she smoothed
down its pricks long ago. But I have repeatedly received the dainty
little papyrus rolls whose seal bears a scorpion surrounded by
flames,--little notes in which she earnestly urged me to the "war
spirit," if I desired to retain her friendship.
CHAPTER VIII
Since I wrote this--a few days ago--new and important tidings have come
from Africa. Great changes have taken place there, which perhaps may
force the vacillating Emperor to go to war. What our statecraft had
striven in the most eager and crafty manner to prevent has already
happened in spite of this effort, perhaps in consequence of it. Gelimer
is King of the Vandals!
The archdeacon Verus--all names can be mentioned now--had really spun
webs against, not for us. He betrayed everything to Gelimer! Pudentius
of Tripolis, who was secretly living in Carthage, was to have been
seized; Verus had betrayed his hiding-place. It is remarkable, by the
way, that Pudentius hastily fled from the city a short time before, on
the priest's swiftest horse.
That same day a mysterious event occurred in the palace, of which
nothing is known definitely except the result--for Gelimer is King of
the Vandals; but the connection, the causes, are very differently told.
Some say that Gelimer wanted to murder the King, others that the King
tried to kill Gelimer. Others again whisper--so Pudentius writes--of a
secret warning which reached the King: a stranger informed him by
letter that Gelimer meant to murder him at their next private
interview. The sovereign, to convince himself, must instantly summon
him to one; the assassin would either refuse to come, from fear
awakened by an evil conscience, or he would appear--contrary to the
strict prohibition of court laws--secretly armed. Hilderic must provide
himself with a coat of mail and a dagger, and have help close at hand.
The King obeyed this counsel.
It is certain that he summoned Gelimer on the evening of that very day
to an interview in his bedroom on the ground-floor of the palace.
Gelimer came. The King embraced him, and in doing so, discovered the
armor under his robe and called for help. The ruler's two nephews,
Hoamer and Euages, rushed with drawn swords from the next room to kill
the assassin. But at the same moment Gelimer's two brothers, whom Verus
had concealed amid the shrubbery in the garden, sprang through the low
windows of the ground-floor. The King and Euages were disarmed and
taken prisoners; Hoamer escaped. Hastening into the courtyard of the
Capitol, he called the Vandals to arms to rescue their King, who had
been murderously attacked by Gelimer. The Barbarians hesitated:
Hilderic was unpopular, Gelimer a great favorite, and the people did
not believe him capable of such a crime. The latter now appeared, gave
the lie to his accuser, and charged Hilderic and his nephews with the
attempt at assassination. To decide the question he challenged Hoamer
to single combat in the presence of the whole populace, and killed him
at the first blow.
The Vandals tumultuously applauded him, at once declared Hilderic
deposed, and proclaimed Gelimer, who was the legal heir, their King. It
was with the utmost difficulty that his intercession saved the lives of
the two captives. Verus is said to have been made prothonotary and
chancellor, Gelimer's chief councillor, since he saved his life! We
know better, we who were betrayed, how this priest earned his reward at
our expense.
But I believe that this change of ruler will compel the war. It is now
a point of honor with Justinian to save or avenge his dethroned and
imprisoned friend. I have already composed a wonderful letter to the
"Tyrant" Gelimer which closes thus: "So, contrary to justice and duty,
you are keeping your cousin, the rightful King of the Vandals, in
chains, and robbing him of the crown. Replace him on the throne, or
know that we will march against you, and in so doing (this sentence the
Emperor of the Pandects dictated word for word)--in so doing we shall
not break the compact of perpetual peace formerly concluded with
Genseric, for we shall not be fighting against Genseric's lawful
successor, but to avenge him." Note the legal subtlety. The Emperor is
more proud of that sentence than Belisarius of his great Persian
victory at Dara. If this Gelimer should actually do what we ask, the
avengers of justice would be most horribly embarrassed. For we _desire_
this war; that is, we wanted Africa long before the occurrence of the
crime which we shall march to avenge--unless we prefer, with wise
economy and caution, to remain at home.
* * * * *
We have received the Vandal's answer. A right royal reply for a
Barbarian and tyrant. "The sovereign Gelimer to the sovereign Justinian
"--he uses the same word, "Basileus," for Emperor and for King, the
bold soldier.
"I did not seize the sceptre by violence, nor have I committed any
crime against my kindred. But the Vandal people deposed Hilderic
because he himself was planning evil against the Asding race, against
the rightful heir to the throne, against our kingdom. The law of
succession summoned me, as the oldest of the Asding family after
Hilderic, to the empty throne.
"He is a praiseworthy ruler, O Justinianus, who wisely governs his own
kingdom and does not interfere with foreign states. If you break the
peace guarded by sacred oaths, and attack us, we shall manfully defend
ourselves, and appeal to God, who punishes perjury and wrong."
Good! I like you. King Gelimer! I am glad to have our Emperor of
lawyers told that he must not blow what is not burning him: a proverb
which to me seems a tolerably fair embodiment of all legal wisdom.
True, I have my own thoughts concerning the divine punishment of all
earthly injustice.
The Barbarian's letter has highly incensed Justinian, another proof
that the Barbarian is right. But I believe we shall put this answer in
our pockets just as quietly as we returned to its sheath the sword we
had already drawn. The Emperor inveighs loudly against the Tyrant, but
the army shouts still more loudly that it will not fight. And the
Empress--is silent.
CHAPTER IX
Meanwhile King Gelimer was moving forward with all his power to
preparations for the threatening conflict. He found much, very much, to
be done. The King, assuming the chief direction, and working wherever
he was needed, had given Zazo charge of the fleet and Gibamund that of
the army.
One sultry August evening he received their reports. The three brothers
had met in the great throne-room and armory of the palace, into which
Gelimer had now moved; the open windows afforded a magnificent view of
the harbors and the sea beyond them; the north wind brought a
refreshing breath from the salt tide.
This portion of the ancient citadel had been rebuilt by the Vandal
kings, changed to suit the necessities of life in a German palace. The
round column of the Greeks had been replaced, in imitation of the wood
used in the construction of the German halls, by huge square pillars of
brown and red marble, which Africa produced in the richest variety. The
ceiling was wainscoted with gayly painted or burned wood, and, on both
stone and timber, besides the house-mark of the Asdings,--an A
transfixed by an arrow,--many another rune, even many a short motto,
was inscribed in Gothic characters. Costly crimson silk hangings waved
at the open arched windows; the walls were set with slabs of polished
marble in the most varied contrast of often vivid colors, for the
Barbarian taste loved bright hues. The floor was composed of polished
mosaic, but it was rough and not well fitted. Genseric had simply
brought whole shiploads of the brightest hues he could drag from the
palaces of plundered Rome, with statues and bas-reliefs, which were put
together here with little choice.
Opposite to the side facing the sea, rose, at the summit of five steps,
a stately structure, the throne of Genseric. The steps were very broad;
they were intended to accommodate the King's enormous train, the
Palatines and Gardings, the leaders of the thousands and hundreds,
stationed according to their rank and the ruler's favor. In their rich
fantastic costumes and armor, a combination of German and Roman taste,
they often gathered closely around the sovereign and stood crowding
together; the scarlet silk Vandal banners fluttered above them, and a
golden dragon swung by a rope from the tent-like canopy of the lofty
purple throne. When from this throne, at whose feet, as a symbolical
tribute from conquered Moorish princes, lion and tiger skins lay piled
a foot high, the mighty sea-king arose, swinging around his head with
angry, threatening words the seven-lashed scourge (a gift from his
friend Attila), many an envoy of the Emperor forgot the arrogant speech
he had prepared.
The wonderful splendor of this hall fairly bewildered the eye; but its
richest ornament was the countless number of weapons of every variety,
and of every nation, principally German, Roman, and Moorish; but also
from all the other coasts and islands which the sea-king's corsair
ships could visit. They covered all the pillars and walls; nay, the
shields and breastplates were even spread over the entire ceiling.
A strange, dazzling light now poured over all this bronze, silver, and
gold, as the slanting rays of the setting sun streamed from the
northwest into the hall. A broad white marble table was completely
covered with parchment and papyrus rolls, containing lists of the
bodies of troops, by thousands and hundreds, drawings of ships, maps of
the Vandal kingdom, charts of the Bay of Gades and the Tyrrhenian Sea.
"You have accomplished more than the possible during the weeks I have
been in the west, trying to bring the Vandals thence to Carthage," said
the King, laying down a wax tablet on which he had been computing
figures. "True, we are far, far from possessing the numbers or the
strength of the ships which formerly bore 'the terror of the Vandals'
to every shore. But these hundred and fifty will be amply sufficient,
and more than sufficient, to defend our own coast and to prevent a
landing, if behind the fleet there stands a body of foot soldiers on
the shore."
"No, do not sigh, my Gibamund," cried Zazo. "Our brother knows it is no
fault of yours that the army is not--cannot accomplish what--"
"Oh," exclaimed Gibamund, wrathfully, "it is all in vain! No matter
what I do, they will not drill. They want to drink and bathe and
carouse and ride and see the games in the Circus, indulge in everything
that consumes a man's marrow in that accursed grove of Venus."
"But that abomination ended yesterday," said the King.
"Much you know about it, O Gelimer," said Zazo, shaking his head. "You
have accomplished miracles since you wore this heavy crown; but to
cleanse the grove of Venus--"
"Not cleanse; close!" replied the King, sternly. "It has been closed
since yesterday."
"I must complain, accuse many," Gibamund went on, "especially the
nobles. They refuse to fight on foot, to take part in the drill of the
foot soldiers. You know how much we need them. They appeal to the
privileges bestowed by weak Sovereigns; they say they are no longer
obliged to enter the ranks of the foot soldiers! Hilderic permitted
every Vandal to buy freedom from it, if he would hire in his place two
Moorish or other mercenaries."
"I have abolished these privileges."
"Oh, yes. And during your absence there was open rebellion; blood
flowed on that account in the streets of Carthage. But the worst thing
is, that these effeminate nobles and the richer citizens _can_ no
longer fight on foot. They say--and unfortunately it is true--that they
can no longer bear the weight of the heavy helmets, breastplates,
shields, and spears, no longer hurl the lances which I had brought out
again from Genseric's arsenal."
"They are of course required to arm themselves," said Zazo. "So why--"
"Because most have sold the ancient weapons or exchanged them for
jewels, wine, dainties, or female slaves; or else for arms that are
mere ornaments and toys. I allow no one to enter the army with this
rubbish; and before they are properly equipped, the victory and the
Empire might be lost. But it is true: they can no longer carry
Genseric's armor. They would fall in a short time. They are swearing
because we are now in the very hottest months."
"Are we to tell the enemy that the Vandals fight only in the winter?"
cried Zazo, laughing.
"Therefore to fill the ranks of our foot soldiers I have already
obtained many thousand Moorish mercenaries," the King replied. "Of
course these sons of the desert, variable, impetuous, changeful, like
the sands of their home, are a poor substitute for German strength. But
I have gained twenty chiefs with about ten thousand men."
"Is Cabaon, the graybeard of countless years, among them?" asked
Gibamund.
"No, he delays his answer."
"It is a pity. He is the most powerful of them all! And his prophetic
renown extends far beyond his tribe," observed Zazo.
"Well, we shall have better assistants than the Moorish robbers," said
Gibamund, consolingly. "The brave Visigoths in Spain."
"Have you yet received an answer from their king?"
"Yes and no! King Theudis is shrewd and cautious. I urged upon him
earnestly (I wrote the letter myself; I did not leave it to Verus) that
Constantinople was not threatening us Vandals solely; that the imperial
troops could easily cross the narrow straits from Ceuta, if we were
once vanquished. I offered him an alliance. He answered evasively: he
must first be sure of what we could accomplish in the war."
"What does he mean by that?" cried Zazo, angrily. "I suppose he wants
to wait till the end of the conflict. Whether we conquer or are
vanquished, we shall no longer need him!"
"I wrote again, still more urgently. His answer will soon come."
"But the Ostrogoths?" asked Gibamund, eagerly. "What do they reply?"
"Nothing at all."
"That is bad," said Gibamund.
"I wrote to the Regent: I stated that I was innocent of Hilderic's
shameful deed. I warned her against Justinian, who was threatening her
no less than us; I reminded her of the close kinship of our nations--"
"You have not yet stooped to entreaties?" asked Zazo, indignantly.
"By no means. I besought nothing. I merely requested, as our just
right, that the Ostrogoths at least would not aid our foes. As yet I
have had no answer. But worse than the lack of allies, the most
perilous thing is the utter, foolish undervaluation of the enemy among
our own people," added the King.
"Yes! They say, Why should we weary ourselves with drilling and arming?
The little Greeks won't dare to attack us! And if they really do come,
the grandsons of Genseric will destroy the grandsons of Basiliscus just
as Genseric destroyed him."
"But we are no longer Genseric's Vandals!" Gelimer lamented. "Genseric
brought with him an army of heroes, brave, trained by twenty years of
warfare with other Germans and with the Romans in the mountains of
Spain, simple, plain in tastes, rigid in morals. He closed the houses
of Roman pleasure in Carthage; he compelled all women of light fame to
marry or enter convents."
"But how that suited the husbands and the other nuns is not told,"
replied Zazo, laughing.
"And now, to-day, our youths are as corrupt as the most profligate
Romans. To the cruelty of the fathers"--the King sighed deeply--"is
added the dissipation, the intemperance, the effeminate indolence of
the sons. How can such a nation endure? It must succumb."
"But we Asdings," said Gibamund, drawing himself up to his full height,
while his eyes sparkled and a noble look transfigured his whole face,
"we are unsullied by such stains."
"What sins have we--you and we two committed," Zazo added, "that we
must perish?"
Again the King sighed heavily, his brow clouded, he lowered his eyes.
"We? Do we not bear the curse which--But hush! Not a word of that! It
is the last straw of my hope that I, the King, at least wear this crown
without guilt. Were I obliged to accuse myself of that, woe betide me!
Oh--whose is this cold hand? You, Verus? You startled me."
"He steals in noiselessly, like a serpent," Zazo muttered in his beard.
The priest--he had retained, even as chancellor, the ecclesiastical
robe--had entered unobserved; how long before, no one knew. His eyes
were fixed intently upon Gelimer, as he slowly withdrew the hand he had
laid upon his friend's bare arm.
"Yes, my sovereign, keep this anxiety of conscience. Guard your soul
from guilt. I know your nature; it would crush you."
"You shall not make my brother still more gloomy," cried Zazo,
indignantly.
"Gelimer and guilt!" exclaimed Gibamund, throwing his arm around the
King's neck.
"He is only too conscientious, too much given to pondering," Zazo went
on. "Really, Gelimer, you, too, are no longer like Genseric's Vandals.
You are infected also; not by Roman vices, but by Roman or Greek or
Christian brooding over subtle questions. To put it more courteously:
gnosticism, theosophy, or mysticism? I know nothing about it, cannot
even think of it. How glad I am that our father did not send me to be
educated by the priests and philosophers! He soon discovered that
Zazo's hard skull was fit only for the helmet, not to carry a reed
behind the ear. But you! I always felt as though I were going into a
dungeon when I visited you in your gloomy, high-walled monastery, in
the solitude of the desert. Many, many years you dreamed away there
among the books--lost."
"Not lost!" replied Gibamund. "He found time to become the chief hero
of his people. On him rests the hope of the Vandals."
"On the whole House of the Asdings! We are not degenerates," answered
the King. "But can a single family--even though it is the reigning
one--stay the sinking of a whole nation? Uplift one that has fallen so
low?"
"Hardly," said Verus, shaking his head. "For who can say of himself
that he is free from sin? And," he added slowly, suddenly raising his
eyes and fixing them full upon Gelimer, "the sins of the fathers--"
"Stay," exclaimed the King, groaning aloud, as if in anguish. "Not that
thought now--when I must act, create, accomplish. It will paralyze me."
He pressed his hand over his eyes and brow.
"Even at the present time," the priest continued, "sin is dominant
everywhere among the people. It cries aloud to Heaven for vengeance.
Just now I was obliged, to comfort a dying man--"
"Even as Chancellor of the Kingdom, he does not forget the duties of
the priest," said Gelimer, turning to his brothers.
"To go near the southern gate. Again, from that grove devoted to every
vice, there fell upon my ear the uproar, the infernal jubilee of evil
revel. Those shameless songs--"
"What?" cried the King, wrathfully, striking the marble table with his
clinched fist. "Do they dare? Did I not order, before my departure for
Hippo, that all these games and festivals should cease? Did I not fix
yesterday as the final limit, after which the grove must be cleared and
all its houses closed? I sent three hundred lancers to see that my
commands were obeyed. What are they doing?"
"Those who are no longer dancing and drinking are asleep, weary of
carousing, full of wine, which they drank, like all who were there. I
saw a little group snoring under the archway of the gate."
"I will give them a terrible awakening," cried the King. "Must sin
actually devour us?"
"That grove is beyond cure," said Zazo.
"What the sword cannot do, the flames will," exclaimed the King,
threateningly. "I will sweep through them like the wrath of God! Up,
follow me, my brothers!" He rushed out of the room.
"Order the hundreds of horsemen to mount, Gibamund," said Zazo, as they
crossed the threshold,--"the household troop, under faithful Markomer.
For the Vandals no longer obey the King's word unless at the same time
they see the glitter of the King's sword."
The archdeacon, muttering softly to himself and shaking his head,
slowly followed the three Asdings.
CHAPTER X
The "lower city" of Carthage extended northward to the harbor, westward
to the suburb of Aklas, the Numidian, and eastward to the Tripolitan
suburb. Directly beyond its southern gate, covering a space more than
two leagues long and a league wide, lay the oft-mentioned "Grove of
Venus" or "Grove of the Holy Virgin." From the most ancient pagan times
this grove was the scene of the sumptuous, sensual revels which were
proverbial throughout the Roman Empire. "African" was the word used to
express the acme of such orgies.
The whole coast of the bay in this neighborhood, kept moist by the damp
sea-air, had originally been covered with dense woods. The larger
portion had long since yielded to the growth of the city; but, by the
Emperor's order, a considerable part was retained and transformed into
a magnificent park, adorned with all the skill and the lavish
expenditure which characterized the time of the Cæsars.
The main portion of this grove consisted of date palms. These were
introduced by the Phoenicians. The palm, say the Arabs, gladly sets her
feet as queen of the desert into damp sand, but lifts her head into the
glow of the sun. It thrived magnificently here, and in centuries of
growth the slender columns of the trunks attained a height of fifty
feet; no sunbeam could penetrate vertically through the roof of
drooping leaves of those thick crowns, which rustled and nodded
dreamily in the wind, wooing, inviting to sleep, to unresisting
indolence, to drowsy thoughts.
But they stood sufficiently far apart to allow the light and air to
enter from the sides and to permit smaller trees (dwarf palms), bushes,
and flowers to grow luxuriantly beneath the shelter of the lofty
crowns. Besides the palms, other noble trees had been first planted and
fostered by human hands, then had increased through the peerless
fertility of nature: the plane-tree, with its lustrous light bark; the
pine, the cypress, and the laurel; the olive, which loves the salt
breath of the sea; the pomegranate, so naturalized here that its fruit
was called "the Carthaginian apple"; while figs, citrus-trees,
apricots, peaches, almonds, chestnuts, pistachios, terebinths,
oleanders, and myrtles,--sometimes as large trees, sometimes as
shrubs,--formed, as it were, the undergrowth of the glorious palm
forest.
And the skill in gardening of the Roman imperial days, which has
scarcely been equalled since, aided by irrigation from the immense
aqueducts, had created here, on the edge of the desert, marvels of
beauty. "Desert" was a misnomer; the real desert lay much farther in
the interior. First there was a thick luxuriant green turf, which, even
in the hottest days of the year, had hardly a single sunburnt patch.
The wind had borne the flower-seeds from the numerous beds, and now
everywhere amid the grass blossoms shone in the vivid, glowing hues
with which the African sun loves to paint.
The parterres of flowers which were scattered through the entire grove
suffered, it is true, from a certain monotony. The variety that now
adorns our gardens was absent: the rose, the narcissus, the violet, and
the anemone stood almost alone; but these appeared in countless
varieties, in colors artificially produced, and were often made to
blossom before or after their regular season.
In this world of trees, bushes, and flowers the lavishness of the
emperors (who had formerly often resided here), the munificence of the
governors, and still more the endowments of wealthy citizens of
Carthage had erected an immense number of buildings of every variety.
For centuries patriotism, a certain sense of honor, and often vanity,
boastfulness, and a desire to perpetuate a name, had induced wealthy
citizens to keep themselves in remembrance by erecting structures for
the public benefit, laying out pleasure-grounds, and putting up
monuments. This local patriotism of the former citizens, both in its
praiseworthy and its petty motives, had by no means died out. Solemn
tombs separated by very narrow spaces lined both sides of the broad
Street of Legions, which ran straight through the grove from north to
south. Besides these there were buildings of every description, and
also baths, ponds, little lakes with waterworks, marble quays, and
dainty harbors for the light pleasure-boats, circus buildings,
amphitheatres, stages, stadia for athletic sports, hippodromes, open
colonnades, temples with all their numerous and extensive outbuildings
scattered everywhere through the grounds of the whole park.
The grove had originally been dedicated to Aphrodite (Venus), therefore
statues of this goddess and of Eros (Cupid) appeared most frequently in
the wide grounds, though Christian zeal had shattered the heads,
breasts, and noses of many such figures and broken the bow of many a
Cupid. Since the reign of Constantine, most of the pagan temples had
been converted into Christian oratories and churches, but by no means
all; and those that had been withdrawn from the service of the pagan
religion and not used for the Christian one had now for two centuries,
with their special gardens, arbors, and grottoes, been the scenes of
much vice, gambling, drunkenness, and matters even worse. The gods had
been driven out; the demons had entered.
Among more than a hundred buildings in the grove, two near the Southern
Gate of the city were specially conspicuous: the Old Circus and the
Amphitheatre of Theodosius.
The Old Circus had been erected in the period of the greatest
prosperity of Carthage, the whole spacious structure, with its eighty
thousand seats, was planned to accommodate its great population. Now
most of the rows stood empty; many of the Roman families, since the
Vandal conquest, had moved away, been driven forth, exiled. The rich
bronze ornaments of numerous single seats, rows, and boxes had been
broken off. This was done not by the Vandals, who did not concern
themselves about such trifles, but by the Roman inhabitants of the city
and by the neighboring peasants; they even wrenched off and carried
away the marble blocks from the buildings in the grove. The granite
lower story, a double row of arches, supported the rows of marble
seats, which rose from within like an amphitheatre. Outside, the Circus
was surrounded by numerous entrances and outside staircases, besides
niches occupied as shops, especially workshops, cookshops, taverns, and
fruit booths. Here, by night and day, many evil-minded people were
always lounging; from the larger ones, hidden by curtains from the eyes
of the passing throng, cymbals and drums clashed, in token that,
within, Syrian and Egyptian girls were performing their voluptuous
dances for a few copper coins. South of the Circus was a large lake,
fed with sea-water from the "Stagnum," whose whole contents could be
turned into the amphitheatre directly adjoining it.
CHAPTER XI
The sultry heat of an African summer day still brooded over the whole
grove, although the sun had long since sunk into the sea, and the brief
twilight had passed into the darkness of night. But the full moon was
already rising above the palm-trees, pouring her magical light over
trees, bushes, meadows, and water; over the marble statues which
gleamed fantastically out of the darkest, blackish-green masses of
shrubbery; and over the buildings, which were principally of white or
light-colored stone.
In the more distant portions of the grove Diana's soft silvery light
ruled alone, and here deep, chaste silence reigned, interrupted only
here and there by the note of some night bird. But near the gate, in
the two great main buildings, and on the turf and in the gardens
surrounding them, the noisy uproar of many thousands filled the air.
All the instruments known at the time were playing discordantly,
drowning one another. Cries of pleasure, drunkenness, even rage and
angry conflict, were heard in the Roman, the Greek, the Moorish, and
especially the Vandal tongue; for perhaps the largest and certainly the
noisiest "guests of the grove," as the companions in these pleasures
called themselves, belonged to the race of conquerors, who here gave
vent to all their longing and capacity for pleasure.
Two men, wearing the German costume, were walking down the broad street
to the Circus. The dress was conspicuous here, for nearly all the
Vandals, except the royal family, had either exchanged the German garb,
nay, even the German weapons, for Roman ones, or for convenience,
effeminacy, love of finery, adopted one or another article of Roman
attire. These two men, however, had German cloaks, helmets, and
weapons.
"What frantic shouts! What pushing and crowding!" said the elder, a man
of middle height, whose shrewd, keen eyes were closely scanning
everything that was passing around him.
"And it is not the Romans who shout and roar most wildly and
frenziedly, but our own dear cousins," replied the other.
"Was I not right, friend Theudigesel? Here, among the people
themselves, we shall learn more, obtain better information, in a single
night, than if we exchanged letters with this book-learned King for
many months."
"What we see here with our own eyes is almost incredible!"
Just at that moment loud cries reached their ears from the gate behind
them. Two negroes, naked except for an apron of peacock feathers about
their loins, were swinging gold staves around their woolly heads,
evidently trying to force a passage for a train behind them.
"Make way," they shouted constantly; "make way for the noble,
Modigesel."
But they could not succeed in breaking through the crowd; their calls
only attracted more curious spectators. So the eight Moors behind, who
were clad, or rather _un_clad, in the same way, were compelled to set
down their swaying burden, a richly gilded, half open litter. Its back
was made of narrow purple cushions, framed and supported by ivory rods;
white ostrich feathers and the red plumage of the flamingo nodded from
the knobs of the ivory.
"Ho, my friend,"--the younger man addressed the occupant of the litter,
a fair-haired Vandal about twenty-seven years old in a gleaming silk
robe, richly ornamented with gold and gems,--"are the nights here
always so gay?"
The noble was evidently surprised that any one should presume to accost
him so unceremoniously. Listlessly opening a pair of sleepy eyes, he
turned to his companion; for beside him now appeared a young woman,
marvellously beautiful, though almost too fully developed, in a
splendid robe, but overloaded with ornament. Her fair skin seemed to
gleam with a dull yellow lustre; the expression of the perfect
features, as regular as though carved by rule, yet rigid as those of
the Sphinx, had absolutely no trace of mind or soul, only somewhat
indolent but not yet sated sensuousness: she resembled a marvellously
beautiful but very dangerous animal. So her charms exerted a power that
was bewildering, oppressive, rather than winning. The Juno-like figure
was not ornamented, but rather hung and laden, with gold chains,
circlets, rings, and disks.
"O-oh-a-ah! I say, Astarte!" lisped her companion, in an affected
whisper. He had heard from a Græco-Roman dandy in Constantinople that
it was fashionable to speak too low to be understood. "Scarecrows,
those two fellows, eh?" And, sighing over the exertion, he pushed up
the thick chaplet of roses which had slipped down over his eyes. "Like
the description of Genseric and his graybeards! Just see--ah--one has a
wolfskin for a cloak. The other is carrying--in the Grove of Venus--a
huge spear!--You ought to show yourselves--over yonder--in the
Circus--for money, monsters!"
The younger stranger drew his sword wrathfully. "If you knew to whom
you were--"
But the older man motioned him to keep silence.
"You must have come a long distance, if you ask such questions," the
Vandal went on, evidently amused by the appearance of the foreigners.
"It is the same always in this grove of the goddess of love. Only
possibly it may be a trifle gayer to-night. The richest nobleman in
Carthage celebrates his wedding. And he has invited the whole city."
The beauty at his side raised herself a little. "Why do you waste time
in talking to these rustics? Look, the lake is already shining with red
light. The gondola procession is beginning. I want to see handsome
Thrasaric."
And--at this name--the inanimate features brightened, the large, dark,
impenetrable eyes darted an eager, searching glance into the distance,
then the long lashes fell. She leaned her head back on the purple
cushions; the black hair was piled up more than two hands high and
clasped by five gold circlets united by light silver chains, yet the
magnificent locks, thick as they were, were so stiff and coarse in
texture that they resembled the hair of a horse's mane.
"Can't you content yourself for the present, Astarte, with the less
handsome Modigisel?" shouted her companion, with a strength of voice
that proved the affectation of his former lisping whisper. "You are
growing too bold since your manumission." And he nudged her in the side
with his elbow. It was probably meant for an expression of tenderness.
But the Carthaginian slightly curled her upper lip, revealing only her
little white incisors. It was merely a light tremor, but it recalled
the huge cats of her native land, especially when at the same time,
like an angry tiger, she shut her eyes and threw back her splendid
round head a little, as if silently vowing future vengeance.
Modigisel had not noticed it.
"I will obey, divine mistress," he now lisped again in the most
affected tone. "Forward!" Then as the poor blacks--he had adopted the
fashionable tone so completely--really did not hear him at all, he now
roared like a bear: "Forward, you dogs, I tell you!" striking, with a
strength no one would have expected from the rose-garlanded dandy, the
nearest slave a blow on the back which felled him to the ground. The
man rose again without a sound, and with the seven others grasped the
heavily gilded poles; the litter soon vanished in the throng.
"Did you see _her_?" asked the wearer of the wolf-skin.
"Yes. She is like a black panther, or like this country: beautiful,
passionate, treacherous, and deadly. Come, Theudigisel! Let us go to
the lake too. Most of the Vandals are gathering there. We shall have an
opportunity to know them thoroughly. Here is a shorter foot-path,
leading across the turf."
"Stay! don't stumble, my lord! What is lying there directly across the
way?"
"A soldier--in full armor--a Vandal!"
"And sound asleep in the midst of all this uproar."
"He must be very drunk."
The older man pushed the prostrate figure with the handle of his spear.
"Who are you, fellow?"
"I?--I?" The startled warrior propped himself on one elbow; he was
evidently trying to think. "I believe I am--Gunthamund, son of
Guntharic."
"What are you doing here?"
"You see. I am on guard. What are you laughing at? I am on guard to
prevent any carousing in the grove. Where are the others? Have you no
wine? I am horribly thirsty." And he sank back in the tall soft grass.
"So these are the guards of the Vandals! Do you still counsel, my brave
duke, as you advised,--beyond the sea?"
The other, shaking his head, followed silently. Both vanished in the
throng of people who were now pressing from every direction toward the
lake.
CHAPTER XII
ON the southern shore of this tree-girdled water, opposite to the
little harbor, walled with marble, into which it ran at the northern
end, were high board platforms hung with gay costly stuffs, erected for
specially distinguished guests, who were numbered by hundreds; a
balcony draped with purple silk, extending far out into the sea, was
reserved for the most aristocratic spectators.
Now the soft moonlight resting on the mirrorlike surface of the lake
was suddenly outshone by a broad red glare, which lasted for several
minutes. As it died away, a blue, then a green light blazed up,
brilliantly illuminating the groups of spectators on the shore, the
white marble buildings in the distance, the statues among the
shrubbery, and especially the surface of the lake itself and the
magnificent spectacle it presented.
From the harbor, behind whose walls it had hitherto remained concealed,
glided a whole flotilla of boats, skiffs, vessels of every description:
ten, twenty, forty vessels, fantastically shaped, sometimes as
dolphins, sometimes as sharks, gigantic water birds, often as dragons,
the "banner-beast" of the Vandals. Masts, yards, sails, the lofty
pointed prow, as well as the broad stern, nay, even the upper part of
the oar handles, were wreathed, garlanded, twined with flowers, gay,
broad ribbons, even gold and silver fringes; magnificent rugs covered
the whole deck, which had been finished with costly woodwork; some of
them hung in the water at the stern and floated far, far behind the
ships.
On the deck of every vessel, at the mast or at the stern, picturesquely
posed on several steps Vandal men and youths. They were dressed in
striking costumes, often copied from various nations, and beside them
reclined young girls or beautiful boys. The fair or red locks of the
Vandals fell on the neck of many a brown-skinned maid, and mingled with
many black tresses.
Music echoed from every ship; busy slaves--white, yellow Moors,
negroes--poured out unmixed wine from beautifully formed jars with
handles. No matter how the vessels rocked, they bore the jars on their
heads without spilling the contents, and apparently with no great
exertion, often holding them with only one hand. So the dark fleet
glided over the redly illumined lake.
But suddenly the centre opened and out shot, apparently moving without
oars,--the slaves were concealed under the deck,--the great wedding
ship, far outshining all the others in fantastic, lavish splendor. It
was drawn seemingly only by eight powerful swans, fastened in pairs
with small gold chains attached to collars. These chains passed under
the wings of each pair, uniting them to the next. The magnificent
birds, which had been carefully trained for this purpose, heeded not
the uproar and light around them, but moved in calm majesty straight
toward the balcony at the southern end.
On the deck, piled a foot high with crimson roses, an open arbor of
natural vines had been arranged around the mast. In it lay the
bridegroom, a giant nearly seven feet tall, his shining mane of red
locks garlanded with vine leaves and--in violation of good taste--red
roses. A panther-skin was around the upper portion of his body, a
purple apron about his loins, a thyrsus staff in his huge but loosely
hanging right hand. Nestling to his broad, powerful breast reclined an
extremely delicate, fragile girl, scarcely beyond childhood, almost too
dainty of form. Her face could not be seen; the Roman bridal veil had
been fastened on the deserted Ariadne--very unsuitably. Besides, the
child seemed frightened by all the uproar, timidly hiding her face
under the panther-skin and on the giant's breast; true, she often with
a swift, upward glance tried to meet his eyes; but he did not see it.
A nude boy about twelve years old, with golden wings on his shoulders,
a bow and quiver fastened by a gold band across his back, was
constantly filling an enormous goblet for the bridegroom, who seemed to
think that his costume required him to drain it at once,--which
diverted his attention more than was desirable from his bride. On a
couch, somewhat above the bridal pair, a very beautiful girl about
eighteen lay in a picturesque attitude. Her noble head, with its golden
hair simply arranged in a Grecian knot, rested on the palm of her left
hand. Her Hellenic outlines and Hellenic statuesque repose rendered her
infinitely more noble and aristocratic than the Carthaginian Astarte.
Two tame doves perched on her right shoulder; she wore a robe of white
Coan gauze, which fell below the knee, but seemed intended to adorn
rather than to conceal her charms. The thin silken web was held around
the hips by an exquisitely wrought golden girdle half a foot wide, from
which hung a purple Ph[oe]nician apron weighted with gold tassels; on
her gold sandals were fastened "sea waves" made of stiff gray and white
silk, which extended to the delicate ankles of the "Foam-born," and at
the right and left of each one, the gleam of two large pearls was
visible at a great distance.
As the ship, drawn by the swans, now came into full view of all the
many thousands, the dazzling sight was greeted with deafening shouts.
As soon as the vessel emerged from the dim light into the radiant
glare, the Aphrodite hastily, desperately, tried to conceal herself;
finding a large piece of coarse sail-cloth lying near, she wrapped it
around her figure.
"How barbaric the whole thing is!" whispered, but very cautiously, one
Roman to another in the harsh throat tones of the African vulgar Latin,
as they stood together under the staging on the opposite side of the
harbor.
"I suppose that is intended to represent Bacchus, neighbor Laurus?"
"And Ariadne."
"I like the Aphrodite."
"Yes, I believe you, friend Victor. It is the beautiful Ionian, Glauke.
She was stolen from Miletus a short time ago by pirates. She is said to
be the child of prosperous parents. She was sold in the harbor forum to
Thrasabad, the bridegroom's brother. They say she cost as much as two
country estates!"
"She is gazing very mournfully, under her drooping lashes, into the
lake."
"Yet her buyer and master is said to treat her with the utmost
consideration, and fairly worships her."
"I can easily believe it. She is wonderfully beautiful,--solemnly
beautiful, I might say."
"But imagine this bear from Thule, this buffalo from the land of
Scythia, a Dionysus!"
"With those elephant bones!"
"With that fiery-red beard, two spans wide!"
"He probably wouldn't have that and the shaggy fleece on his head cut
off, if thereby he could become a god in reality."
"Yes, a Vandal noble! They think themselves greater than gods or
saints."
"Yet they were only cattle-thieves and land and sea robbers."
"Just look, he has buckled his broad German sword-belt over the vine
drapery about his loins."
"Perhaps for the sake of propriety," cried the other, laughing; "and
actually, Dionysus is wearing a Vandal short-sword."
"The Barbarian seems to be ashamed of being a naked god."
"Then he has not yet lost _all_ shame!" exclaimed a man who had also
understood the cautious whisper, striding rapidly on. "Come,
Theudigisel!"
"Did you understand that? It was the man with the spear. It did not
sound like the Vandal tongue."
"Yes, exactly like it. That's the way they speak in Spain! I heard it
in Hispalis."
"Hark, what a roaring on the ships!"
"That must be a hymenæus, Victor! The bridegroom's brother composed it.
The Barbarians now write Latin and Greek verses. But they are of their
stamp."
"Yes, listen, Lauras," cried the other, laughing; "you are prejudiced,
as a rival! Since you failed in your leather business, you have lived
by writing, O friend! Weddings, baptisms, funerals, it was all the same
to you. You have even sung the praises of the Vandal victories over the
Moors, and--the Lord have mercy on us!--'the brave sword of King
Hilderic.' Yes, you wrote for the Barbarians even more willingly and
frequently than for us Romans."
"Of course. The Barbarians know less, require less, and pay better. For
the same reason, friend Victor, you too must wish, for the sake of your
wine-shop, that the Vandals may remain rulers of Carthage."
"How so?"
"Why, the Barbarians know as little about good wine as they do about
good verses."
"Only half hit. They probably have a tolerably fair judgment of it. But
they are always so thirsty that they will enjoy and pay for sour wine
too--like your sour verses. Woe betide us when we no longer have the
stupid Barbarians for customers! We should be obliged, in our old age,
to furnish better wine and better poetry."
"The ships will soon be here! We can see everything distinctly now.
Look at the bridegroom's enormous goblet; the little Cupid can scarcely
hold it; it seems familiar to me."
"Why, of course. That's surely the immense shell from the Fountain of
Neptune in the Forum,--larger than a child's head!"
"Yes, it has been missing for several days. Oh, the Germans would drain
the ocean if it were full of wine."
"And just see the hundred weight of gold which they have hung on poor
Aphrodite."
"All stolen, plundered Roman property. She can hardly move under the
weight of her jewels."
"Modesty, Victor, modesty! She has not much clothing except her
jewels."
"It's not the poor girl's fault apparently. That insolent Cupid just
snatched off the sailcloth and flung it into the sea. See how confused
she is, how she tries to find some drapery. She is beseeching the
bride, pointing to the large white silk coverlet at her feet."
"Little Ariadne is nodding; she has picked it up; now she is throwing
it over Aphrodite's shoulders. How grateful she looks!"
"They are landing. I pity the poor bride. Disgrace and shame! She is
the child of a freeborn Roman citizen, though of Greek origin. And the
father--"
"Where is Eugenes? I do not see him on the bridal ship."
"He is probably ashamed to show himself at the sacrifice of his child.
He went to Utica with his Sicilian guest on business long before the
marriage, and after his return he will go with the Syracusan to Sicily.
It is really like the ancient sacrifice of the maidens which the
Athenians were obliged to offer to the Minotaur. He gives up Eugenia,
the daintiest jewel of Carthage."
"But they say she wanted to marry him; she loved the red giant. And he
is not ugly; he is really handsome."
"He is a Barbarian. Curses on the Bar--oh, pardon me, my most gracious
lord! May Saint Cyprian grant you a long life!"
He had hastily thrown himself on his knees before a half-drunken
Vandal, who had nearly fallen over him, and without heeding the Roman's
existence had already forced his way far to the front.
"Why, Laurus! The Barbarian surely ran against you, not you against
him?" said Victor, helping his countryman to his feet again.
"No matter! Our masters are quick to lay their hands on the
short-sword! May Orcus swallow the whole brood!"
CHAPTER XIII
Meanwhile the ships had reached the shore: they were moored in a broad
front, side by side, greeted with a loud burst of music from pipes and
drums in the balcony. Instantly all flung from their lofty prows
step-ladders, covered with rich rugs. Slaves scattered flowers
over the stairs, down which the bridal pair and their guests now
descended to the land, while, at the same moment, by similar steps the
spectators descended from the platforms. The two groups now formed
in a festal procession upon the shore, A handsome though somewhat
effeminate-looking young Vandal, with a winged hat on his fair locks
and winged shoes on his feet, hurried constantly to and fro, waving an
ivory staff twined with golden serpents. He seemed to be the manager of
the entertainment.
"Who is that?" asked Victor. "Probably the master of the beautiful
Aphrodite. He is nodding; and she smiles at him."
"Yes, that is Thrasabad," cried Laurus, angrily, clinching his fist,
yet lowering his voice timidly. "May Saint Cyprian send scorpions into
his bed! A Vandal writer! He is spoiling my trade. And I am the pupil
of the great Luxorius."
"Pupil? I think you were--"
"His slave, then freedman. I have covered whole ass's skins with copies
of his verses."
"But not as his pupil?"
"You don't understand. The whole art of composition consists of a dozen
little tricks, which are best learned by copying, because they are
constantly recurring. And this Barbarian composes gratis! Of course he
must be glad to have any one listen to him."
"He is leading the procession--as Mercury."
"Oh, the character just suits him. He understands how to steal. Only in
doing so they kill the owners. 'Feud' is what these noble Germans call
it."
"Look! he has given the signal; they are going to the Circus. Up! Let
us follow."
Mercury held out his hand to Aphrodite to help her to land.
"Do I have you again?" he whispered tenderly. "I have missed you two
long hours, fair one. Dearest, I love you fervently."
The girl smiled charmingly, raising her beautiful eyes to his with a
grateful, even tender expression.
"That is the only reason I still live," she murmured, instantly
lowering her long lashes sorrowfully.
"But so completely muffled, my Aphrodite?"
"I am not your Aphrodite; I am your Glauke."
Hand in hand with her, Thrasabad now led the procession, which, not
without occasional pauses, forced its way through the staring
multitude.
As soon as the Circus was reached, numerous slaves showed the guests to
seats, assigned according to their rank or the regard in which they
were held by the giver of the entertainment. The best were in the front
row, originally intended for the Senators of Carthage; the structure on
the southern side, the pulvinar, the imperial box which had been
occupied by many a predecessor of Gelimer, remained empty. On the
northern side, not directly opposite to the pulvinar, but considerably
nearer the eastern end, the "Porta Pompæ," there were projecting boxes
for the bridegroom, his most intimate friends, and his most
distinguished guests. Through this gate, in the midst of the stalls
and sheds for the horses and chariots,--the "oppidum" and the
"carceres,"--the circensian procession passed before the beginning of
the races. From this gate the course ran westward in a semi-circle. The
victors made their exit through the "Porta Triumphalis." Extending the
entire length from east to west, the "spina," a low wall richly adorned
with small columns, dark-green marble obelisks, and numerous statuettes
of victors in former races, divided the course into two parts like a
barrier. At the eastern and western ends a goal "Meta" was erected, the
former called the "Meta prima," the latter the "Meta secunda." The
chariots drove into the arena from the southern and northern ends of
the stables, through two gates in the east. Lastly, on the southern
side, midway between the stables and the imperial box, partly concealed
from view, was the sorrowful gate, the "Porta Libitinensis," through
which the killed and wounded charioteers were borne out. The length of
the course was about one hundred and ninety paces, the width one
hundred and forty.
After the bustle had subsided, and the guests were all in their seats.
Mercury appeared in the principal box, which contained about twelve men
and women, among them Modigisel and his beautiful companion. He bowed
gracefully before the bridal pair, and began,--
"Allow me, divine brother, son of Semele--"
"Listen, my little man," interrupted the bridegroom. (Mercury measured
a few inches less than Bacchus, but was considerably over six feet
tall.) "I believe you have had too much wine, and especially the dark
red, which I drank from the 'Ocean'; in short, you share my
intoxication. Our brave father's name was Thrasamer, not Semele." The
poetic Vandal, with a superior smile, exchanged glances with Aphrodite,
who was also in the box, and continued,--
"Allow me, before the games begin, to read my epithalamium--"
"No, no, brother," interrupted the giant, hastily. "Better, far better
not! The verses are--"
"Perhaps not smooth enough? What do you know about hiatus, and--"
"Nothing at all! But the sense--so far as I understood it--you were
good enough to read it aloud to me three times--"
"Five times to me," said Aphrodite, softly, with a charming smile. "I
entreated him to burn the verses. They are neither beautiful nor good.
So what is their use?"
"The meaning is so exaggerated," Thrasaric went on; "well, we may say
shameless."
"They follow the best Roman models," said the poet, resentfully.
"Very probably. Perhaps that is the reason I was ashamed when I
listened to them alone; I should not like, in the presence of these
ladies--"
A shrill laugh reached his ears.
"You are laughing, Astarte?"
"Yes, handsome Thrasaric, I am laughing! You Germans are incorrigible
shamefaced boys, with the limbs of giants."
The bride raised her eyes beseechingly to him. He did not see it.
"Shamefaced? I have seemed to myself very shameless. My part as a
half-nude god is most distasteful to me. I shall be glad, Eugenia, when
all this uproar is over."
She pressed his hand gratefully, whispering, "And to-morrow you will go
with me to Hilda, won't you? She wished to congratulate me on the first
day of my happiness."
"Certainly! And _her_ congratulations will bring you happiness. She is
the most glorious of women. She, her marriage with Gibamund, first
taught me to believe once more in women, love, and the happiness of
wedded life. It was she who--What do you want, little man? Oh, the
games! The guests! I was forgetting everything. Go on! Give the signal!
They must begin below."
Mercury stepped forward to the white marble railing of the box and
waved his serpent wand twice in the air. The two gates at the right and
left of the stables swung open: from the former a man, clad in blue,
carrying a tuba, entered the arena; from the latter one dressed
entirely in green; and two loud blasts announced the entrance of the
circensian procession. In the brief pause before the appearance of the
chariots Modigisel plucked the bridegroom lightly by his panther-skin.
"Listen," he whispered, "my Astarte is fairly devouring you with her
eyes. I believe she likes you far better than she does me. I suppose I
ought to kill her, out of jealousy. But--ugh!--it's too hot for either
jealousy or beating."
"I believe she is no longer your slave," replied Thrasaric.
"I freed her, but retained the obligation of obedience, the obsequium.
Pshaw! I would kill her for that very reason, if it weren't so hot. But
how would it do if we--I am tired of her, and I've taken a fancy to
your slender little Eugenia, perhaps on account of the contrast--how
would it do if we should--exchange?"
Thrasaric had no time to answer. The tuba blared again, and the
chariots entered in a stately procession. Five of the Blues rolled
slowly in from the right gate, five of the Greens from the left; the
chariots themselves, the reins and trappings of the horses, and the
tunics of the charioteers were respectively leek-green and light-blue.
The first three chariots of each party were drawn by four horses, the
usual number; but when the fourth appeared with five, and the last on
both sides actually had seven steeds, loud shouts of surprise and
approval rang from the upper seats, to which, though many better ones
stood empty, the Vandal directors had sent the middle and lower classes
of the Roman citizens.
"Just look, Victor," Laurus whispered to his neighbor. "Those are the
colors of the two parties in Constantinople."
"Certainly. The Barbarians imitate everything."
"But like apes playing the flute!"
"No one should attend the Circus except in a toga."
"As we do," said Victor, complacently. "But these people!--some in
coats of mail, the majority in garments as thin as spider-webs."
"Of course they will never be true residents of the south; only
degenerate northern Barbarians."
"But just look: the magnificence, the lavishness. The wheels, the very
fellies, are silvered and then twined with blue or green ribbons."
"And the bodies of the chariots! They glisten like sapphires and
emeralds."
"Where did Thrasaric get all this treasure?"
"Stolen, friend, stolen from us all. I've often told you so. But not he
himself; this generation has grown almost too lazy even for stealing
and robbing. It was his father Thrasamer and especially his
grandfather, Thrasafred. He was Genseric's right hand. And what that
means in pillaging as well as fighting cannot be imagined."
"Magnificent horses, the five reddish-brown ones! They are not
African."
"Yes, but of the Spanish stock, reared in Cyrene. They are the best."
"Yes, if there is a strain of Moorish blood. You know, like the Moorish
chief Cabaon's famous stallion. A Vandal is said to have him now."
"Impossible! No Moor sells such a horse."
"The procession is over; they are moving side by side, to the white
rope. Now!"
"No, not yet. See, each Green and Blue is approaching the hermulæ on
the right and left, to which the rope is fastened. Hark! What is
Mercury shouting?"
"The prizes for the victors. Just listen: fifteen thousand sestertii,
the second prize for the team of four; twenty-five thousand the first;
forty thousand for the victorious five-span; and sixty thousand--that's
unprecedented--for the seven."
"Look, how the seven horses harnessed to the green chariot are pawing
the sand! That is Hercules, the charioteer. He has five medals
already."
"But see! His opponent is the Moor Chalches. He wears seven medals.
Look, he is throwing down his whip; he is challenging Hercules to drive
without one, too. But he will not dare."
"Yes; he is tossing the whip on the sand. I'll bet on Hercules! I side
with the Greens!" shouted Victor, excitedly.
"And I with the Blues. It ought--but stop! We--Roman citizens--betting
on the games of our tyrants?"
"Oh, nonsense! you have no courage! Or no money!"
"More than you--of both! How much? Ten sestertii?"
"Twelve!"
"For aught I care. Done!"
"Look, the rope has fallen!"
"Now they are rushing forward!"
"Bravo, Green, at the first meta already--and nearest--past."
"On, Chalches! There, Blue! Forward! Hi! at the second meta Chalches
was nearest."
"Faster, Hercules! Faster, you lazy snail! Keep more to the right--the
right! or--O, Heaven!"
"Yes, Saint Cyprian! Triumph! There lies the proud Green! Flat on his
belly, like a crushed frog! Triumph! The Blue is at the goal. Pay up,
friend! Where is my money?"
"That isn't fair. I won't pay. The Blue intentionally struck the horse
on the left with his pole. That's cheating!"
"What? Do you insult my color? And won't pay either?"
"Not a pebble."
"Indeed? Well, you rascal, I'll pay _you_."
A blow fell; it sounded like a slap on a fat cheek.
"Keep quiet up there, you dwellers in the clouds," shouted Mercury. "It
is nothing, fair bride, except two Roman citizens cuffing each other.
Friend Wandalar, go; turn them out. Both! There! Now on with the games.
Carry the Green out through the Libitinensis. Is he dead? Yes. Go on.
The prizes will be awarded at the end. We are in a hurry. If the King
should return from Hippo before the time he named--woe betide us!"
CHAPTER XIV
"Pshaw!" said Modigisel's neighbor, a bold-looking, elderly nobleman
with a haughty, aristocratic bearing. "We need not fear. We Gundings
are of scarcely less ancient nobility. I do not bow my head to the
Asdings. Least of all before this dissembler."
"You are right, Gundomar!" assented a younger man. "Let us defy the
tyrant."
The giant Thrasaric turned his head and said very slowly but very
impressively: "Listen, Gundomar and Gundobad; you are my guests but
speak ill of Gelimer, and you will fare like those two Romans. So much
wine has gone to my head; but nothing shall be said against Gelimer. I
will not allow it. He, so full of kindness, a tyrant! What does that
mean?"
"It means a usurper."
"How can you say that? He is the oldest Asding."
"After King Hilderic! And was he justly imprisoned and deposed?" asked
Gundomar, doubtfully.
"Was not the whole affair a clever invention?" added Gundobad.
"Not by Gelimer! You do not mean to say that?" cried Thrasaric,
threateningly.
"No! But perhaps by Verus."
"Yes; all sorts of rumors are afloat. There is said to have been a
letter of warning."
"No matter. If your saintly devotee should discover this festival--"
"Then woe betide us! He would deal with you as--"
"He did at the time you wanted to wed your little bride without the aid
of the priest," cried Modigisel, laughing.
"I shall be grateful to him all my life for having struck me down then!
Eugenias are not to be stolen; we must woo them gently." Nodding to the
young girl, he covered her little head and veil with his huge right
hand and pressed it tenderly to his broad breast; a radiant glance from
the large dark antelope eyes thanked him.
But Modigisel had also discovered the charm which such an expression
bestowed upon the innocent, childlike features; his gaze rested
admiringly upon Eugenia. The latter raised herself and whispered in her
lover's ear.
"Gladly, my violet, my little bird," replied Thrasaric. "If you have
promised, you must keep your word. Go with her to the entrance,
brother. To keep one's promise is more necessary than to breathe."
The bride, attended by a group of her friends, was led by Thrasabad
through one of the numerous cross passages out of the Circus.
"Where is she going?" asked Modigisel, following her with ardent eyes.
"To the Catholic chapel close by, which they have made in the little
temple of Vesta. She promised her father to pray there before midnight;
she was forced to resign the blessing of her church at her marriage
with a heretic." The bride's graceful figure now vanished through the
vaulted doorway.
Modigisel began again: "Let me have your little maid, and take my big
sweetheart; you will make almost a hundred pounds by the bargain. True,
in this climate, one ought to choose a slender sweetheart. Is she a
free Roman? Then I, too, will _marry_ her. I won't stop for that."
"Keep your plump happiness, and leave me my slender one. I have by no
means drunk enough from the ocean to make that exchange."
Suddenly Astarte said loudly, "She's nothing but skin and bones!" Both
men started; had she understood their low whispers? Again the full lips
curled slightly, revealing her sharp eye-teeth.
"And eyes! those eyes!" replied Modigisel.
"Yes, bigger than her whole face. She looks like a chicken just out of
the shell!" sneered Astarte. "What is there so remarkable about her?"
The beauty's round eyes glittered with a sinister light.
"A soul, Carthaginian," replied the bridegroom.
"Women have no souls," retorted Astarte, gazing calmly at him. "So one
of the Fathers of the Church taught--or a philosopher. Some, instead of
the soul, have water, like that pygmy. Others have fire." She paused,
her breath coming quickly and heavily. Astarte was indeed beautiful at
that moment, diabolically, bewitchingly beautiful; the exquisitely
moulded, sphinxlike countenance was glowing with life.
"Fire," replied Thrasaric, averting his eyes from her ardent
gaze,--"fire belongs to hell."
Astarte made no answer.
"Eugenia is so beautiful because she is so chaste and pure," sighed
Glauke, who had heard a part of the conversation. Gazing sorrowfully
after the bride, she lowered her long lashes.
"No wonder that you hold her so firmly," Modigisel now said aloud in a
jeering tone. "After your attempt to abduct her failed, you besought
the old grain-usurer to give you the dainty doll as honorably as any
Roman fuller or baker ever wooed the daughter of his neighbor, the
cobbler."
"Yes," assented Gundomar; "but he has celebrated the wedding with as
much splendor as though he were wedding the daughter of an emperor."
"The splendor of the wedding is more to him than the bride," cried
Gundobad, laughing.
"Certainly not," said Thrasaric, slowly. "But one thing is true: since
I have known that she is--that she will be mine--the frantic longing
for her--yet no--that is not true either, I love her fondly. I suppose
it is the wine! The heat! And so much wine!"
"Nothing but wine can help wine," laughed Modigisel. "Here, slaves,
bring Bacchus a second Oceanus."
Thrasaric instantly took a deep draught from the goblet.
"Well?" whispered Modigisel. "I will give you for make-weight to
Astarte my whole fishpond full of muraense, besides the royal villa at
Grasse, for--"
"I am no glutton," replied Thrasaric, indignantly.
"I will add my villa in Decimum; true, I bequeathed it to Astarte; but
she will consent. Won't you?"
Astarte nodded silently. Her nostrils were quivering.
Thrasaric shook his shaggy head.
"I have more villas than I can occupy. Hark, the blast of a tuba. The
races ought to begin. Here, little brother! He has gone. Horses, wine,
and dice are the three greatest pleasures. I would give the salvation
of my soul for the best horse in the world. But--" he took another
draught, of wine--"the best horse! It has escaped me. Through my own
folly! I would give ten Eugenias in exchange."
Astarte laid an ice-cold finger on Modigisel's bare arm; he looked up;
she whispered something, and he nodded in pleased astonishment.
"The best horse? What is its name? And how did it escape you?"
"It is called--the Moorish name cannot be pronounced; it is all _ch_!
We called it Styx. It is a three-year-old black stallion of Spanish
breed, with a Moorish strain, reared in Cyrene. A short time ago, when
the valiant king so eagerly began his preparations for war, the Moors
were informed that we nobles needed fine horses. Among many others,
Sersaon, the grandson of the old chief Cabaon, came to Carthage; he
brought of all the good horses the very best."
"Yes! we know them!" the Vandals assented.
"But among the very best the pearl was Styx, the black stallion! I
cannot describe him, or I should weep for rage that he escaped me. The
Moor who rode him, scarcely more than a boy, said that he was not for
sale. As I eagerly urged him, he asked, grinning in mockery, an
impossible price, which no one in his sober senses would pay,--an
unreasonable number of pounds of gold; I have forgotten how many. I
laughed in his face. Then I looked again at the magnificent animal, and
ordered the slave to bring the money. I placed the leather bag at once
in the Moor's hand; it was in the open courtyard of my house on the
Forum of Constantine. Many other horses were standing there, and
several of our mounted lancers were in the saddle, inspecting them as
they were led up. Then, after I had closed the bargain, I said to my
brother with a sigh: 'It's a pity to pay so much money. The animal is
hardly worth it.' 'It is worth more, and you shall see!' cried the
insolent Moor, as he leaped on the horse and dashed out of the gate of
the courtyard. But he still held the purse in his hand."
"That was too much!" said Modigisel.
"The insolence enraged us all. We followed at once,--at least twenty
men,--our best horses and riders, some on the splendid Moorish steeds
we had just purchased. At the corner of the street he was so near that
Thrasabad hurled his spear at him, but in vain! Though at our cries
people flocked from all the cross streets to stop him in the main one,
there was no checking him. The guards at the southern gate heard the
uproar; they sprang to close the doors, were in the act of shutting
them, but the superb creature darted through like an arrow. We pursued
for half an hour; by that time he had gained so much on us that we
could just see him in the distance like an ostrich disappearing in the
sands of the desert.
"Enraged, loudly berating the faithless Moor, we rode slowly home on
our exhausted steeds. When we reached the house, there in my courtyard
stood the Moor, leaning against the black horse; he had ridden in again
at the western gate. Throwing the gold at my feet, he said: 'Now do you
know the value of this noble animal? Keep your gold! I will not sell
him.' He rode slowly and proudly away. So I lost Styx, the best horse
in the world. Ha, is this a delusion? Or is it the heavy wine? Down
below--in the arena--beside the other racers--"
"Stands Styx," said Astarte, quietly.
"To whom does the treasure belong?" shrieked Thrasaric, frantically.
"To me," replied Modigisel.
"Did you buy him?"
"No. In the last foray the animal was captured with some camels and
several other horses."
"But not by you?" roared Thrasaric. "You were at home as usual, in
Astarte's broad shadow."
"But I sent thirty mercenaries in my place; they captured the animal,
tied in the Moorish camp; and what the mercenary captures--"
"Is his employer's property," said Thrasabad, who had entered the box
again.
"So--this wonder--belongs to--you?" exclaimed Thrasaric, wild with
envy.
"Yes, and to you as soon as you wish."
Thrasaric emptied a huge goblet of wine.
"No, no," he said; "at least not so--not by my will. She is a free
woman, no slave, whom I could give away, even if I should ever desire
it."
"Only resign your right to her. It will be easy--for money--to find a
reason for annulling the marriage."
"She is a Catholic, he an Arian," whispered Astarte.
"Of course! That will do! And then merely let me--Gelimer cannot always
strike down her abductor."
"No! Silence! Not so! But--we might throw dice! Then the dice, chance,
would have decided--not I! Oh, I can, I can--think no longer! If I
throw higher, each shall keep what he has; if I throw lower, I
will--no, no! I will not! Let me sleep!" And overcome by the wine, in
spite of the uproar around him, he dropped his huge rose-garlanded head
on both arms, which lay folded on the marble front of the box.
Modigisel and Astarte exchanged significant glances.
"What do you expect to gain by it?" asked Modigisel. "He won't exchange
for you; only for the horse."
"But she--that nun-faced girl--shall not have him! And my time will
come later!"
"If I release you from my patronage."
"You will."
"I don't know yet."
"Oh, yes, you will," she answered coaxingly.
But even as she spoke, she again threw back her head and closed her
eyes.
* * * * *
After a brief slumber the bridegroom was shaken rudely by his brother.
"Up!" cried the latter; "Eugenia has come back. Let her take her
place--"
"Eugenia! I did not throw dice for her. I don't want the horse. I made
no promise."
He started in terror; for Eugenia was standing before him with the
Ionian; her large dark-brown eyes, whose whites had a bluish cast, were
gazing searchingly, anxiously, distrustfully, into the very depths of
his soul. But she said nothing; only her face was paler than usual. How
much had she heard--understood? he asked himself.
Thrasabad's slave humbly made way for her.
"I thank you. Aphrodite."
"Oh, do not call me by that name of mockery and disgrace! Call me as my
dear parents did at home before I was stolen,--became booty, a
chattel."
"I thank you, Glauke."
"The races cannot take place," lamented Thrasabad, to whom a freedman
had just brought a message.
"Why not?"
"Because no one will bet against the stallion which Modigisel entered
last of all. It is Styx; you know him."
"Yes, I know him! I made no promise, did I, Modigisel?" he asked in a
low, hurried tone.
"Yes, certainly! To throw the dice. Recollect yourself!"
"Impossible!"
"You said: 'If I throw higher, each shall keep what he has; if I throw
lower--'"
"Oh, God! Yes! It's nothing, little one! Don't heed me."
He turned again to Modigisel, whispering, "Give me back my promise!"
"Never!"
"You can break it," sneered Astarte.
"Serpent!" he cried, raising his clinched fist, but he controlled
himself; then, helpless as a bear entangled in a net, the giant turned
beseechingly to Modigisel: "Spare me!"
But the latter shook his head.
"I will withdraw the stallion from the races," he said aloud to
Thrasabad. "I am satisfied with the fact that no one dares to run
against him."
"Then the race can take place, but at the end of the entertainment.
First, there are two surprises which I have prepared for you in another
place. Come, Glauke, your hand; up, rise! Follow me, all you guests of
Thrasaric, follow me to the Amphitheatre."
CHAPTER XV
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 the
_verses_ of 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 with _you_," 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."
"_I_ was 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.
CHAPTER XVI
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 is _my_ wedding 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 are _not_ the 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: "The
_King_! 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.
CHAPTER XVII
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.
CHAPTER XVIII
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."
CHAPTER XIX
During the day following the nocturnal festival the fleet sailed out of
the harbor of Carthage; it was only necessary to choose the troops
intended for the campaign and to send them on board.
On the evening of this day Gibamund, Hilda, and Verus had gathered
around Gelimer in the great hall of the palace, whose lofty arched
windows afforded a wide view of the sea. Beside the marble table,
heaped with papers, stood Gelimer, his head bowed as if by deep
anxiety; his noble features expressed the gravest care.
"You sent for me, friend Verus, to listen with Gibamund to important
tidings which had arrived within the few hours since Zazo left us. They
must be matters of serious moment, from the expression of your face.
Begin; I am prepared for everything. I have strength to bear the news."
"You will need it," replied the priest, in a hollow tone.
"But shall Hilda also?"
"Oh, let me stay, my King," pleaded the young wife, pressing closer to
her husband. "I am a woman; but I can keep silence. And I wish to know
and share your dangers."
Gelimer held out his hand to her. "Then brave sister-in-law! And bear
with us whatever may be allotted by the stern Judge in heaven."
"Yes," Verus began, "it seems as if the wrath of Heaven indeed rested
on you, King Gelimer." Gelimer shuddered.
"Chancellor," cried Gibamund, indignantly, "cease such words, such
unhallowed thoughts. You are always thrusting the dagger of such
sayings into the soul of the best of men. It seems as if you tortured
him intentionally, fostered this delusion."
"Silence, Gibamund!" said the King, with a deep groan. "It is no
delusion. It is the most terrible truth which religion, conscience, the
history of the world teach; sin will be punished. And when Verus became
my Chancellor, he remained my confessor. Who but he has the right and
the duty to bruise my conscience and, by warning me of the wrath of
God, break the defiant pride of my spirit?"
"But you need strength. King of the Vandals," cried Hilda, her eyes
sparkling wrathfully, "not contrition."
Gelimer waved his hand, and Verus began:
"It is almost crushing, blow upon blow. As soon as the fleet had left
the roadstead (the last sail had barely vanished from our sight), the
messages of evil came. First, from the Visigoths. Simultaneously with
the news from Sardinia a long, long letter from King Theudis arrived.
It contained merely the repetition in many words it came from
Hispalis--that he must consider everything maturely, must test what we
could do in war."
"Test from Hispalis!" muttered Gibamund.
But Verus went on: "A stranger delivered this letter at the palace soon
after our fleet went out to sea. It ran as follows:--
"'To King Gelimer King Theudis.
"'I am writing this in the harbor of Carthage--'"
"What? Impossible!" cried the three listeners.
"'--which I am just leaving. I wished to see the condition of affairs
with my own eyes. For three days I remained among you unrecognized.
Only my brave General, Theudigisel, accompanied me in the fishing boat
which bore me across the narrow arm of the sea from Calpe, and will be
carrying me home again when you read this, Gelimer. You are a true
king, a true hero. I saw you slay the tiger to-night; but you cannot
kill the serpent of degeneration which has coiled around your people.
Your guards sleep at their posts; your nobles go naked, or in women's
garb. I saw them flame up at last, but it is a fire of straw. Even if
they really desired to improve, they could not change in a few weeks
what the slothfulness of two generations has accomplished. The
punishment, the recompense, for our sins does not fail.'" The King
sighed heavily. "'Woe betide him who sought to unite his destiny to
your sinking race! I offer you not alliance, but refuge. If after the
battle is lost, you can escape to Spain,--and I will gladly aid you to
do so,--no Justinian, no Belisarius shall reach you with us.
Farewell!'"
"The subterfuge of cowardice," said Gibamund, resentfully.
"This man is no coward," replied Gelimer, sadly. "He is wise. Well,
then, we will fight alone."
"And invite this wise King Theudis to be our guest at our banquet to
celebrate the victory!" exclaimed Hilda.
"Do not challenge Heaven by idle boasting," warned Gelimer. "But be it
so. The aid of the Visigoths in the war is of less value to us than to
have the Ostrogoths at least remain neutral; to have Sicily--"
"Sicily," interrupted Verus, "if war should be declared, will be the
bridge over which the enemy will march into Africa."
The King's eyes opened wider in astonishment; Gibamund started up, but
Hilda, turning pale, exclaimed,--
"What? My own people? The daughter of the Amalungi?"
"This letter from the Regent has just arrived; Cassiodorus composed it.
I should know by the scholarly style if he had not affixed his
signature. She writes that, too weak to avenge, by her own power, the
blood of her father's sister and many thousand Goths, she will joyfully
see the vengeance of Heaven executed by her imperial friend in
Constantinople."
"The vengeance of Heaven,--retribution," Gelimer repeated in a hollow
tone. "All, all, unite in that!"
"What?" cried Gibamund, in an outburst of rage. "Has the learned
Cassiodorus grown childish? Justinian, the wily intriguer, an avenging
angel of God! And especially that she-devil, whose name I will not
utter in my pure wife's presence! That pair the avengers of God!"
"That proves nothing," Gelimer murmured, talking to himself as if lost
in reverie. "The Fathers of the Church teach that God often uses evil,
sinful men for His deeds of vengeance."
"A wise utterance," said the priest, nodding his head gravely.
"I cannot believe it," cried Gibamund. "Where is the sentence?"
Snatching the letter from Verus's hand, he rapidly glanced through it.
"Sicily shall stand open to the Byzantines,--Justinian her only real
friend, her protector and gracious defender."
"Ah," cried Hilda, sorrowfully, "does the daughter of the great
Theodoric write that?"
"But," Gibamund went on in astonishment, "the sentence about the
vengeance of Heaven--it is not here at all--not one word of it."
"Not in the mere wording, but the meaning is there," said the priest,
taking the letter again and concealing it in the folds of his robe.
The King had not noticed the incident. He was pacing up and down the
spacious hall with slow, hesitating steps, talking to himself. Now he
again approached the table, saying wearily: "Go on. I suppose this is
not all? But the end is coming," he added, unheard by the others.
"Your messenger. King Gelimer, sent to Tripolis to bring Pudentius here
to be tried before your tribunal, has returned."
"When did he arrive?"
"Within an hour."
"Without Pudentius?"
"He refuses to obey."
"What? I gave the messenger a hundred horsemen to bring the traitor by
force if necessary."
"They were received with a discharge of arrows from the walls.
Pudentius had locked the gates, armed the citizens; the city has
forsworn its allegiance to you. The whole province of Tripolitana has
also risen, probably relying upon aid from Constantinople. Pudentius
called from the battlements to your messenger, 'Now Nemesis is
overtaking the bloody Vandals.'"
The King made a gesture as if to ward off invisible powers assailing
him.
"Nemesis?" cried Gibamund. "Yes, she will overtake--the traitor. And
while such peril threatens us close at hand in Africa itself, we send
our best weapon,--the fleet,--the flower of our army, and the hero Zazo
to distant Sardinia! How could you counsel that, Verus?"
"Am I omniscient?" replied the priest, shrugging his shoulders. "I told
you that the messenger returned from Tripolis only an hour ago."
"Oh, brother, brother," urged Gibamund, "give me two thousand men,--no,
only one thousand. I will fly to Tripolis on the wings of the wind and
show the faithless wretch Nemesis as she looks in the Vandal dragon
helmet."
"Not until Zazo returns," replied the King, who had drawn himself up to
his full height. "We will not divide our strength still more. Zazo must
come back at once! It was a grave error to send him. I wonder that I
did not perceive it. But your counsel, Verus--Hush! That is not meant
for a reproach. But a swift sailing ship must follow the fleet
instantly to summon it back."
"Too late, my King," cried Gibamund, who had hurried to the arched
window. "See how high the sea is running, and from the north! The wind
has veered since we came in here, shifted from the southeast to the
north. No ship can overtake the fleet which, borne by a strong south
wind, has a start of many hours."
"O God," sighed Gelimer, "even Thy storms are against us. Only--" and
again he drew himself up--"who knows whether we may not err in
believing the peril so close at hand? Constantinople may send a small
body of troops to aid Sardinia, but whether Justinian will really dare
to attack us on our own soil here in Africa--"
"Oh, if he would but dare!" cried Gibamund.
Just at that moment a priest--he was a deacon from Verus's
basilica--hastened in, and, bowing humbly, handed to his superior a
sealed letter, saying: "This has just been brought by a swift-sailing
ship from Constantinople." He bowed again and left the hall.
At the first sight of the cord fastening the papyrus Verus started so
violently that neither of the three could fail to notice it as
extraordinary in the man who, usually possessing almost superhuman
self-control, never betrayed his emotion by a glance or even a vehement
gesture.
"What fresh misfortune has happened?" cried even the brave Hilda.
"It is the sign agreed upon," said Verus, now gazing at the letter
again with such icy calmness that the very transition from such
agitation to such composure could not fail to perplex the witnesses
afresh. But the little group were not overwhelmed with astonishment
long, and waited impatiently while Verus, with a sharp dagger which he
drew from the breast of his cloak, severed the brownish-red cord. The
pieces, with the dainty little wax-seal fastening them, fell on the
floor. Casting a single glance at the letter, the priest instantly
handed it, without a word, to Gelimer. The King read,--
"You will receive a visit in Africa; the grain ship has sailed. The
Persian merchant is in command."
"This was the agreement between me and my spy in Constantinople: the
brownish-red cord means that war is certain; 'visit' is landing; 'grain
ship' is the fleet; 'the Persian merchant' is Belisarius."
"Ah, that sounds like a war-song," cried Hilda.
"Welcome, Belisarius," cried Gibamund, grasping his sword.
The King threw the letter on the table. His expression was grave but
calm: "Had this paper been in my hand only a day, only a few hours
earlier, all would have been different. I thank you, Verus, that you
obtained the news today, at least."
An almost imperceptible smile--did it mean pride? or was it flattered
vanity?--flickered over the priest's pallid, bloodless lips. "I have
old connections in Constantinople; since this danger threatened I have
eagerly fostered them."
"Well, then," said the King, "let them come! The decision, the
certainty, exerts a soothing, beneficial influence after the long
period of suspense. Now there will be work, military work, which always
does me good; it prevents pondering, thinking."
"Yes, let them come," cried Gibamund; "they break into our country like
robbers, and we will resist them as if they were robbers. What right
has the Emperor to interfere with the succession to the Vandal throne?
Right is on our side; God and victory will also be with us."
"Yes, right is on our side," said the King. "That is my best, my sole
support. God defends the right. He punishes wrong; so He will. He must,
be with us."
This praise of justice, and this joyous confidence in their own cause
seemed by no means to please the priest. With a gloomy frown on his
brow he raised his sharp, penetrating voice, fixing his eyes
threateningly on Gelimer,--
"Justice? Who is just in the eyes of God? The Lord finds sin where we
see none. And He punishes not only present--"
At these words the King relapsed into his former mood; his eyes lost
the bright sparkle of resolution. But Verus could not finish. A loud
noise of voices in angry dispute rose in the corridor leading to the
hall.
CHAPTER XX
"I know those tones," said Gelimer, anxiously, turning toward the
entrance.
"Yes; it is our boy," cried Gibamund. "He seems very angry."
Even as he spoke young Ammata rushed in, dragging with him by his short
hair and the open neck of his robe a lad considerably larger, clad in a
richly ornamented tunic, who struggled vainly as the other jerked him
with both hands through the entrance, which was closed only by a
curtain. The dark eyes, clear-cut features, and round, short head of
Ammata's foe indicated his Roman lineage.
"What is it, Ammata?"
"What has happened, Publius Pudentius?"
"No, no! I won't let you go," shouted the Vandal prince. "You shall
repeat it in the presence of the King! And the King shall give you the
lie! Listen, brother! We were playing in the vestibule; we were
wrestling together. I threw him. He rose angrily, and, grinding his
teeth, said, 'That doesn't count. The devil, the demon of your race,
helped you.'
"'Who?' I asked.
"'Why, that Genseric, the son of Orcus. You Asdings boast of your
descent from pagan gods; but these, so the priest taught us, were
demons. That is the reason of his luck, his victories.'
"I laughed, but he went on: 'He said so himself. Once, when Genseric
left the harbor of Carthage on his corsair ship and the helmsman asked
where he should turn the prow, the wicked tyrant answered: "Let us
drift with the wind and waves toward whomsoever God's anger is directed
against."' Is that true, brother?"
"Yes, it is true!" retorted the young Roman. "And it is also true that
Genseric was as cruel as a demon to the defenceless and the prisoners.
From rage because he was defeated in an attack upon Taenarus he landed
at Zacynthus, dragged away as captives five hundred noble men and
women, and, when out at sea, ordered them the whole five hundred--to be
hacked into pieces from the feet upward, and flung into the waves."
"Brother, surely this is not true?" cried Ammata, pushing back his
waving locks from his flushed face. "What? You are silent? You turn
away? You cannot--"
"No, he cannot deny it," cried Pudentius, defiantly. "Do you see how
pale he turns? Genseric was a demon. You have all sprung from hell. He
and his successors have committed horrible deeds of cruelty upon us
Romans, us Catholics! But wait! It will not remain unpunished. As
surely as there is a God in Heaven! This curse of sin rests upon you.
What do the Scriptures say? 'I will visit the sins of the fathers upon
the children unto the third and fourth generation.'"
A hollow groan escaped the lips of the King. He tottered, sank upon the
couch, and covered his face with the folds of his purple mantle. Ammata
gazed at him in terror. Hilda hastily pushed him and the young Roman
away.
"Go!" she whispered. "Make friends with each other; you must stop
quarrelling. What have you boys to do with such things? Make friends, I
say." Ammata held out his right hand pleasantly; the Roman clasped it
slowly, angrily.
"Look," said Ammata, stooping, "how lucky!" He lifted from the floor
the bit of brownish-red cord, to which the little wax seal hung.
"Yes, indeed," exclaimed Pudentius, in surprise; "the same seal that
Verus would not give us for our collection of seals and impressions."
"It is very odd,--a scorpion surrounded by flames."
"Last week, when I saw the open letter lying on his table with the seal
and cord, how I begged him for it!"
"He struck my fingers when I seized it."
"I wondered why it should be so valuable."
"And to-day we find it thrown away, on the floor."
"He might have given it to us, then, after the letter was opened."
"He do a kind act? He looks as though he came straight from the nether
world."
"Come, let us go."
The two lads left the hall together, apparently friends again. But for
how long a time? No one had heard their whispered conversation.
Gibamund bent over his brother.
"Gelimer," he cried sorrowfully, "rouse yourself! Calm yourself! How
can the words of a child--"
"Oh, it is true, all too true! It is the torture of my life. It is the
worm boring into my brain. Even the children perceive it, utter it!
God, the terrible God of vengeance, will visit the sins of our fathers
upon us all,--on our whole nation, especially on Genseric's race. We
are cursed for the guilt of our ancestors. And on the Day of Judgment,
even from the depths of the sea, accusers will rise against us. When
the Son of Man returns in the clouds of Heaven, when the summons is
heard: 'Earth, open thy heights! mighty ocean, give up thy dead!' those
mutilated forms will bear witness against us."
"No, no, thrice no!" cried Gibamund. "Verus, do not stand there with
folded arms, so cold, so silent. You see how your friend, your priestly
charge, is suffering. You, the shepherd of his soul, help him! Take his
delusion from him. Tell him God is a God of Mercy, and every man
suffers for his own sins only."
But the priest answered gloomily: "I cannot tell the King that he is
wrong. You, Prince, talk like a youth, like a layman, like a German,
almost like a pagan. King Gelimer, a mature man, has acquired the
ecclesiastical wisdom of the Fathers of the Church and the secular
knowledge of the philosophers. And he is a devout Christian. God is a
terrible avenger of sin. Gelimer is right, and you are wrong."
"Then I will praise the folly of my youth."
"And I my paganism!" said Hilda. "They make me happy."
"The King's (or your) Sacred Wisdom makes him miserable."
"It might paralyze his strength!"
"Had he not inherited such unusual vigor from his much-despised
ancestors."
"And with it the curse of their sins," said Gelimer to himself.
"We might consider," said Verus, slowly, "whether it would not be wise
to cast into prison, with the other captives, this Publius Pudentius,
the son of Pudentius the rebel, whom he could not take with him in his
hasty flight."
"The lad? Why?" asked Hilda, reproachfully.
"With shrewd caution, your former kings reared the sons of aristocratic
Romans at their courts, in the palace," Verus went on quietly,
"apparently to do honor to their fathers; really as hostages for their
fidelity."
"Shall Gelimer the Good visit the father's guilt on the innocent son,
like your terrible God?" cried Gibamund.
"That I would never do," said Gelimer.
"The traitor knew it," replied Verus. "He calculated on your mildness;
that is why he dares to rebel while his son is in your hands."
"Let all these boys go in peace to their families."
"That will not do. They are old enough, and have seen enough of our
preparations and our weak points to do us serious injury if they should
talk of them to our foes. They must remain in the city, in the palace.
I will leave you now; my work summons me."
"One thing more, my Verus. It grieves me that I could not extort from
Zazo before his departure a consent which I have long striven to win
from him."
"What do you mean?" asked Hilda.
"I can guess," said Gibamund.
"It concerns the prisoners in the dungeons of the citadel. When,
against the entreaties of the whole nation and Zazo's urgency
especially, Gelimer protected the lives of Hilderic and Euages,
changing the sentence of death pronounced by the Council of the Nation
to imprisonment, he was obliged to promise Zazo that at least he would
never liberate the prisoners without his consent."
"I wished to release them now. But Zazo has my promise, and he could
not be softened."
"He is right,--a rare instance," said Verus.
"What? You, the priest, counsel against pity and pardon?" asked Hilda,
in astonishment.
"I am also chancellor of this kingdom. The former King would be far too
dangerous if he were set at liberty. Romans, Catholics,--he is said
secretly to have joined this church,--might gather round him, and 'the
rightful King of the Vandals' would be a much-desired weapon against
the 'Tyrant' Gelimer. The prisoners will be better off where they are.
Their lives are safe--"
"They have repeatedly requested an audience; they wish to justify
themselves. These petitions--"
"Were always granted. I have heard them myself."
"What resulted from them?"
"Nothing that I did not already know. Did you not feel the armor under
Hilderic's robe, wrest the dagger from his hand yourself?"
"Alas, yes! Yet I so easily distrust myself. Ambition, desire for this
crown (one of my heaviest sins), made me only too ready to believe in
Hilderic's guilt. And now the captive King, protesting his innocence,
appealing to a warning letter received by him on that day, which would
explain and prove everything, requests another trial. Yet you have
fulfilled the prisoner's wish and searched for it in the place he
named?"
"Certainly," said Verus, quietly, his lifeless features growing even
more rigid, more sternly controlled. "That letter is an invention. As
Hilderic repeatedly asserted that he had concealed it in a secret
drawer of 'Genseric's
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