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 Golden Chest,'--you know the coffer, Gibamund?--I
searched the whole chest with my own hands and alone. I even found the
secret drawer and opened it; nothing of the kind was there. Nay, at the
prisoner's earnest entreaties, I had the coffer carried to his dungeon
and examined by himself in the presence of witnesses. He, too, found
nothing."

"And no one could have previously removed the letter?" asked Gelimer.

"You and I alone have the keys to the chest which contains the most
important documents. But I must leave you now," said the priest. "I
have many letters to write to-night. Farewell!"

"I thank you, my Verus. May the angel of the Lord watch over me in
Heaven as faithfully as you watch and care for me on earth."

The priest closed his eyes a moment, then smiling faintly, nodded,
saying: "That is my prayer also."

He glided noiselessly across the threshold.



                              CHAPTER XXI

Hilda followed Verus's retreating figure with a long, long look; at
last, with a slight shake of her beautiful head, she went up to Gelimer
and said: "Do not be angry, my King, if I ask a question which nothing
gives me the right to utter, except my anxiety for your welfare, and
that of all our people."

"And my love for you, brave sister-in-law," replied Gelimer, gently
stroking her flowing golden hair, and seating himself on the couch
again. "For," he added, smiling, "though you are a wicked pagan and
often cherish--as I well know--secret resentment, nay, animosity,
against me, I love you, foolish, impetuous young heart."

She sank down at his feet, on a high, soft cushion covered with leopard
skins, while Gibamund paced slowly up and down the spacious hall, often
gazing out through the lofty arched window over the wide sea. No light
was burning in the apartment; but the full moon, which meanwhile had
risen above the dark flood and the harbor wall, poured in the full
splendor of her rays, which, falling on the features of the three noble
human beings, illumined them with a spectral light.

"I will not," Hilda began, "as Zazo and my Gibamund have repeatedly
done, until you wrathfully forbade it, warn you against this priest,
who--"

With neither impatience nor anger, Gelimer interrupted: "Who first
discovered the wiles of Pudentius; who revealed to us the treachery of
Hilderic; to whom alone I am indebted for my escape from assassination
that night; who has saved the kingdom of the Vandals from the snare."

Gibamund paused in his walk.

"Yes, it is true. I had almost said, _unfortunately_ true. For I would
rather have owed it to any other man."

"It is so strikingly true that even our Zazo, who at first accused him
harshly to me, could scarcely find any objection to mutter, when I took
the brilliant man among my councillors and intrusted to him (for he is
an expert in letter-writing) the care of the correspondence. And how
unweariedly he has toiled since, priest and chancellor at the same
time! I marvel at the number of papers he lays before me every morning;
I do not believe he sleeps three hours."

"Men who neither sleep nor fight, drink nor kiss, are unnatural to me,"
cried Gibamund, laughing.

"I do not warn," said Hilda, "but I ask"--she laid her hand lightly on
the King's arm--"how does it happen, how is it possible, that you, the
warlike Prince of the Vandals, loved this gloomy Roman, this renegade,
better than all who stood nearest to you?"

"There you are mistaken, fair Hilda," smiled the King, stroking her
hand.

"Yes," she answered, correcting herself; "doubtless you love Ammata
better; he is the apple of your eye."

"My father, on his death-bed, confided this brother (he was then only a
prattling boy) to my care. I cherished him in my inmost heart, and
reared him as though he were my own child," said Gelimer, tenderly. "It
is not love," he went on, "that binds me to Verus. What constrains me
to revere in him my guardian spirit on earth, to look up to him with
ardent gratitude, with blind, credulous trust, is the confidence, nay,
the superhuman certainty: yes," here he shuddered slightly, "it is a
revelation of God, a miracle."

"A miracle?" Hilda repeated.

"A revelation?" Gibamund asked incredulously, stopping before them.

"Both," replied the King. "Only, to understand it, you must know more,
you must know all, you must learn how my mind, my soul, was tossed to
and fro by conflicting powers; you must live through with me once more
my wanderings, my perils, and my deliverance. Yes, and you shall, you
who are my nearest and dearest, now and here; who knows when the
impending war will grant us another hour of leisure?

"Even in my earliest childhood, my father told me, I was not like
ordinary children; I dreamed, I asked questions beyond my years. Then,
it is true, came the happy days of boyhood: arms, arms, and again arms,
my only sport, my only labor, my only study. At that time I grew to the
power and the pleasure in the use of weapons--" his eyes flashed in the
moonlight.

"Which made you the hero of your people," cried Gibamund.

"But suddenly an end came. By chance the leader of the hundred who was
commanded to execute the order fell sick, and I was next in the list:
I, a lad of sixteen, was sent with my troop to witness the terrible
tortures of Romans, Catholics, who would not abjure their faith, in the
courtyard of this citadel. The shrieks of agony which pierced through
the thick walls had repeatedly roused the Carthaginians to
insurrection; it was absolutely necessary to guard the dungeons. I had
heard that such things were done; I was told that they were needful;
that the Catholics were all traitors to the kingdom, and the rack was
used only to compel them to reveal the secrets of their disloyal plans.
But I had never witnessed the scene. Now suddenly I beheld it. The boy
of sixteen was himself the commander of the executioners. Horrible!
horrible! About a hundred persons, among them women, old men, boys and
girls scarcely as old as I. I commanded a halt. 'By order of the King!'
replied the Arian priest. I wanted to rush to the aid of the tortured
prisoners. Alas! Verus's whole family were among the victims. I wanted
to tear his gray-haired mother from the stake, from the ascending
flames, amid which, in spite of her iron chains, she writhed, shrieking
in unutterable agony. My own soldiers held me! 'By order of the King!'
they shouted. I struck about me, I foamed, I raged. In vain! I shut my
eyes that I might see the terrible scene no longer! But ah--"

The King hesitated and passed his hand across his brow. Then he went
on,--

"My name, in a shrill scream, reached my ear. I involuntarily opened my
eyes again and saw, stretched toward me, the naked, fettered, arm of
the gray-haired woman. 'Curses on you, Gelimer!' she shrieked. 'Curses
on you upon earth and in hell! Curses on all you Asdings! Curses on the
Vandal people and kingdom! God's vengeance for your own and your
fathers' sins shall pursue you from childhood to old age. Curses,
curses on you, murderer Gelimer!' And I saw her eyes, horribly
disfigured by suffering and hate, piercing mine. Then I sank down in
the convulsions which, later, often attacked me, and lay gasping under
the burden of the thought: even though I myself am free from sin, the
despairing woman cursed me as she died; she bore the curse to the
throne of God. I must bear the burden of guilt of all our family." He
trembled, beads of perspiration stood on his brow.

"For God's sake, brother, stop! Your illness might return."

But Gelimer continued: "When I came to my senses, I was no longer a
youth; I was an old man; or crushed, half mad, as you will call it. I
threw off my sword-belt, helmet, shield, and all my weapons, and--oh,
never shall I forget it--that one terrible word alone pressed through
my poor brain, deadening all else: 'Sin--the curse of sin rests upon
me, my family, my people!'

"I sought comfort. I seized the Bible. I had been taught that God
speaks to us through the oracles of the Sacred Book. With a sharp
dagger in my hand I unrolled the passages of Holy Writ. I appealed to
God. 'O Lord, wilt Thou really punish me for the sins of my ancestors?'
I struck haphazard with my dagger at the open page; it pierced the
verse: 'For I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity
of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation.'

"I almost died of terror. Once more I controlled myself. From the
street below rose the blast of the Vandal horns; glittering in
brilliant armor, our horsemen were going out to battle with the Moors.
That was my joy, my pride. Twice already I myself had mingled in the
victorious conflict. My heart, my courage, my joy in life, revived. I
said to myself: 'Even though all pleasure is forever dead to me, my
people, the Vandal kingdom, the hero's duty to live, to fight, to die
for his country, summon me. Is this, too, nothing? Is sin, too, an idle
nothing?' Again, in another place, I questioned the word of God. I
closed the roll, opened it again, and my dagger's point touched the
words: All is vanity!

"Then I sank down in despair. So people and country and heroism, which
our ancestors had fostered and praised as at once the highest duty and
the greatest pleasure,--this, too, is vanity, is sin before the eyes of
the Lord."

"It is a cruel chance," said Gibamund, wrathfully.

"And it is folly to believe it," cried Hilda. "O Gelimer, thou hero,
grandson of Genseric, does not every pulsation of your heart give the
lie to this gloomy delusion." She sprang up, throwing back her flowing
hair and fixing a fiery glance upon him.

"Sometimes, doubtless, fair leader of the Valkyrie," replied Gelimer,
smiling. "And especially since--since God saved me by a miracle. And
fear not, granddaughter of Hildebrand, you will have no cause to be
ashamed of your brother-in-law, the Vandal King, when the tuba of
Belisarius summons us to battle." He raised his noble head, clenching
his fist.

"Oh, joy to us, my husband," cried Hilda, "that is still the inmost
care of his being--the hero!" And she eagerly pressed her husband's
hand.

"Who knows the inmost care of his own being?" Gelimer went on. "At that
time--and for years after--all joy in the pomp and glitter of arms was
over for me. I was so ill! At that second oracle the convulsions
returned; and later they came very frequently, so that my father was
compelled to yield to my earnest desire, for I was not yet fit for
military service. I was permitted to enter a monastery of the monks of
our religion as a pupil, and to remain there in the solitude of the
desert. I spent many years within those walls, and during that time I
burned all the war songs which I had written in our language to sing to
the accompaniment of the harp."

"Oh, what a shame!" exclaimed Hilda.

"But a few were preserved by the lips of our soldiers," said Gibamund,
consolingly; "for instance,--

          "'Grandsons most noble
            Of ancestors noblest,
            Ancient blood of the Asdings,
            Gold-panoplied race
            Of mighty Genseric,
            To ye hath descended
            The Sea-Kings' power.'"

"And the fatal harvest of his sins!" said Gelimer, bowing his head
gloomily. He was silent for a time, then he began again,--

"Instead of the Vandal verse, I now composed Latin penitential hymns.
My brothers thought that the tortures of the condemned groaned, the
flames of hell darted through these trochees. Doubtless there were
flames--those which I had seen consume living human beings. There was
no mortification, no asceticism, which I did not practise to excess. I
raged against my flesh; I hated myself, my sinful soul, my body, which
dragged with it the curse of mortal sin. I fasted, I scourged myself, I
wore the nail-studded belt till it pierced deep wounds. I secretly
invented fresh tortures, when the abbot forbade the undue infliction of
the old ones. At the same time I devoured all the books in the
monastery and the libraries of Carthage. I persuaded my father to let
me go to Alexandria, to Athens, to Constantinople, to hear the teachers
there. I had become more learned, not wiser, when I returned from those
schools to the monastery in the desert. At last my father summoned me
from this monastery to his deathbed; he committed to me, as a sacred
legacy, the care of my youngest brother, the child Ammata. I could not
selfishly hasten from my father's grave to the desert, as I desired;
the care of the child was a human, healthy duty which restored me to
the world. I lived for the darling boy."

"No father could watch over him more tenderly," cried Gibamund.

"At that time I was urged to marry. The King, the whole nation wished
it. The lady belonged to the royal race of the Visigoths, and came to
visit Carthage. A beautiful, noble, brilliant Princess, she charmed my
heart and ray eyes. I ruled both, and said, No."

"To live solely for Ammata?" asked Hilda.

"Not that alone. The thought entered my mind," his brow clouded again,
"the curse which the old woman had called down upon my head should not,
according to those terrible words of Scripture, be transmitted by me
from generation to generation. I should tremble to see in my children's
faces the features of their accursed father. So I remained unwedded."

"What a gloomy idea!" Gibamund whispered in the ear of his beautiful
wife, as, drawing her tenderly toward him, he kissed her cheek.

"I suppose it was at that time," said Hilda, "that you composed that
denunciation which condemns all love as sin?"

           "Maledictus amor sextus,
            Maledicta oscula,
            Sint amplexus maledicti
            Inferi ligamina."

"It is all untrue," she added smiling, warmly returning her husband's
embrace.

But Gelimer went on: "The result will teach us the truth--on the Day of
Judgment. The care of the boy cured me. I again turned to the practice
of arms; it would soon be necessary to teach my pupil their use. But a
still greater aid was the duty--"

"You owed your people and your native land," interrupted Hilda.

"Yes," added Gibamund. "At that time the Moors had proved greatly
superior to our effeminate troops, and especially our unwarlike King.
We were defeated in every battle, and could no longer hold our own in
the open field against the camel-riders. Our frontier was harried year
after year. Nay, the robbers of the desert grew bold enough to
penetrate deep into the heart of the proconsular province, till they
made forays to the very gates of Carthage. Then I was summoned to
become the shield of my people; I did so gladly. The old love of arms
waked anew, and I said to myself: 'No vain, sinful greed for fame urges
you on.'"

"What? Is heroism called a sin?" cried Hilda. "You were fighting only
to defend your people."

"Ah, but he found much pleasure in it," replied Gibamund, smiling at
his wife. "And he often pursued the Moors farther into the desert, and
in following them killed many more with his own hand than the
protection of Carthage would have required."

"May Heaven pardon all that I did beyond what was necessary," said
Gelimer, in a troubled tone. "The thought, 'It is a sin,' often
paralyzed my arm, even in the midst of battle. Often, too, I was
overwhelmed by the old melancholy, the torturing fear of sin, the
consciousness of guilt, the burden of the curse of the burning woman,
the words piercing to the quick: 'All is sin, all is vanity!'

"Then came the day which brought to me the most terrible
ordeal,--tortures little less than those suffered by the Catholics, the
parents and relatives of Verus, and at the same time the decision,
rescue, deliverance, through Verus. Yes, as Jesus Christ is my Redeemer
in Heaven, this priest became my savior, my redeemer on earth."

"Do not blaspheme," warned Gibamund. "I, unfortunately, am not so
devout a Christian as you; but the Saviour is only like unto, not equal
with, God--"

"You have learned your Arian creed by heart, my dear one," cried Hilda,
laughing. "But old Hildebrand said he was neither like nor equal to the
gods of our ancestors."

"No, for they are demons," said Gelimer, wrathfully, making the sign of
the cross.

"Yet I should not like to compare the gloomy Verus with Christ,"
replied Gibamund.

"I had felt toward him as you, as Zazo, as almost all did; he did not
attract, he rather repelled me. That he--he alone of all his kindred,
whose death for their faith he had witnessed, should have adopted the
religion of their executioners! Was it from fear, or really from
conviction? I distrusted him! It displeased me, too, that King
Hilderic, the friend of the Byzantines, whose plots against my own
succession to the throne I already suspected, so greatly favored him.
How greatly I wronged Verus there he has now proved; he--he alone saved
me and the Vandal kingdom. Thus he has done visibly what God's sign
announced to me in the most terrible moment of my life. Now listen to
what only our Zazo yet knows; I told him, as an answer to his warning.
Hear, marvel, and recognize the signs and wonders of God."



                              CHAPTER XXII

It was three years ago. We had again marched against the Moors, this
time to the southwest to meet the tribes which pitch their tents at the
foot of the Auras Mountains. We passed through the Proconsularis, then
Numidia, and from Tipasa forced the foe out of the level country up the
steep mountains, where, amid inaccessible rocks, they sought refuge. We
encamped on the plain, keeping them surrounded until hunger should
force them to yield. Days, weeks elapsed. The time grew too long for
me, and often, riding along the mountain chain, I sought some spot
where lower cliffs might render it possible to scale or storm them.

"On one of these lonely rides (I needed no companion, for the enemy did
not venture down into the valley) I had gone a long, long distance from
our camp. Riding in a wide circuit around a projecting cliff, I lost
the right direction in the vast, monotonous desert. I had never
examined this side of the mountains, they seemed less difficult to
scale; I felt no anxiety about returning, though my panting horse had
covered many a mile,--the prints of his hoofs would guide me back.
Already the rays of the ardent sun were falling more aslant, and brown
mists were gathering around the glowing disk. I wished to see what lay
beyond the nearest cliff, and, guiding my horse close to the rocky
base, I turned the corner. Instantly a terrible sound deafened my
ears,--a roar that made every nerve quiver. My horse reared in terror;
I saw, only a few paces in front of me, a huge lion, a monster in size,
crouching to spring. I hurled my spear with all my force; but at the
same moment my horse, frantic with fear, reared still higher,
overbalanced himself, and fell backward, burying me under his weight. A
sharp pain in the thigh was the last thing I felt. Then my senses
failed."

He paused, deeply agitated by the remembrance of the scene.

Hilda, her lips half parted, gazed at him in breathless suspense. "A
lion?" she faltered. "They usually shun the desert."

"Yes," said Gibamund. "But they like to prowl among the mountains close
to the border. I know that you were brought back to Carthage with a
broken thigh," he added. "Many, many weeks passed before you were
cured; but I was not aware--"

"When I recovered consciousness the sun was setting. It was burning
hot--everything--the air, the dry sand on which the back of my head
rested (for the helmet had slipped off in my fall), the heavy horse
which lay motionless on my right leg and thigh. He had broken his neck.
I tried to drag myself from beneath the heavy burden. Impossible; I
could not move the broken limb. By bracing my right hand and arm on the
sand, I attempted to raise the upper part of my body above the carcass
of the horse. I succeeded. Directly in front of me was the lion! The
animal lay motionless on his belly a few feet away; the handle of my
spear protruded from his breast just beside his right fore-paw. My
heart exulted at his death. But alas, no! Now that I had stirred, a low
angry growl came from his half-open jaws. The mane bristled; he tried
to rise, but could not, and remained lying where he had fallen. Then
the claws clenched the sand deeper, evidently in the attempt to drag
the body nearer, while the monster's glittering eyes were fixed full on
mine. And I?--I could not draw back a single inch. Then--I will not
deny it--fear, base, abject, trembling terror seized me. I let myself
fall back upon the sand; I could not bear the horrible sight. Through
my brain darted the thought: 'Woe betide you, what will be your fate?'
And in my despair, my mortal terror, I shrieked as loud as I could,
'Help, help!' But I repented horribly; my voice must have roused the
fury of the wounded animal; a roar answered me,--a roar so frightful in
its rage and menace that my breath failed. When silence followed, my
blood rushed, seething, through my veins. What threatened me? What end
awaited me? No cries for aid would be heard by our troops; many, many
miles of untrodden desert sands separated me from our farthest
outposts. I had not seen during my whole ride a single trace of the foe
among the mountains; how gladly would I have surrendered myself into
their hands as a captive! But to languish here, under the scorching
sun, on the burning sands--to perish slowly, for already thirst was
torturing me with its terrible pangs! Ah, and I had heard that this
agonizing death by thirst might drag along for days in the lonely
wilderness.

"Then, looking up to the pitiless, leaden sky, I asked in a whisper,--I
confess that I was afraid to wake the lion's voice again,--'God, God of
Justice, why? What sin have I committed to be forced to suffer thus?'

"Then through my brain darted the terrible answer of Holy Writ: 'I will
visit the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and
fourth generation.' You are atoning, I groaned, for the sins of your
ancestors; the curse of those who were burned at the stake is burning
you here. You are condemned upon earth and in hell. Is this already
hell that compasses me with such scorching heat, that sears my eyes, my
throat, my chest, nay, my very soul? And hark! More terrible, louder
still, it seemed to me, nearer, rose the roar of the monster. My senses
failed again.

"I lay unconscious all night, probably passing from the fainting fit
into a dream. In my half-doze I again saw everything that had happened.
'Ah,' I murmured, smiling, 'it is only a dream; it can be nothing but a
dream. Such things do not belong to the world of reality. You are lying
in your tent, with your sword by your side.' Rousing, I grasped at the
hilt. Oh, horrible! I clutched the desert sand. It was no dream.

"Day had already dawned, and the sun again shone pitilessly with its
scorching rays upon my unprotected face. Now the thought came, 'My
sword! A weapon!' Bear the same torture, the same mortal anguish, for
long hours? No! God forgive the heavy sin, but I would end my life; I
was already condemned to hell! I grasped my sword-belt; an empty sheath
hung from it. The blade had dropped out in the fall. I glanced around
and saw the trusty weapon lying very near. Never had I loved it as I
did at that moment; it was just at my left; I tried to seize it--in
vain. Far as I could stretch my arm, my fingers, the faithful blade
lay--perhaps barely six inches away--but beyond my reach. Then a low
growl reminded me of the lion, and by a great effort (my strength was
failing) I raised myself high enough to see the animal.

"Alas! Was it an illusion, indicative of approaching madness? For my
thoughts were darting through my brain like clouds whirling before the
blast of the coming storm. No! It was true. The monster had moved
nearer, much nearer than the day before. It was no illusion. I could
estimate clearly. Yesterday, no matter how far he stretched his paw, he
could not reach the large black stone which had fallen from the cliff
directly in front of my horse; now it lay almost by the wild beast's
hind leg. During these hours, urged by increasing hunger, the lion had
pushed himself forward almost the entire length of his body, and now
lay only a foot and a half or two feet from me. If he should advance
still farther--if he should reach me? Helpless, defenceless, I must
allow myself to be devoured alive! Then terror darted through my heart.
In mortal anguish I prayed aloud to God, struggled with Him in appeal:
'No, no, my God, Thou must not abandon me! Thou must save me, God of
Mercy!' At this moment I suddenly remembered the belief of our whole
people concerning the guardian spirits whom God has allotted to us in
the form of helpful human beings. Do you remember? The attendant
spirits."

"Yes," said Gibamund. "And by fervent prayer we can, in the hour of
supreme peril, constrain God to show us the guardian spirit sent by Him
to our rescue."

"My ancestor, too," said Hilda, "believed in them firmly. He said that
our forefathers imagined the guardian spirits in the form of women who
invisibly followed the chosen heroes everywhere to protect them. But
since the Christian religion came--"

"These demon women have left us," said Gelimer, crossing himself, "and
God has assigned to us _men_, who are our keepers, counsellors,
saviors, and guardian spirits here on earth. 'Send me, O God,' I cried,
in an agony of entreaty, 'send me in this hour of utmost need the man
whom Thou hast appointed to be my guardian spirit here on earth. Let
him save me! And so long as I breathe, I will trust him as I would
Thyself, will revere in him Thy wondrous power.'

"When I had ended this fervent prayer, my heart suddenly grew lighter.
True, great weakness, almost faintness, stole over me; but there
blended with it something infinitely sweet, inexpressedly happy and
full of relief And now, in my feverish illusion, I suddenly beheld
alluring visions of deliverance; the terrible thirst which tortured me
painted a spring of delicious water gushing from the rocks close beside
me. The rescuers, too, were already coming! Not Zazo, not Gibamund; I
knew that they had marched against other Moors, far, far westward of my
camp. No, it was some one else, whose features I could not see
distinctly. He dashed forward on a neighing horse; he slew the lion; he
dragged the constantly-increasing weight of my dead horse from my body.
Then I heard only a rushing, ringing noise in my ears, which said:
'Your deliverer is here! Your guardian spirit.' Suddenly the ringing
died away, and--it was no fevered dream--I heard in reality behind me,
from the direction of our camp, the neighing of a horse. With my last
strength I turned my head and saw a few paces behind me a man who had
just sprung from his horse. He was standing in a hesitating, doubting
attitude, as if reflecting, with his hand clenched on his sword-hilt,
gazing at me and the lion."

"He hesitated?" cried Hilda. "He reflected; A Vandal warrior?"

"He was no Vandal."

"A Moor? A foe?"

"It was Verus, the priest."

"'My guardian spirit,' I cried, 'my preserver! God has sent you. Take
my whole life!' Then my senses failed again.

"Verus told me afterwards that he cautiously approached the lion, and,
seeing how deeply the weapon had penetrated, he hastily tore the spear
from the wound; a tremendous rush of blood followed, and the monster
died. Then he dragged me from under the dead horse, lifted me with
difficulty on his own, bound me firmly on its back, and carried me
slowly to the camp. My soldiers had sought me solely in the path along
which they saw me ride out; Verus, who accompanied our army, was the
only one who noticed that, after leaving the encampment that morning, I
turned eastward. And when I was missed, he searched until he found me."

"Alone?"

"Entirely alone."

"How strange!" said Hilda; "how easily, alone, he might have failed in
his purpose!"

"God enlightened and sent him."

"And did you--did he never tell others?"

Gelimer shook his noble head gravely. "The miracles of God are not to
be the subject of idle talk. I earnestly besought his forgiveness that,
formerly, I had almost distrusted him. He generously pardoned me.
'True, I felt it,' he said. 'It grieved me. Now atone by trusting me
fully. For in truth you are right. God really did send me to you; I
_am_ your fate, I am the tool in God's hand that watches over your life
and guides it to its predestined goal. I saw you--as if in a dream,
though I was awake--lying helpless in the desert, and a secret voice
urged me on, saying: "Seek him. Thou shalt become his fate!" And I
could not rest until I had found you.'

"Now I have confided this to you that you may no longer wound me by
your doubts. No, Hilda, do not shake your head. No objection; I will
suffer none. How your distrust angers me! Has he not saved me a second
time? Do you want a third sign from God, unbeliever? I would not wish
to be incensed against you, so I will leave you. It is late. Believe,
trust, and keep silence." With a bearing of lofty dignity, he left the
room.

Hilda gazed after him thoughtfully. Then she shrugged her shoulders.
"Mere chance," she said, "and superstition! How can delusion ensnare
such a mind?"

"Such danger threatens just such minds. I rejoice that mine is less
exalted."

"And that your soul is healthy!" cried Hilda, starting from her reverie
with a gesture of relief, and throwing both arms around her beloved
husband.



                             CHAPTER XXIII

Early on the morning of the third day after the meeting in the great
hall of the palace, Hilda and her young charge, Eugenia, were sitting
together in one of the women's apartments, talking eagerly over the
work at which they were industriously toiling.

The narrow but lofty arched window afforded a view of the large square
courtyard of the palace. In which there was an active stir of military
preparation. In one portion of the wide space newly arrived Vandal
recruits were being divided into bands of tens and hundreds; in another
they were discharging arrows and hurling spears at targets made of
planks which, in height, width, and general appearance, resembled as
closely as possible Byzantine warriors in full defensive armor. A
special oval enclosure was reserved for the inspection of horses and
camels offered for sale by Moorish traders. The King, Gibamund, and the
Gundings went from group to group. Hilda was sitting on a pile of
cushions, from which, whenever she looked up, she could see the whole
courtyard without the least difficulty. She was working industriously
upon a large piece of scarlet woollen cloth which lay spread over the
laps of both women. Often the needle fell from her hand, while a
radiant glance flashed down at the noble figure of her slender husband.
If he met it and waved his hand to her,--few of her glances escaped his
notice,--a lovely flush of shy, sweet happiness glowed on the young
wife's cheeks.

Hilda saw that Eugenia stretched her delicate neck forward several
times to obtain a glimpse of the courtyard. But she did not succeed;
her seat was too far back from the window; and when at another attempt
she perceived that her effort had been noticed, she crimsoned with
alarm and shame far more deeply than Hilda had just done from pleasure.

"You have finished the lower hem," said Hilda, kindly. "Push another
cushion on the stool. You must sit higher now, on account of the work."
The young Greek eagerly obeyed, and a stolen glance flew swiftly down
into the courtyard. But her lashes drooped sorrowfully, and she drew
her gold-threaded needle still faster through the red cloth.

"New hundreds will soon arrive," remarked Hilda, "and then other
commanders will come into the courtyard."

Eugenia made no reply, but her face brightened.

"You have been so diligent that we shall soon finish," Hilda went on.
"The setting sun will see Genseric's old banner floating again in
restored beauty from the palace roof."

"The golden dragon is nearly mended, only one wing and the claws--"

"They probably grew dull during the long years of peace, when the
banner lay idle in the arsenal."

"There were frequent battles with the Moors."

"Yes, but Genseric's old battle-standard was not shaken from its proud
dreams on account of those little skirmishes. Only small bodies of
mounted troops rode forth, and the majestic signal of war was not
unfurled on the palace. But now that the kingdom is threatened, Gelimer
has commanded that, according to ancient custom, the great banner
should be unfurled on the roof. My Gibamund brought it to me to replace
the worn embroidery with fresh gold."

"We should have finished it before, if you had not placed those strange
little signs half hidden along the hem--"

"Hush," whispered Hilda, smiling, "he must not know it."

"Who?"

"Why, the pious King. Alas, we shall never understand and agree with
each other!"

"Why must he know nothing about it?"

"They are the ancient runes of victory of our people. My ancestor
Hildebrand taught them to me. And who can tell whether they may not
help?"

As she spoke, she passed her hand over her work with a tender,
caressing motion, humming softly,--

           "Revered and ancient
            Runes so glorious,
            Magical symbols
            Of victory's bliss,
            Float ye and sway
            With the fluttering banner
            High o'er our heads!
            Summon the swift,
            Lovely, and gracious
            Maids, brave and bold,
            Hovering swan-like
            Our heads far above!
            Givers of victory,
            Radiant sisterhood,
            Fetter the foe,
            Stay their proud columns,
            Weaken their sword-strokes,
            Shiver their spears,
            Break their firm shields,
            Shatter their breastplates,
            Hew off their helmets!--
            Unto our warriors
            Victory send ye;
            Joyous pursuit,
            Speeding on swift steeds,
            Shouting in glee,
            After the flying
            Ranks of the vanquished!"

"There! The ancient rune has often helped the Amalungi; why should it
not aid the Asdings? Aha! Now let the dragon fly again. He has
moulted," she added, laughing merrily; "now his wings have grown new."

Springing to her feet, she raised the long heavy shaft, terminating in
a sharp point, to which the square scarlet cloth was fastened with
gold-headed nails, and with both hands she waved the banner joyously
around her head. It was a beautiful picture: Gibamund and many of the
warriors below saw the floating banner and the lovely woman's head
surrounded by her flowing golden hair.

"Hail, Hilda, hail!" rose in an echoing shout.

Startled, the young wife sank on her knees to escape their eyes. Yet
she had heard _his_ voice, so she smiled, happy in her embarrassment,
and charming in her confusion.

Eugenia, doubtless, felt the winsome spell, for, suddenly slipping down
beside the Princess, she covered her hands and beautiful round white
arms with ardent kisses. "Oh, lady, why are you so glorious? I often
look up to you with fear. When your eyes flash so, when, like Pallas
Athene, you talk so enthusiastically of battle and heroic deeds, fear
or awe steals over me and holds me away from you. Then again, when--as
has so often happened during these last few days--I have seen your shy,
sweet happiness, your love, your devotion to your husband, then, oh,
then--pardon my presumption--I feel as near, as closely akin to you,
as--as--"

"As a sister, my Eugenia," said Hilda, clasping the charming creature
warmly to her heart. "Believe me, brave, fearless heroism does not
exclude the most loyal, the most devoted wifely love. I have often
argued that question with the most beautiful woman in the whole world."

"Who is that?" asked Eugenia, doubtfully; for how could any one be
fairer than Hilda?

"Mataswintha, granddaughter of the great Theodoric, in the laurel-grown
garden at Ravenna. She would have become my friend; but she desired to
hear only of love, nothing of heroism and duty to people and kingdom.
She knows only one right, one duty--love. This separated us sharply and
rigidly. Yet how touchingly both may be united, a beautiful old legend
celebrates. My noble friend, Teja, once sang it for my grandfather and
me to the accompaniment of his harp, in measures so sorrowful and yet
so proud--ah, as only Teja can sing. I will translate it into your
language. Come, let us mend this corner of the golden hem; meanwhile, I
will tell you."

Both took their seats by the open window again. Once more Eugenia's
glance, still in vain, often flitted over the courtyard, and while the
two were industriously embroidering, the Princess began:

"It was in ancient times: when eagles shrieked, holy waters flowed from
heavenly mountains. Far, far away from here, in the Land of Thule in
Scandinavia, a noble hero was born of the Wölsung race. His name was
Helgi, and he had no peer on earth. When, after great victories over
the Hundings, the hereditary foes of his family, he sat resting on a
rock in the fir-woods, light suddenly burst from the sky, from whose
radiance beams darted like shining lances, and from the clouds rode
the Valkyries, who--according to the beautiful religion of our
ancestors--are hero-maidens who decide the destinies of battle, and
bear the fallen heroes up to the shield-wainscoted halls of the god of
victory. They rode in helmets and breastplates; flames blazed at the
points of their spears. One of them, Sigrun, came to the lonely
warrior, clasped his hand, greeted him, and kissed his lips beneath his
helmet, and they loved each other deeply.

"But Sigrun's father had betrothed her to another, and Helgi was
compelled to wage a hard battle for his love. He killed her lover, her
father, and all her brothers except one. Sigrun herself, hovering in
the clouds, had given him the victory, and she became his wife, though
he had slain her father and her brothers. But soon Helgi, the beloved
hero, was murdered by the one brother whom he had spared. True, the
assassin tried to make amends to the widow; but she cursed him, saying:
'May the ship that carries you never move forward, though a fair wind
is blowing! May the steed that bears you stop running, when you are
fleeing from your foes! May the sword you wield cease to cut, and may
it whirl around your own head! May you live in the world without peace,
as the hunted wolf wanders through the forest!' Disdaining all comfort,
she tore her hair, saying: 'Woe betide the widow who accepts
consolation! She never knew love, for love is eternal. Woe to the wife
who has lost her husband! Her heart is desolate; why should she live
on?'"

Eugenia softly repeated the words: "Woe betide the widow who accepts
consolation! She never knew love, for love is eternal. Woe to the wife
who has lost her husband! Her heart is desolate; why should she live
on?"

"'Helgi towered above all other heroes, as the ash towers above thorns
and thistles. For the widow there remains but one spot on earth--her
husband's grave. Sigrun will no longer find pleasure in this world,
unless perchance a light should burst from the doors of his tomb, and I
might again embrace him.'

"And so mighty, so all-constraining is the longing of the true
widow, that it will even break the power of death. In the evening a
maid-servant came running to Sigrun, saying: 'Hasten forth, if you wish
to have your husband again. Look! the mound has opened; a light is
streaming from it; your longing has brought the hero from the heaven of
the god of victory; he is sitting in the mound and beseeches you to
stanch his bleeding wounds.'"

Eugenia, in a low, trembling voice, repeated: "The longing of the true
widow will even break the power of death."

"Sigrun went in to Helgi, kissed him, stanched his wounds, and said:
'Your locks are drenched with moisture; you are covered with blood;
your hands are cold--how shall I keep you?' 'You are the sole cause,'
he replied. 'You shed so many tears, and each fell a blood-stain upon
Helgi's breast.' 'Then I will weep no more,' she cried; 'but will rest
upon your heart, as I did in life.' 'You will remain in the mound with
me, in the arms of the dead, though you still live,' cried Helgi,
exultingly.

"You will remain in the mound, in the arms of the dead, though you
still live," Eugenia repeated.

"But the legend relates that when Sigrun also died, both were born
again: he a victorious hero, but she a Valkyrie. This is the ballad of
how a woman's true love, a widow's true anguish, conquers death, and,
in omnipotent yearning, even forces a passage into the grave to the
beloved one."

"And in omnipotent yearning forces a passage into the grave to the
beloved one."

Hilda looked up suddenly. "Child, what is the matter?" The Princess had
spoken with such enthusiasm that at last she paid no heed to her
listener. But now she heard a low sob, and, in bewilderment, saw the
Greek kneeling on the floor, bending forward over the stool, hiding her
lovely face in both hands; tears were streaming between the slender
fingers.

"Eugenia!"

"O Hilda, it is so beautiful. It must be so blissful to be loved! And
it is also happiness to love unto death. Oh, happy Gibamund's Hilda!
Oh, happy Helgi's Sigrun! How this song makes the heart ache and yet
rejoice! How beautiful and, alas, how true it is, that love conquers
all things, and draws the loving woman to her beloved, even to his
grave! They are united in death, if no longer in life. That thought
possesses stronger power than spell or magnet."

"O sister, does this little heart love so strongly, so fervently, so
genuinely? Speak freely at last. Not a single word during all these
days have you--"

"I could not! I was so ashamed for myself, and, alas! for him. And I
dare not speak of my love! It is a disgrace and shame. For he, my
bridegroom,--no, my husband,--does not love me!"

"Indeed he does love you, or why should the reckless noble have wooed
you so humbly?"

"Alas, I do not know. Hundreds of times during the last few days have
I asked myself that question. I do not know. True, I believed--until
the day before yesterday--it was from love. And often this foolish
heart believes it still. But, no, it was not love. Caprice
weariness--perhaps," and now she trembled wrathfully, "a wager,--a game
that he desired to win and which lost its charm as soon as he
succeeded."

"No, my little dove! Thrasaric is incapable of that."

"Oh, yes, oh, yes!" Eugenia sobbed despairingly. "He is capable of it."

"I do not believe it," said the Princess, and, sitting down beside her,
she lifted the forsaken little bride into her arms as if she were a
child, dried her wet cheeks with the folds of her own white mantle,
stroked her burning lids, smoothed her tangled hair, pressed the
little head to her soft bosom, and rocked gently to and fro, saying
soothingly: "Everything will be well again, little one, and soon; for
he does love you. That is certain."

A suppressed sob and a slight shake of the head said, No!

"Certain! I do not know, nor do I wish to know, what that woman hissed
into your ear. But I saw how it wounded you, like a poisoned arrow.
Whatever it may be--"

"I will never, never, never tell!" the girl fairly shrieked.

"I do not wish to know, I told you. Whatever his guilt may be, the
Christians have a beautiful saying: 'Love beareth all things.'"

"Love beareth all things," murmured Eugenia. "But, of course, love
only. Tell me, little sister, do you really love him?"

The weeping girl, springing from the Princess's clasping arms, stood
erect, and stretching both arms wide exclaimed, in a low tone, "Alas!
Unspeakably!" and threw herself again on her friend's breast. Her large
soft eyes sparkled through her tears as she went on in a low whisper,
as though fearing that strangers might hear in the secluded chamber:
"That is my sweet secret,--the secret of my shame." She smiled
radiantly. "I loved him long ago, I believe even as a child. When he
came to my father to buy grain for his villas, he lifted me in his
strong arms like a feather, until I--gradually--forbade it. The older I
grew, the more ardently I loved, and therefore the more timidly I
avoided him. Oh, do not betray it as long as you live--when he
seized me, bore me away in the public street--fiercely as my wrath, my
honor rebelled, deeply as I suffered from pity for my father--yet
yet--yet! While struggling desperately in his iron arms, screaming for
help--yet!--in the midst of all the mortal fright and anger, there
blazed here in my heart, secretly, a warm, happy, blissful emotion: 'He
loves me; he tortures me from love!' And, amid all the keen suffering,
I was happy, nay, proud, that he dared so bold a deed for love of me!
Can you understand, can you forgive that?"

Hilda smiled bewitchingly: "Forgive? No! I am utterly bewildered with
sheer pleasure. Forgive _me_, little one. I had not expected from you
so much genuine, ardent woman's love! But, you obstinate little
creature, you hypocrite,--why did you so long conceal and deny your
feelings toward him from your father and your friend?"

"Why? That is perfectly plain," exclaimed the girl, indignantly. "From
embarrassment and shame. It is terrible, it is a frightful disgrace,
for a young girl, instead of hating the man who seized her in the
public market-place, and even kissed her at the same time, to love him.
It is utterly abominable."

Half weeping, half smiling, she hid her face on her friend's breast,
tenderly kissing a little gold cross that she wore round her neck
attached to a thin silver chain, and lovingly pressing to her bosom a
bronze semi-circle, inscribed with runes, that she wore on her arm.

"His betrothal and, alas, his marriage gift," she sighed.

"Yes, you love him deeply," said Hilda, smiling. "And he? He sent my
Gibamund to me with frequent messages of the anguish he was suffering,
and he was as grateful as a blind man who has been restored to sight
when I told him that he was indeed wholly unworthy of you; but if he
really desired to win you for his wife, he must ask you if you would
wed him, and then beg your father for your hand. This simple bit of
wisdom made him as happy as a child. He followed the counsel, and
now--"

"Now?" Eugenia interrupted, in almost comical indignation. "Now he has
not been seen at all for nearly three days. Who knows how far away he
may be?"

"Not very far," cried Hilda, laughing; "he is just riding into the
courtyard below."

Eugenia's little head was at the window like a flash of lightning. A
half-stifled cry of joy escaped her lips, then she instantly stooped
again.

"Oh, oh, how magnificent he looks!" cried Hilda, clasping her hands
with the most joyful surprise. "In full, heavy armor, a huge bear-head
with gaping jaws on his helmet--"

"Oh, yes! He killed it himself on the Auras Mountain," murmured the
little bride.

"And how the skin floats around his mighty shoulders! He carries a
spear as thick as a sapling, and on his shield--What is the emblem? A
stone-hammer?"

"Yes, yes," cried Eugenia, eagerly, lifting her head cautiously to the
window-sill, "that is his house-mark. His family descends, according to
ancient tradition, from a red-bearded demon with a hammer--I don't
remember the name."

"What demon?" exclaimed Hilda. "The god Donar is his ancestor, and
Thrasaric does him honor. He is talking with Gibamund. They are looking
up; he is saluting me. Oh dear, how pale and sad the poor giant looks!"

"Is that true?" The little brown head flew up again.

"Stoop, little one! He must not see that we are far less able to bear
the yearning than he. My husband is waving his hand to me. He is coming
upstairs; Thrasaric seems to be following him."

Eugenia had already vanished in the next room.



                              CHAPTER XXIV

Hilda flew to the threshold to meet her husband, and the young couple
tenderly embraced.

"Are you alone?" asked Gibamund, glancing around him. "I thought I saw
your little antelope at the window."

Hilda pointed silently to the curtains at the door of the adjoining
room; her husband nodded. "You will have a visitor presently," he said,
raising his voice. "Thrasaric wishes to speak to you. He has all sorts
of important things to say."

"He will be welcome."

"Have you finished the banner?"

"Oh, yes."

Seizing the pole, she raised the heavy standard aloft; the scarlet
cloth, more than five feet long and two and a half feet wide, flowed in
long heavy folds around the two slender figures. It was a beautiful,
solemn sight.

Gibamund took the banner from her. "I will place it on the battlements
of the loftiest tower, that it may wave a bloody welcome to our foes.
Oh, thou choicest jewel, shield of the Vandal fame, Genseric's
victorious standard, never shalt thou fall into the hands of the foe so
long as I draw breath!" he cried enthusiastically. "I swear it by the
head of the beloved wife over which thy folds are floating."

"Neither your eyes nor mine shall ever witness that. I, too, swear it,"
said Hilda, with deep earnestness, and a slight shiver ran through her
limbs as a gust of wind blew the scarlet cloth closely around her
shoulders and breast.

Gibamund kissed the fair brow and the beautiful eyes which were lifted
with a radiant light to his own, and hurried out of the room with the
banner. On the threshold he met Thrasaric. Hilda sat down again beside
the window.

"Welcome, Thrasaric!" she said loudly, as the curtain in the doorway of
the adjoining room waved to and fro. "I commend you. In full armor! It
suits you better than--other costumes. I hear that you have been made
commander of many thousand men. You are to fill Zazo's place until his
return. What brings you to me?"

These friendly words evidently soothed the embarrassment of the giant,
whose face had crimsoned when he entered the apartment. He cast a
searching glance around the room, hoping to discover some trace--some
article of clothing; but he did not find it. His whole soul was burning
with the desire to speak of Eugenia, to ask about her, to learn her
feelings. Yet he so feared to approach the subject. He did not know
whether his bride had told her friend of his heavy, heavy sin. He
feared it. Surely it was probable that the Princess had asked the girl
the cause of her terror; and why should Eugenia keep silence? Why
should she spare him? Had he deserved it? Had not the indignant girl,
with the utmost justice, cast him off forever? All these questions,
over which he had been pondering, now pressed at once on his bewildered
brain. He was so bitterly ashamed of himself, he would rather have
marched alone to meet Belisarius's entire army than talk now with this
noble woman; yet he had boldly encountered harder things. As he made no
reply, but merely stood with laboring breath, Hilda repeated the
question,--

"What brings you to me, Thrasaric?"

He must answer--he saw that. So he replied, but Hilda was almost
startled when he cried loudly, "A horse."

"A horse?" asked the Princess, slowly. "What am I to do with it?"

Thrasaric was glad to be able to speak, and at some length, of subjects
not connected with Eugenia. So he now answered, quickly and easily: "To
ride it."

"Yes," laughed Hilda, "I suppose so! But to whom does the horse
belong?"

"To you. I give it to you. Gibamund has permitted it. He commands you
to accept it from me. Do you hear? He commands."

"Well, well! I haven't refused yet. So I thank you cordially. What kind
of horse is it?"

"The best one on earth."

The answers now came with the speed of lightning.

"Gibamund and my brother-in-law said that of Cabaon's stallion."

"It is the very horse."

"That belongs to Modigisel."

"Not now."

"Why?"

"Oh, for many reasons. In the first place, it is now yours. Secondly,
the animal lately ran away from Modigisel at night, was carried off.
Thirdly, Modigisel is dead. And, fourthly, the stallion belongs to me."

These replies had come almost too rapidly. Hilda gazed at him without
understanding.

"Modigisel dead? Incredible!"

"But it is true. And really--except for himself--no great misfortune. A
short time ago, at night, I helped a young Moorish prisoner to escape.
I could not foresee that he would use the horse in doing so. But
afterwards I rejoiced over it, very, very deeply. Early this morning, a
Moor, not the fugitive, brought the stallion into my courtyard. The lad
I had saved was Sersaon, Cabaon's famous grandson. Cabaon, in his
gratitude, sent me the magnificent horse."

"But must not you return him to Modigisel?"

"Perhaps so. On no account--never, never--would I have kept the animal.
I would rather have the devil in my stable; I would rather ride the
steed of hell!"

"Why?"

"Why? Why? You ask why?" cried Thrasaric, joyously. "Then you do not
know?"

"If I knew, I would not ask," said Hilda, calmly.

But she was startled by the effect of these words; the gigantic man
threw himself on his knees before her, pressing her hands till she
could almost have screamed with pain, as he cried: "That is glorious,
that is divine!" But the next instant he sprang up again, saying
mournfully, "Alas! This is even worse. Now I must tell her myself.
Forgive me. No, I am not mad. Just wait. It is coming.--So I ordered
the horse to be led at once to Modigisel. The slave returned
immediately with the message that Modigisel was dead."

"Then it is true? The day before yesterday in perfect health! How is it
possible?"

"Astarte, of course. You know nothing about such creatures. His
freedwoman and friend; she lived in the next house. It is very strange.
The slaves say that after--after returning from the Grove of the Holy
Virgin," he stammered the words with downcast eyes, "Modigisel and
Astarte had a violent quarrel. That is, she did not make an outcry--she
said very little; but she demanded for the thousandth time her complete
freedom. Modigisel had reserved numerous rights. He refused, shouted,
and raged; he is said to have beaten her. But yesterday they made
friends again. Astarte and the Gundings dined with him. After the
banquet they strolled about the garden. Before their eyes Astarte broke
four peaches from a tree. She and the two Gundings ate three of them;
Modigisel the fourth. And, after eating it, he dropped dead at
Astarte's feet."

"Horrible! Poison?"

"Who dares to say so? The peach grew on the same tree with the others.
The Gundings bear witness to it; they do not lie. And the Carthaginian
is impenetrably calm, even now."

"You have seen her, have talked with her?"

The powerful warrior flushed crimson: "She came to my house at once,
from the dead man. But I--well--she went away again very soon. She was
hastening to take possession of the villa at Decimum, which Modigisel
bequeathed to her long ago."

"What a woman!"

"Nay, no woman,--a monster, but a beautiful one. So the horse remained
in my possession. But I--will not keep the animal. Then I thought that
of all the women of our nation you are the most glorious--I mean, the
best rider. And I believe war will soon break out, and, from what I
know of you, I believe that nothing will prevent you from going with
Gibamund to the field."

"There you are right," laughed Hilda, with sparkling eyes.

"Then I begged Gibamund--and so the stallion is yours, do you see? He
is just being led into the courtyard."

"A magnificent creature indeed! I thank you."

"So that is the story of the horse."

He spoke very sorrowfully, for he did not know what to say next.

Hilda came to his assistance.

"And your brother?" she asked.

"Unhappily he has disappeared. I have searched for him everywhere--in
his own villas and mine. There was not a trace. The body of the
beautiful Ionian who--died that night, could not be found either. There
was no sign of it in the city or country. It is possible that he left
Carthage by ship. So many have gone out of the harbor during these last
few days, even--" he suddenly turned pale--"even bound for Sicily."

"Yes," said Hilda, carelessly, glancing out of the window. "The horse
is a splendid animal."

"She is changing the subject," thought Thrasaric. "Then it is so."

"Several sailed also for Syracuse," he went on, watching her intently.

The Princess leaned from the casement. "Only one, so far as I know,"
she replied indifferently.

"Then it is true," cried the Vandal, suddenly, in despair. "She has
gone. She has gone to her father in Syracuse. She has deserted me
forever! O Eugenia! Eugenia!" Pressing his arm against the window-frame
in bitter anguish, he laid his face on it.

So he did not see how violently the curtains at the door of the next
room swayed to and fro.

"O Princess," he cried, controlling himself, "it is only just. I ought
not to blame you, I must praise you for having snatched her from my
arms on that wild night. Nor can I condemn her for casting me off. No,
do not try to comfort me. I know I am not worthy of her. It is my own
fault. Yet not mine alone; the women--that is, the maidens of our
nation--are also to blame. Do you look at me in wonder? Well, then,
Hilda, have you taken a single Vandal girl to your heart as a friend?
Eugenia, the Greek, the child of a plain citizen, is far more to you
than the wives and daughters of our nobles. I will not say--far be it
from me--that the Vandal women are as corrupt and degenerate as, alas,
most of us men. Certainly not! But under this sky, in three
generations, they, too, have deteriorated. Gold, finery, luxury, and
again gold, fill their souls. They long for wealth, for boundless
pleasure, almost like the Romans. Their souls have grown feeble. No one
understands or shares Hilda's enthusiasm."

"Yes, they are vain and shallow," said the Princess, sadly.

"Is it any wonder, then, that we men do not seek to wed these
pretentious dolls? Because I am rich, fathers and, still more, eager,
anxious mothers, and even--well, I will not say it! In short, I might
have married many dozen Vandal girls, had I desired to do so. But I
said, no. I loved no one of them. I cared only for this child, this
little Greek. Her I love ardently, from the very depths of my soul, and
faithfully too. For my whole life!"

Hilda's glance darted over him from her high seat to the swaying
curtains.

"And now--now, I love even more than ever the pearl I have lost. She
honors the love she once felt for me by sparing the unworthy man. She
has not told you the wrong I did her, the crime I committed. But--" he
straightened himself to his full height, his manly, handsome
countenance illumined by the loftiest feeling--"I have imposed it upon
myself as a penance, if she said nothing, to confess it to you with my
own lips. Write and tell her so; perhaps then she will think of me more
kindly. It is the heaviest punishment to tell you; for, Princess Hilda,
I revere you as I would a goddess, aye, the protecting goddess of our
people. The thought that you will now despise me is like death. But you
shall know! I have--so I am told; I do not know, but it is doubtless
true--I have Eugenia--I did it while intoxicated, after drinking an
ocean of wine--but I did it! And I am not worthy ever to see her again.
I have--"

"Not you, my beloved, it was the wine," cried an exultant voice, and a
slender figure clung passionately yet shyly to his broad breast, and,
while ardently embracing him with her right arm, she laid the little
fingers of her left hand upon his mouth to stay his words.

"Eugenia!" exclaimed the giant, flushing crimson. "You heard me? You
can forgive? You still love me?"

"Unto death! Unto the grave! No, beyond death. I would seek you in the
grave if I lost you! With you, in life and in death! For I love you!"

"And that is eternal," said Hilda, passing her hand lightly over the
young wife's hair. Then she floated out of the room, leaving the happy
lovers alone with their joy.




                               _BOOK TWO_

                               IN THE WAR




                               CHAPTER I


PROCOPIUS OF CÆSAREA TO CORNELIUS CETHEGUS CÆSARIUS:

There is no longer either sense or reason in concealing my name; the
bird would still be recognized by its song. And now I am almost certain
that these sheets will not be seized in Constantinople; for we shall
soon be swimming on the blue waves.

So it is war with the Vandals! The Empress has accomplished her design.
She treated her husband, after he hesitated, very coldly, even
insolently. That is always effectual. What motive urged and still
impels her to this war, Hell knows certainly, Heaven vaguely, and I not
at all.

Perhaps the blood of the heretics must again wash away a few spores of
her sins. Or she expects to gain the treasures brought to the capitol
in Carthage from every land by Genseric's corsair ships,--the riches of
the temple of Jerusalem are among them. In short, she wanted war, and
we have it.

A devout bishop from an Asiatic frontier city--his name is
Agathos--came to Constantinople. The Empress summoned him to a private
audience. I heard it from Antonina, the wife of Belisarius, who was the
only person present. Theodora showed him a letter which he had written
to the Persian King. The Bishop fell prostrate on the floor with
fright. She pushed him with the tip of her golden slipper. "Rise, O
Agathos, man of God," she said, "and dream to-night of what I now say
to you. If you do not tell this dream to the Emperor, before tomorrow
noon I will give him this letter to-morrow afternoon, and before
to-morrow evening, O most holy man, you will be beheaded."

The Bishop went out and dreamed as he had been commanded--probably
without sleeping. Before the early bath on the following day he sought
Justinian, and, in the utmost excitement,--which was not feigned,--told
him that Christ had appeared to him the night before in a dream and
said: "Go to the Emperor, O Agathos, and rebuke him for having
faint-heartedly given up the plan of avenging me upon these heretics.
Tell him: Thus saith Christ the Lord: 'March forth, Justinian, and fear
not. For I, the Lord, will aid thee in battle, and will force Africa
and its treasures beneath thy rule.'"

Then Justinian was no longer to be restrained. War was determined.
The opposing Prefect was thrown into prison. Belisarius was made
commander-in-chief. The priests proclaimed the pious Bishop's dream
from the pulpits of all the basilicas. The soldiers were ordered by
hundreds to the churches, where courage was preached to them. Court
officials told the dream in the streets, in the harbor, and on the
ships. By the command of the Empress, Megas, her handsomest court poet,
put it into Greek and Latin verses. They are astonishingly bad, worse
than even our Megas usually writes; but they are easy to learn, so by
day and night soldiers and sailors sing them in the streets and the
wine-shops, as children sing in the dark to keep their courage up; for
our heroes really do not yet feel very anxious to make the holy voyage
to Carthage. So we shout incessantly,--

  "Christus came to the holy Bishop; Christus warned Justinian:
   'Avenge Christus, Justinianus, on the wicked Arian.
   Christus himself will slay the Vandals, Africa give to thy hand!'"

The poem has two merits: first, it can be repeated as often as you
please; secondly, it makes no difference with which verse you begin.
The Empress says--and of course she must know--that the Holy Ghost
inspired Megas.

We are working night and day. The shaggy little nags of the Huns are
neighing in the streets of Constantinople. Among these troops are six
hundred excellent mounted archers, commanded by the Hunnish chiefs,
Aigan and Bleda, Ellak and Bala. There are also six hundred Herulians,
led by Fara, a Prince of that people. They are Germans in Justinian's
pay; for "Only diamond cuts diamond," Narses says: "always Germans
against Germans is our favorite old game."

Strong bands of other Barbarians march also through our streets:
Isaurians, Armenians, and others, under their own leaders. We call them
our allies; that is, we "give" them money or grain, for which they pay
with the blood of their sons. Among the nations of our own empire, the
Thracians and Illyrians are the best soldiers. In the harbor the ships
are rocking, impatiently tugging at their anchors in the east wind,
their eager prows turned toward the west.

The army is gradually being placed on board of the fleet: eleven
thousand foot, five thousand horse, upon five hundred keels, with
twenty thousand sailors. Among them, as the best war-ships, are one
hundred and two swift-sailing galleys manned by two thousand rowers
from Constantinople; the other sailors are Egyptians, Ionians, and
Cilicians. The whole array presents a beautiful warlike spectacle which
I would rather gaze at than describe; but the most glorious part of it
is the hero Belisarius, surrounded by his bodyguard, the shield and
lance bearers, battle-tried men, selected from all the nations of the
earth.

                           *   *   *   *   *

Already half the voyage lies behind us. I am writing these lines to you
in the harbor of Syracuse.

Hitherto everything has been wonderfully successful; the goddess Tyche,
whom you Latins call Fortuna, is certainly blowing our sails. The
embarkation was completed by the end of June. Then the General's ship,
which was to convey Belisarius, was summoned to the shore in front of
the imperial palace. Archbishop Epiphanius of Constantinople appeared
on board; an Arian whom he had just baptized into the Catholic faith
was brought on deck as the last man; then he blessed the ship,
Belisarius, and all the rest of us, including the Pagan Huns, went down
into his boat again, and, amid the exulting shouts of thousands, led
the way, in advance of the General's vessel, for the whole fleet. We
are very pious people, all of us whom the Empress and the dutifully
dreaming Bishop and Justinian send forth to extirpate the heretics. It
is a holy war--we are fighting for the Christus. We have said it so
often that we now believe it ourselves.

Our course led past Perinthus--it is now called Heraclea--to Abydos.
There some drunken Huns began to fight among themselves, and two of
them killed a third. Belisarius instantly ordered both to be hung on a
hill above the city. The Huns, especially the kinsmen of the two who
were executed, made a great outcry: according to their law murder is
not punished with death. I suppose the justice of the Huns permits the
heirs of the murdered man to carouse with the murderers at their
expense till they all lie senseless on the ground together. And when
they wake, they kiss each other, and all is forgotten; for the Huns are
worse drinkers than the Germans--and that is saying a great deal. Their
pay contract only requires them to fight for the Emperor; he is not
permitted to deal with them according to the Roman law. Belisarius
assembled the Huns under the gallows from which the two were dangling,
surrounded them with his most loyal men, and roared at them like a
lion. I don't believe they understood his Latin, or rather mine, for I
taught him the speech; but he pointed often enough to the men on the
gallows: they understood that. And now they obey like lambs.

The voyage continued past Sigeum, Tænarum, Metone, where many of our
men died, for the commissary at Constantinople, instead of baking the
soldiers' bread twice, had lowered it, as raw dough, into the public
baths (how appetizing! but, to be sure, it cost nothing); and when it
was completely saturated with water, had it browned quickly on the
outside upon red-hot plates. So it weighed much heavier (the Emperor
pays for it by weight), and he gained several ounces in every pound.
But it gently melted into most evil-smelling mush, and five hundred of
our men died from it. The Emperor was informed; but Theodora interceded
for the poor commissary (he is said to have paid one-tenth of his
profits for her Christian mediation), and the man received only a
reprimand, so we heard later. From Metone we went past Zacynthos to
Sicily, where, at the end of sixteen days, we dropped anchor in an old
roadstead, now unused,--the place is called Caucana,--opposite Mount
Ætna.

Now heavy thoughts assailed the hero Belisiarius. He so thirsts for
battle that he dashes blindly wherever a foe is pointed out. Yet
anxiety is increasing. Not one of the numerous spies who were sent
from Constantinople to Carthage long before our departure has
returned--neither to Constantinople, nor to any of the stopping-places
on our route that were assigned to them. So the General knows as much
about the Vandals as he does of the people in the moon.

What kind of people they are, their method of warfare, how he is to
reach them--he has no idea. Besides the soldiers have fallen back into
their old fear of Genseric's fleet, and there is no Empress on board
who might order some one to dream again. The limping trochees of the
court poet are rarely sung; the men have grown disgusted with the
verses; if any one strikes up the air half unwillingly, two others
instantly drown his voice. Only the Huns and the Herulians--to the
disgrace of the Romans, be it said--refrain from open lamentations;
they remain sullenly silent. But our warriors, the Romans, do not
shrink from loudly exclaiming that they would fight bravely enough on
land, they are used to it; but if the enemy should assail them on the
open sea, they would force the sailors to make off with sails and oars
as fast as possible. They could not fight Germans, waves, and wind, all
at the same time, upon rocking ships, and it was not in their contract
for military service. Belisarius, however, feels most disturbed by his
uncertainty concerning the plans of the enemy. Where is this
universally dreaded fleet hiding? It is becoming mysterious now that we
see and hear nothing of it. Is it lying concealed behind one of the
neighboring islands? Or is it lurking, on the watch for us, upon the
coast of Africa? Where and when shall we land?

I said yesterday that he ought to have considered this somewhat
earlier. But he muttered something in his beard, and begged me to atone
for his errors to the best of my ability. I must go to Syracuse and, on
the pretext of buying provisions from your Ostrogoth Counts, inquire
everything about these Vandals, of whom he is ignorant and yet ought to
know. So I have been here in Syracuse since yesterday, asking everybody
about the Vandals, and they all laugh at me, saying: "Why, if
Belisarius does not know, how should we? We are not at war with them."
It seems to me that the insolent fellows are right.



                               CHAPTER II

Triumph, O Cethegus! Belisarius's former good fortune is fluttering
over the pennons at our mast-heads: the gods themselves are blinding
the Vandals; they are depriving them of their reason, consequently they
must desire their destruction. Hermes is breaking the path for us,
removing danger and obstacles from our way.

The Vandal fleet, the bugbear of our valiant warriors, is floating
harmless away from Carthage toward the north; while we, with all sails
set--the east wind is filling them merrily--are flying from Sicily over
the blue flood westward to Carthage. We cut the rippling waves as if on
a festal excursion. No foe, no spy, far or near, to oppose us or give
warning of our approach to the threatened Vandals, on whom we shall
fall like a meteor crashing from a clear sky.

That all this has come to the General's knowledge, and that he can make
instant use of it, is due to Procopius, or--to speak more honestly--to
blind chance, the capricious goddess Tyche. It seems to me, though I am
no philosopher, that she rather than Nemesis guides the destinies of
nations.

I wrote last that I was running about the streets of Syracuse, somewhat
helplessly, not without being laughed at by the mockers, asking all the
people whether no Vandals had been seen. One--this time it was a Gothic
count named Totila, as handsome as he was insolent--had just answered,
laughing and shrugging his shoulders: "Seek your enemies yourselves. I
would far rather go with the Vandals to find and sink you." I was
thinking how correctly this young Barbarian had perceived the advantage
of his people and the folly of his Regent, when, vexed with the Goths,
with myself, and most of all with Belisarius, I turned a street corner
and almost ran against some one coming from the opposite direction. It
was Hegelochus, my schoolmate from Cæsarea, who, I knew, had settled as
a merchant, a speculator in grain, somewhere in Sicily, but I was
ignorant in which city.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, after the first exchange of
greetings.

"I?--I am only looking for a trifle," I answered rather irritably, for
I already heard in imagination his jeering laugh. "I am searching
everywhere for a hundred and fifty to two hundred Vandal war-ships. Do
you happen to know where they are?"

"Certainly I do," he replied, without laughing. "They are lying in the
harbor of Caralis in Sardinia."

"Omniscient grain-dealer," I cried, rigid with amazement, "where did
you learn that?"

"In Carthage, which I left only three days ago," he said quietly.

Then the questioning began. And often as I squeezed the shrewd,
sensible man like a sponge, a stream of news most important for us
flowed out.

So we have nothing to fear for our fleet from the Vandal war vessels.
The Barbarians as yet have no suspicion that we are advancing upon
them. The flower of their army has gone on the dreaded galleys to
Sardinia. Gelimer feels no anxiety for Carthage, or any other city on
the coast. He is in Hermione, in the province of Byzacena, four days'
journey from the sea. What can he be doing there, on the edge of the
desert? We are, therefore, safe from every peril, and can land in
Africa wherever wind, waves, and our own will may guide us.

During this conversation, and while I was constantly questioning him, I
had wound my arm around my friend's neck, and now asked him to come to
the harbor with me and look at my ship, which lay at anchor there. It
was a very swift sailer of a new model. The merchant agreed. As soon as
I had him safely on board, I drew my sword, cut the rope which moored
us to the metal ring of the harbor mole, and ordered my sailors to take
us swiftly to Caucana.

Hegelochus was startled; he scolded and threatened. But I soothed him,
saying: "Forgive this abduction, my friend; it is absolutely necessary
that Belisarius himself, not merely his legal adviser, should talk with
and question you. He alone knows everything that is at stake. And I
will not undertake the responsibility of having failed to inquire about
some important point or of having misunderstood some answer. Some god
who is angered against the Vandals has sent you to me; woe betide me if
I do not profit by it. You must tell the General everything you have
learned; you must accompany our ships, nay, guide them to Africa. This
one involuntary voyage to Carthage will bring you richer profits from
the royal treasures of the Vandals than sailing to and fro with wheat
many hundred times. And the reward awaiting you in Heaven for your
participation in the destruction of the heretics--I will not estimate."

He grinned, calmed down, then laughed. But the hero Belisarius smiled
far more joyously when he saw before him the man "just from Carthage,"
and could question him to his heart's content. How he praised me for
the accident of this meeting! The command to sail was given with the
blast of the tuba. How the sails flew aloft! How proudly our galleys
swept forward! Woe to thee, Vandalia! Woe to the lofty towers of
Genseric's citadel!

                           *   *   *   *   *

The swift voyage continued past the islands of Gaulos and Melita, which
divide the Adriatic from the Tyrrhenian Sea. At Melita the wind, as if
ordered by Belisarius, grew still fresher,--a strong east-southeast
gale which, on the following day, drove us upon the African coast at
Caput Vada, five days' march from Carthage. That is, for a swift walker
without baggage; we shall probably require a much longer time.
Belisarius ordered the sails to be lowered, the anchors dropped, and
summoned all the leaders of the troops to a council of war on his own
ship. It was now to be decided whether we should disembark the troops
and march against Carthage by land, or keep them on the fleet and
conquer the capital from the sea. Opinions were very conflicting.

                           *   *   *   *   *

The decision has been reached; we shall march against Carthage by land.
True, Archelaus, the Quæstor, protested, saying that we had no harbor
for the ships without men, no fortress for the men without ships. Every
storm might scatter them upon the open sea, or hurl them against the
cliffs along the shore. He also called attention to the lack of water
along the coast region, and the want of means to supply food. "Only let
no one ask me, as quæstor, for anything to eat," he cried angrily. "A
quæstor who has only the office, but no bread, cannot satisfy you with
his position." He advised hastening by sea to Carthage, to occupy the
harbor of Stagnum, which could hold the entire fleet, and was at that
time entirely undefended; thence to rush from the ships upon the city,
which could be taken at the first attack, if the King and his army were
really four days' march from the coast.

But Belisarius said: "God has fulfilled our most ardent desire; He has
permitted us to reach Africa without encountering the hostile fleet.
Shall we now remain at sea, and perhaps yet meet those ships before
which our men threaten to fly? As for the danger of tempests, it would
be better to have the galleys lost when they are empty, than while
filled with our troops. We have still the advantage of surprising the
unprepared foe; every delay will enable them to make ready to meet us.
Here we can land without fighting; elsewhere and later we must perhaps
battle against the wind and the enemy. So I say, we will land here.
Walls and ditches around the camp will supply the place of a fortress.
And have no anxiety about stores: if we defeat the foe, we shall also
capture his provisions." Thus spoke Belisarius. I thought that, as
usual, his reasoning was weak, but his courage strong. The truth is, he
always chooses the shortest way to the battle.

The council of war closed. Belisarius's will was carried out.

We brought the horses, weapons, baggage, and implements of war to land.
About fourteen thousand soldiers and nineteen thousand sailors began to
shovel, to dig, to drive stakes into the hot, dry sand; the General not
only threw out the first spadeful, but, working uninterruptedly, the
last. His perspiration abundantly bedewed the soil of Africa, and the
men were so spurred by his example that they vied with each other
valiantly. Before night closed in, the ditch, the wall, and the
palisade were completed around the entire camp. Only one-fifth of the
archers spent the night on the ships.

So far all was well. Our galleys still contained an ample store of
provisions, thanks to the hospitality of the Ostrogoths in Sicily.
These simpletons, by the learned Regent's command, almost gave us
everything an army needs for man and horse (the troublesome Totila, who
is no well-wisher of ours, was instantly recalled). In reply to our
amazed questions, they answered, by the learned Cassiodorus's
instructions: "You will pay us by avenging us upon the Vandals." Well,
Justinian will reward them. I wonder if the scholar knows the fable of
how the horse, because he hated the stag, carried the man upon his back
and hunted the stag to death? The free animal had taken the man on his
back for this ride only, but never again was he rid of his captor. But
the water is giving out. What we have with us is scanty, foul, and
putrid; and to march for days under the African sun with no water for
men and beasts--how will it end?

                           *   *   *   *   *

I shall really soon believe that we are God's chosen favorites--we, the
chaste-hearted warriors of Justinian the truthful and Theodora! Or have
the Vandals and their King called down upon themselves the wrath of
Heaven so heavily that miracles continually happen against these
Barbarians and in our favor?

Yesterday evening we all, from the General to the camel, were in sore
anxiety about water. To-day the slave Agnellus--he is a countryman of
yours, O Cethegus, and the son of a fisherman from Stabiæ--brought to
my tent whole amphoræ of the most delicious spring water, not only for
drinking, but amply sufficient for bathing. With the last strokes of
the spade our Herulians opened a large bubbling spring on the eastern
edge of the camp--an unprecedented thing in the Byzacena province,
between the sea and the "desert,"--so the people here call all the
country southwest of the great road along which we are marching, and
surely quite unjustly, for some of it is very fertile; yet it is old
desert ground and often merges imperceptibly into the real wilderness.
At any rate, this spring gushed forth for us from the surrounding dry
sand. The stream of water is so abundant that men and animals can
drink, boil, and bathe, pour out the foul water from the ships, and
replace it with the best. I hastened to Belisarius and congratulated
him, not only because of the actual usefulness of this discovery, but
because it is an omen of victory. "Water gushes out of the wilderness
for you. General," I exclaimed. "That means an effortless victory. You
are the favorite of Heaven." He smiled. We always like to hear such
things.

                           *   *   *   *   *

Belisarius commissioned me to compose an order to be read aloud at the
departure of each body of troops.

A few dozen of our precious Huns dashed out into the country and seized
some of the harvests just ripening in the fields, over which they
became involved in a discussion with the Roman colonists. As the
Huns, unfortunately, speak their Latin only with leather whips and
lance-thrusts, there were several dead men after the conference,--of
course only on the side of the wicked peasants, who would not let the
horses of the Huns eat their fill of their best grain. Our beloved Huns
cut off the heads of the men whom they had thus happily liberated from
the Vandal yoke, hung them to their saddles, and brought them to the
General for a dessert. Belisarius foamed with rage. He often foams; and
when Belisarius lightens, Procopius must usually thunder.

So it was now. So I wrote a proclamation that we were the saviors,
liberators, and benefactors of the provincials, and therefore would
neither consider their best grain-fields as litter for our horses nor
play ball with their heads. "In this case," I wrote convincingly, "such
conduct is not only criminal, but extremely stupid. Our little body of
troops could venture to land only because we expect that the
inhabitants of the provinces will be hostile to the Vandals and helpful
to us." But I appealed to our heroes still more impressively,
addressing not their honor or their conscience, but their stomachs! "If
ye die of hunger, O admirable men," I wrote, "the peasants will bring
us nothing to eat. If ye kill them, the dead will sell you nothing more
and the living almost less. You will drive the provincials to be the
allies of the Vandals--to say nothing of God and His opinion of you,
which is already somewhat clouded. So spare the people, at least for
the present, or they will discover too early that Belisarius's Huns are
worse than Gelimer's Vandals. When the Emperor's tax-officers once rule
the land, then, dear descendants of Attila, you will no longer need to
impose any constraint upon yourselves; then the 'liberated' will have
already learned to estimate their freedom. You cannot go as far as
Justinian's tax-collectors, beloved Huns and robbers." The proclamation
was of that purport, only dressed in somewhat fairer words. We are
marching forward. No sign of the Barbarians. Where are they hiding?
Where is this King of the Vandals dreaming? If he does not wake soon,
he will find himself without a kingdom.

                           *   *   *   *   *

We were still marching on. One piece of good fortune follows another.

A day's march westward from our landing place at Caput Vada on the road
to Carthage near the sea, is the city of Syllektum. The ancient walls,
it is true, had been torn down since the reign of Genseric, but the
inhabitants, to repel the attacks of the Moors, had again put nearly
the whole city in a state of defence. Belisarius sent Borais, one of
his bodyguard, with several shield-bearers, to venture a
reconnoissance. It was entirely successful. After nightfall the men
stole to the entrances (they could not be called gates, only openings
of streets), but found them barricaded and guarded. They spent the
night quietly in the ditch of the old fortifications, for there might
still be Vandals in the city. In the morning peasants from the
surrounding country came driving up in carts with racks: it was market
day. Our men threatened the terrified rustics with death if they
uttered a word, and forced the drivers to conceal them under the tilts.
The watchmen of Syllektum removed the barricades to admit the wagons.
Then our soldiers jumped down, took possession of the city without a
sword-stroke. There was not a Vandal in it. We occupied the Curia and
the Forum; we summoned the Catholic Bishop and the noblest inhabitants
of Syllektum,--they are remarkably stupid people,--and told them that
they were now free; happy also, for they were the subjects of
Justinian. At the same time, with swords drawn, our men asked for
breakfast. The Senators of Syllektum gave Borais the keys of their
city, but unfortunately the gates for them were missing; the Vandals or
Moors had burned them long ago. The Bishop entertained them in the
porch of the basilica. Borais said the wine was very good. At the end
of the repast, the Bishop blessed Borais, and asked him to restore the
true, pure faith quickly. The warrior, a Hun, is unfortunately a pagan;
so he had little comprehension of what was expected of him. But he
repeated to me several times that the wine was excellent. So we have
already saved one city in Africa. In the evening we all marched
through. Belisarius enjoined the most rigid discipline. Unfortunately,
a large number of houses burst into flames.

                           *   *   *   *   *

Beyond Syllektum we again made a lucky capture. The chief official of
the whole Vandal mail service, a Roman, had been sent out from Carthage
by the King several days before with all his horses, numerous wagons,
and many slaves, to carry the sovereign's commands in all directions
through his empire. On his way to the east he had heard of our landing,
and he sought us out with everything he still had in his possession.
All the letters, all the secret messages of the Vandals, are in the
hands of Belisarius--a whole basket of them, which I must read.

It really seems as if an angel of the Lord had led us into the
writing-room and the council hall of the Asdings. Verus, the Archdeacon
of the Arians, dictated most of the letters. But we were thoroughly
deceived in this priest. Theodora believed him to be her tool, yet he
has become Gelimer's chancellor. Strange that these secrets were
intrusted to a Roman for conveyance and protection, not to a Vandal.
Besides, must not Verus have known how near we were, when he sent the
papers, unguarded, directly to us.

True, the most important thing for us to know,--namely, where the King
and his army are at present,--does not appear in these letters, which
were written a week ago. Yet we learn from them at last what induced
him to remain so far from Carthage and the coast, on the edge of the
desert and within it. He has made contracts with many Moorish tribes,
and been promised thousands of foot-soldiers--almost equal in number to
our whole army. These Moorish auxiliaries are gathering in Numidia, in
the plain of Bulla. That is far, far west of Carthage, near the border
of the wilderness. Could the Vandal intend to abandon his capital and
all the tract of country for such a distance, without striking a single
blow, and await us there, at Bulla?

Belisarius--what a trick of chance!--is now sending to Gelimer by the
Vandal mail system Justinian's declaration of war, and despatching in
every direction to the Vandal nobles, army leaders, and officials an
invitation to abandon Gelimer. The summons is well worded (I composed
it myself): "I am not waging war with the Vandals, nor do I break the
compact of perpetual peace concluded with Genseric. We desire only to
overthrow your Tyrant, who has broken the law and imprisoned your
rightful King. Therefore help us! Shake off the yoke of such shameless
despotism, that you may enjoy liberty and the prosperity we are
bringing you. We call upon God to witness our sincerity."

Postscript, added after the close of the war: "Strange, yet it is
certainly noble. This appeal did not win a single Vandal to our side
during the entire campaign. These Germans have become enfeebled. But
there was not even _one_ traitor among them!"



                              CHAPTER III

Many days' march westward from the road which the Byzantines were
following toward Carthage, and a considerable distance south of Mount
Auras, the extreme limit of the Vandal kingdom in Africa, lay a small
oasis. It was within the sandy desert which extended southward into the
unknown interior of the hot portion of the globe. A spring of drinkable
water, a few date-palms in the circle around it, and, beneath their
shade, a patch of turf of salt grass, affording sufficient fodder for
the camels--that was all. The ground in the neighborhood was flat,
except that here and there rose waves of the yellow, loose, hot sand
swept together by the wind. Nowhere appeared shrub, bush, or hillock;
as far as the eye could rove in the brightest light of day, it found no
resting-place till, wearied by the quest, it sought some point close at
hand.

But it was night now, and wonderfully, indescribably magnificent was
the silent solitude. Over the whole expanse of the heavens the stars
were glittering in countless multitudes with a brilliancy which they
show only to the sons of the desert. It is easy to understand that
deity first appeared to the Moors in the form of the stars. In them
they worshipped the radiant, beneficent forces which contrasted
benignly with the desert's scorching heat, the desert's storms. From
the course, position, and shining of the stars, they augured the will
of the gods and their own future.

Around the spring were pitched the low goatskin tents of the nomad
Moors, only half a dozen of them, for the whole tribe had not gathered.
The faithful camels, carefully tethered by the feet among the tent
ropes, and covered with blankets to protect them from the stings of the
flies, were lying in the deep sand with their long necks outstretched.
In the centre of the little encampment were the noble racers, the
battle stallions, and the brood mares, confined in a circle made with
ropes and lances thrust into the sand. On the round top of one of the
tents towered a long spear, from whose point hung a lion's skin; for
this was the shelter of the chief.

The night wind, which blew refreshingly from the distant sea in the
northeast, played with the mane of the dead king of the wilderness,
sometimes tossing the skin of the huge paw, sometimes the tuft of hair
at the end of the tail. Fantastic shadows fell on the light sandy soil;
for though the moon was not in the sky, the stars shone bright. A deep,
solemn stillness reigned. Every living creature seemed buried in sleep.
Four huge fires, one at each of the four points of the compass, were
blazing, a bow-shot from the tents, to frighten the wild beasts from
the flocks; from them arose at long intervals the only sound that broke
the stillness; namely, the cry of some shepherd who thus kept himself
awake and warned his companions to be watchful. This solemn silence
continued for a long, long time.

At last a couple of stallions neighed, a weapon clanked outside from
the direction of the fires, and directly thereafter a light, almost
inaudible footstep came toward the centre of the camp,--toward the
"Lion Tent." Suddenly it paused; a slender young man stooped to the
ground before the entrance.

"What? Are you lying in front of the tent, grandfather?" he asked in
astonishment. "Are you asleep?"

"I was watching," a low voice answered.

"I should have ventured to rouse you. There is a fateful star in the
heavens. I saw it appear when I was keeping the eastern fire-watch. As
soon as I was relieved, I hastened to you. The gods are sending a
warning! But youth does not understand their signs; you do, wise
ancestor. Look yonder, to the right--the right of the last palm. Don't
you see it?"

"I saw it long ago. I have expected the sign for many nights, ay, for
years."

Awe and a slight sense of fear thrilled the youth. "For years? You knew
what would happen in the heavens? You are very wise, O Cabaon."

"Not I. My grandfather told my father, and he repeated the marvel to
me. It was more than a hundred years ago. The fair-faced strangers came
from the North across the sea in many ships, led by that King of
terrors with whose name our women still silence unruly children."

"Genseric!" said the youth, softly; his tone expressed both hate and
horror.

"At that time, from the same direction as the ships, a terrible star
mounted into the heavens--blood-red, like a flaming scourge with many
hundred thongs; it swung menacingly over our country and people. And my
grandfather, after he had seen the terrible war-king in the harbor of
Tsocium, said to my father and to our tribe: 'Unfasten the camels!
Bridle the noble racers, and set forth. Go southward, into the
scorching bosom of the protecting Mother! This King of Battles and his
war-loving nation are what the terrible star announced. For many, many
years, and tens of years, all who oppose them will be lost; the armies
of Rome and the galleys of Constantinople will be swept away by these
giants from the North, like the clouds which seek to oppose the star.'
And so it came to pass. The sons of our tribe, though they would far
rather have discharged their long arrows at the fair-haired giants,
obeyed the old man's counsel, and we escaped into the sheltering
desert. Bonifacius, the Roman General, fell. Our ancestor had foretold
it in the prophetic saying: 'G will destroy B. But,' he added, 'some
day, after more than a hundred years, a star will rise in the east, and
then B will overthrow G. Other tribes of our race who, with the
imperial troops, tried to resist the invaders, were mowed down like
them by Genseric, the son of darkness. And when they came howling to
our tents, raising the death-wail, and summoned us to a war of
vengeance, my grandfather and afterwards my father refused, saying:
'Not yet! They cannot yet be conquered. More than two or three
generations of men will pass, and no one will be able to stand before
the giants from the North, neither the Romans by sea, nor we sons of
the desert. But the children of the North cannot remain permanently in
the land of the sun! Many of those who came to our native country to
conquer and rule us, mightier warriors than we, have vanquished us, but
not this land, this sun, these deserts. Sand and sun and luxurious
idleness have lessened the strength of the strangers' arms, the might
of their will. So will also fare these tall, blue-eyed giants. The
vigor will leave their bodies, and the lust for battle their souls. And
then--then we will again wrest from them the heritage of our
ancestors.' So it was predicted, so it has been.

"For tens of years our archers, our spearmen could not withstand the
fierce foes; then their strength decayed, and we often drove them back
when they entered the sacred desert. When, some day, a star like this
returns, my ancestor declared, the reign of the strangers will be over.
Take heed whence a scourge-like star comes again; for from that
direction will come the foe that will hew down the yellow-haired men.
The star to-night came from the east; and from the east will come the
conquerors of Genseric's people!

"We have news that the Emperor has made war upon the Vandals, that his
army has landed in the far East! But it does not agree--the other sign!
G doubtless means Gelimer, the fair-haired King. But the Emperor of the
Romans is J, Justinian. Speak, have you chanced to hear the name of the
Roman. General?"

"Belisarius."

The old man started up. "And B will overthrow G,--Belisarius will
vanquish Gelimer! Look, how blood-red the scourge-like star is shining!
That means bloody battles. But we, son of my son, we will not interpose
when Roman sword and Vandal spear are clashing against each other. The
conflict may easily extend as far as the Auras Mountain; we will plunge
deeper into the wilderness. Let the aliens fight and destroy one
another. The Roman eagle, too, will not long have its eyrie here. The
star of misfortune will rise for them as well as for these tall
sea-kings. The intruders come--and pass away; we, the sons of the
country, will remain. Like the sand of our deserts we wander before the
wind, but we shall not pass away; we always return. The land of the sun
belongs to the sons of the sun. And, as the sand of the desert covers
and buries the proud stone buildings of the Romans, so shall we, ever
returning, bury the alien life which forces itself into our country,
where it can never thrive. We retire--but we return."

"Yet the fair King has obtained ten thousand of our men for the war.
What must they do?"

"Give back the money; leave the Vandal army, which the gods have
abandoned! Order my messengers to-morrow to dash with this command to
every tribe where I rule--with this advice, where I can counsel."

"Your counsel is a command wherever the desert sand extends. Only I
grieve for the man with the mournful eyes. He has shown favor to many
of our people, granted hospitality to many of our tribes; what return
shall they make to their friend?"

"Hospitality unto death! Not fight his battles, not share his booty;
but if he comes to them seeking shelter and protection, divide the last
date with him, shed the last drop of blood in his defence. Up, strike
the basin! We will depart ere the sun wakes. Untether the camels!"

The old man rose hastily.

The youth dealt the copper kettle that hung beside the tent a blow with
his curved scimetar. The brown-skinned men, women, and children were
astir like a swarm of ants. When the sun rose above the horizon, the
oasis was empty, desolate, silent as death.

Far in the south whirled upward a cloud of dust and sand which the
north wind seemed to be driving farther and farther inland.



                               CHAPTER IV

PROCOPIUS TO CETHEGUS:

We are still marching forward, and certainly as if we were in a
friendly country. Our heroes, even the Huns, have understood, thanks
less to my marching orders than to actual experience, that they cannot
steal as many provisions as the people will voluntarily bring if they
are to be paid instead of being robbed. Belisarius is winning all the
provincials by kindness. So the colonists flock from all directions to
our camp and sell us everything we need, at low prices. When we are
obliged to spend the night in the open fields we carefully fortify the
camp.

When it can be done we remain at night in cities, as, for instance, in
Leptis and Hadrumetum. The Bishop, with the Catholic clergy, comes
forth to meet us, as soon as our Huns appear. The Senators and the most
aristocratic citizens soon follow. The latter willingly allow
themselves to be "forced "; that is, they wait till we are in the
forum, so, in case we should all be thrown by our undiscoverable foes
into the sea before we reach Carthage, they can attribute their
friendliness to us to our cruel violence. With the exception of a few
Catholic priests I have not seen a Roman in Africa for whom I felt the
slightest respect. I almost think that they, the liberated, are even
less worthy than we, the liberators.

We march on an average about ten miles daily. To-day we came from
Hadrumetum past Horrea to Grasse, about forty-four Roman miles from
Carthage,--a magnificent place for a camp. Our astonishment increases
day by day, the more we learn of the riches of this African province.
In truth, it may well be beyond human power to maintain one's native
vigor beneath this sky, in this region. And Grasse! Here is a country
villa--to speak more accurately, a proud pillared palace of the Vandal
King--gleaming with marble, surrounded by pleasure-gardens, whose like
I have never seen in Europe or Asia. About it bubble delicious springs
brought through pipes from a distance, or up through the sand by some
magical discoverer of water. And what a multitude of trees! and not one
among them whose boughs are not fairly bending under the burden of
delicious fruit. Our whole army is encamped in this fruit grove,
beneath these trees; every soldier has eaten his fill and stuffed his
leather pouch, for we shall march on early to-morrow morning; yet one
can scarcely see a difference in the quantity. Everywhere, too, are
vines loaded with bunches of grapes. Many, many centuries before a
Scipio entered this country, industrious Ph[oe]nicians cultivated vines
here, between the sea and the desert, training them on rows of stakes a
few feet high. Here grows the best wine in all Africa; they say the
Vandals drink it unmixed, from their helmets. I only sipped the almost
purple liquor, to which Agnellus added half the quantity of water, yet
I feel drowsy. I can write no more. Good-night, Cethegus, far away in
Rome! Good-night, fellow-soldier! Just half a cup more; it tastes so
good. Pleasant dreams! Wine makes us good-natured, so pleasant dreams
to you, too. Barbarians! It is so comfortable here. The room assigned
to me (the slaves, all Romans and Catholics, have not fled, and they
serve us with the utmost zeal) is beautifully decorated with wall
paintings. The bed is so soft and easy! A cool breeze from the sea is
blowing through the open window. I will venture to take a quarter of a
cup more; and to-night, dear Barbarians, if possible, no attack. May
you sleep well. Vandals, so that I, too, can sleep sweetly! I almost
believe the African sickness--dread of every exertion--has already
seized upon me.

                           *   *   *   *   *

Four days' march from the wonder-land of Grasse. We are spending the
night in the open country. To-morrow we shall reach Decimum, less than
nine Roman miles from Carthage, and not one Vandal have we seen yet.

It is late in the evening. Our camp-fires are blazing for a long
distance, a beautiful scene! There is something ominous in the soft,
dark air. Night is falling swiftly under the distant trees in the west.
There is the blast of the shrill horns of our Huns. I see their white
sheepskin cloaks disappearing. They are mounting guard on all three
sides. At the right, on the northeast, the sea and our ships protect
us; that is, for to-day. To-morrow the galleys will not be able to
accompany our march as they have done hitherto, on account of the
cliffs of the Promontory of Mercury, which here extend far out from the
shore. So Belisarius ordered the Quæstor Archelaus, who commands the
fleet, not to venture as for as Carthage itself, but, after rounding
the promontory, to cast anchor and wait further orders. So to-morrow we
shall be obliged, for the first time, to advance without the protection
of our faithful companions, the ships; and as the road to Decimum is
said to lead through dangerous defiles, Belisarius has carefully
planned the order of marching and sent it in writing this evening to
all the leaders, to save time in the departure early in the morning.

                           *   *   *   *   *

The warlike notes of the tuba are rousing the sleepers. We are about to
start. An eagle from the desert in the west is flying over our camp.

It is reported that the first meeting with the enemy--only a few
mounted men--took place during the night at our farthest western
outpost. One of our Huns fell, and the commander of one of their
squadrons, Bleda, is missing. Probably it is merely one of the camp
rumors which the impatience of expectation has already conjured up
several times. To-night we shall reach Decimum; to-morrow night the
gates of Carthage. But where are the Vandals?



                               CHAPTER V

When Procopius wrote the last lines, those whom he was seeking were far
nearer than he imagined.

The first rays of the morning sun darted above the sea, glittered on
the waves, and shone over the yellowish-brown sand of the edge of the
desert, as a dozen Vandal horsemen dashed into the King's camp a few
leagues southwest of Decimum.

Gibamund, the leader, and the boy Ammata sprang from their horses.
"What do ye bring?" shouted the guards.

"Victory," answered Ammata.

"And a captive," added Gibamund.

They hastened to rouse the King. But Gelimer came in full armor out of
his tent to meet them.

"You are stained with blood--both. You, too, Ammata; are you wounded?"
His voice was tremulous with anxiety.

"No," laughed the handsome boy, his eyes sparkling brightly. "It is the
blood of the enemy."

"The first that has been shed in this war," replied the King, gravely,
"sullies your pure hand. Oh, if I had not consented--"

"It would have been unfortunate," Gibamund interrupted. "Our child has
done well. Go to the tent for Hilda, my lad, while I deliver the
report. So, chafing with impatience, we long endured your keeping us so
far away from the foe; we have followed their march at a great
distance, unsuspected even by their farthest outposts. When to-night
you finally permitted us to ride nearer to their flank than usual, in
order to discover whether they really intended to go to Decimum to-day
unprotected by the fleet, and to pass at noon through the Narrow Way,
you said that if we could obtain a captive without causing much
disturbance, it would be desirable. Well, we have not only a prisoner,
but more; we found an important strip of parchment on him. And it is
fortunate; for the man refuses to give any information. See, they are
bringing him yonder. There come Thrasaric and Eugenia; and Ammata is
already drawing Hilda here by the hand."

"Welcome," cried the young wife, hastening toward her beloved husband,
but she shrank in embarrassment from his embrace, for the captive was
already standing before the King. With hands bound behind his back, he
darted savage glances from beneath his bushy brows at the Vandals,
especially at Ammata. Blood trickled from his left cheek upon the white
sheepskin that covered his shoulders; his lower garment also--it
reached only to the knee--was of untanned leather; his feet were bare;
a huge spur was buckled with a thong on his right heel, and four gold
disks, bestowed by the Emperor and his generals in honor of brave deeds
(like our orders), were fastened on his heavy leather breastplate.

"So," continued Gibamund, "toward midnight, with only ten Vandals and
two Moors behind us, we rode out of camp toward the distant light of
the hostile campfires, cautiously concealing ourselves behind the long
mounds of sand, stretching for half a league, which the desert wind is
constantly heaping up and blowing away again, especially just on the
edge of the wilderness. Under the protection of this cover, we
advanced unseen so far eastward that we saw by the glare of a
watchfire--probably lighted to drive away the wild beasts--four
horsemen. Two sat crouching on their little nags, with their bows bent,
gazing intently toward the southwest, whence we had come; the other two
had dismounted and were leaning against the shoulders of their horses.
The points of their lances glittered in the flickering light of the
fire.

"I motioned to the two Moors, whom I had taken with us for this clever
trick. Slipping noiselessly from their steeds, they threw themselves
flat on the ground and were scarcely distinguishable in the darkness
from the surrounding sand. They crept on all fours in a wide circle,
one to the left, the other to the right, around the fire and the
sentinels, until they stood northeast and northwest of them. They had
soon vanished from our sight, for they glided as swiftly as lizards.

"Soon we heard, on the other side of the watchfire, toward the north,
the hoarse, menacing cry of the leopardess going out with her cubs on
the nocturnal quest of prey. The mother was instantly answered by the
beseeching cry of her young. The four horses of the sentinels shied,
their manes bristled; the scream of the leopardess came nearer,
and all four of the strangers--they had probably never heard such a
sound--turned in the direction of the noise. One of the horses reared
violently, the rider swayed, clinging to its mane; another, trying to
help him, snatched at the bridle, his bow falling from his hand.
Profiting by the confusion of the moment, we glided forward in perfect
silence from behind the sand-hill. We had wrapped cloth around the
horses' hoofs, and almost reached them unseen; not until we were close
by the fire did one of the mounted men discover us. 'Foes!' he shouted,
darting away. The other rider followed. The third did not reach the
saddle; I struck him down as he was mounting. But the fourth--this man
here, the leader--was on his horse's back in an instant; he ran down
the two Moors who tried to stop him, and would have escaped, but
Ammata--our child"--he pointed to the boy; the captive gnashed his
teeth furiously--"shot after him like an arrow on his little white
steed--"

"Pegasus!" Ammata interrupted. "You know, brother, you brought him to
me from the last Moorish war. He really goes as though he had wings."

"--reached him, and before any one of us could lend assistance, with a
swift double thrust--"

"You taught me, Gelimer!" cried Ammata, with sparkling eyes, for he
could no longer restrain himself.

"--of the short-sword, he thrust the enemy's long spear aside and dealt
him a heavy blow on the cheek. But the brave fellow, heedless of the
pain, dropped the spear and gripped the battle-axe in his belt. Then
our child threw the noose around his neck--"

"You know--the antelope cast!" Ammata exclaimed to Gelimer.

"And with a jerk dragged him from his horse."

Gibamund spoke in the Vandal tongue, but the captive understood
everything from the accompanying gestures, and now shrieked in the
Latin of the camp, "May my father's soul pass into a dog if that be not
avenged! I, the great-grandson of Attila--I--dragged from my horse by a
boy--with a noose! Beasts are caught thus, not warriors!"

"Calm yourself, my little friend," replied Thrasaric, approaching him.
"There is a good old motto among all the Gothic nations: 'Spare the
wolf rather than the Hun.' Besides, that royal bird, the ostrich, is
captured in the same way when he is overtaken. So it's no disgrace to
you." Laughing heartily, he straightened the heavy helmet with the
bear's head.

"We reached the two at once," Gibamund continued, "bound the man, who
fought like a wild boar, and snatched from his teeth this strip of
parchment which he was trying to swallow."

The prisoner groaned.

"What is your name?" asked the King, glancing hastily at the parchment.

"Bleda."

"How strong is your army in horsemen?"

"Go and count them."

"Friend Hun," said Thrasaric, in a threatening tone, "a king is
speaking to you. Behave civilly, little wolf. Answer politely the
questions you are asked, or--"

The prisoner glanced defiantly toward Gelimer, saying, "This gold disk
was given to me by the great General with his own hands after our third
victory over the Persians. Do you think I would betray Belisarius?"

"Lead him away," said Gelimer, waving his hand. "Bind up his wound.
Treat him kindly."

The Hun cast another glance of mortal hate at Ammata, then he followed
his guards.

Gelimer again looked at the parchment. "I thank you, my boy," he said,
"I thank you. You have indeed brought us no trivial thing, the order of
the enemy's march to-day. Follow me to my tent, my generals; there you
shall hear my plan of attack. We need not wait for the arrival of the
Moors. I think, if the Lord is not wrathful with us--but let us have no
sinful arrogance--Oh, Ammata, how I rejoice to have you again alive!
After your departure I had a terrible dream about you. God has restored
you to me once--I will not tempt Him a second time." Going close to the
boy and laying his hand on his shoulder, he said in his sternest tone:
"Listen; I forbid you to fight in the battle to-day."

"What?" cried Ammata, furiously, turning deadly pale. "That is
impossible! Gelimer, I beseech--"

"Silence," said the King, frowning, "and obey."

"Why," cried Gibamund; "I should think you might let him go. He has
shown--"

"Oh, brother, brother," exclaimed Ammata, tears streaming from his
eyes, "how have I deserved this punishment?"

"Is this his reward for to-night's deed?" warned Thrasaric.

"Silence, all of you," Gelimer commanded sternly. "It is decided. He
shall _not_ fight with us. He is still a boy."

Ammata stamped his foot angrily.

"And oh, my darling," Gelimer added, clasping the vehemently resisting
lad in his arms, "let me confess it. I love you so tenderly, with such
undue affection, that anxiety for you would not leave me for a single
instant during the battle, and I need all my thoughts for the foe."

"Then let me fight by your side; protect me yourself!"

"I dare not. I dare not think of you. I must think of Belisarius."

"Indeed, I pity him from my inmost soul," cried Hilda, in passionate
excitement. "I am a woman, and it is hard enough for me not to go with
you: but a boy of fifteen!"

Eugenia timidly pulled her back by the robe, stroking and kissing her
hand; but Hilda, smoothing the boy's golden locks, went on: "It is a
duty, it is a patriotic duty, that every man who can--especially a son
of the royal house--should fight for his people. This lad can fight; he
has proved it. So do not refuse him to his people. My ancestor taught
me that only he who is to fall will fall."

"Sinful paganism!" exclaimed the King, wrathfully.

"Well, then, let me address you as a Christian. Is this your trust in
God, Gelimer? Who in the two armies is as guiltless as this child? O
King, I am less devout than you, but I have confidence enough in the
God of Heaven to believe that he will protect this boy in our just
cause. Ay, should this purest, fairest scion of the Asding race fall,
it would be like a judgment of God, proclaiming that we are indeed
corrupt in His eyes!"

"Hold!" cried the King, in anguish. "Do not probe the deepest wounds of
my breast. If he _should_ fall now? If a judgment of God, as you called
it, should so terribly overtake us? Doubtless he is free from guilt as
far as human beings can be. But have you forgotten the terrible words
of menace--about the iniquity of the fathers? If I experienced _that_,
I should see in it the curse of vengeance fulfilled, and I believe I
should despair."

He began to pace swiftly up and down.

Then Gibamund whispered to his wife, who shook her proud head silently
but wrathfully, "Let him go. Such anxiety in the brain of the
commander-in-chief will do more harm than the spears of twenty boys can
render service."

"But arrows fly far," cried Ammata, defiantly. "If, like a miserable
coward, I remain behind your backs, I can fall here in the camp if the
foes conquer. I certainly will not be taken captive," he added
fiercely, seizing his dagger, and throwing back his head till his fair
locks floated over his light-blue armor. "Better put me in a church at
once--but a Catholic one; that would be a safe sanctuary, devout King."

"Yes, I _will_ lock you up, unruly boy," Gelimer now said sharply. "For
that insolent jeer, you will give up your weapons at once--at once.
Take them from him, Thrasaric. You, Thrasaric, will assail the foe in
the front, from Decimum. In Decimum stands a Catholic church; it will
be inviolable to the Byzantines. There you will keep imprisoned during
the battle the boy who desires to be a soldier and has not yet learned
to obey his King. In case of retreat, you will take him with you. And
listen, Thrasaric: that night--in the grove--you promised to atone for
the past--"

"I think he has done so," cried Hilda, indignantly.

"Whose troops are the best drilled?" added Gibamund. "Who has lavished
gold, weapons, horses, like him?"

"My King," replied Thrasaric, "hitherto I have done nothing. Give me
to-day an opportunity."

"You must find it. I rely upon you. Above all, that you will not
impetuously attack too soon and spoil my whole plan. And this
rebellious boy," he added tenderly, "I commend to your care. Keep him
out of the battle; bring him to me safe and unhurt after the victory,
on which I confidently rely. I also commit to your charge all the
prisoners, among them the hostages from Carthage; for, in case of
retreat, you will be at its goal--you will learn it at once, the first
man; therefore the captives will be most securely guarded with you. I
intrust to you Ammata, the apple of my eye, because, well--because you
are my brave, faithful Thrasaric." He laid both hands on the giant's
broad shoulders.

"My King," replied the Vandal, looking him steadfastly in the eyes,
"you will see the Prince again, living and unhurt, or you will never
see Thrasaric more."

Eugenia shuddered.

"I thank you. Now to my tent. Vandal generals, to hear the plan of
battle!"



                               CHAPTER VI

PROCOPIUS TO CETHEGUS:

We are actually still alive, and we are spending the night in Decimum,
but we have had a narrow escape from passing it with the sharks at the
bottom of the sea; never before, Belisarius says, was annihilation so
near him. This mysterious King brought us into the greatest peril by
his admirable plan of attack. And when it had already succeeded, he
alone, the King himself, cast away his own victory, and saved us from
certain destruction. I will tell you briefly the course of recent
events, partly from our own experiences, partly from what we have
learned through the citizens of Decimum and the Vandal prisoners.

The King, undiscovered by us, had accompanied our march from the time
of our landing. The place where he suddenly attacked us had been wisely
chosen long before. Belisarius says that not even his great rival,
Narses, could have made a better plan of battle. As soon as we left our
last camp outside of Decimum, we lost, as I wrote in my former letter,
the protection of our fleet. If a superior force assailed us here
from the west, it would hurl us, not--as along the whole previous
march--upon our sheltering galleys, but directly into the sea from the
road running along the steep hills close to the coast. Just before
Decimum this road narrows greatly; for lofty mountains tower at the
southwest along the narrow highway. Over the loose sand, heaped on the
mountains by the desert winds, neither man nor horse can pass without
sinking a foot deep. Here, attacked from all three sides at the same
moment, we were to be driven eastward into the sea at our right.

A brother of the King, Gibamund, was to rush with two thousand men from
the west upon our left flank; a Vandal noble with a still stronger
force was to attack us from Decimum in the front; the King, with the
main body, was to fall upon us in the rear from the South.

Belisarius had carefully planned the order of our march through this
dangerous portion of the way. He sent Fara with his brave Herulians and
three hundred picked men of the bodyguard two and a half Roman miles in
advance. They were to pass through the Narrow Way first alone, and
instantly report any danger back to the main body led by Belisarius. On
our left flank the Hun horsemen and five thousand of the excellent
Thracian infantry under Althias were thrown out to guard us from any
peril threatening in that quarter and report it to Belisarius, to
prevent a surprise of the main body during the march.

Then, to our great good fortune, it happened that the attack from the
north, from Decimum, came far too early. Prisoners say that a younger
brother of the King, scarcely beyond boyhood, taking part in the
battle against Gelimer's orders, dashed out of Decimum with a few
horsemen upon our ranks as soon as he saw us. The noble wished to save
him at any cost, so he also attacked with the small force at his
disposal,--four hours too soon,--only sending messengers back to
Carthage to hasten the march of his main body. The youth and the noble
made the most desperate resistance to the superior force. Twelve of
Belisarius's bravest bodyguard, battle-tried men of former wars,
were slain. At last both fell, and now, deprived of their leader,
the Vandals turned their horses, and, in a mad flight, ran down
and overthrew those who were advancing from Carthage to their
support,--true, in little bands of thirty and forty men. Fara with his
swift Herulians dashed after them in savage pursuit to the very gates
of Carthage, cutting down all whom he overtook. The Vandals, who had
fought bravely so long as they saw the Asdings and the nobles in their
van, now threw down their weapons and allowed themselves to be
slaughtered. We found many thousand dead bodies on the road and in the
fields to the left.

After this first onset of the Vandals had resulted in defeat, Gibamund,
knowing nothing of it, attacked with his troops the greatly superior
force of the Huns and Thracians. This happened at the Salt Field,--a
treeless, shrubless waste on the edge of the desert five thousand paces
west of Decimum. With no aid from Carthage and Decimum, he was
completely routed; nearly all his men were slain; their leader was seen
to fall, whether dead or living, no one knows.

Meanwhile, entirely ignorant of what had happened, we were marching
with the main body along the road to Decimum. As Belisarius found an
excellent camping-ground about four thousand paces from this place, he
halted. That the enemy must be in the neighborhood he suspected; the
disappearance of the two Huns during the night had perplexed him. He
established a well-fortified camp, and said to the troops, "The enemy
must be close at hand. If he attacks us here, where we lack the support
of the fleet, our escape will lie solely in victory. Should we be
defeated, there is no stronghold, no fortified city, to receive us; the
sea, roaring below, will swallow us. The intrenched camp is our only
protection, the camp and the long-tested swords in our hands. Fight
bravely! Life, as well as fame, is at stake."

He now ordered the infantry to remain in camp with the luggage as the
last reserve, and led the whole force of cavalry out toward Decimum. He
would not risk everything at once, but intended first to discover the
strength and plans of the Barbarians by skirmishing. Sending the
auxiliary cavalry in the van, he followed with the other squadrons and
his mounted bodyguard. When the advance body reached Decimum, it found
the Byzantines and Vandals who had fallen there. A few of the citizens
who had hidden in the houses told our troops what had happened; most of
them had fled to Carthage on learning that their village had been
chosen for the battleground.

A wonderfully beautiful woman,--she looks like the Sphinx at
Memphis,--the owner of the largest villa in Decimum, voluntarily
received our men. It was she who told us of the noble's death. He fell
before her eyes, just in front of her house.

The leaders now consulted, undecided whether to advance, halt, or
return to Belisarius. At last the whole body of cavalry rode about two
thousand paces west of Decimum, where they could obtain from the high
sand-hills a wider view in every direction. There they saw rising in
the south-southwest--that is, in the rear and on the left flank of
Belisarius--a huge cloud of dust, from which sometimes flashed the arms
and banners of an immense body of horsemen. They instantly sent a
message to Belisarius that he must hasten; the enemy was at hand.

Meanwhile the Barbarians, led by Gelimer, approached. They were
marching along a road between Belisarius's main body in the east and
the Huns and Thracians, our left wing, who had defeated Gibamund and
pursued him far to the west. But the high hills along the road
obstructed Gelimer's view, so that he could not see Gibamund's
battlefield. Byzantines and Vandals, as soon as they saw each other,
struggled to be first to reach and occupy the summit of the highest
hill in the chain which dominated the whole region. The Barbarians
gained the top, and from it King Gelimer rushed down with such power
upon our men, the auxiliary cavalry, that they were seized with panic,
and fled in wild confusion eastward, toward Decimum.

About nine hundred paces west of the village the fugitives met their
strong support, a body of eight hundred mounted shield-bearers, led by
Velox, Belisarius's bodyguard. The General and all of us who had
tremblingly witnessed the flight of the cavalry consoled ourselves with
the hope that Velox would check their flight and march back with them
to the enemy. But--oh, shame and horror--the weight of the Vandal
onslaught was so tremendous that the fugitives and the shield-bearers
did not even wait for it; the whole body, mingled together, swept back
in disorder to Belisarius.

The General said that at this moment he gave us all up for lost:
"Gelimer," he said at the banquet that night, "had the victory in his
hands. Why he voluntarily let it escape is incomprehensible. Had he
followed the fugitives, he would have pursued me and my whole army into
the sea, so great was the alarm of our troops and so tremendous the
force of the Vandal assault. Then the camp and the infantry would both
have been destroyed. Or if he had even gone from Decimum back to
Carthage, he could have destroyed without resistance Fara and his men,
for expecting no attack from the rear, they were scattered singly or in
couples along the streets and in the fields, pillaging the slain. And
once in possession of Carthage he could easily have taken our ships,
anchored near the city,--without crews,--and thus cut off from us every
hope of victory or retreat."

But King Gelimer did neither. A sudden paralysis attacked the power
which had just overthrown everything in its way.

Prisoners told us that, as he dashed down the hillside, spurring his
cream-colored charger far in advance of all his men, he saw in the
narrow pass at the southern entrance of Decimum the corpse of his young
brother lying first of all the bodies in the road. With a loud cry of
anguish, he sprung from his horse, threw himself upon the lifeless boy,
and thus checked the advance of his troops. Their foremost horses, held
back with difficulty by the riders that they might not trample on the
King and the lad, reared, plunged, and kicked, throwing those behind
into confusion, and stopped the whole chase. The King raised in his
arms the mangled and bloody body (for our horsemen had dashed over it);
then breaking again into cries of agony, he placed it on his charger
and ordered it to be buried by the roadside with royal honors. The
whole did not probably occupy fifteen minutes, but that quarter of an
hour wrested from the Barbarians the victory they had already won.

Meanwhile Belisarius rushed to meet our fugitives, thundered at them in
his resonant leonine voice his omnipotent "Halt," showed them, lifting
his helmet, his face flaming with a wrath which his warriors dreaded
more than the spears of all the Barbarians, brought the deeply shamed
men to a stand, arranged them, amid terrible reproaches, in the best
order possible in the haste, and, after learning all he could
concerning the position and strength of the Vandals, led them to the
attack upon Gelimer and his army.

The Vandals did not withstand it. The sudden, mysterious check of their
advance had bewildered, perplexed, discouraged them; besides, their
best strength had been exhausted in the furious ride. The sun of
Africa, burning fiercely down, had wearied us also, but at the first
onset we broke through their ranks. They turned and fled. The King, who
tried to check them, was swept away by the rush, not to Carthage, not
even southwest to Byzacena, whence they had come, but towards the
northwest along the road leading to Numidia, to the plain of Bulla.

Whether they took that course by the King's command or without it and
against it, we do not yet know.

We wrought great slaughter among the fugitives; the chase did not end
until nightfall. When, as the darkness closed in, the torches and
watchfires were lighted, Fara and the Herulians came from the north,
Althias with the Huns and Thracians from the west, and we all spent the
night in Decimum celebrating three victories in a single day: over the
nobleman, over Prince Gibamund, and over the King.



                              CHAPTER VII

The flying Vandals, leaving Carthage far on the right, had struck into
the road which at Decimum turns toward the northwest, leading to
Numidia.

In this direction also the numerous women and children, who had left
Carthage many days before with the army, had gone from the camp on the
morning of the day before, under safe escort, to the little village of
Castra Vetera, half a day's march from the battlefield. Here, about two
hours before midnight, they met the fugitives from Decimum; the pursuit
had ceased with the closing in of darkness. The main body of troops lay
around the hamlet in the open air; the few tents brought by the women
from the other camp, and the huts in the village, were used to shelter
the many wounded and the principal leaders of the army. In one of these
tents, stretched on coverlets and pillows, was Gibamund; Hilda knelt
beside him, putting a fresh bandage on his foot. As soon as she had
finished, she turned to Gundomar, who was sitting on the other side of
the narrow space with his head propped on his hand. Blood was trickling
through his yellow locks. The Princess carefully examined the wound,
"It is not mortal," she said. "Is the pain severe?"

"Only slight," replied the Gunding, clenching his teeth. "Where is the
King?"

"In the little chapel with Verus. He is praying."

The words fell harshly from her lips.

"And my brother?" asked Gundomar. "How is his shoulder?"

"I cut the arrow-head out. He is doing well; he is in command of the
guards. But the King, too, is wounded."

"What?" asked both the men, in startled tones. "He said nothing of it."

"He is ashamed--for his people. No foe; flying Vandals whom he stopped
and tried to turn hacked his arm with their daggers."

"Dogs," cried Gundomar, grinding his teeth; but Gibamund sighed.

"Gundobad, who witnessed it, told me; I examined the arm; there is no
danger."

"And Eugenia?" he asked after a pause.

"She is lying in the next house as if stupefied. When she heard of her
husband's death, she cried: 'To him! Into his grave! Sigrun--' (I once
told her the legend of Helgi) and tried to rush madly away. But she
sank fainting in my arms. Even after she had recovered her senses, she
lay on the couch as if utterly crushed. 'To him! Sigrun--into his
grave!--I am coming, Thrasaric!' was all that she would answer to my
questions. She tried to rise to obtain more news, but could not, and I
sternly forbade her to attempt it again. I will tell her cautiously all
that it is well for her to know--no more. But speak, Gundomar, if you
can; I know all the rest--except how Ammata, how Thrasaric--"

"Presently," said the Gunding. "Another drink of water. And your wound,
Gibamund?"

"It is nothing," replied the Prince, bitterly; "I did not reach the
enemy at all. I sent messenger after messenger to Thrasaric, as I did
not receive the promised report that he was leaving Decimum. Not one
returned; all fell into the hands of the foe. No message came from
Thrasaric. The time appointed by the King when I was to make the attack
had arrived; in obedience to the order I set forth, though perfectly
aware of the superior strength of the enemy, and though the main body
of the troops under Thrasaric had not come. When we were within an
arrow-shot, the horsemen, the Huns, dashed to the right and left, and
we saw behind them the Thracian infantry, seven ranks deep, who
received us with a hail of arrows. They aimed at the horses; mine, the
foremost, and all in the front rank instantly fell. Your brave brother
in the second rank, himself wounded by a shaft, lifted me with great
difficulty on his own charger--I could not stand--and rescued me. The
Huns now bore down upon us from both flanks; the Thracians pressed
forward from the front with levelled spears. Not a hundred of my two
thousand men are still alive." He groaned in anguish.

"But tell me how came Ammata,--against Gelimer's command, in spite of
Thrasaric's guard--?" asked Hilda.

"It happened in this way," said the Gunding, pressing his hand to the
aching wound in his head. "We had put the boy, unarmed, in the little
Catholic basilica at Decimum, with the hostages from Carthage, among
them young Publius Pudentius."

"Hilderic and Euages too?"

"No. Verus had them taken to the second camp near Bulla. Bleda, the
captured Hun, had been tied with a rope outside to the bronze rings of
the church doors; he lay on the upper step. On the square, in front of
the little church, were about twenty of our horsemen. Many, by
Thrasaric's command,--he rode repeatedly across the square, gazing
watchfully in every direction,--had dismounted. Thrusting their spears
into the sand beside their horses, they lay flat on the low roofs of
the surrounding houses looking toward the southwest to see the
advancing foe. I sat on horseback by the open window of the basilica.
From the corner one can see straight to the entrance of the main road
from Decimum, where Astarte's--formerly Modigisel's--villa stands. So I
heard every word that was spoken in the basilica. Two boyish voices
were disputing vehemently.

"'What?' cried one. 'Is this the loudly vaunted heroism of the Vandals?
You are placed here, Ammata, in the asylum of the church of the
much-tortured Catholics? Do you seek shelter here?' 'The order of the
King,' replied Ammata, choking with rage. 'Ah,' sneered the other; it
was Pudentius--I now recognized the tones--'I would not be commanded to
do that by king or emperor. I am chained hand and foot, or I would have
been outside long ago, fighting with the Romans.' 'The order of the
King, I tell you.' 'Order of cowardice. Ha, if _I_ were a member of the
royal house for whose throne men were fighting, nothing would keep me
in a church, while--Hark! that is the tuba. It is proclaiming a Roman
victory.'

"I heard no more; the Roman trumpets were blaring outside of Decimum."

Just at that moment the folds of the tent were pushed softly apart. A
pale face, two large dark eyes, gazed in, unseen by any one.

"At the same instant," continued the Gunding, "a figure sprang from the
very high window of the basilica,--I don't yet understand how the boy
climbed up to it,--ran past me, swung himself on the horse of one of
our troopers, tore the spear from the ground beside it, and with the
exulting shout, 'Vandals! Vandals!' dashed down the street to meet the
Byzantines.

"'Ammata! Ammata! Halt!' Thrasaric called after him. But he was already
far away. 'Follow him! Gundomar! Follow him! Save the boy!' cried
Thrasaric, rushing past me.

"I followed; our men--a slender little band--did the same. 'Too soon!
Much too soon!' I exclaimed, as I overtook Thrasaric.

"'The King commanded me to protect the lad!'

"It was impossible to stop him; I followed. We had already reached the
narrow southern entrance of Decimum. On the right was Astarte's villa,
on the left the high stone wall of a granary. Ammata, without helmet,
breastplate, or shield, with only the spear in his hand, was facing a
whole troop of mounted lancers, who stared in amazement at the mad boy.

"'Back, Ammata! Fly, I will cover the entrance here,' shouted
Thrasaric.

"'I will not fly! I am a grandson of Genseric,' was the lad's answer.

"'Then we will die here together. Here is my shield.'

"It was high time. Already the lances of the Byzantines were hurtling
at us. Our three horses fell. We all sprang up unhurt. A spear struck
the shield which Thrasaric had forced upon the boy, penetrating the
hammer on it. A dozen of our men had now reached us. Six sprang from
their horses, levelling their lances. We were enough to block the
narrow entrance. The Byzantines dashed upon us; only three horses could
come abreast. We three killed two horses and one man. Our foes were
obliged to remove the dead animals, our three and the fourth, to gain
space. While doing this Ammata sprang forward and struck down another
Byzantine. As he leaped back an arrow grazed his neck; the blood burst
forth; the boy laughed. Again the foes dashed forward. Again two fell.
But Ammata was obliged to drop the hammer shield, there were now so
many spears sticking in it, and Thrasaric received a lance-thrust in
his shieldless left arm. Behind the Byzantines we now heard German
horns; the sound was like the blast announcing the approach of our
Vandal horsemen. 'Gibamund, or the King!' our men shouted. 'We are
saved.'

"But we were lost. They were Herulians in the Emperor's pay. Their
leader, a tall figure with eagle wings on his helmet, instantly assumed
command of all the forces. He ordered several men to dismount and climb
the wall of the granary at his right; others trotted toward the left,
to ride around the villa, and at the same time they overwhelmed us with
a shower of spears. The boar's helm flew from my head, two lances had
struck it at the same moment; a third now hit my skull and stretched me
on the ground. At that moment, when our eyes were all fixed upon the
enemy in front, a man on foot forced his way through our horsemen from
the basilica behind. I heard a hoarse cry: 'Wait, boy!' and saw the
flash of a sword. Ammata fell forward on his knees.

"It was Bleda, the captive Hun. The torn rope still dragged from his
ankle. He had wrenched himself free and seized a weapon; before he
could draw the sword from the boy's back Thrasaric's spear pierced him
through and through. But the noble had forgotten the foes in front, and
no longer struck the flying lances aside. Two spears pierced him at
once; he received a deep wound in the thigh and staggered against the
wall of the villa.

"A narrow door close beside him opened, and on the threshold stood
Astarte. 'Come, my beloved, I will save you,' she said, seizing his
arm. 'A secret passage from my cellar--'

"But Thrasaric silently shook her off and threw himself before the
kneeling boy. For now Herulians and Byzantines, on foot and on
horseback, were pressing forward in dense throngs. The door closed.

"I tried to rise, but could not; so, unable to aid, helpless myself,
but covered by a dead horse behind which I had fallen, I saw the end. I
will make the story brief. So long as he could move an arm, the
faithful giant protected the boy with sword and spear; finally, when
the spear-head was hacked off, the sword broken, he sheltered the boy
with his own body. I saw how he spread the huge bearskin over him as a
shield, and clasped both arms around the child's breast.

"'Surrender, brave warrior,' cried the leader of the Herulians. But
Thrasaric--hark! What was that?"

"A groan? Yonder! Does your foot ache, my Gibamund?"

"I made no sound. It was probably a night-bird--outside--before the
tent."

"But Thrasaric shook his huge head and hurled his sword-hilt into the
face of the nearest Byzantine, who fell, shrieking. Then so many lances
flew at the same instant that Ammata sank lifeless on the ground.
Thrasaric did not fall, but stood bending forward, his arms hanging
loosely. The Herulian leader went close to him. 'In truth,' he said,
'never have I seen anything like this. The man is dead; but he cannot
fall, so many spears, with handles resting on the ground, are fixed in
his breast.' He gently drew out several; the strong noble slid down
beside Ammata.

"Our men had fled as soon as they saw us both fall. Past me--I lay as
though lifeless swept the foe in pursuit. Not until after a long time,
when everything was still, did I succeed in raising myself a little. So
I was found beside Ammata by the King, to whom I told the fate of both.
The rest--how he lost the moment of victory, nay, threw away the
victory already won, you know."

"We know it," said Hilda, in a hollow tone.

"And where is Ammata--where is Thrasaric buried?" questioned Gibamund.

"Close beside Decimum, in two mounds. The land belongs to a colonist.
According to the custom of our ancestors, our men placed three spears
upright upon each hillock. The King's horsemen then carried me back,
and placed me on a charger, which bore me through this pitiable flight.
Shame on this Vandal people! They let their princes and nobles fight
and bleed--alone! The masses have accomplished nothing but a speedy
flight."



                              CHAPTER VIII

The intense darkness of the night was already yielding in the eastern
sky to a faint gray glimmer of twilight, but the stars were still
shining in the heavens, when a slender little figure glided
noiselessly, but very swiftly, through the streets of the camp.

The shaggy dogs watching their masters' tents growled, but did not
bark; they were afraid of the creature slipping by so softly. A Vandal,
mounting guard at a street-corner, superstitiously made the sign of the
cross and avoided the wraith floating past. But the white form
approached him.

"Where is Decimum? I mean, in which direction?" it asked in low,
hurried tones.

"In the east, yonder." He pointed with his spear.

"How far is it?"

"How far? Very distant. We rode as fast as the horses could run; for
fear pursued us,--I really do not know of what,--and we did not draw
rein till we reached here. We dashed along six or eight hours before we
arrived."

"No matter."

The hurrying figure soon reached the exit of the camp. The guards
stationed there let her pass unmolested. One called after her:

"Where are you going? Not that way! The enemy is there."

"Don't stay long!" a Moor shouted after her; "the evil wind is rising."

But she was already gone. Directly behind the camp she turned from the
path marked by many footprints, also by weapons lost or thrown
away,--if that name could be given to this track through the desert.
Running several hundred paces south of the line extending from west to
east, she plunged into the wilderness, crossing, meanwhile, several
high, dome-like sand-hills. These mounds are piled up by the changing
winds blowing through the desert in every direction, but most
frequently from the south to north; and the narrow sand ravines beside
them often, for the distance of a quarter of a league, obstruct the
view of the person passing through them over the nearest sand-wave.

Not until she believed herself too far from the road to be seen, did
she again turn in her original direction, eastward, or what she thought
was east. Meantime, it is true, the fiery, glowing rising sun had
extinguished the light of the stars and marked the east; but soon
thereafter the crimson disk vanished behind vaporous clouds, the
exhalations of the desert. She ran on and on and on. She was now
entirely within the domain of the desert. There was no longer any
distinguishing object,--no tree, no bush, nothing but sky above and
sand below. True, there were sometimes sand valleys, sometimes sand
heights, but these, too, were perfectly uniform. On, on she ran. "Only
to reach his grave!" she thought. "Only his grave. Always straight on!"
It was so still, so strangely still.

Once only she fancied that she saw, far, far away on her left,
corresponding with the "path," hurrying cloud-shadows; perhaps they
were ostriches or antelopes. No, she thought she heard human voices
calling, but very, very distant. Yet it sounded like "Eugenia!"

Startled, she stooped down close to the sand-hill at her left; it would
prevent her being seen from that direction. Even if the valley in which
she was now cowering could be overlooked from a hillock, the back of
the mound would protect her. "Eugenia!" Now the name seemed to come
again more distinctly; the tones were like Hilda's voice. The low,
distant sound died tremulously away, sorrowful, hopeless. All was still
again. She started up, and ran on breathlessly.

But the fugitive now grew uneasy, because she had lost her direction.
What if she was not keeping a perfectly straight course? Then she
thought of looking back. The print of every one of her light footsteps
was firmly impressed upon the sand. The line was perfectly straight;
she rejoiced over her wisdom. Then she often glanced behind--at almost
every hundred steps--to test. Only forward, forward! She was growing
anxious. Drops of perspiration had long been falling from her forehead
and her bare arms. It was growing hot, very hot, and so strangely
sultry--the sky so leaden gray. A light, whistling wind sprang up,
blowing from south to north.

Eugenia glanced back again. Oh, horror! She saw no sign of her
footsteps. The whole expanse lay behind her as smooth as though she
were just starting on her way. As if dazed by astonishment, she stamped
on the sand; directly after, before her eyes, the impression was filled
up, completely effaced by the finest sand, which was driven by the
light breeze.

Startled, she pressed her hand upon her beating heart--and grasped
sand; a fine but thick layer had incrusted her garments, her hair, her
face. Through her bewildered thoughts darted the remembrance of having
heard how human beings, animals, whole caravans, had been covered by
such sand-storms, how, heaped by the wind, the sand often rose like
huge waves, burying all life beneath it. She fancied that on her right,
on the south, a hill of sand was towering; it seemed moving swiftly
onward, and threatened to bar her way. So she must run yet faster to
escape it. Her path was still open. Just at that moment, from the
south, a gust of wind suddenly blew with great force. Snatching the
braided hat from her head, it whirled it swiftly northward. In an
instant it was almost out of sight. To overtake it was impossible.
Besides, she must go toward the east. Forward!

The wind grew stronger and stronger. The sun, rising higher, darted
scorching rays upon her unprotected head; her dark-brown hair fluttered
wildly around. Incrusted with salt, it struck her eyes or lashed her
cheeks and stung her keenly. She could scarcely keep her eyes open; the
fine sand forced its way through their long lashes. On. The sand
entered her shoes; the band across the instep of the left one broke.
She lifted her foot; the wind tore off the shoe and whirled it away. It
was certainly no misfortune, yet she wept--wept over her helplessness.
She sank to her knees; the malicious sand rose slowly higher and
higher. A shrill, harsh, disagreeable cry fell on her ear,--the first
sound in the tremendous silence for many hours; a dark figure, flying
from north to south, flitted for a moment along the horizon. It was an
ostrich, fleeing in mortal terror before the simoom. With head and long
white neck far outstretched, aiding the swift movement of its long legs
by flapping its curved dark wings like sails, it glided on like an
arrow. Already it was out of sight.

"That bird is hurrying with such might to save its life. Shall my
strength fail when I am hastening to the man I love? 'For shame, little
one!' he would say." Smiling through her tears, she ran forward. So an
hour passed--many hours.

Often she thought that she must have lost the right direction, or she
would have reached the battlefield long ago. The wind had risen to a
tempest. Her heart beat with suffocating strength. Giddiness seized
her; she tottered; she must rest. Now, here, no Vandal could overtake
her to keep her by force from her sacred goal.

Just at that moment something white appeared above the sand close
beside her. It was the first break for hours in the monotonous yellow
surface. The object was no stone. Seizing it, Eugenia dragged it from
the sand. Oh, despair and horror! She shrieked aloud in desperation, in
terror, in the sense of cheerless, hopeless helplessness. It was her
own shoe, which she had lost hours before. She had been wandering in a
circle. Or had the wind borne it far away from the place where she lost
it? Yet, no! The shoe, which she now flung down, weeping, was swiftly
covered with sand, instead of being carried away by the wind. After
exhausting the last remnant of her strength, she was in the same spot.

To die--now--to give up all effort--to rest--to sleep--now sweet was
the temptation to the wearied limbs.

But, no! To him! What were the words? "And it _constrained_ the
faithful one and drew her to the grave of the dead hero." To him!

Eugenia raised herself with great difficulty, she was already so weak.
And when she had barely gained her feet, the storm blew her down once
more. Again she rose, trying to see if some human being, some house, if
not the path, was visible. Just then she perceived before her in the
north a sand-hill, higher than any of the others. It was probably more
than a hundred feet. If she could succeed in climbing it, she would be
able from the top to get a wide view. With inexpressible difficulty,
sinking knee-deep at nearly every step in the looser sand, until her
foot reached the older, firmer soil, she pressed upward, often falling
back several paces when she stumbled. While she did so the strangest,
most alarming thing happened,--at every slip the whole sand-hill
creaked, trembled, and began to slide down in every direction. At
first Eugenia stopped in terror; she thought the whole mountain would
sink with her. But she conquered her fear, and at last climbed
upward on her knees, for she could no longer stand; she thrust her
hands into the sand and dragged herself up. The wind--no, it was now a
hurricane--assisted her; it blew from south to north. At last--the
climb seemed to her longer than the whole previous way--at last she
reached the top. Opening her eyes, which she had kept half closed, she
saw--oh, bliss! she saw deliverance. Before her, at a long distance, it
is true, yet plainly visible, glittered a steel-blue line. It was the
sea! And at the side, eastward, she fancied she saw houses, trees.
Surely that was Decimum; and a little farther inland rose a dark hill--
the end of the desert. She imagined,--yet surely it was impossible to
see so far,--she believed or dreamed that, on the summit of the hill,
she beheld three slender black lines relieved against the clear
horizon. Surely those were the three spears on the grave. "Beloved One!
My hero!" she cried, "I am coming."

With outstretched arms she tried to hurry down the sand-hill on the
northeastern: side, but, at the first step, she sank in to the
knee,--deeper still, to the waist. She could still see the blue sky
above her. Once more, with her last strength, she flung both arms high
above her head, thrusting her hands into the sand to the wrists
to drag herself up; once more the large beautiful antelope eyes
gazed beseechingly--ah, so despairingly--up to the silent sky; another
wild, desperate pull--a hollow sound as of a heavy fall. The whole
sand-mountain, shaken by her struggles and swept by the hurricane from
the south, fell over her northward, burying her nearly a hundred feet
deep, stifling her in a moment. Above her lofty grave the desert storm
raved exultingly.

                           *   *   *   *   *

For decades the beautiful corpse lay undisturbed, unprofaned, until
that ever-changing architect, the wind, gradually removed the sand-hill
and, one stormy night, at last blew it away entirely.

Just at that time a pious hermit, one of the desert monks who begged
his scanty fare in Decimum and carried it to his sand cave, passed
along. Often and often he had come that way; the hurricane had bared
the skeleton only the day before. The old man stood before it,
thoughtful. The little dazzlingly white bones were so dainty, so
delicate, as if fashioned by an artist's hand; the garments, like the
flesh, had long been completely consumed by the trickling moisture; but
the lofty sand ridge had faithfully kept its beautiful secret, not a
bone was missing. For a human generation the dry sand of the desert,
though garments and flesh had gone to decay, had preserved uninjured
the outlines of the figure as it had been pressed into the sand under
the heavy weight. One could see that the buried girl had tried to
protect eyes and mouth with her right hand; the left lay in a graceful
attitude across her breast; her face was turned toward the ground.

"Who were you, dainty child, that found a solitary death here?" said
the holy man, deeply touched. "For there is no trace of a companion
near. A child, or a girl just entering maidenhood? But, at any rate, a
Christian--no Moor; here on her neck, fastened by a silver chain, is a
gold cross. And beside it a strange ornament,--a bronze half-circle
with characters inscribed on it, not Latin, Greek, nor Hebrew. No
matter. The girl's bones shall not remain scattered in the desert. The
Christian shall sleep in consecrated ground. The peasants must help me
to bury her here or in the neighborhood."

He went to Decimum. The traces of the Vandal battle had long since
vanished. The village children who had then fled were now grown men,
the owners of the houses and fields. The peasant to whom the hermit
related his touching discovery listened attentively. But when the
latter spoke of the bronze half-circle with the singular characters, he
interrupted him, exclaiming:

"Strange! In the hill-tomb, the great stone vault outside of our
village,--I own the hill, and vines grow on the southern slope,--there
lies, according to trustworthy tradition, a Vandal boy-prince who fell
here, and beside him a mighty warrior, a terrible giant, who is said to
have remained faithfully by his side. The priests say he was a monster,
a god of thunder, one of the old pagan gods of the Barbarians, with
whose fall fortune deserted them. Well, the giant has hanging on his
arm a half-circle exactly like the one you describe. Perhaps the two
belonged together? Who knows? We cannot dig a grave in the desert; even
if we try, the wind will blow it away. Come, I'll harness the horses to
my wagon; we will go out to the dead woman and lay her beside the
giant; his grave has already been consecrated by the priests."

This was done. But when they had placed the delicate form beside the
mighty one, and the monk had muttered a prayer, he asked: "Tell me,
friend,--I saw with joyful surprise that you had left all the ornaments
upon the dead; and that you should receive nothing for your trouble
with the poor girl's skeleton is not exactly--"

"Peasant custom, do you mean? You are right, holy father. But you see.
King Gelimer, who once reigned here, enjoined upon my father after the
battle to take faithful care of the graves; he was to keep them as if
they were a sanctuary until Gelimer should return and carry the bodies
to Carthage. King Gelimer never returned to Decimum. But my father, on
his deathbed, committed the care of this tomb to me; and so shall I,
before I die, to the curly-headed boy who helped us to carry the
little skeleton. For King Gelimer was kind to every one,--to us Romans,
too,--and had done my father many a favor in the days of the Vandals.
Already many say he was no man, but a demon,--a wicked one, according
to some, a good one, most declare. But, man or demon, good he certainly
was; for my father has often praised him."

So little Eugenia at last reached her hero's side.



                               CHAPTER IX

PROCOPIUS TO CETHEGUS:

I am writing this--really and truly, though it is not yet three months
since we left Constantinople--in Carthage, at the capitol, in the royal
palace of the Asdings, in the hall of Genseric the Terrible. I often
doubt the fact myself--but it is so! On the day after the battle at
Decimum the infantry, coming from the camp, joined us, and the whole
army marched to Carthage, which we reached in the evening. We chose a
place to encamp outside of the city, though no one opposed our
entrance. Nay, the Carthaginians had opened all their gates and lighted
torches and lanterns everywhere in the streets and squares. All night
long the bonfires shone from the city into our camp, while the few
Vandals who had not fled sought shelter in the Catholic churches.

But Belisarius most strictly prohibited entering the city during the
night. He feared an ambush, a stratagem of war. He could not believe
that Genseric's capital had actually fallen into his hands with so
little trouble.

On the following day, borne by a favoring breeze, our ships rounded the
promontory. As soon as the Carthaginians recognized our flag, they
broke the iron chains of their outer harbor, Mandracium, and beckoned
to our sailors to enter. But the commanders, mindful of Belisarius's
warning, anchored in the harbor of Stagnum, five thousand paces from
the city, waiting further orders. Yet that the worthy citizens of
Carthage might make the acquaintance of their liberators on the very
first day, a ship's captain, Kalonymos, with several sailors, entered
Mandracium, against the orders of Belisarius and the Quæstor, and
plundered all the merchants--Carthaginians as well as strangers--who
had their homes and storehouses on the harbor. He took all their money,
many of their goods, and even the beautiful candlesticks and lanterns
which they had brought out in honor of our arrival.

We had hoped--Belisarius gave orders for a diligent search--to liberate
the captive King Hilderic and his nephew. But this, it appears, was not
accomplished. In the royal citadel, high up on the hill crowned by the
capitol, is the gloomy dungeon where the usurper held the Asdings
prisoners, as he barred all his foes here. The executioner supplied the
place of a jailer to his predecessors. He also held captive many
merchants of our empire, fearing (and my Hegelochus showed with what
good reason; the General sent him to-day with rich gifts to Syracuse)
that, if allowed to sail thither, they might bring us all sorts of
valuable information. When the jailer, a Roman, heard of our victory at
Decimum, and saw our galleys rounding the promontory, he released all
these captives. He wanted to set the King and Euages free also, but
their dungeon was empty. No one knows what has become of them.

At noon Belisarius ordered the ships' crews to land, all the troops to
clean their weapons and armor, to present the best appearance, and now
the whole army marched in full battle-array--for we still feared an
ambush of the Vandals--through the "Grove of the Empress Theodora" (so
I hear the grateful Carthaginians have rebaptized it); then through the
southern Byzacenian gate, and finally through the lower city.
Belisarius and the principal leaders, with some picked troops, went up
to the capitol, and our General formally took his seat upon Genseric's
gold and purple throne. Belisarius ordered the noonday meal to be
served in the dining-hall where Gelimer entertained the Vandal nobles.
It is called "Delphica," because its principal ornament is a beautiful
tripod. Here the General feasted the leaders of his army. A banquet had
been prepared in it the day before for Gelimer, but we now ate the
dishes made to celebrate his victory; spiced by this thought, their
flavor was excellent. And Gelimer's servants brought in the platters,
filled the drinking vessels with fragrant wine, waited upon us in every
way. This is another instance of the goddess Tyche's pleasure in
playing with the changing destinies of mortals. You, O Cethegus, I am
well aware, have a different opinion of the final causes of events; you
see the fixed action of a law in the deeds of human beings, as well as
in storms and sunshine. This may be magnificent, heroic, but it is
terrible. I have a narrow mind, and am precisely the opposite of a
hero; I cannot endure it. I waver skeptically to and fro. Sometimes I
see only the whimsical ruling of a blind chance, which delights in
alternately lifting up and casting down; sometimes I think an
inscrutable God directs everything to mysterious ends. I have renounced
all philosophizing, and enjoy the motley current of events, not without
scorn and derision for the follies of other people, but no less for
those of Procopius.

And yet I do not wish to break off entirely all relations with the
Christian's God. We do not know whether, after all, the Son of Man may
not yet return in the clouds of heaven. In that case, I would far
rather be with the sheep than with the goats.

The people, the liberated Romans, the Catholics, in their delight over
their rescue, see signs and wonders everywhere. They regard our Huns as
angels of the Lord. They will yet learn to know these angels,
especially if they have pretty wives or daughters, or even only full
money-chests. The comical part of it is that (except Belisarius's
body-guard), our soldiers, with all due respect to the Emperor, are
principally a miserable lot of rascals from all the provinces of the
empire, and all the Barbarian peoples in the neighborhood; they are
always as ready to steal, pillage, and murder as they are to fight. Yet
we ourselves, in consequence of the amazing good fortune which has
accompanied us throughout this whole enterprise, are beginning to
consider ourselves the chosen favorites of the Lord, His sacred
instrument--thieves and cut-throats though we are! So the entire army,
pagans as well as Christians, believe that that spring gushed out for
us in the desert only by a miracle of God. So both the army and the
Carthaginians believe in a lantern miracle in the following singular
incident.

The Carthaginians' principal saint is Saint Cyprian, who has more than
a dozen basilicas and chapels, in which all his festivals, "the great
Cypriani," are magnificently celebrated. But the Vandals took nearly
all the churches from the Catholics, and dedicated them to the Arian
worship. This was the case with the great basilica of Saint Cyprian
down by the harbor, from which they drove the Catholic priests. The
loss of this cathedral caused them special sorrow, and they said that
Saint Cyprian had repeatedly appeared to devout souls in a dream,
comforted them, and announced that he would some day avenge the wrong
committed by the Vandals. This seems to me rather _un_saintly in the
great saint; we poor sinners on earth are daily exhorted to forgive our
enemies, and the wrathful saint ought to let his vengeful feelings
cool, and thus remain the holy Cyprian. The pious Catholics, thus
pleasantly strengthened and justified in their thirst for revenge by
their patron saint, had long waited, in mingled curiosity and anxiety,
for the blow Saint Cyprian was to deal the heretics. On this day it
became evident. The festival of the great Cyprian was just at hand; it
fell on the day following the battle of Decimum. On the evening before,
the Arian priests themselves had decorated the entire church
magnificently, and especially arranged thousands of little lamps, in
order to have a brilliant illumination at night to celebrate the
victory; for they did not doubt the success of their own army. By the
written order of the Archdeacon Verus,--he had accompanied the King to
the field,--all the church vessels and church treasures of every
description were brought out of the hidden thesauri and placed upon the
seven altars of the basilica. Never would these unsuspected riches have
been found in the secret vaults of the church, had not Verus given
these directions and sent the keys.

But we, not the Vandals, won the battle of Decimum. At this news the
Arian priests fled headlong from the city. The Catholics poured into
the basilica, discovered the secret treasures of the heretics, and
lighted their lamps to celebrate the victory of the champions of the
true faith. "This is the vengeance of Saint Cyprian!" "This is the
miracle of the lamps!" Through the city they went, roaring these words
and cuffing and pounding every doubter until he believed and shouted
with them: "Yes, this is Saint Cyprian's vengeance and the miracle of
the lamps!"

Now I have not the least objection to an occasional miracle. On
the contrary, I am glad when something often happens that the
all-explaining philosophers who have so long tormented me cannot
understand. But then it must be a genuine, thorough-going miracle. If a
miracle cannot present itself as something entirely beyond the limits
of reason, it would better not attempt to be a miracle at all; it isn't
worth while. And this miracle appears to me far too natural. Belisarius
reproved my incredulous derision. But I replied that Saint Cyprian
seems to me the patron saint of the lamplighters; I don't belong to
that society.

                           *   *   *   *   *

Fara, the Herulian, captured the fairest booty at Decimum. True, he
received from the noble a sharp lance-thrust in the arm through his
brazen shield. But the shield had done its duty; the point did not
penetrate too deeply into the flesh. And when he entered the nearest
villa,--he was just breaking in,--the door opened, and a wonderfully
beautiful woman, with superb jewels and scarlet flowers in her black
hair, came to meet him. Except the flowers and gems, she was not
burdened with too much clothing.

The vision held out a wreath of laurel and pomegranate blossoms.

"Whom did you expect?" asked the Herulian, in amazement.

"The victor," replied the beautiful woman.

A somewhat oracular reply! This Sphinx--she looks, I have already told
you, exactly like one--would undoubtedly have given her wreath and
herself just as willingly to the victorious Vandals. After all, what
does the Carthaginian care for either Vandals or Byzantines? She is the
prize of the stronger, the conqueror--perhaps to his destruction. But I
think the Sphinx has now found her [OE]dipus. If one of this strange
pair of lovers must perish, it will hardly be my friend Fara. He took
me to her; he has some regard for me, because I can read and write. He
had evidently praised me. In vain. She scanned me from head to foot,
and from foot to head, it did not consume much time; I am not very
tall,--then, with a contemptuous curl of her full red lips, she moved
far away from me. I will not assert that I am handsome, while Fara,
next to Belisarius, is certainly the stateliest of all our six and
thirty thousand men. But I was indignant that my mortal part at once so
repelled her that she did not even desire to know the immortal side. I
am angered against her, I wish her no evil; but it would neither
greatly surprise, nor deeply grieve me, if she should come to a bad
end.



                               CHAPTER X

Belisarius is pushing the work on the walls day and night. Besides the
whole army and the crews of the ships, he has employed the citizens.
They grumble, saying that we came to liberate them, and now compel them
to harder labor than Gelimer ever imposed. The vast extent of the city
wall shows many gaps and holes; we think that may be the reason the
King did not retreat into his capital after the lost battle. Verus,
who, even in secular matters, holds a high place in the esteem of the
"Tyrant" (this, according to Justinian's command, is the name we must
give the champion of his people's liberty), is said, according to the
statements of the prisoners, to have advised the King from the first to
shut himself up in Carthage and let us besiege him there. If that is
true, the priest knows more about lamps than he does of war, but that
is natural. The very first night, our General says, we could have
slipped in through some gap, especially as many thousand Carthaginians
were ready to show us such holes. And we should have captured the whole
Vandal grandeur at one blow, as if in a mouse-trap; while now we must
seek the enemy in the desert. The King instantly rejected the counsel.

                           *   *   *   *   *

The goddess Tyche is the one woman in whom I often really feel tempted
to believe. And also in Ate,--Discord. To you, Ate and Tyche, mighty
sisters, not to Saint Cyprian, we must light lanterns to show our
gratitude. The goddess of Fortune is not weary of playing ball with the
destinies of the Vandals, but she could not do it, if Ate had not
placed this ball in her hands.

Yesterday a little sail-boat ran into the harbor from the north. It
bore the scarlet Vandal flag. Captured by our guard-ships, which were
lurking unseen behind the high wall of the harbor, the Barbarians on
board were frightened nearly to death; they had had no idea of the
capture of their capital. They had come directly from Sardinia! To send
the flower of their fleet and army there, while we were already lying
off Sicily, was surely prompted by Ate. On the captain was found a
letter with the following contents:

"Hail, and victory to you, O King of the Vandals! Where now are your
gloomy forebodings? I announce victory. We landed at Caralis, the
capital of Sardinia. We took harbor, city, and capitol. Goda, the
traitor, fell by my spear; his men are dispersed or prisoners; the
whole island is again yours. Celebrate a feast of victory. It is the
omen of a greater day, when you will crush the insolent foes who, as we
have just heard here, are really sailing against our coasts. Not one
must return from our Africa! This writes Zazo, your faithful General
and brother."

That was yesterday; and to-day one of our cruisers brought into the
harbor a Vandal galley captured on its way to Sardinia. It bore a
messenger from Gelimer with the following letter:

"It was not Goda who lured us to Sardinia, but a demon of hell in
Goda's form, whom God has permitted to destroy us. You did not set
forth that we might vanquish Sardinia, but that our foes might conquer
Africa. It was the will of Heaven, since God ordained your voyage. You
had scarcely sailed, when Belisarius landed. His army is small, but
fortune as well as heroism abandoned our people. The nation has no
good-luck, and its King no discernment; even wise plans are ruined by
the impetuosity of one or the kind heart of another. Ammata, our
darling, has fallen; Thrasaric the faithful has fallen; Gibamund is
wounded; our army was defeated at Decimum. Our ship-wharves, our
harbors, our armory, our horses, Carthage itself are in the hands of
the enemy. But the Vandals whom I still hold together seem to have been
stupefied by the first blow; they cannot be roused, though everything
is at stake. The short-lived outburst of energy has vanished from
nearly all. It is shameful to say, but there is far more capacity for
war in the twelve thousand Moorish mercenaries, whom I hired with heavy
gold and have assembled in a strong camp at Bulla, than in our whole
intimidated army. Should these men also fail me, the end would soon
come. Our sole hope is on you and your return. Let Sardinia and the
punishment of the rebellion go; fly hither with the whole fleet. Do not
land at Carthage, however, but far to the left, on the boundary between
Mauritania and Numidia. Let us avert or bear together the threatening
destruction.
                                                          GELIMER."

The letters of the brothers cross each other, and both fall into our
hands! And now the King will vainly await his fleet in the west. Come,
Goddess Tyche, puff out your cheeks, blow upon the sails of the Vandal
galleys, and bring them all in safety with the victorious army,
Gelimer's last hope, into the harbor of Carthage--to captivity.

                           *   *   *   *   *

The Goddess Tyche, too, is just a woman, like the rest. Suddenly she
turns her back upon us--at least a little--and coquets with the
fair-haired warriors. I might be inclined to turn again to the
holy lamplighter. The "Tyrant" is making progress. How? By his kind
heart and friendliness, people say. He is winning the country
population,--not the Moors, no,--the Romans, the Catholics. Hear and
help, O Saint Cyprian! He is drawing them from us to his side. He
maintains strict discipline; but the only time our Huns do not rob,
plunder, and steal is when they are standing in rank and file before
Belisarius--or when they are asleep; but then they at least dream of
pillaging. So the peasants whom we have liberated flee in throngs from
their deliverers to the camp of the Barbarian King. They prefer the
Vandals to the Huns. They collect together, fall upon our plundering
heroes (true, they are largely camp-followers), cut off their pagan,
nay, even their Christian heads, and receive in exchange from the
"Tyrant" a heretical gold-piece. That alone would not be so bad, but
the peasants serve the Vandal as spies, and tell him everything he
desires to know, so far as they know it themselves. This kindness of
heart is undoubtedly hypocrisy, but it helps,--perhaps more than if it
were genuine.

                           *   *   *   *   *

I am really almost sorry for the Sphinx. She was so wonderfully
beautiful! Only it is a pity that she did not become an animal instead
of a woman. Fara discovered that she also allowed Althias the Thracian
and Aigan the Hun to divine the mystery of her nature. At first the
three heroes intended to fight to the death for the marvel. But this
time the Hun was wiser than either the German or the Thracian. By his
suggestion, they fraternally divided the woman into equal portions by
strapping her on a board, and, with two blows of an axe, separating her
into three parts. Fara received the head, as was fair; he had the best
right to it. For when she noticed his distrust, she tried to soothe him
by the offer of some fruit which she broke fresh from the tree. But she
made a mistake there; Fara, the Herulian and pagan, likes horse-flesh
far better than he does peaches. He gave it to her ape. The animal bit
it, shook itself, and lay dead. This disturbed the German, and he did
not rest until he had solved all the riddles of the many-sided Sphinx,
even her natural faithlessness. Then, as I said, they divided the
beautiful body into three parts. I advised them to bury the corpse very
deep, or at night scorching red flames would burst from her grave.

                           *   *   *   *   *

A little defeat.

Belisarius was complaining he knew too little of the enemy. So he sent
one of the best men of his body-guard, Diogenes, towards the southwest
to obtain news. He and his men spent the night in a village. The
peasants swore that there was not a Vandal within two days' march. Our
heroes slept in the best house,--it belonged to the villicus,--in the
second story; of course they had first been a long time under the lower
story, that is, in the cellar. They posted no sentinels, certainly not;
they are the liberators of the peasants. The fact that they had just
drunk all the wine contained in all the amphoræ in the village, killed
the people's cattle, embraced their wives, had nothing to do with the
matter. Peasants must expect such things.

Soon they were all snoring, Diogenes in the lead. Night fell. The
peasants quickly brought the Vandals,--from the immediate
neighborhood,--who surrounded the house. But Saint Cyprian is stronger
than the heaviest drunken sleep. He caused a sword to drop on a metal
shield below; it waked--this is a miracle in which I believe, for no
mortal could accomplish it--it waked one of the sleepers. Under cover
of the darkness most of the men succeeded in escaping; Diogenes came
back, too--with three wounds in his face and neck, minus the little
finger of his sword-hand, and without a single piece of useful
information.

                           *   *   *   *   *

The Goddess Tyche is blowing badly. The Vandal fleet has not yet run
into Carthage to its destruction.

                           *   *   *   *   *

The Tyrant seems to have roused his army from its stupor. Our outposts,
horsemen whom we send forth around the city, report: "Vast clouds of
dust are rising in the southwest, which can be caused only by an
approaching army."

                           *   *   *   *   *

No Zazo. Has he, in spite of the capture of that letter, received
warning and chosen another landing-place? The Vandals were undoubtedly
hidden in that cloud of dust. Our Herulians have captured a few
peasants; we have already perceived in this almost liberated Africa
that the peasants must be captured by their deliverers, if we wish to
get sight of them. They seek refuge with the Barbarians from liberty.
The prisoners say that the King himself is marching against us. He
ordered a Vandal noble who had stolen a colonist's wife to be hanged on
the high door of the colonist's house. And this nobleman's
shieldbearer, who had taken two of the colonist's geese, to be hanged
on the low stable door, beside his master. Strange, is it not? But it
pleases the peasants. "Equalizing justice," Aristoteles calls it. This
wonderful Vandal hero must surely have studied philosophy, as well as
the art of throwing spears.

Belisarius has sent an urgent warning to Constantinople concerning the
long-delayed pay of the Huns. They are growing troublesome. It is now
six months since we left the city; December has come. Desert storms
sweep over Carthage to the leaden-hued sea, which long since lost its
beautiful blue. The Huns are threatening to leave the service. They
excuse their pillaging on the ground that the citizens of Carthage and
the peasants will trust neither them nor the Emperor (in which they are
not wrong). We cannot pay with money lying in Constantinople, they say.
To-day a ship arrived from there, but did not bring a single solidus in
money. There were, however, thirty tax-collectors, and a command to
send the first taxes from the conquered province.

                           *   *   *   *   *

If King Gelimer hangs, we hang too. But we hang Romans, not Vandals.
The resentment against us is no longer confined to the peasants. It is
seething in Carthage, under our own eyes. The common people, the
tradesmen and the smaller merchants especially, who did not feel the
oppression of the Barbarians as heavily as the wealthy Senators, are
growing rebellious. A conspiracy has been discovered. Gelimer's army is
not far from the western, the Numidian gate. His horsemen range at
night as far as the walls of the suburb of Aklas. The Vandals were to
be admitted under cover of the darkness through the gaps still
remaining in the walls of the lower city. Belisarius ordered two
Carthaginian citizens convicted of this agreement, Laurus and Victor,
to be hanged on the hill outside of the Numidian gate. Belisarius likes
hills for his gallows. Then the General's administration of justice can
be seen for a long distance swaying in the wind. But Belisarius does
not dare to leave the city with the army while the Carthaginians are in
such a mood. At least the walls must first be repaired. The citizens
are now compelled to work on them at night too; it is making them very
discontented.

                           *   *   *   *   *

No Zazo! and the Huns are on the brink of open mutiny. They declare
that they will not fight in the next battle; that they have had no pay
yet, and that they have been lured here across the sea, contrary to the
agreement for military service. They are afraid that, after the defeat
of the Vandals, they will be left here to do garrison duty, and never
be taken home. Belisarius has already looked for a more spacious hill,
but has not found one that would be large enough. There are too many of
them. And the rest of us are, on the whole, too few. Besides, they are
among our best troops. So the General invited their leaders (the order
to hang them was written yesterday) to dine with him to-day. This is
the greatest honor and pleasure to them; unfortunately it is much less
pleasant to the regular guests of Belisarius. He praised them, and
offered them wine. Soon all were drunk and perfectly content.

                           *   *   *   *   *

They have slept off their carouse, and now are more dissatisfied than
ever,--thirstier too. We have an ample supply of wine, but, during the
last three hours, no water. The Vandals have cut the magnificent
aqueduct outside the Numidian gate. The Huns can do without it, easily;
but not we, the horses, the camels, and the Carthaginians. So the King
will thus force a decisive battle in the field. He cannot surround the
city, as we control the sea. He cannot storm it, since at last the
fortifications are completed according to Belisarius's plan. He
desires, he seeks a battle in the open field. His confidence, or that
of his "stupefied army," must have returned mightily since that
sorrowful letter.

Belisarius has no choice; he will lead us out early to-morrow morning
to meet the foe. He is anxious lest the Huns may secretly harbor some
evil design, and has charged Fara to keep a sharp watch upon them. If
the battle should waver, the Huns will waver too. Then we shall see in
the van a conflict between Byzantines and Vandals, and in the rear a
struggle between Herulians and Huns. That may become exciting. But this
very suspense, this charm of danger, attracted me to Belisarius's
service, drew me to his camp. Better a Vandal arrow in my brain than
the philosophy over which I had studied myself ill.--To-morrow!



                               CHAPTER XI

The following day, after again inspecting the restored fortifications
of Carthage, and finding them sufficiently strong to receive, in case
of necessity, his defeated army and defy a siege, Belisarius sent all
the cavalry, except five hundred picked Illyrians, out of the gates to
meet the foe. To Althias the Thracian he assigned the chosen body of
shield-bearers with the imperial banner. They were not to shun, but
rather invite a skirmish with the outposts. He himself was to follow
the next day with the main body of the infantry and the five hundred
Illyrian horsemen. Only the few soldiers absolutely required to guard
the gates, towers, and walls remained in the city.

At Trikameron, about seventeen Roman miles--seventeen thousand
paces--west of Carthage, Althias met the foe.

The front ranks of both troops exchanged a few arrow-shots, and
returned to their armies with the report. The Byzantines pitched
their camp where they stood. Not far from them blazed the numerous
watch-fires of the Vandals. A narrow brook ran between the two
positions. The whole region was flat and treeless, with the exception
of one hill of moderate size that rose from the sandy soil very near
the stream on the left wing of the Romans.

Without waiting for Althias's command or permission, Aigan, the
principal leader of the Huns, dashed up the hill as soon as he heard
that the men were to encamp here to-day and fight on the morrow. The
other leaders and their bands darted after him with the speed of an
arrow. He sent a message to Althias that the Huns would spend the night
on the hill, and take their position the next day. Althias avoided
forbidding what he could not prevent without bloodshed. But the hill
dominated the surrounding neighborhood.

At a late hour of the night, the chieftains of the Huns met on the top
of the hill.

"Is there no spy near?" asked Aigan. "This Herulian Prince never leaves
us."

"My lord, I obeyed your commands. Seventy Huns are lying on guard in a
circle around our station; not a bird can fly over them unnoticed."

"What shall we do to-morrow?" asked a third, leaning against his
horse's shoulder and patting its shaggy mane. "I no longer trust the
word of Belisarius. He is deceiving us."

"Belisarius is not deceiving us. His master is deluding _him_."

"I saw a strange sign," the second leader began anxiously. "Just as
darkness closed in, little blue flames danced upon the points of the
Romans' spears. What does that mean?"

"It means victory," cried the third, greatly excited. "There is a
tradition in our tribe, my great-grandfather saw it himself, and it was
transmitted from generation to generation, before the terrible day in
Gaul when the scourge of the great Attila broke."

"Atta in the clouds, great Atta, be gracious to us," murmured all
three, bowing low toward the east.

"My ancestor was on guard duty one dark night beside a rushing stream.
On the opposite shore two men, with spears on their shoulders, were
riding to examine the neighborhood. My great-grandfather and his
companions slipped among the tall rushes and bent their bows, which
never failed. They took aim. 'Look, Ætius,' cried one, 'your spear is
shining.' 'And yours too, King of the Visigoths,' replied the other.
Our ancestors looked up, and, in truth, blue flames were dancing around
the spears of the enemy. Our people fled in terror, not daring to shoot
those whom the gods protected. And the day after Atta--"

"Atta, Atta, be not angry with us!" they again whispered, gazing in
terror up at the clouds.

"What then meant victory to the Germans and misfortune to their foes,"
replied Aigan, distrustfully, "may have the same meaning now. We will
wait. Wherever victory turns, we will turn too; that is why I chose
this hill for our station. From here we can see clearly the whole
course of the battle. Either straight across the brook on the Vandals'
left flank--"

"Or to the right on the Romans' centre--like a whirlwind!"

"I would rather plunder the Vandals' camp. It is said to be very rich
in yellow gold."

"And in white-bosomed women."

"But all Carthage has more gold than the Vandal Prince in his tent."

"But the best part is, the decision will probably come before the Lion
of the Romans arrives."

"You are right: I would not willingly spur my horse against the
wrathful lightning of his eyes."

"Patience. Wait quietly. Wherever I send an arrow, we will rush; and
Atta will hover, high in the air, above his children."

Removing his helmet of thick black sheepskin, he threw it upward,
singing softly:

                 "Atta, Atta, booty grant us,
                  Booty to thy much-loved children,
                  Yellow gold and shining silver,
                  And the red blood of the vineyard,
                  And the foeman's fairest women."

All, with bared heads, repeated the words in the deepest, most fervent
reverence. Then Aigan replaced his helmet:

"Silence! Let us separate."



                              CHAPTER XII

In the Vandal camp on the left bank of the stream, Genseric's great
banner floated from the royal tent, its folds often lifted by the night
wind, rustling softly in the warm, dark air. In a somewhat lower tent,
close beside the King's, Gibamund and Hilda sat silent, hand in hand,
upon a couch. The table before them was covered with Gibamund's
weapons; the lamp hanging from the roof cast a dim light upon them,
which was reflected by the polished metal. Beside these bright arms lay
a dark dagger with a beautiful hilt in a black leather sheath, all of
very artistic work.

"It was hard for me," said Gibamund, starting up impatiently, "to
obey the King's order and take command in the camp to-day until his
return,--the suspense, the expectation is so great."

"Yes, if the Moors should fail us! How many are there, did you say?"

"Twelve thousand. They ought to have arrived the day before yesterday,
if they had hastened here from the camp at Bulla, according to the
agreement. The King sent messenger after messenger, urging haste,
in vain. At last, full of impatience, he himself rode along the
Numidian road to meet them. For if twelve thousand infantry fail us
to-morrow,--they were to form our whole left wing,--our position will
be--hark! that is the horn of the camp-guard. The King must have
returned. Let me ask."

But already footsteps and the clank of weapons were heard close at
hand; the husband and wife, springing up, hurried to the entrance of
the tent. The curtains were drawn back from the outside, and before
them, the helmet on his lofty head, stood Zazo.

"You, brother?"

"You back again, Zazo! Oh, now all is well!"

Graver, quieter than usual, but resolute and calm, the strong warrior
stood between the two who clung to him, pressing his hands. It was a
joy, a consolation, to look at the erect, steadfast man.

"All is not well, my sweet sister-in-law," he answered sadly though
firmly. "Alas for Ammata, and the whole day of Decimum! I do not
understand it," he added, shaking his head, "but much may yet be
retrieved."

"Whence came you so suddenly? Have you seen Gelimer?"

"He will be here soon. He promised me. He is still praying in his tent,
with Verus."

"You are from--?"

"Sardinia, direct. A letter from the King, sent by Verus, urging me to
a speedy return and warning me not to enter the harbor of Carthage, did
not reach me. But a second, despatched by my brother himself, brought
the whole tale of disaster. I landed at the point named, and marched to
Bulla to meet the Moorish mercenaries and lead them here. I reached
Bulla and found--" He stamped his foot.

"Well, what?"

"The empty camp."

"Had the Moors started to come here?"

"They have scattered, the whole twelve thousand, into the desert."

"For God's sake--"

"The traitors!"

"Not traitors. They sent the money back to the King. Cabaon, their
prophet and chief, warned them, forbade them to take part in this
battle. All obeyed. Only a few hundred men from the Pappua Mountains--"

"They are bound by the ties of hospitality to Gelimer, to the whole
Asding race."

"--accompanied us, led by Sersaon, their chief."

"This destroys the King's whole plan for to-morrow's battle."

"Well," said Zazo, quietly, "to make amends he has unexpectedly
received my troops. Not quite five thousand, but--"

"But you are their leader," cried Gibamund.

"He met on the Numidian road, first, the messengers I had sent in
advance, then me and my little army. What a sorrowful hour! How I had
rejoiced over my victory! But now Gelimer's tears flowed fast as he lay
on my breast, and I myself--Oh, Ammata! Yet, no, we must remain firm,
calm, and manly, ay, hard; for this King is far too soft-hearted."

"Yet he has recovered himself since the battle of Decimum," said
Gibamund. "At that time he was utterly crushed."

"Yes," cried Hilda, resentfully, "more than a man should permit himself
to be."

"I loved Ammata scarcely less than he," replied Zazo, and his lips
quivered. "But to let certain victory escape him merely to mourn for,
to bury the boy--"

"You would not have done so, my Zazo," said a gentle voice.

Gelimer had entered. He uttered the words very quietly; the others
turned, startled.

"Your censure is just," he added. "But I saw in this dispensation--he
was the first Vandal who fell in the war--a judgment of God. If the
most innocent of us all must die, God's punishment for the iniquity of
the fathers rests upon us all."

Zazo shook his head angrily and set his buffalo helmet on the table so
heavily that it rattled. "Brother, brother! This gloomy, brooding
delusion may destroy you and your whole people. I am not learned enough
to argue with you. But I, too, am a Christian, a devout one,--no pagan
like beautiful Hilda yonder, and I tell you--No, let me finish. How
that terrible verse concerning God's vengeance is to be interpreted I
do not know. It troubles me very little. But this I do know: if our
kingdom fall, it will fall not on account of the sins of our ancestors,
but of our own. The iniquity of the fathers--of course it, too, will be
avenged. Vices and disease are also hereditary. Enfeebled themselves,
they have begotten a feeble generation. They have bequeathed to their
children their love of pleasure and fostered it in them. And the
iniquity of the fathers is also avenged upon us in other ways, but
without any miracle of the saints. That the Catholics, tortured for
years, turned to the Emperor against us; that the Ostrogoths aid our
foes, are certainly punishments for the iniquity of our fathers. But
God needs to work no miracle for that; indeed, he would be compelled to
work a miracle to prevent it. And Ammata--is he innocent? Against your
command he dashed recklessly into the battle. And Thrasaric? Instead of
leaving the disobedient boy to his fate, according to his duty as
General, and not attacking until Gibamund was at hand, he followed only
the ardent desire of his heart to save your darling. And--"

He hesitated.

"And the King?" Gelimer went on. "Instead of doing his duty, he
succumbs at the sight of the dead. But that is the curse, the vengeance
of the Lord."

"No," replied Zazo. "This, too, is no miracle. This is because you,
also, O brother, are no longer a true Vandal; I have said so before.
You are absorbed,--not like the people, in luxury and pleasure,--but in
brooding. And again it is a consequence of the misdeed of the father;
if you had not when a boy witnessed that horrible scene of torture--But
it is useless to ask how the past is to blame for the present; the aim
should be to do our duty to-day, to-morrow, every day, firmly,
faithfully, and without brooding. Then we shall conquer, and that will
be well; or we shall fall like men, and that, too, is no evil thing. We
can do no more than our duty. And the dear Lord in Heaven will deal
with our souls according to His mercy. I am not anxious about mine, if
I fall in battle for my people."

"Oh," cried Hilda, joyously, "that does one good. It is like the fresh
north wind scattering the sultry mists."

Sorrowfully but with no reproach in his tone, Gelimer answered: "Yes,
the sound man cannot understand why the sick man does not sing and
leap. I _must_ 'brood,' as you call it; I cannot do otherwise. Yet
often I think my way through. Often I, too, in my way, break through
the mists. So now, by fervent prayer, I have again won my way to the
old strong consolation. Verus, my confessor, knows these conflicts and
the cause of my victory: right is on my side. I am not a usurper, as
the Emperor falsely calls me. Hilderic, the assassin, was justly
deposed. No guilt cleaves to me; I have done Hilderic no wrong; the
Emperor has no injustice to avenge on me. This is my stay, my support,
and my staff.--Ah, Verus, we never hear you enter."

Zazo measured the priest with a hostile glance.

"I came to summon you, O King. There are still some written orders to
prepare. Besides, I was to remind you of the prisoners."

"Oh, yes. Listen, Zazo; give the consent I have so long asked. Let me
release Hilderic and Euages."

"By no means," cried Zazo, striding up and down the narrow tent. "On no
account. Least of all on the eve of a decisive battle. Shall Belisarius
replace him on the throne of Carthage after we have fallen? Or shall
he, after we have conquered, be kept continually at the court of
Constantinople as a living pretext for attacking us again? Off with the
murderers' heads! Where are they?"

"Here in the camp, in safe keeping."

"And the hostages?"

"They were--Pudentius's son among them--confined in Decimum," Verus
answered. "After the lost battle, they were freed by the victors."

"That might be repeated to-morrow," cried Zazo, angrily. "Amid the
tumult of conflict, the foe might easily, for a short time, enter this
open camp. I entreat, my King--"

"So be it," interrupted the latter, and turning to Verus he ordered:
"Have Hilderic and Euages taken away."

"Where?"

"To some safe place where no Byzantine can liberate them."

Verus bowed and hurriedly left the tent.

"I will follow you," the King called after him. "Do not judge me too
sternly in your hearts, you thoroughly healthy people," he now added in
a gentle voice, turning to the others. "I am a tree blasted by the
lightning. But to-morrow," he went on, drawing himself up to his full
height, "to-morrow, I hope, you shall be satisfied with me. Even you,
Hilda! Send me your little harp; I believe you will not regret it."

Hilda brought the instrument from a corner of the tent. "Here! But you
know," she said, smiling, "its strings will break if any one tries to
play on them an accompaniment to Latin verses of penitential hymns."

"They will not break. Good-night."

The King left the tent.

"I think I have seen that harp of plain black wood in some other hand.
Where was it?" asked Zazo. "In Ravenna, was it not?"

Hilda nodded. "My friend Teja, my teacher on the harp and in the use of
arms, bestowed it on me as a wedding gift. And his noble, faithful
heart has not forgotten me. In my happiness he made no sign. But now--"

"Well?" asked Zazo.

"As soon as the first news of our defeat at Decimum reached Ravenna,"
said Gibamund, "brave Ostrogoths, the old instructor in the use of
arms, Teja, and several others, wished to come to our assistance with a
body of volunteers; for it was rumored that I had fallen. Probably the
mistake arose through the death of Ammata. The Regent strictly forbade
it. Then Teja sent to my widow, as he supposed, this magnificent dagger
of dark metal."

"The workmanship is exquisite," said Zazo, drawing out the blade and
examining it. "What a superb weapon!"

"And he forged it himself," cried Hilda, eagerly. "Look here; his
housemark on the hilt."

"And on the blade a motto inscribed in runes," added Zazo, stepping
under the lamp: "'The dead are free.' H'm, a stern consolation. But not
too stern for Hilda. Keep this carefully."

"Yes," replied Hilda, quietly. "The dagger in my girdle, and the
consolation in my thoughts."

"But not too soon, Hilda," said Zazo, in a tone of warning, as he left
the tent.

"Have no fear," she answered, throwing both arms around her husband;
"it is the consolation and weapon of the _widow_."



                              CHAPTER XIII

At sunrise the next morning the long-drawn notes of the horns aroused
the sleeping camp of the Vandals.

Concealed from the eyes of the Romans by the first row of tents, the
Barbarians' army was formed in order for battle within its own camp.
The leaders had received written orders the evening before concerning
their positions, and now executed them without confusion. A breakfast
of bread and wine was served to the men wherever they stood or lay. The
camp was a large one, narrow but very long, following the course of the
little stream. Besides the soldiers, it had been compelled to shelter
many women, children, and old men who had fled from Carthage and other
districts occupied or threatened by the foe.

Now the blare of trumpets summoned the subordinate officers and the
leaders of the thousands to the centre of the camp, where the King and
his two brothers, mounted on their chargers, were in the midst of a
large open space. With them, leaning against the shoulder of her
splendid stallion, stood Hilda, a muffled spear-shaft in her hand;
beside her, in full priestly insignia, Verus sat on horseback. Outside
the leaders were massed the men with whom Zazo had reconquered
Sardinia.

Again the blare of the trumpets echoed through the streets of tents,
then Zazo rode a few paces forward. Thundering cheers greeted him. In
loud, clear tones he began: "Listen, army of the Vandals. We shall
fight to-day, not for victory alone; we are struggling for all we are
and have,--the kingdom of Genseric and its renown, the wives and
children in yonder tents, who will become slaves if we yield. To-day we
must look death and the enemy closely in the eye. The King has
commanded that this battle is to be fought by the Vandals with the
sword only, not with bow and arrow, not with lance and spear. Look, I
cast my own spear from me; you will do the same; with sword in hand,
press close to the body of the foe." He dropped his lance; all the
soldiers followed his example. "One spear alone," he added, "will tower
aloft to-day in the Vandal army,--this."

Hilda stepped forward. Taking the shaft from her hand, he tore off the
cover and waved high aloft a floating scarlet banner.

"Genseric's flag! Genseric's conquering dragon!" shouted thousands of
voices.

"Follow this standard wherever it calls you. Do not let it fall into
the hands of the enemy. Swear to follow it unto death."

"Unto death!" came the answer in solemn tones.

"That is well. I believe you. Vandals. Now listen to your King. You
know that he has the gift of song and harp-playing. He has planned the
order of battle wisely, skilfully; he has also composed the battle-song
which is to sweep you into the conflict."

Then Gelimer, throwing back his long purple mantle, raised
Hilda's--Teja's--dark triangular harp, and, to the accompaniment of its
clear notes, sang:--

           "On, on, Vandals brave,
            Forward to battle!
            Follow the standard,
            The fame-heralded
            Consort of Victory.

           "Dash on the foemen!
            Strive with and strike them,
            Breast 'gainst breast pressing,
            In close combat down!

           "Guard ye, O Vandals,
            The heritage noble
            Of ancestors stainless,
            Our kingdom and fame!

           "Vengeance is preparing
            High in the heavens
            The avenger of right:
            God crown with victory
            The cause that is just."

"God crown with victory the cause that is just!" repeated the warriors,
in an exulting shout, and dispersed through the streets of the camp.

The King and his brothers now dismounted from their horses, to hold
another short council and to drink the wine which Hilda herself offered
to them. Just at that moment, as Gelimer gave back the harp to Hilda, a
strange figure pressed through the dispersing ranks; the King and the
Princes gazed at it in astonishment. A tall man clad from head to
ankles in a gown of camel's hair, fastened around the loins, not by a
rope, but by a girdle of thick braided strands of a woman's light-brown
tresses; no sandals protected the bare feet, no covering the closely
shaven head. The cheeks were sunken; glowing eyes sparkled from deep
sockets. Throwing himself before the King, he raised both hands
imploringly.

"By Heaven! I know you, man," said Gelimer.

"Yes," cried Gibamund, "it is--"

"Thrasabad, Thrasaric's brother," added Zazo.

"The vanished nobleman whom we have long believed dead," said Hilda,
with a timid glance at him, drawing nearer.

"Yes, Thrasabad," replied a hollow voice, "the miserable Thrasabad. I
am a murderer, her murderer. King, judge me!"

Gelimer bent forward, took his right hand, and raised him.

"Not the Greek girl's murderer. I have heard the whole story from your
brother."

"No matter; her blood rests on my soul. I felt that as I saw it flow.
Lifting the beautiful body on a horse that very night, I dashed away
with it from the eyes of men. Away, always deeper into the desert, till
the horse fell. Then, with these hands, I buried her in a sand ravine
not far from here. Her wonderfully beautiful hair I cut off; how often
I have stroked and caressed it! And I prayed and did penance
ceaselessly beside her grave. Pious desert monks found me there,
watching and fasting, almost dead. And I confessed to them my heavy
sin. They promised God's forgiveness if, as one of their brotherhood, I
would do penance beside that grave forever. I took the vows. They gave
me the dress of their order; I wound Glauke's hair around it to remind
me always of my sin; and they brought me food in the lonely ravine. But
since I heard of the day of Decimum and my brother's death; since the
decisive conflict drew nearer and nearer; since you and the enemy
pitched your camp close beside my hiding-place; since, two days ago, I
heard the war horns of my people,--I have had no peace in my idle
praying! Once I wielded the sword not badly. My whole heart yearned to
follow once more, for the last time, the call of the battle trumpets.
Alas! I dared not; I knew I was not worthy. But last night, in a dream,
_she_ appeared to me,--her human beauty transfigured into an angel's
radiant loveliness, no longer any trace of earth about her; and she
said: 'Go to your brothers-in-arms, ask for a sword, and fight and fall
for your people. That will be the best atonement.' Oh, believe me, my
King! I do not lie with the name of that saint on my lips. If you can
forgive me for her sake--oh, let me--"

Zazo stepped forward, drew the sword from the sheath of one of his own
warriors, and gave it to the monk. "Here, Thrasabad, son of Thrasamer!
I will answer for it to the King. Do you see? He, too, is nodding to
you. Take this sword and go with my men. You will probably need no
scabbard. Now, King Gelimer, let the horns bray. Forward! at the foe!"



                              CHAPTER XIV

The King, with a keen eye of a general, had seen that the crisis of the
battle would be decided in the centre of the two armies, where on the
southwest at the left, and on the northeast at the right of the little
stream, rose a succession of low hills. Besides, deserters from the
Huns had reported that in the next encounter these troops would either
not fight at all, or take a very inactive part; therefore Gelimer
expected from the right Roman wing no peril to his own left flank. He
stationed the right wing of the Vandal troops tolerably far back, so
that the enemy would have to march a considerable distance to reach it.
Perhaps by that time the centre might already have won the victory, and
thereby obtained the accession of the Huns.

So the King placed the best strength of his troops in the centre. By
far the larger portion consisted of cavalry; there was a small force of
infantry, Zazo's warriors, numbering nearly five thousand; here, too,
he had posted Gibamund with his faithful two hundred men; here were the
two Gundings and their numerous kinsmen, with boar helmets and boar
shields, like their leaders; here he himself took his station with a
large body of cavalry, to which he added the few faithful Moors from
the Pappua Mountains under their young chief, Sersaon. The command of
the two wings he had intrusted to two other noblemen. Before the
beginning of the battle and during its course, Gelimer dashed in person
on a swift horse everywhere through the ranks, rousing and stimulating
the courage of his men.

The conflict began as the King had planned, by a total surprise of the
foe. Just at the time the Byzantines were busied in preparing the
morning meal, Gelimer suddenly led the centre of his army from behind
the shelter of the row of tents to the left bank of the marshy little
brook. This stream was so small that it had no name, yet it never dried
up. And the left bank occupied by the Vandals was higher than the
right. Belisarius was not yet on the ground, but his subordinate
officers arranged their men as well as they could in their haste, where
each division happened to be standing or lying. The right Roman wing on
the hill consisted of the Huns, who did not move. Next to them,
according to secret orders, stood Fara with the Herulians, watching
these doubtful allies. Then followed, in the centre, Althias the
Thracian and Johannes the Armenian, with their picked troops of their
fellow-countrymen, and the shield and lance bearers of Belisarius's
bodyguard. Here gleamed the imperial standard, the _vexillum
prætorium_, the flag of the General, Belisarius. The left Roman wing
was formed of the other auxiliary troops except the Huns. The
Byzantines, too, had perceived that the victory would be decided in the
centre of the two armies. When Gibamund, on his white charger, led his
men forward, Hilda on her splendid stallion rode at his side. By her
husband's wish she had protected her beautiful head with a light
helmet, on which rose two white falcon wings; her bright golden locks
flowed over her white mantle. He had also pressed upon her a small,
shining shield, with a light silvery hue. Her white lower robe was
girdled with the black belt which supported the sheath of Teja's
dagger; but she had refused a breastplate on account of its weight.

"You will not let me fight with you or even ride by your side," she
complained.

Already the Byzantines' arrows were flying over the Vandals and
striking among Gibamund's men.

"Halt, love," he commanded, "go no farther! Not within reach of the
arrows! Wait here, on this little hill. I will leave ten men as a
guard. From this spot you can see a long distance. Watch the white
heron's wings on my helmet, and the dragon banner. I shall follow it."
A clasp of the hand; Gibamund dashed forward; Hilda quietly checked the
docile horse. Her face was very pale.

The first encounter came at once.

Johannes the Armenian, one of Belisarius's best leaders, pressed with
his countrymen through the stream, which reached only to their knees,
and rushed out of it up the steeper Vandal shore. He was instantly
hurled back. Zazo, with his foremost warriors, darted upon him with the
weight with which a bird of prey strikes small game. Down the slope,
into the midst of the stream, whose water was soon dyed red, and up the
opposite bank, swept the Vandal pursuit. Hilda saw it plainly from her
station. "Oh, at last, at last," she cried, "a breath of victory!"

But Zazo followed no farther. He prudently led his men back to the left
bank of the stream. "We will pitch them down here again," he said,
laughing; "we will profit once more by our position on the height."

The Armenians bore their brave leader away with them in their flight.
Johannes, who had received through his shield a wound in the arm from
Zazo's sword, said grimly to Marcellus, the commander of the bodyguard:
"The devil has got into the cowards of Decimum. It confuses my spearmen
to have them fight solely with the sword. The Barbarians thrust the
long spears to the right, run under them, and cut the men down. And
this fellow with the buffalo helm actually butts like a mountain bull.
Give me your shield-bearers; I will try again."

With the shield-bearers, led by Martinus, the Armenians renewed the
attack. Not an arrow, not a spear, flew to meet them; but as soon as
they began to climb the Vandal shore, the Germans dashed down on them
with the sword in a hand-to-hand conflict. Martinus fell by Gibamund's
sword. Then the shield-bearers fled; the Armenians hesitated, wavered,
fell into confusion, finally they, too, fled, pursued by the Vandals.

           "Dash on the foemen!
            Strive with and strike them
            Down in close combat!"

rose in a roar from Zazo's troops, whom the latter again led to the
left shore.

"They must repeatedly see the backs of the dreaded Byzantines before
they have the courage to defeat them entirely," he said to Gibamund,
who urged pursuit. "And where is Belisarius?"

The latter, with his five hundred horsemen, had reached the centre from
Carthage just in time to see the flight of his men. When he learned
that this was the second attack which had been repulsed, he ordered all
his bodyguard, men trained to fight on foot as well as on horseback, to
dismount and advance with Althias's Thracians for the third assault.
His own special standard, the "General's banner," he commanded to be
borne before them.

It was a mighty, a menacing spectacle. The tuba of the Romans blared to
greet the standard of the commanding General. The Byzantines, in firmly
closed ranks, advanced like a moving wall of bronze, their long lances
levelled. Zazo saw that his men hesitated. "Forward! Cross the stream!
On to the attack!"

He dashed on in advance of his troops. But he soon perceived that only
a very few--the Gundings and their boar-helmeted kinsmen--were
following. "Forward!" he commanded again. But the Vandals delayed. They
felt that the rush down from the height had made their success far
easier; they did not wish to leave the vantage-ground, and--they had
seen Belisarius in the distance. The ranks of levelled lances,
terrible, threatening, drew nearer and nearer.

"If we only had our spears!" cried voices in the ranks behind him. The
Byzantines had already reached the stream; now they were wading through
the marshy rivulet,--yet the Vandals on the heights did not obey the
command to charge.

"You _will_ not cross?" cried Zazo, furiously. "Then you _must_!" With
these words he tore Genseric's dragon banner from the hand of the
horseman at his right and shouting: "Bring back the standard and your
honor!" he hurled it with all his strength across the stream into the
midst of the Byzantines. Loud cries rose from friends and enemies.

One of the Byzantines instantly snatched the banner from the ground,
raised it aloft, and was hurrying with it to Belisarius. But he did not
go far. For when they saw the treasure of the kingdom in the hands of
the foe, all the Vandals, on horseback and on foot, following their
nobles, rushed down the slope into the stream and the midst of
the enemy. By Zazo's side, on a powerful stallion, rode a strange
figure,--a monk without helmet, shield, or breastplate; he wore a gray
cowl and carried a sword. Breaking a passage through the hostile ranks,
he reached the captor of the scarlet banner, tore it from his hand,
and, with a single sword-stroke, cleft helmet and skull. It was
Valerianus, the commander of the lance-bearers.

The victor swung the rescued standard high aloft, and instantly fell
from his horse, pierced by five lances. But Gundobad, the Gunding,
raised the banner from the hand of the sinking figure.

"Here, to the rescue," he shouted, "kinsmen of the Gundings! Here, you
boars!"

Immediately his brother and the whole troop of boar helms gathered
around him; the banner and its bearer were cut out for the moment. The
ranks of the foe nearest to the Vandal banner wavered, yielded.

"Victory!" shouted the Vandals, pressing boldly forward, singing,--

           "Forward to battle!
            Follow the standard,
            The fame-heralded
            Consort of victory."

They struck their sword-blades on their shields till the sound echoed
far and wide.

"Victory!" cried Hilda, exultantly, as she witnessed the whole
magnificent spectacle.



                               CHAPTER XV

Belisarius also witnessed it from his station on the hill. "Fly," he
cried to Procopius; "fly to Fara and the Herulians! They must swing to
the left and take those red rags."

"And the Huns?" asked Procopius under his breath. "Look yonder; they
are riding slowly forward, but not westward, not against the Vandals."

"Obey! This German war dance around the red banner must first be put to
a bloody end, or their Teutonic battle fiend will take possession of
them, and then all is over. My face alone will keep the Huns in check,
should there be need of it."

Meanwhile the dragon banner had again changed bearers. All the lances
and arrows were aimed at the dangerous emblem, visible far and wide.
Gundobad's horse fell; its rider did not rise again. But his brother
Gundomar took the standard from the dying noble's hand and ran the
point of its shaft into the throat of Cyprianus, the second leader of
the Thracians, whose battle-axe had cleft Gundobad's helmet and head as
he tried to spring up from his dead charger.

Hilda had seen the red banner disappear for a moment, and anxiously
gave her stallion a light blow with her hand. The fiery animal shot
forward in frantic haste; not until she reached the edge of the stream
could the Princess draw rein. Her companions gained the new position
much later.

Althias now reached the second Gunding. Unequal, unfavorable to every
bearer of the standard was the conflict. His left hand, holding the
bridle and the heavy standard, could not use the shield, and this
burden also impeded very considerably the action of his right arm in
defence. After a short struggle Gundomar, transfixed by the Thracian's
spear, sank from his horse. But Gibamund was already on the spot, and
Zazo, dashing close behind him, no sooner saw the standard safe in his
brother's hand than he shouted, "Belisarius has a banner too."

Turning swiftly to the left, by the mere weight of his horse he burst
through a rank of the Thracians, reached Belisarius's bodyguard, who
bore the gold-embroidered standard, and, with a sword-stroke through
the front of the helmet into his brow, felled him. The Roman General's
banner sank, while Gibamund, surrounded and protected by his band of
picked warriors, waved the scarlet dragon standard high in the air.

Hilda saw it distinctly. Involuntarily she obeyed the impulse to go
forward after the victory. The stallion, yielding to the lightest
movement, bore her across the stream, whose water barely wet the edge
of her long white robe. She was on the other side. She was pursuing
victory. Before her, a little to the left, she already saw Gelimer and
his troops; the whole Vandal centre was advancing. It was the crisis,
the turning-point of the battle.

Again Althias tried to force his way through the Vandal ranks to
Gibamund himself; he had almost reached him, and they had exchanged two
whizzing sword-strokes, which made the sparks fly from their blades,
when from the left cries of grief and rage fell on the Thracian's ear
from the Byzantines. He turned, and saw his General's banner sink.

This was the second time; for Zazo had already struck down the second
man who bore it. The victor was stretching his hand toward the shaft,
which no third man seemed inclined to lift.

Just at that moment, close at hand on the right, German horns sounded
in Zazo's ears. The Herulians, dashing on their snorting horses upon
the Vandals' flank, broke through several of their ranks to their
leader.

A spear--well aimed, for Fara had hurled it--shattered the buffalo helm
on the hero's head. He could no longer think of Belisarius's banner. He
was obliged to consider his own safety.

"Help, brother Gelimer!" he shouted.

"I am here, brother Zazo," rang the answer. For the King was already at
hand. Slowly following the advance of the brothers, he had led his
Vandals and Moors nearer and nearer, and noticed the second charge and
the moment of peril.

"Forward! Cut Zazo out," he shouted, dashing upon the Herulians at the
head of his men. A warrior sprang to meet him, clutched the bridle of
the cream-colored charger with his left hand, and aimed his spear with
the right. Before it flew, Gelimer's sword had pierced the Herulian's
throat. Hilda saw it; for, as if irresistibly attracted by the battle,
she rode nearer and nearer.

Just at this moment she perceived Verus in full priestly robes,
unarmed, dash past her straight to the King. It was no easy task to
force a passage to his side through the Moors and Vandals. Gelimer
struck down a second spear-man, a third. Already he was close to Zazo.
The charge of his Vandals now came full upon the Herulians. The latter
did not yield, but they no longer gained a foot of ground. As two
wrestlers, with arms interlocked, each unable to move the other from
the spot, measure equal strength, the German warriors surged to and
fro. Victory hung in the balance.

"Where are the foot-soldiers?" asked Belisarius, glancing anxiously
toward the distant heights where the Numidian road extended toward
Carthage.

"I have sent out three messengers," answered Procopius. "There! The
Thracians are yielding! The Armenians are falling back! The Herulians
are now pressed by greatly superior numbers."

"Forward, Illyrians, save the battle for me. Belisarius himself will
lead you--"

And with a loud blare of trumpets, the General dashed down the hill to
the aid of the Herulians. Gelimer heard the flourish, saw the charge,
and summoned reinforcements from the rearguard.

"There," he shouted, pointing with his sword, "and join me in the
battle-song,

           "Vengeance is preparing
            The avenger of right."

"You here, Verus? What news do you bring? Your face is--"

"O King!" cried the priest, "what blood-guiltiness!"

"What has happened?"

"The messenger I sent to the prisoners--one of my
freedmen--misunderstood your words: 'Have them taken away, where no one
can free them.'"

"Well?"

"He has--he reported it to me, and fled when he saw my wrath."

"Well, what is it?"

"He has--killed Hilderic and Euages."

"Omniscient God!" cried the King, paling. "That was not my wish."

"But still more," Verus went on.

"Help, Gelimer!" Zazo's voice shouted from the densest ranks of the
conflict.

Belisarius and his Illyrians had now reached him. Gibamund was by his
side. Gelimer also spurred his horse.

But Verus grasped his bridle, shouting in his ear: "The letter, the
warning to Hilderic--I found it just now, wedged between two drawers in
the coffer. Here it is. Hilderic did not lie! He only wished to protect
himself against you. Innocent--he was deposed, imprisoned, slain!"

Gelimer, speechless with horror, stared for a moment into the priest's
stony face; he seemed stupefied. Then the battle-song of his men echoed
in his ears:--

           "Vengeance is preparing
            High in the heavens
            The avenger of right!"

"Woe, woe is me! I am a criminal, a murderer," the King shrieked aloud.
The sword slipped from his grasp. He covered his face with both hands.
A terrible convulsion shook him. He seemed falling from the saddle.
Verus supported him, wheeled the King's horse so that his back was
toward the foe, and gave the animal a blow on the hind quarter with all
his strength. The charger dashed madly away. Sersaon and Markomer, the
leaders of the cavalry, supported the swaying figure on the right and
left.

"Help! help! I am being overcome, brother Gelimer!" Zazo's voice again
rose,--more urgently, nay, despairingly. But it was drowned by the
wild, frantic cries of the Vandals.

"Fly! fly! The King himself has fled! Fly! Save the women, the
children!" And the Vandals, by hundreds, now wheeled their horses and
dashed away toward the stream and the camp.

Then Hilda, now only a few paces from the tumult, saw Zazo's towering
figure disappear. His horse, pierced by a spear, fell; it was bleeding
from more than one wound. But the hero sprang up again.

Fara the Herulian reached him from the left, and cleft his
dragon-shield with his battle-axe. Zazo flung the pieces at the helmet
of the Herulian, stunning him so that he swayed in his saddle. Now
Barbatus, the Illyrian leader, his long lance levelled, pressed upon
Zazo from the right. With his last strength Zazo pushed it aside,
sprang to the right, the shieldless side of the rider, and thrust his
sword into his neck between the helmet and breastplate. Barbatus sank
slowly from the saddle toward the left. But, in springing back, Zazo
had fallen on his knees. Before he could rise, two horsemen with
levelled lances stood before him.

"Help, Gibamund!" called the kneeling Prince, raising his left arm
above his head in place of a shield. He looked around. Everywhere foes,
no Vandal. Yes,--one. Yonder still waved the scarlet banner. "Help,
Gibamund!" he cried.

One of his two assailants fell from his horse. Gibamund was at Zazo's
side. He had struck the man under the shoulder of his upraised arm with
the spear-point of the banner staff. But now Fara, who meanwhile had
recovered from Zazo's blow, dropping his bridle, grasped with his left
hand at the shaft of the scarlet standard. With great difficulty
Gibamund defended himself with his sword against the tremendous blows
the Herulian's right arm dealt with his battle-axe. And already the
other horseman, in front of Zazo, bent a leonine face toward him.

"Yield, brave man. Yield to me. I am Belisarius."

But Zazo shook his head. With failing strength he sprang up, his sword
raised to strike. Then the Roman General drove the point of his spear
with all his force through his breastplate up to the handle.

The dying warrior cast one more glance toward the left. He saw
Gibamund's white horse, covered with blood-stains, falling; he saw the
scarlet banner sink. "Woe betide thee, Vandalia!" he cried, as his eyes
grew dim in death.

"That was indeed a hero," said Belisarius, bending over him. "Where is
Genseric's banner, Fara?"

"Gone!" replied the latter, wrathfully. "Far away. Do you see? It is
already vanishing over there, beyond the stream."

"Who has--?"

"A woman. In a falcon helmet. With a shining white shield. I believe it
was a Valkyria," said the pagan, with a slight shiver of fear. "It
happened so swiftly I scarcely saw it. I had just struck down the young
standard-bearer's horse. Just at that moment a black steed--I never saw
such an animal--plunged against my own horse so that it fell back upon
its haunches. I heard a cry: 'Hilda! I thank you!' At the same moment
the black charger dashed far, far away from me. I think it now carried
two figures! A long fluttering white mantle--or was it swan-wings?--and
above floated the scarlet banner. There, now they are vanishing in that
cloud of dust. 'Hilda!' the German murmured to himself. The name suits
too. Yes, the Valkyria bore him away."

"Forward!" shouted Belisarius. "Follow! Over the stream! There is no
longer a Vandal army. The centre is broken and defeated. Their left
wing--aha, look yonder, our right wing, the faithful Huns--" He laughed
grimly. "Now they are rushing from their hill, hewing down the flying
Barbarians. What heroism! And how they are all struggling to reach the
camp to plunder! Now, at last, our infantry have joined our left wing;
there, too, the Vandals are flying without a struggle. On, to the camp!
Do not let the Huns secure the whole booty. All the gold and silver for
the Emperor, the pearls and precious stones for the Empress! Forward!"



                              CHAPTER XVI

PROCOPIUS TO CETHEGUS:

I have witnessed many a battle, many a conflict of Belisarius,--usually
from a very safe distance,--but never have I seen so strange an
encounter. In this, which decides the fate of the Vandal kingdom, we
have lost in all only forty-nine men, but solely picked warriors, and
among them eight commanders. Fara, Althias, and Johannes,--all three
are wounded. Yet we have not many--perhaps a hundred--wounded men, as
the Vandals fought only with the sword. That yields almost as many
killed as wounded. Most of our dead and wounded may be credited to the
three Asdings, two noblemen in boar helmets, and an apparently crazy
monk. Eight hundred Vandal corpses covered the field, by far the larger
number of these fell during the flight. We have captured, sound and
wounded, about ten thousand men; women and children unnumbered. In our
two wings we did not lose a single warrior, except one Hun whom
Belisarius was unfortunately compelled to hang. He had stuffed pockets,
shoes, hair, and ears with pearls and gems which he picked up in the
Vandal camp, especially in the women's tents, and which our Empress has
honestly earned.

Our pursuit of the Vandals was checked only by our greed. The fallen
and captive Vandals had many ornaments of gold and silver on their
persons, their horses, and themselves; our heroes plundered every one
before passing on. Our horsemen, who reached the camp first, did not
venture, in spite of their longing to pillage, to enter it at once;
they thought it impossible that a force so superior in numbers should
not defend their own camp, their wives and children.

The King is said to have paused a moment as if stupefied; but when
Belisarius with our whole body appeared before the tents, he exclaimed,
"The avenger!" and pursued his flight toward Numidia, attended by a few
relatives, servants, and faithful Moors. Now all the Vandal warriors
who had reached the camp scattered in wild confusion, surrendering
their shrieking children, their weeping wives, their rich possessions,
without a single sword-stroke; and these men are, or were, Germans! It
would be no wonder if Justinian should now try at once to liberate
Italy and Spain from the Goths.

Our men dashed after the fugitives. All the rest of the day and the
whole moonlight night they slaughtered the Vandals without resistance;
they seized women and children by thousands to use them as slaves.
Never yet have I beheld so much beauty. Nor have I ever seen such heaps
of gold and silver money as in the tents of the King and the Vandal
nobles. It is incredible.

Belisarius was tortured after his victory by the most terrible anxiety.
For in this camp, filled to overflowing with the most beautiful women,
treasures of every description, wine and provisions, the whole army
forgot every trace of discipline. Fairly intoxicated with their
undreamed of good fortune, they lived solely for the pleasure of the
moment; every barrier gave way, every curb broke; they could not
satisfy themselves. The demon of Africa, pleasure, seized upon them.
They roved, singly and in couples, through the camp and its vicinity,
following the track of the fugitives wherever the search for booty or
revelry lured them. There was no thought of the enemy, no fear of the
General. Those who were still sober, laden with treasure and driving
their captives before them, tried to escape to Carthage. Belisarius
says that if the Vandals had attacked us again an hour after we took
possession of their camp, not a man of us all would have escaped. The
victorious army, even his bodyguard, had entirely thrown off his
control.

At the gray dawn of morning with the blast of the trumpets he summoned
all the warriors; that is, all who were sober. His bodyguard now came
hastily in deep shame. Instead of thanks and praise, he gave leaders
and men a lecture such as I never before heard from his lips. We have
become mere hired soldiers, adventurers, ruffians, fierce and brave,
like greedy beasts of prey; well suited for bloody pursuit, like
hunting leopards, but not fit to leave the captured game to the hunter
or bring it in and fasten it in a cage; we must first have our share of
the blood and the food. It is by no means beautiful; yet it is far more
enjoyable than philosophy and theology, rhetoric, grammar, and
dialectics. But the Vandal War is over, I think. To-morrow we shall
doubtless capture the fugitive King.

                           *   *   *   *   *

I always say so. The most weighty decisions hinge upon the most trivial
incidents. Or, as I express it when I am in a very poetical mood, the
goddess Tyche likes to sport with the destinies of men and nations, as
boys toss coins in the air and determine gain and loss by "heads"
or "tails."

You, O Cethegus, have condemned my philosophy of the world's history as
old wives' croaking. But judge for yourself. A bird's cry, a blind
delight in hunting, a shot sent to the wrong mark, and the result is
this: the Vandal King escapes when already within the grasp of our
fingers; the campaign, which seemed ended, continues, and your friend
must spend weeks in an extremely tiresome besieging camp before an
extremely unnecessary Moorish mountain village.

Belisarius had committed the pursuit of the fugitive King to his
countryman, the Thracian Althias. "I choose you," he said, "because I
trust you above all others where swift, tireless action is needed. If
you overtake the Vandal before he finds refuge, the war will be over
tomorrow; if you permit him to escape, you will give us long-continued
severe toil. Choose your own men, but do not take time to breathe by
night or day until you seize the tyrant, dead or alive."

Althias blushed like a flattered girl. He took besides his Thracians
several of the bodyguard and about a hundred Herulians under Fara. He
asked me also to accompany him, less, probably, for the sake of my
sword than my counsel. I willingly consented.

And now a flying chase, such as I had never imagined possible, began in
the rear of the Vandals. Five days and five nights, almost without a
pause, we pursued the fugitives; their hoofmarks and footprints in the
sand of the desert were unmistakable. We gained on them more and
more, so that on the fifth night we were sure of overtaking and
stopping them the next day before they reached the protection of the
mountain--Pappua, it is called.

But the capricious goddess did not wish to have Gelimer fall into the
hands of Althias. Uliari, one of the Alemanni bodyguards of Belisarius,
is a brave, strong man, but reckless, fond of drink like all Germans,
and, like nearly all his countrymen, a passionate lover of the chase.
He had been repeatedly punished because, while on the march, he pursued
every animal that appeared. On the morning of the sixth day, just at
sunrise, as we were remounting our horses after a short rest, Uliari
saw a big vulture perched on a prickly bush about the height of a man,
which rose alone from the desert plain. To seize his bow, snatch an
arrow from the quiver, aim, and shoot was the work of a single instant.
The cord twanged, the bird flew away, a cry rose. Althias, who had
again dashed forward in advance of us all, fell from his horse, wounded
in the back of the head under his helmet. Uliari, usually an unerring
marksman, had not yet slept off his potations of the night before.
Horrified by his deed, he set spurs to his horse and fled to the
nearest village to seek sanctuary in its chapel.

But we were all trying to help the dying Althias, though he commanded
us by signs to leave him to his fate and continue the pursuit. We could
not bring ourselves to do it. Nay, when Fara and I, after our friend
had died in our arms, wished to go on; his Thracians demanded with
threats that the body should first be buried, otherwise the soul would
be condemned to wail around the place until the Day of Judgment. So we
dug a grave and interred the dead hero with every honor. These few
hours decided Gelimer's escape; we could not make up the lost time. The
fugitives reached their goal, the Pappua Mountains on the frontier of
Numidia, whose steep, inaccessible peaks everywhere bristle with jagged
rocks. The Moors who dwell here are bound to Gelimer by ties of loyalty
and gratitude. An ancient city, Medenus, now a mere hamlet of a few
huts on the northern crest of the mountain, received him and his train.
To storm this narrow antelope path is impossible; a single man can bar
the ascent with his shield. The Moors have scornfully rejected an offer
of a large reward to deliver up the fugitives. So the watchword is
"patience." We must pitch our tents at the foot of the mountain, bar
all the outlets, and starve the people into a surrender.

That may occupy a great deal of time. And it is winter; the mountain
peaks are often covered in the morning with a light snow, which, it is
true, the sun soon melts when he breaks through the clouds. But he does
not always break through. On the other hand, mist and rain continually
penetrate the camel-skin coverings of our tents.



                              CHAPTER XVII

We are still encamped before the entrance of the mountain ravine of
Pappua. We cannot get in; they cannot get out. I have seen a cat watch
a mouse-hole a long time in the same way,--very tiresome for the cat.
But if the hole has no other outlet, the little mouse finally either
starves or runs into the cat's claws.

To-day news and reinforcements came from Carthage. Belisarius, who had
been informed of the state of affairs, gave the chief command to Fara
in the place of Althias. Fara and his Herulians won Belisarius's most
glorious victory, in the Persian battle at Dara, when the Roman ranks
were beginning to waver and only the German boldness which is nearly
allied to madness could save the day. Fara left more than half his
Herulians dead on the field. The General himself is marching on Hippo.

                           *   *   *   *   *

Fresh news--from Hippo.

Belisarius took the city without resistance. The Vandals, among them
numerous nobles, fled to the Catholic churches, and left these asylums
only on the assurance that their lives would be spared. And again the
wind blew, literally, rich gains into our hands. The Tyrant,
distrusting the fidelity of the citizens and the broken walls, had
prudently removed the royal treasure of the Vandals from the citadel of
Carthage, and placed it on a ship. He ordered Bonifacius, his private
secretary, in case the victory of the Vandals seemed uncertain, to sail
to Hispania to Theudis, the King of the Visigoths, with whom, if the
kingdom fell, Gelimer intended to seek refuge, perhaps with the
expectation of recovering the treasure by the aid of the Visigoths.

A violent storm drove the ship back into the harbor of Hippo, just
after Belisarius had occupied it. The treasure of the Vandals, gathered
by Genseric from the coasts and islands of three seas, will go into the
hands of the imperial pair at Constantinople. Theodora, your piety is
profitable!

Yet no; the royal treasure of the Vandals will not reach Constantinople
absolutely intact. And this is due to a singular circumstance, which is
probably worth relating. Perhaps, too, I may mention the thoughts which
the incident aroused in my mind. Of all the nations of whom I have any
knowledge, the Germans are the most foolish: these fair-haired giants
blindly follow their impulses and run to open ruin. True, these
impulses and delusions are in a measure honorable--for Barbarians. But
the excess, the fury with which they obey their impulses, must ruin
them, aided by their so-called virtues. "Heroism," as they term it,
they carry to the sheerest absurdity, even to contempt of death,
keeping their promises from mere obstinacy; for instance, when, in the
blind excitement of gambling, they stake their own liberty on the last
throw. They call this fidelity. Sometimes they manifest the most
diabolical craftiness, yet they often carry truthfulness to actual
self-destruction, when a neat little lie, a slight, clever manipulation
of the bald truth, or even a calm silence would surely save them. All
this is by no means rooted in a sense of duty, but in their tameless
pride, in arrogance, in defiance; and they call it honor. The key of
all their actions, their final unspoken motive is this: "Let none
think, far less be able to say, that a German does or fails to do
anything because he fears any man, or any number of men; he would
rather rush to certain death." Therefore, no matter what any one of
these stubborn fools may have set his heart upon, to go to destruction
for it is "heroic," "honorable." True, they often set their hearts on
their people, liberty, fame; but just as frequently on swilling,--it
cannot be called drinking,--on brawling, on dice-throwing. And they
pursue the heroism of swilling and gambling just as blindly as that of
battle. Anything rather than to yield! If "honor" (that is, obstinacy)
is once fixed upon anything,--wise or foolish,--then pursue it even to
destruction. Though pleasure in the game has long been exhausted,
out-drink or out-wrestle the other man; do anything but own that
strength and spirit are consumed; rather die thrice over. I can speak
thus, because I know these Germans. Many thousands of them--from nearly
every one of their numerous tribes--have I seen in war and peace, as
soldiers, prisoners, envoys, hostages, mercenaries, colonists, in the
service of the Emperor, as leaders of the army, and as magistrates. I
have long wondered how any Germans are left; for, in truth, their
virtues vie with their vices in hastening their destruction.

Of all the nations I know, the shrewdest are the Jews, if shrewdness
consists first in the art of self-preservation, and then in the
acquisition and increase of worldly goods. They are the least, as the
Germans are the most ready, to rush upon ruin through blind passion,
through noble or ignoble impetuosity and defiance. They are the most
crafty of mortals and at the same time by no means the worst. But they
are clever to a degree which makes one marvel why they did not long ago
rule all other peoples; something must be lacking there too.

Do you ask, O Cethegus, how in the camp of Belisarius before Mount
Pappua I have attained this singular view of the much-despised Hebrews?
Very simply.

They have accomplished something which I consider the most impossible.
They have not plundered; by no means, not even stolen, for they steal
almost less than the Christians; but they have actually talked many
thousand pounds of gold belonging to the Vandal booty out of the
avaricious hands of the Emperor Justinian. The Emperor Titus, after
the fall of Jerusalem, brought to Rome the treasures of the Jewish
Temple,--candlesticks, vessels, dishes, jugs, and all sorts of gold and
silver articles set with pearls and precious stones. When Genseric
pillaged Rome, he bore away the Temple treasures on his corsair ships
to Carthage. The Empress knew this, and probably it was not the least
of the reasons for which the Bishop was compelled to dream. Belisarius
wished to exhibit all the booty on his entrance into Constantinople;
but when it was unloaded at Hippo, to be taken at once, with the rest
of the treasure, to Carthage, the oldest of the Jews in Hippo went to
him and said: "Let me warn you, mighty warrior! Do not convey these
treasures to Constantinople. Listen to a tale from the lips of your
humble servant.

"The eagle stole from the sacrifice burning on the altar a piece of
meat and bore it to his eyrie. But a few glimmering coals clung to the
offering which had been consecrated to God. And these glimmering coals
set fire to the nest of the great bird of prey, and burned the young,
which were not yet able to fly, and the eagle mother. The male eagle,
trying to save the young brood, dashed into the flames and scorched his
wings. So perished miserably the strong robber that had borne to his
own abode what belonged to God. Indeed, indeed, I tell you, the capitol
of Rome fell into the hands of the foe because it contained the sacred
vessels of Jehovah; the citadel of the Vandals fell into the hands of
the foe because it concealed these treasures. Must the stronghold of
the Emperor--God bless the protector of justice--at Constantinople
become the third eyrie which is destroyed for their sake? In truth I
say unto you, thus saith the Lord: This gold, this silver, will wander
over the earth, will destroy all the cities to which the stolen
treasure is dragged, until the gold and the silver again lie in the
holy city, Jerusalem."

And, lo, Belisarius was startled.

He wrote to the Emperor Justinian the story of the old Jew, and--really
and truly--the patriarch Moses can work still greater miracles than
Saint Cyprian. Justinian, more greedy and avaricious than the whole
race of Jews put together, ordered these treasures to be taken, not to
Constantinople, but Jerusalem, where they are to be divided among the
Christian churches and the Jewish synagogues.

So the old Jew has recovered a portion of the treasures of his
people,--without a single sword-stroke,--while Romans, Vandals,
Byzantines, gained them only after fierce battles and much bloodshed.
Does the old man believe in the curse that rests upon the treasure? I
think he does. He does not lie, and it is useful for his purpose to
believe it; so he credits it easily and seriously. The German says:
"Gain by blood rather than by sweat." The Jew says: "Gain by sweat
rather than by blood, and far, far rather by money than by sweat!" It
may be said in praise of the Jews that both their faults and their
virtues vie in preserving them and increasing their wealth and their
numbers, while the Germans destroy themselves, their lives, their
possessions, and their power by boundless indolence and boundless
revelling no less than by their boundless obstinacy and their stupid
heroism of honor. (True, these Vandals in their carousing have even
forgotten their obstinacy and their love of fighting!) We hate and
despise the Jews; I think we ought to fear and--in their good qualities
strive to excel them.

                           *   *   *   *   *

I have read aloud my opinion of the Germans to my friend Fara, whose
thirst for honor did not impel him toward reading and writing; he heard
me quietly to the end, drained a cup of unmixed wine, stroked his long
reddish-yellow beard thoughtfully, and said:

"Little Greek! You are a shrewd little Greek! Perhaps you are not
altogether wrong. But to me my German faults are much dearer than the
virtues of all other nations."

Gradually--so we learn--all the rest of the Barbarian kingdom will be
plucked leaf by leaf, like an artichoke, without a sword-stroke, for
Justinian's wide-open mouth. Belisarius's first care, after his victory
over the land forces, was to secure the hostile fleet.

He discovered its landing-place from the prisoners, and also learned
that it was lying at anchor almost wholly without men; Zazo had taken
all his troops to his brother. A few of our triremes, sent from
Carthage, were sufficient to capture the one hundred and fifty galleys
which were occupied only by sailors; not a single spear flew.
Genseric's much-dreaded dragon-ships were towed to Carthage; they
allowed themselves to be captured without resistance, like a flock of
wild swans, which, storm-beaten, wearied, and crippled, enter an
inclosed pond; the proud birds can be grasped with the hand. One of
Belisarius's commanders obtained Sardinia; it was necessary, but amply
sufficient, to show them Zazo's head on a spear; the islanders would
not believe in the defeat of the Vandals before; now that they could
touch the head of their dreaded conqueror, they did believe it.

Corsica, too, submitted. Also populous Cæsarea in Mauritania, and one
of the Pillars of Hercules; Septa, with Ebusa and the Balearic Isles.
Tripolis was besieged by Moors, who, during the battle between the
Byzantines and the Vandals, were trying to win land and people on their
own account. The city was occupied by our troops and received from the
hands of Pudentius for the Emperor.

One might think the whole Vandal nation existed in its royal family and
a few of the nobles. When Zazo and the nobles about him fell, after the
King vanished, all resistance ceased; it was like a bundle of sticks:
when the string that fastens them is cut, they all fall apart. Since
the day of Trikameron the Barbarians everywhere allow themselves to be
seized like sheep without defence. They are mainly to be found
weaponless in the Catholic basilicas, where, seeking refuge, they
embrace the altars which they have so often dishonored. The men are
just the same as the women and children.

Really, if their brothers in Italy and Spain, and their cousins, the
Franks, Alemanni, or whatever else the Barbarians in Gaul and Germany
are called, were as highly educated as these Vandal writers of Greek
and Latin poetry, the Imperator Justinianus could speedily recover the
whole West through Belisarius and Narses. But I fear the Vandals alone
have attained such a degree of culture.



                             CHAPTER XVIII

More news! Perhaps another war and conquest close at hand.

Am I really, O Cethegus, to be permitted speedily to seek you in your
Italy and help to free Rome by the aid of Huns and Herulians? Your
tyrants, the Ostrogoths, have made the bridge for us into this country;
it was their Sicily. Justinian's gratitude is swift-winged. By the
Emperor's command--Belisarius received it sealed, directly after our
departure from Constantinople, with the direction not to open the
papyrus until after the destruction of the Vandal kingdom--our General
has already demanded from the court of Ravenna the cession of a
considerable portion of Sicily,--Lilybæum, the important promontory and
castle, and all that the Vandals had ever possessed in that island. For
the Vandal kingdom had now lapsed to Constantinople, so everything that
had ever belonged to that domain also fell to it. A man is not Emperor
of the Pandects for nothing.

True, it seems to me somewhat brutal to set their limitless stupidity
before the eyes of the deluded people quite so speedily. Though of
course it is the acme of statecraft to defeat the first with the help
of the second, and then, in token of gratitude, overthrow the second.
Yet it is long since it was done so openly. Belisarius is obliged to
threaten war at once, not only upon Sicily, but all Italy, Ravenna, and
Rome. The letter to the Regent Amalaswintha concludes,--I had to
compose it for Belisarius in his tent, according to the Emperor's
secret order directly after the battle of Trikameron: "If you refuse,
you must know that you will not incur merely the _danger_ of war, but
war itself, in which we shall take from you not only Lilybæum, but
everything you possess contrary to justice; that is, all!" To-day
came the news that there had been a revolution in Ravenna. Very wicked
men, who had already wished to support the Vandals against us, do not
love Justinian (but also unfortunately do not fear him), barbaric
names,--you will be more familiar with them than I, O Cethegus!
Hildebrand, Vitigis, Teja, have seized the helm there and flatly refuse
our demand. It seems to me that there is the blast of the tuba in the
air.

But first of all we must subdue this Vandal King without a kingdom up
above there. The siege is lasting too long for the patience of
Belisarius. Hitherto all proposals for surrender have been refused,
even those on the most absurdly favorable conditions, made because
Belisarius desires to bring the war here swiftly to an end, as it seems
to me that he may be able speedily to celebrate a triumph in
Constantinople such as has not been witnessed there for centuries, and
then continue in Italy what he had begun here.

And since this singular King, who sometimes seems to be soft wax,
sometimes the hardest granite, is not to be influenced by fair words,
we will address him to-morrow with spears.

Fara hopes that hunger has so enfeebled the Vandals and Moors that they
cannot withstand a violent assault. The truth is: Fara, a German,--and
a thoroughly admirable one,--can endure everything except
long-continued thirst and inactivity. And we have very little wine
left. Poor wine too! There is nothing to do except by turns to sleep
and mount guard before the mouse-hole called Pappua. He is tired of it.
He wants to take it by force. The Herulians will fight like madmen;
that is their way. But I look at the narrow ascent in those yellow
cliffs, and have my doubts of success. I think, unless Saint Cyprian
and Tyche work in our behalf to-morrow, we shall get, not Gelimer and
the Vandals, but plenty of hard knocks.

We have had them,--the hard knocks! And they were our just due. The
Vandals and Moors up yonder vied with each other in trying which could
serve us worst, and we paid the penalty. Fara, as leader and warrior,
managed matters as well as it is possible to do in dealing with the
impossible. He divided us into three bodies: first, the Armenians, then
the Thracians, lastly, the Herulians. The Huns--whose horses can do
much, but cannot climb like goats--remained below before our camp. In
bands of two hundred strong we rushed in a long line of two men abreast
up the only accessible path. I will make the story short. The Moors
rolled rocks, the Vandals hurled spears, at us. Twenty Armenians fell
without having even seen the crest of a foeman's helmet; the others
drew back. The Thracians, despising death, took their places. They
advanced probably a hundred feet higher; by that time they had lost
thirty-five of their number, had not seen an enemy, and also turned
back. "Cowardice," cried Fara. "It is impossible," replied Arzen, the
severely wounded leader of the Armenians,--a Vandal spear with the
house-mark of the Asdings, a flying arrow, had pierced his thigh.

"I don't believe it," shouted Fara, "follow me, my Herulians."

They followed him. So did I; but very near the last of the line. For,
as the legal councillor of Belisarius, I do not consider myself under
obligation to perform any deeds of special heroism. Only when he
himself fights do I often foolishly imagine that my place is by his
side.

I have never seen such a storm. Fragments of boulders and lances
hurled by invisible hands crushed and spitted the men. But those who
were left climbed, leaped, crept higher and higher. The top of the
mountain--which neither of the two former scaling parties had
approached--was gained. The hiding-places of many of the Moors
concealed under the cliffs of the central portion were discovered, and
numbers of these lean brown fellows paid for their loyal hospitality to
the fugitives with their lives; I saw Fara himself kill three of them.
He was just ranging his breathless band, and on the point of giving the
order to rush up to the narrow gateway in the rocks that yawns in the
mountain summit, when from this gateway burst the Vandals, the King in
advance; the crown on his helmet betrayed him. I saw him very close at
hand, and never shall I forget that face. He looked like a rapturous
monk, and yet also like the hero Zazo, whom I saw fall before
Belisarius. Behind him was a youth who strongly resembled him. The
scarlet banner, I believe, was borne by a woman. Yet I am probably
mistaken; for the whole charge fell upon us with the speed and might of
a thunderbolt. The first rank of the Herulians was scattered as
completely as if it had never stood there.

"Where is the King?" cried Fara, springing forward.

"Here," rang the answer.


The next instant five of his Herulians were supporting their sorely
wounded leader. This I saw, then I fell backward. The young Vandal
behind the King had sent his spear whizzing against my firm coat of
mail; I staggered, fell, and slid like an arrow down the smooth sandy
incline, much faster and more easily than I had climbed it. When I came
to myself and rose again, Fara's faithful followers were bearing him
past me on two shields. The leader of the Armenians was leaning on his
spear.

"Do you believe it now, Fara?" he asked. "Yes," replied the German,
pressing his bleeding head. "I believe it now. My beautiful helmet," he
went on, laughing. "But better to have the helmet cleft than the skull
under it, too." When he reached the bottom of the mountain he laughed
no longer; one hundred and twenty of his two hundred Herulians lay dead
among the rocks. I think this will be the only storming of Mount
Pappua.

                           *   *   *   *   *

Fara's wound is healing. But he complains a great deal of headache.

                           *   *   *   *   *

They must be miserably starving to death on that accursed mountain.
Deserters often come down now, but only Moors. Not a single Vandal
during the whole campaign has voluntarily joined us, in spite of my
fine invitation to treason and revolt! Of the much-lauded German
virtues fidelity seems to be almost the only one which has remained to
these degenerates.

Fara gave orders that no more should be received.

"The more mouths and stomachs Gelimer has, the smaller his stock of
food will be," he said.

But now, as they will no longer be accepted as comrades in arms, the
Moors sell themselves for slaves for a bit of bread. Fara also
prohibited this sorrowful trading. He said to his men:

"Let them starve up there; you will get them all as captives of war so
much the sooner."

Yet it does the Vandals (it is said that there are not more than forty
of them) all honor that they still hold out while the Moors succumb. It
is the strongest contrast conceivable; for everything we heard in
Constantinople concerning the luxury and effeminacy of the Vandals was
surpassed by what we saw in their palaces, villas, and houses, and by
what the Carthaginians have told us. Two or three baths daily, their
tables supplied with the dainties of all lands and seas, all their
dishes of gold, nothing but Median garments, spectacles, games in the
Circus, the chase,--but with the least possible exertion,--dancers,
mimes, musicians, outdoor pleasures in beautifully kept groves of the
finest fruit-trees, daily revels, daily drinking bouts, and the most
unbridled enjoyment of every description. As the Vandals led the most
luxurious, the Moors led the most simple lives of all peoples. Winter
and summer, they are half clad in a short gray garment, and live in the
same low felt hut or leather tents, where one can scarcely breathe;
neither the snow of the high mountains nor the scorching heat of the
desert affects them; they sleep on the bare ground, only the richest
spread a camel-skin under them; they have neither bread, wine, nor any
of the better foods. Like the animals, they chew unground, even
unroasted barley, spelt, and corn.

Yet now the Vandals endure starvation without yielding, while the Moors
succumb.

It is incomprehensible! Sons of the same nation from whom, in two short
battles, we wrested Africa. To our wondering question how this can be,
all the deserters make one reply: "The holy King." He constrains them
by his eyes, his voice, by magic. But Fara says his magic cannot hold
out long against hunger and thirst. And since, as these strong Moors,
emaciated to skeletons, say that the King and his followers do not
utter a word of complaint while enduring these sufferings, Fara
thought, from genuine kindness of heart, that he would try to end this
misery. He dictated to me the following epistle: "Forgive me, O King of
the Vandals, if this letter seems to you somewhat foolish. My head was
always more fit to bear sword-strokes than to compose sentences. And
since you and my head met a short time ago, thinking has been still
more difficult than usual. I write, or rather I have these words
written, plainly, according to the Barbarian fashion. Dear Gelimer, why
do you plunge yourself and all your followers into the deepest abyss of
misery? Merely to avoid serving the Emperor? For this word, 'liberty,'
is probably your delusion. Do you not see that, for the sake of this
liberty, you are becoming under obligations of gratitude and service to
miserable Moors, that you are dependent upon these savages? Is it not
better to serve the great Emperor at Constantinople, than to rule over
a little band of starving people on Pappua? Is it disgraceful to serve
the same lord as Belisarius? Cast aside this folly, admirable Gelimer!
Think, I myself am a German, a member of a noble Herulian family. My
ancestors wore the badge of royalty of our people in the old home on
the shore of the dashing sea, near the islands of the Danes--and yet I
serve the Emperor, and am proud of it. My sword and the swift daring of
my Herulians decided the victory on the day of Belisarius's greatest
battle. I am a general, and have remained a hero, even in the Emperor's
service. The same fate will await you. Belisarius will secure you on
his word of honor life, liberty, estates in Asia Minor, the rank of a
patrician, and a leadership in the army directly under him. Dear
Gelimer, noble King, I mean kindly by you. Defiance is beautiful, but
folly is--foolish. Make an end of it!"

                           *   *   *   *   *

The messenger has returned. He saw the King himself. He says the sight
of him was almost enough to startle one to death. He looks like a ghost
or the King of Shades; gloomy eyes burn from a spectral face. Yet when
the unyielding hero read the well-meant consolation of his kind-hearted
fellow-countryman, he wept. The very man who struck down the
unconquerable Fara and endures superhuman privations wept like a boy or
a woman. Here is the Vandal's answer:--

"I thank you for your counsel. I cannot follow it. You have given up
your people; therefore you are drifting on the sea of the world like a
blade of straw. I was, I am King of the Vandals. I will not serve the
unjust foe of my people. God, so I believe, commands me and the remnant
of the Vandals to hold out even now. He can save me if He so wills. I
can write no more. The misery surrounding me benumbs my thoughts. Good
Fara, send me a loaf of bread; a delicate boy, the son of a dead noble,
is lying very ill, in the fever caused by starvation. He begs, he
pleads, he shrieks for bread--it tears one's heart-strings! For a long
time not one of us has tasted bread.

"And a sponge dipped in water; my eyes, inflamed by watching and
weeping, burn painfully.

"And a harp. I have composed a dirge upon our fate, which I would fain
sing to the accompaniment of the harp."

Fara granted the three requests,--the harp could be obtained only by
sending to the nearest city,--but he guards even more closely than
before the "Mountain of Misery," as our people call it.



                              CHAPTER XIX

Dull, misty, and gray, a cold damp morning in early March dawned upon
the mountain. The sun could not penetrate the dense clouds.

The ancient city of Medenus had long since been abandoned by its
Carthaginian and Roman founders and builders. Most of the houses,
constructed of stone from the mountain, stood deserted and ruinous.
Nomad Moors used the few which still had roofs as places of refuge in
winter. The largest structure was the former basilica. Here the King
and his household had found shelter. A scanty fire of straw and fagots
was burning in the centre on the stone floor. But it sent forth more
smoke than heat, for the wood was wet, and the damp fog penetrated
everywhere through the cracks in the walls, through the holes in the
roof, pressing down the slowly rising yellowish-gray smoke till,
trailing and gliding along the cold wall, it sought other means of
escape through the entrance, whose folding-doors were missing. In the
semicircular space back of the apses coverlets and skins had been
spread upon the marble floor. Here sat Gibamund, hammering upon his
much-dented shield, while Hilda had laid the scarlet standard across
her lap, and was mending it.

"Many, many arrows have pierced thee, ancient, storm-tried banner. And
this gaping rent here,--it was probably a sword-stroke. But thou must
still hold together to the end."

"The end," said Gibamund, impatiently completing the nailing of the
edge of the shield with one last blow of the hammer. "I wish it would
come. I can bear to witness the suffering--_your_ suffering--no longer.
I have constantly urged the King to put an end to it. Let us, let all
the Vandals,--the Moors can surrender as prisoners,--charge upon the
foe together, and--He would never let me finish. 'That would be
suicide,' he answered, 'and sin. We must bear patiently what God has
imposed upon us as a punishment. If it is His will. He can yet save us,
bear us away from here on the wings of His angels. But the end is
approaching--of itself. The number of graves on the slope of the
mountain is daily increasing.'"

"Yes, the row constantly lengthens; sometimes the high mounds of our
Vandals surmounted by the cross!"

"Sometimes the faithful Moors' heap of stones with the circle of black
pebbles. Yesterday evening we buried the delicate Gundoric; the last
scion of the proud Gundings, the darling of his brave father Gundobad."

"So the poor boy's sufferings are over? In Carthage the child was
always clad in purple silk as he rode through the streets in a shell
carriage drawn by ostriches."

"Day before yesterday the King brought to the miserable heap of straw
where he was lying the fragrant bread he had begged from the enemy. The
child devoured it so eagerly that we were obliged to check him. We
turned our backs a moment,--I was getting some water with the King for
the sick boy,--when a cry of mingled rage and grief summoned us. A
Moorish lad, probably attracted by the smell of the bread, had sprung
in through the open window and torn it from between the child's teeth.
It made a very deep impression on the King. 'This child, too, the
guiltless one? O terrible God!' he cried again and again. I closed the
boy's dying eyes to-day."

"It cannot last much longer. The people have killed the last horse
except Styx."

"Styx shall not be slaughtered," cried Hilda. "He bore you from certain
death; he saved you."

"_You_ saved me, with your Valkyria ride," exclaimed Gibamund; and,
happy in the midst of all the wretchedness, he pressed his beautiful
wife to his heart, kissing her golden hair, her eyes, her noble brow.
"Hark! what is that?"

"It is the song which he has composed and is singing to the harp Fara
sent him. Well for thee, Teja's stringed instrument, that thou art not
compelled to accompany such a dirge," she cried wrathfully, springing
up and tossing back her waving locks. "I would rather have shattered my
harp on the nearest rocks than lent it for such a song."

"But it works like a spell upon the Moors and Vandals."

"They do not understand it at all; the words are Latin. He has rejected
alliteration as pagan, as the magic of runes! He allows no one to
mention his last battle-song."

"Of course they scarcely understand it. But when they see the King as,
almost in an ecstasy, like a man walking in his sleep, with his burning
eyes half closed, his wan, sorrowful face surrounded by tangled locks,
his ragged royal mantle thrown around his shoulders, his harp on his
arm, he wanders alone over the rocks and snows of this mountain; when
they hear the deep, wailing voice, the mournful melody of the dirge, it
affects them like a spell, though they understand little of the
meaning. Hark! there it rises again."

Nearer and nearer, partly borne away by the wind, came in broken words,
sometimes accompanied by the strings, the chant:

           "Woe to thee! I mourn, I mourn!
            Woe to thee, O Vandal race!
            Soon forgot, will be thy name,
            Which the world, a tempest, swept.

           "Gloriously didst thou arise
            From the sea,--a meteor.
            Fame and radiance lost for aye,
            Thou wilt sink in blackest night.

           "All the earth's rich treasures heaped
            Genseric in Carthage fair.
            Starving beggar with the foe,
            Now for bread his grandson pleads.

           "Let thy heroes strengthen me;
            God's wrath on thee resteth sore;
            Leave fame and honor to the Goths,
            To the Franks:--they are but toys."

"I will not listen; I will not bear it," cried Hilda. "He shall not
revile all that makes life worth living."

Nearer, more distinctly, sounded the slow, mournful notes.

           "Vanity and sin are all
            Thou hast cherished, Vandal race;
            Therefore God hath stricken thee,
            Therefore bowed thy head in shame.

           "Bow thee, bow thee to the dust,
            Bruised race of Genseric;
            Kiss the rod in gratitude.
            It is God the Lord Who smites."

The dirge died away. The royal singer ascended with tottering steps the
half-ruined stairs of the basilica, his harp hanging loosely from his
left arm. Now he stood between the gray, mouldering pillars of the
entrance, and, laying his right arm against the cold stone, pressed his
weary head upon it.

Just at that moment a young Moor came hurrying up the steps; a few
bounds brought him to the top. Gibamund and Hilda went toward him in
astonishment.

"It is long since I have seen you move so swiftly, Sersaon," said
Gibamund.

"Your eyes are sparkling," cried Hilda. "You bring good tidings."

The King raised his head from the pillar and, shaking it sorrowfully,
looked at the Moor.

"Yes, wise Queen," replied the latter. "The best of tidings: Rescue!"

"Impossible!" said Gelimer, in a hollow tone.

"It is true, my master. Here, Verus will confirm it."

With a slow step, but unbroken strength, the priest ascended the
mountain-top. He seemed rather to be prouder, more powerful than in the
days of happiness; he held his head haughtily erect. In his hand he
carried an arrow and a strip of papyrus.

"To-night," the young Moor went on, "I had the watch at our farthest
point toward the south. At the earliest glimmer of dawn, I heard the
call of the ostrich: I thought it a delusion, for the bird never
ascends to such a height, and this is not the mating season. But this
call is our concerted signal with our allies among the Southern tribes,
the Soloes. I listened, I watched keenly; yes, yonder, pressing close
against the yellowish-brown cliff, so motionless that he could scarcely
be distinguished from the rock, crouched a Soloe. I softly answered the
call; instantly an arrow flew to the earth close beside me,--a headless
arrow, into whose hollow shaft, instead of the tip, this strip had been
forced. I drew it out; I cannot read, but I took it to the nearest
Vandals. Two of them read it and rejoiced greatly. Verus happened to
pass by; he wanted to tear the papyrus, wished to forbid our speaking
of it to you, but hunger, the hope of rescue, are stronger than his
words--"

"I thought it treachery, a snare; it is too improbable," interrupted
Verus.

Gibamund snatched the strip and read: "The path descending southward,
where the ostrich called, is unguarded; it is supposed to be
impassable. Climb down singly to-morrow at midnight; we will wait close
by with fresh horses. Theudis, King of the Visigoths, has sent us gold
to save you, and a little ship. It is lying near the coast. Hasten."

"There is still fidelity. There are still friends in need!" cried
Hilda, exultingly, throwing herself with tears of joy, on her husband's
breast.

The King's bowed figure straightened; his eyes lost their dull,
hopeless expression.

"Now you see how wicked it would have been to seek death. This is the
finger which God's mercy extends to us. Let us grasp it."



                               CHAPTER XX

Verus, in order to make the enemy wholly unsuspicious, offered to
propose to Fara an interview with Gelimer at noon the following day, on
the northern slope of the mountain, in which the last offers of
Belisarius should be again discussed. After some scruples of
conscience, the King consented to this stratagem of war. Verus reported
that Fara was very much pleased with his communication, and would await
Gelimer on the following day. Nevertheless, the besieged band
kept a sharp watch upon the besiegers' outposts and camp--the high
mountain-top afforded a foil view of their position--to note any
movement in the direction of the descent which might indicate the
discovery of the intended flight or the Soloe hiding-place at the foot
of the mountain. Nothing of the sort was apparent; the foemen below
spent the day in the usual manner. The guards were not strengthened,
and after darkness closed in, the watchfires were neither increased nor
changed. At nightfall the besiegers also lighted their fires on the
northern side in the same places as before.

Shortly before midnight the little procession began its march. The
Moors, who were familiar with the way, went first provided with ropes
and iron braces. At every step the fugitives were obliged to feel their
way cautiously with the handles of their spears, testing the smooth,
crumbling surface of the rock to try whether it would afford a firm
foothold. Next followed Gibamund and Hilda; the Princess had folded
Genseric's great banner closely and tied it about the pole, which she
used as a staff; then came Gelimer, behind him Verus and the small
remaining band of Vandals. So they moved for about half an hour along
the summit of the mountain, until they reached the southern side, down
which the narrow path led. Each step was perilous to life; for they
dared not light torches.

As the little group began the descent, Gelimer turned. "Oh, Verus," he
whispered, "death may be very near to us all. Repeat a prayer--where is
Verus?"

"He hastened back some time ago," replied Markomer. "He wished to bring
a relic he had forgot. He bade us go on, saying that he would overtake
us at the next turn in the road before we descended the ravine."

The King hesitated, and began to murmur the Lord's Prayer.

"Forward!" whispered Sersaon, the leading Moor. "There is no more time
to lose. We need only pass quickly around the next projecting rock--Ha!
Torches, treason! Back to--"

He could say no more; an arrow transfixed his throat. Torches glared
with a dazzling light into the eyes of the fugitives just as they
turned the jutting cliff. Weapons flashed, and before the ranks of the
Herulians stood a man holding aloft a torch to light the group.

"There, the second one is the King," he cried. "Capture him alive." He
took a step forward.

"Verus!" shrieked Gelimer, falling back unconscious. Two Vandals caught
him and bore him up the height.

"On! Storm the mountain!" Fara ordered below. But it was impossible to
storm a height which could be climbed only by clinging with both hands
to the perpendicular cliff. Fara himself instantly perceived it when,
by the torchlight, he beheld the path and saw Gibamund standing with
levelled spear on the last broader ledge of rock which afforded a firm
footing.

"It is a pity!" he shouted. "But now this loophole will henceforth be
barred also. Surrender!"

"Never!" cried Gibamund, hurling his spear. The man by Fara's side
fell.

"Shoot! Quickly! All at once!" the Herulian leader angrily commanded.
Behind the Herulians were twenty archers, dismounted Huns. Their bows
twanged; Gibamund sank silently backward. Hilda, with a cry of anguish,
caught him in her arms.

But Markomer, raising his lance threateningly, already stood in the
place of the fallen man.

"Cease," Fara ordered. "But keep the outlet strongly guarded. The
priest said that they must yield either to-morrow or on the following
day."

                           *   *   *   *   *

Gelimer was roused from his unconsciousness by Hilda's shriek.

"Now Gibamund, too, has fallen," he said very calmly. "All is over."

Supported by his spear, he climbed wearily back. A few Vandals followed
him. He vanished in the darkness of the night.

Hilda sat silent with the head of her lifeless husband in her lap, and
the staff of the banner resting on her shoulder. She had no tears, but
groped in the thick gloom for the beloved face. At last she heard a
Vandal, returning from the King, say to Markomer:

"This was the final blow. To-morrow--I am to announce it to the
enemy--Gelimer will submit."

Now she sprang up, and asking two of the men to help her--she would not
release the dear head from her clasping hands--carried the dead Prince
to the top of the mountain. In a little grove of pines, just outside
the city, a small wooden hut had been built which had formerly
contained stores of every kind. Now it was half empty except for a
large pile of the wood used for fires. In this hut she spent the night
and the dark morning alone with the dead. When it grew light she
sought the King, whom she found in the basilica on the spot where
formerly--the remains of some steps showed it--the altar had stood.
Here Gelimer had placed in a crack between two stones a wooden cross,
roughly made of boughs laid across each other. He lay prone on his face
before it, clasping the cross with both arms.

"Brother-in-law Gelimer," she said in a curt, harsh tone, "is it true?
Do you mean to surrender?"

He made no reply.

She shook him by the shoulder.

"King of the Vandals, do you mean to give yourself up as a captive?"
she cried more loudly. "They will lead you through the streets of
Constantinople as a spectacle! Will you shame your people--your _dead_
people--still more?"

"Vanity," he answered dully. "Vanity speaks from your lips! All that
you are thinking is sinful, vain, arrogant."

"Why do you do this so suddenly? You have held out for months."

"Verus!" groaned the King. "God has abandoned me; my guardian spirit
has betrayed me. I am condemned on earth, and in the world beyond the
grave. I can do nothing else!"

"Yes. Here, Gelimer, here is your sharp sword."

Stooping, she tore it from the sheath which lay with the sword-belt at
the foot of the steps.

"'The dead are free' is a good motto."

But Gelimer shook his head.

"Vanity. Pride of heart. Pagan sin. I am a Christian. I will not kill
myself. I will bear my cross--as Christ bore His--until I sink beneath
it."

Hilda flung the sword clanking at his feet and turned from him without
a word.

"Where are you going? What do you mean to do?"

"Do you suppose I loved less truly and deeply and fervently than that
delicate Greek child? I come, my hero and my husband."

She walked across to a building now turned into a stable, the former
curia of Medenus, where, a short time before, many horses had stamped.
Only Styx, the stallion, now stood in it. Hilda grasped his mane, and
the wise, faithful animal followed like a lamb. The Princess went with
the horse to the hut. It hung back a moment before following her into
the narrow inclosure, which was dimly lighted by a pine torch in an
iron ring by the door.

"Come in," Hilda said coaxingly, drawing the horse gently after her.
"It will be better for you too. You will perish miserably. Your beauty
and your strength have gone. And after serving love in that brave ride
through the battle, the enemy shall not seize you and torment you with
base labor. What says the ancient song:

           "Heaped high for the hero
            Log on log laid they:
            Slain, his swift steed
            Shared the warrior's death.
            And, gladly, his wife,
            Nay, alas! his widow.
            Burden of life's weary
            Days sad and desolate
            Would she, the faithful,
            Bear on no farther."

She led the stallion to the side of the lofty pile of wood, where she
had laid the beautiful corpse, drew Gibamund's sword from its sheath,
and, searching with her hand for the throbbing of the heart, thrust the
blade into it with one powerful blow. Styx fell lifeless. Hilda threw
down the blood-stained weapon.

"Oh, my love!" she cried. "Oh, my husband, my life! Why did I never
tell you how I loved you? Alas! because I did not know myself--until
now! Hear it, oh, hear it, Gibamund, I loved you very dearly. I thank
you. Friend Teja! Oh, my all, I follow you."

And now she drew from her girdle the keen black dagger. Severing with
one cut the long floating banner from its staff, she spread it over the
corpse like a pall. It was so wide that it covered the whole space
beside the body. Then, with the blazing torch, she lighted the lowest
wood, bent over the dead Prince, again kissed the pale lips fervently,
and seizing the dark weapon, which flashed brightly in the light of the
flames, buried it in her brave, proud heart.

She fell forward on her face over her beloved husband, and the fire,
crackling and burning, seized first the scarlet banner which enfolded
the young pair.

The morning breeze blew strongly through the half-open door and the
chinks between the logs--and the bright flames soon blazed high above
the roof.



                              CHAPTER XXI

PROCOPIUS TO CETHEGUS:

It is over! Thank God, or whoever else may be entitled to our
gratitude. Three months, full of utter weariness, we remained encamped
before the mountain of defiance. It is March; the nights are still
cool, but at noonday the sun already burns with scorching heat. An
attempted flight was baffled by treachery; Verus, Gelimer's chancellor
and closest friend, deserves the credit of this base deed. Obeying the
priest's directions we sought the Soloes concealed on the southern
slope who were to accompany the fugitives to the sea, but found only
the prints of numerous hoofs. We blocked the outlet. Then the King
voluntarily, without any farther trouble, offered to surrender. Fara
was greatly delighted; he would have granted any condition that enabled
him to deliver the King a captive to Belisarius, who was even more
impatient for the end of the war than we. At the entrance of the
ravine, which we had never been able to penetrate, I received the
little band of Vandals--about twenty were left. The Moors, too, came
down; at Gelimer's earnest entreaty, Fara immediately set them at
liberty. These Vandals--what images of misery, famine, privation,
sickness, suffering! I do not understand how they could still hold out,
still offer resistance. They could scarcely carry their arms, and
willingly allowed us to take them.

But when I saw and talked with Gelimer--crushed though he is now--I
realized that this man's mind and will could control, rule, support
others as long as he desired. I have never seen any human being like
him,--a monk, an enthusiast, and yet a royal hero.

I entreated Fara to let me shelter him in my tent. While we could
scarcely restrain the others from immoderately greedy indulgence in
meats and other foods of which they had long been deprived, he
voluntarily continued the fast so long forced upon him. Fara with
difficulty induced him to drink some wine; the Herulian probably feared
that his prisoner would die on the way, before he could deliver him to
Belisarius. For a long time he refused; but when I suggested that he
was probably seeking death in this way, he at once drank the wine and
ate some bread.

Long and fully, for nearly half the night, he talked with me, full of
gentle submission, concerning his destiny. It is touching, impressive,
to hear him attribute everything to the providence of God. But I cannot
always follow his train of thought. For instance, I remarked that,
after holding out so long, the baffled attempt to escape had probably
caused the sudden resolution to surrender. He smiled sadly and replied:
"Oh, no. Had our flight been frustrated by any other reason, I would
have held out unto death. But Verus, Verus!" He was silent, then he
added: "You will not understand it. But now I know that God has
abandoned me, if He was ever with me. Now I know this, too, was sin,
was hollow vanity, that I loved my people so ardently that from pride
in the Asding blood, in our ancient warlike fame, I would not yield,
would not surrender. We must love God alone, and live only for Heaven!"

Just at that moment Fara broke into the tent somewhat rudely.

"You have, not kept your promise. King!" he cried wrathfully. "You
agreed to deliver up all the weapons and field flags, but the most
important prize,--Belisarius specially urged me to look to it, for he
saw it rescued from the battle, and I myself noticed it in a woman's
hand a short time ago, when we made the attack,--King Genseric's great
banner, is missing. Our people, I myself, guided by Vandals, have
searched everywhere on the mountain; we found nothing except, among the
ashes of a burned hut, with some bones, these gold nails,--the Vandals
say they belonged to the pole of the banner. Did you burn it?"

"Oh, no, my Lord, I should not have grudged you and Belisarius the
bauble; a woman did it Hilda. She killed herself. O God, I beseech Thee
for her: forgive her!" And this is not hypocrisy. I hardly understand
it. Yet these strange events force upon me thoughts which usually I
would willingly avoid. Whoever has once meddled with philosophy--I shun
it, but carry it ever in my brain--will never again escape the
questioning concerning the Why?

Lucky accidents have always happened in the destinies of men;
but whether any enterprise has ever been attended with such good
fortune as ours is doubtful. Belisarius himself marvels. Five
thousand horsemen,--for our foot-soldiers scarcely entered the
battle,--strangers who, after they were put on shore, had no refuge,
no citadel, possessed no spot of ground in all Africa except the
soil on which they stood, did not know where they were to lay their
heads,--five thousand horsemen, in two short conflicts, against ten
times their number, destroyed the kingdom of the terrible Genseric,
took his grandson prisoner, seized his royal citadel and royal
treasures! It is incomprehensible. If I had not witnessed it myself, I
would not have believed it. After all, is there a God dwelling in the
clouds who wonderfully guides the destinies of men?

Belisarius's generalship, and our brave, battle-trained army did much;
something, though not a large share, was accomplished, as now appears,
by Verus's long-planned treachery, carried out to the end. Without our
knowledge, he has corresponded all this time with the Emperor, and
especially with the Empress. The most was due to the degeneracy of the
people, except the royal House, which lost three men in the struggle.
The incomprehensible, contradictory nature of this King also
contributed to the destruction. Yet all these things would not have
produced the result so speedily, but for the unexampled good fortune
which has attended us from the beginning.

And this luck--is it blind? Is it the work of God, Who desired to
punish the Vandals for the sins of their forefathers and for their
own? It may be so. And not without reverence do I bow to such a rule.
But--and here again the mocking doubt which never entirely deserts me,
again rises in my mind--then we must say that God is not fastidious in
His choice of tools, for this Gelimer and his brothers are hardly
surpassed in virtue by Theodora, Justinian, Belisarius himself;
perhaps, O Cethegus, not even by the friend who has written you these
lines.



                              CHAPTER XXII

The day after Gelimer's surrender Fara's camp was broken up and the
train of victors and captives began the march to Carthage. Couriers
were despatched in advance to Belisarius.

At the head rode Fara, Procopius, and the other leaders on horses and
camels; in the centre were led the captive Vandals, bound, for the sake
of precaution, hand and foot with chains which permitted walking and
even riding, but not running, and surrounded by foot-soldiers; the Hun
cavalry formed the rear. So, resting at night in tents, they slowly
traversed in fourteen days the road over which, in their swift pursuit,
they had gone in eight.

Verus usually rode alone; he avoided the Vandals, and the Byzantines
shunned _him_.

On the second day after the departure from Mount Pappua,--Fara and
Procopius were far in advance,--at a turn in the road, the priest
checked his horse and waited. The prisoners approached. Many a fettered
hand was raised against him, many a curse was called down on his head;
he neither saw nor heard. At last, holding in his manacled right hand a
staff that extended into a cross, Gelimer tottered forward on foot.
Verus urged his horse through the ranks of the guards, and now rode
close beside him; the prisoner looked up.

"You, Verus!"

He shuddered.

"Yes, I, Verus. I waited for you here--you and this hour,--this hour
which at last has come, slowly, lingeringly; this hour for which I have
wished, longed, labored by prayer, by counsel and action, for which
alone I have lived, suffered, struggled during years and tens of
years."

"And why, O Verus, why? What injury have I done you?"

Verus uttered a shrill laugh, and reined in his horse, stopping
suddenly.

Gelimer started. He had rarely seen this man smile, never had he heard
him laugh aloud.

"Why? Ha! ha! You can still ask? Why? Because--But to answer this
question I should have to repeat the whole story of our--the Romans',
the Catholics'--sufferings from the first step which Genseric took upon
this soil. Why? Because I am the avenger, the requiter of the hundred
years of crime called 'the Vandal kingdom in Africa.' Hear it, ye
saints in Heaven! This man--he was present when all my kindred were
horribly murdered, and he asks why I have hated and, so far as I had
power, destroyed him and his people?"

"I know--"

"You know nothing! For you can ask me: _Why_? You know, you mean, of my
dying mother's curse. But this you do not know--for you had fallen
senseless,--that when she hurled the curse at you I wrenched myself
free from my ropes, from my martyr's stake, sprang to her into the
midst of the flames, clasped her in my arms, and wished to die with
her. But she thrust me back out of the fire, crying: 'Live, live and
avenge me--and all your kindred--and fulfil the curse upon that Vandal
and all his people!' Again I pressed forward, clasped the dying woman's
hand, and swore it. Your warriors tore me away from her; I saw her fall
back into the flames, and my senses failed.

"But when I recovered consciousness, I was no longer a boy--I
was the avenger! I saw, heard, and felt nothing but that last
clasp of my mother's hand, her glance, and my vow. And I abjured my
religion--apparently. And you, miserable Barbarians, made stupid by
arrogance, you believed that I had done this from cowardice, from fear
of torture and the flames! Oh, how often in former years I have felt
your silent, scarcely-concealed contempt, you foolish simpleton, and
borne it with mortal hatred, with a fury which burned my heart.
Arrogant brood of vain fools! Cowardice, fear, to you the most infamous
of insults, you attributed to me without hesitation. Blind fools! As if
I did not suffer more, ten times more than death in the flames, during
all these years, while ruling myself, enduring without a word of
explanation the scorn of the Carthaginians, the Catholics, for my
apostasy; stifling every emotion of hate and wrath and hope in my
heart, that you might not perceive them, wearing an outward semblance
of stone, while my whole soul was seething with fury, to serve you, to
conduct your blasphemous service of God as your priest, bearing your
insufferable boasting! For you Germans, without boasting aloud (your
loud braggart is easily endured, we despise him), are silent boasters.
You walk over the earth as if you must constantly crush something; you
throw back your heads as if you were greeting and nodding to your
ancestors in heaven: 'Yes, yes, the world belongs to us!' And that you
do not know and feel it, while you are insulting us mortally by such
conduct, because it is a matter of course--is the most unbearable thing
about it. Oh, how I hate you!" He struck with his whip at the figure
walking by his side, who received the blow, but did not seem to feel
it. "You Barbarians, who, a few generations ago, were cattle-thieves on
the frontier of our empire, whom we slaughtered, enslaved, threw
to the beasts by hundreds of thousands,--naked, starving beggars
who gratefully picked up the crumbs flung to them by Roman
generosity,--hence with you all, all, you wolves, you bulls, you bears,
whom only bestial strength and God's permission--as a punishment for
our sins--allowed to break into the Roman Empire! Hence with you!" He
again raised his whip to strike, but seeing a Herulian warrior's eye
fixed threateningly upon him, he lowered his arm in embarrassment.

Gelimer remained silent, except for frequent sighs.

"And your conscience?" he now said very gently. "Has it never rebuked
you? I since escaping the lion--I have trusted you entirely, I laid my
heart in your hands, you became my confessor; did you feel no shame
then?"

A scarlet flush dyed the priest's pallid face for an instant, but it
passed like a flash of lightning. The next moment he answered:

"Yes! So foolish was my heart--often. Especially at first. But," he
went on wrathfully, "I always conquered this weakness by saying to
myself whenever I felt it, and your insulting arrogance made me feel it
daily (oh, that Zazo! I hated him most of all): They deem you so base
that, in the presence of the dead bodies of all your kindred, you
abjured your faith! These insolent, incredibly stupid Barbarians--but
it is arrogance, even more than stupidity--believe that you, you, the
son of these parents, could really be devoted to them, could forget
your martyrs, to serve them and their brutal, imperious splendor. They
think that you can be so inconceivably base! Avenge yourself, punish
them for this unbearable presumption! Oh, hate, too, is a joy, the
hatred of nation for nation! And so long as a drop of blood flows in
the veins of other nations, you Germans must be hated, unto death,
until you are trampled under foot."

He dealt a heavy blow with his clenched fist upon the uncovered head of
the tottering King. Gelimer did not look up, did not even start.

"What threat are you muttering in your beard?" asked Verus, bending
toward him.

"I was only praying, 'As we forgive our debtors.' But perhaps that,
too, is vanity, sin. Perhaps--you are not my debtor. Perhaps you are
really," again he shuddered, "my angel, whom God sends, not to protect
me, as I supposed in my vanity, but in punishment."

"I was not your _good_ angel," laughed the other.

"But--if I may ask--?"

"Ask on! I want to enjoy this hour to the utmost."

"If you hated me so bitterly, desired to avenge your mother on me,
why did you carry on this game for so many long years? Often and
often,--when I lay helpless in the lion's power, you might have killed
me, so why--?"

"A stupid question! Have you not understood even yet? Fool! True, I
hated you, but even more--your nation. To kill you had its charm. And I
struggled sorely with my hate at that time, in order not to kill you
instead of the lion."

"I saw that."

"But I perceived: here, in this man, lives the soul of the Vandal
people. To raise him to the throne, and then rule him, is to rule his
people. If I should kill him now, I should drive Hilderic to a secret
treaty with Constantinople. Zazo, Gibamund, others, will resist long
and bravely. But if this man, who, above all, could save his people,
should become king, and then, as king, be in my power, his countrymen
will be most surely lost. If it should become necessary to kill him, an
opportunity can probably always be found. Far better than to murder him
is through him to rule--and ruin--the Vandal nation!"

Then Gelimer groaned aloud and, staggering, involuntarily caught at the
horse's neck for support. Verus thrust his hand aside; he stumbled and
fell on the sand, but instantly rose and pursued his way.

"Did the priest strike you. King?" cried the Herulian, threateningly.

"No, my friend."

But Verus went on:

"Hilderic must be removed from the throne, for he would not implicitly
obey my will. He demanded all sorts of indulgences for the Vandals, and
Justinianus was ready to grant them. But I desired not only to make
Gelimer and his Vandals subjects of the Emperor,--I wanted to destroy
them. Your rough brother discovered my intercourse with Pudentius; if I
had been searched at that time, if Pudentius's letter had been found,
all would have been lost. Instead, I gave it to him; I betrayed his
hiding-place, but I knew he was already outside the walls, mounted on
my best racer.

"The King and you both entered the trap of my warnings. I rejoiced at
your readiness to believe in Hilderic's guilt, because you--desired it;
because with secret, though repressed eagerness, you longed for the
crown. Even though you dethroned Hilderic in good faith, how alert, how
ardent you were to secure the throne! I aided, I saw you strike down
poor Hoamer, who was perfectly right when he denied Hilderic's purpose
of murder. You called the duel a judgment of God, you believed you
thereby served Heaven's justice, and you served only your own lust for
power and, through it, _me_! Your passion--stimulated by Satan, not
God--gave you the impulse, the swift strength of arm, to which Hoamer
instantly succumbed. It was a devil's judgment, a victory of hell, not
a decree of God. Now I became your chancellor; that is, your destroyer.
I quarrelled openly with the Emperor; I negotiated secretly with the
Empress. I sent your fleet to Sardinia, after learning the day before
that Belisarius had set sail with his army. After the battle of
Decimum, I advised you to shut yourself with your troops in Carthage.
The game would then have been over six months earlier, but this one
move failed,--you would not accept my counsel. I was obliged to guard
against Hilderic's vindicating himself, so I took out of the chest
before I let Hilderic search it, the warning letter, which I had
dictated. But I could permit no scion of Genseric's race to live:
Justinian would have received your two captives with honors after the
victory of Belisarius! I had them killed by my freedman and secured his
escape. But you--I had long reserved it for the hour of your greatest
supremacy, in case of the most extreme peril of our plans--you I
crushed at the right moment by the revelation that you had dethroned
Hilderic without cause and then murdered him. But my mother's curse and
my oath would not be fulfilled until you walked in chains as
Justinian's captive.

"Therefore, to prevent your escape, I shared all the suffering, all the
privations, of these last three months. Letters from King Theudis,
directly after the battle of Decimum, had offered you rescue through
the coast tribes by the galleys of the Visigoths. You never saw those
letters; I suppressed them. Not until deliverance really beckoned, when
you already stretched your hand toward it, did I strip off the mask to
destroy you utterly. Now I shall see you kiss Justinian's feet in the
hippodrome at Constantinople; this is the final consummation of my
mother's curse, my oath, and my people's vengeance."

He ceased, his face glowing, his eyes flashing down at the prisoner.

Gelimer stooped and kissed the shoe in Verus's stirrup.

"I thank you. So you are God's rod which struck and felled me. I thank
God and you for every blow, as I thanked God and you when I believed
you to be my guardian spirit. And if, meanwhile, you have committed any
sin against me, against my people,--I know not how to express it,--may
God forgive you, as I do."



                             CHAPTER XXIII

PROCOPIUS TO CETHEGUS:

HE went all the way to Carthage on foot, declining horse or camel,
remaining silent or praying aloud in Latin, no longer in the Vandal
language. Fara offered him suitable garments instead of the worn,
half-tattered purple mantle which he had on his bare body. The captive
declined, and asked for a penitent's girdle, with sharp points on the
inside, such as the hermits wear in the desert. We did not know how to
obtain such crazy gear, and Fara probably disapproved the wish, so the
"Tyrant" himself made one from a cast-off horse-bridle which he found
and the hard, sharp thorns of the desert acacia. Close to the gate of
his capital, his strength failed, and he fell, face downward, in the
road. Verus stopped behind him, hesitating. I believe he meant to set
his foot on the King's neck; but Fara, who probably had the same
suspicion, roughly pushed the priest forward, and raised the monarch
with kind words. Directly beyond the Numidian gate, in the spacious
square in the Aklas suburb, Belisarius had assembled the larger portion
of his army, filling three sides; the fourth, facing the gate, remained
open. Opposite the entrance, on a raised seat, the General, in full
armor, sat throned; above his head rose the imperial field standards;
at his feet lay the scarlet flags and pennons of the Vandals which we
had captured by the dozen; every thousand had them. Only the great
royal banner was missing; it was never found. Around Belisarius stood
the leaders of his victorious bands, with many bishops and priests,
then the Senators, aristocratic citizens of Carthage and the other
cities, some of whom had returned from exile or flight during the past
few months; Pudentius of Tripolis and his son were among them,
rejoicing. To the left of Belisarius, on purple coverlets at his feet,
lay heaped and poured in artistic confusion the royal treasure of the
Vandals: many chairs of solid gold, the chariot of the Vandal Queen, a
countless multitude of treasures of every description,--how the jewels
glittered under the radiant African sun,--the whole silver table
service of the King, weighing many thousand pounds, and all the rest of
the paraphernalia of the royal household, besides weapons, countless
weapons from Genseric's armories; old Roman banners, too, which, after
a captivity of years, were again released; weapons enough in the hands
of brave men to conquer the whole globe; Roman helmets with proudly
curved crests, German boar and buffalo helmets, Moorish shields covered
with panther skins, Moorish fillets with waving ostrich plumes,
breastplates of crocodile skin,--who can enumerate the motley variety?
But at the right of Belisarius, with their hands bound behind their
backs, stood the prisoners of the highest rank, men, and also many
women, beautiful in face and figure,--the whole picture, however, was
inclosed, as though in an iron frame, by our squadrons of horsemen and
the dense ranks of our foot-soldiers. How the horses neighed; how the
plumes in the helmets waved; how the metal clanked and glittered with
dazzling brightness! A magnificent spectacle which must fill with
rapture the heart of every man who did not view it as a captive. Behind
our warriors crowded eagerly the populace of Carthage, taught by many a
blow with the handle of a spear that it had nothing to say, and bore no
part in this celebration of its own and Africa's deliverance.

Our little procession stopped within the vaulted gateway, awaiting a
preconcerted signal. A tuba blared; Fara and I, followed by some
subordinate officers and thirty Herulians, rode into the square to
Belisarius's throne. He commanded us to dismount, rose, embraced and
kissed Fara, and hung around his neck a large gold disk,--the prize of
victory for bringing as prisoner a crowned King. Then he pressed my
hand and asked me to accompany him in all future campaigns. This is the
highest reward I could receive, for I love this man who has the courage
of a lion and the heart of a boy!

At a signal we took our places on the right and left of the throne. Two
blasts of the tuba. Clad in the richest vestments of the Catholic
priesthood,--I noticed that even the narrow Arian tonsure had been
changed to the broader Catholic one,--Verus came from the gateway into
the square, his figure drawn up to its full height, his head thrown
back proudly. He was evidently thinking: "But for me you would not be
here, you arrogant soldiers." Yet that is by no means true; we really
should have conquered without him, though more slowly, with more
difficulty. And in the degree to which it was correct--just so far it
irritated my friend Belisarius. His brow contracted, and he scanned the
approaching priest with a look of contempt which the latter could not
endure. When he bowed he lowered his lashes--arrogantly enough. "I have
a letter from the Emperor to read to you, priest," said Belisarius. He
extended his hand for a purple papyrus roll, kissed it, and began:

"Imperator Cæsar, Flavius Justinianus, the devout, fortunate, glorious
victor and triumphator, at all times Augustus, conqueror of the
Alemanni, Franks, Germans, Antæ, Alani, Persians, now also the Vandals,
Moors, and Africa, to Verus the Archdeacon.

"'You have preferred, instead of dealing with me, to conduct a secret
correspondence with the Empress, my hallowed consort, concerning the
fall of the Tyrant to be consummated, with God's assistance, by our
arms. She promised you, if we conquered, to ask me for the reward you
desired. Theodora does not intercede with Justinian in vain. After
proving that you had only apparently adopted the faith of the heretics,
while in your heart, and also to your Catholic confessor, who was
authorized to grant you dispensation for that external semblance of
sin, you had always been faithful to the true religion, you are
recognized, having secretly received the Catholic consecration,
as an orthodox priest. So I command Belisarius, immediately on the
receipt of this letter, to proclaim you at once Catholic Bishop of
Carthage.'--Hear, all ye Carthaginians and Romans: in the Emperor's
name, I proclaim Verus Catholic Bishop of Carthage, and will put on the
Bishop's mitre and deliver the Bishop's staff. Kneel, Bishop."

Verus hesitated. He seemed to wish to receive the gold-embroidered
mitre standing; but Belisarius held it so low, so close to his own
knees, that the priest could do nothing but submit, if the desired
ornament and his head were to meet. The instant he felt it covered, he
sprang up again. Belisarius now placed in his hand the richly gilded,
crooked shepherd's staff. Then the Bishop, holding himself haughtily
erect, was about to move to the right of the throne.

"Stop, Reverend Bishop," cried Belisarius, "the Emperor's letter is not
yet finished." And he read on:

"'So the desired reward is yours. But Theodora, as you have learned,
does not intercede with Justinian in vain; so I will also fulfil her
second request. She thinks so bold and so crafty a man would be too
dangerous in the bishopric of Carthage; you might serve your new master
as you did the old one. Therefore she entreated me to have Belisarius,
immediately on receipt of this message, seize you,'"--at a sign from
the General, Fara, with the speed of lightning and with evident
delight, laid his mailed right hand heavily on the shoulder of Verus,
whose face blanched,--"'for you are exiled for life to Martyropolis on
the Tigris, upon the frontier of Persia, as far as possible from
Carthage. The Empress's confessor, whom she desires to have transferred
from Constantinople to Carthage, will manage the affairs of the
bishopric as your Vicarius, with the consent of the Holy Father in
Rome. There are penal mines in Martyropolis. During six hours in the
day you will care for the souls of the convicts. That you may be better
able to do this, by thoroughly understanding their state of feeling,
you will, during the other six hours, share their labor.' Away with
him!"

Verus tried to answer, but already the tuba blared loudly again, and,
before it sounded for the third time, six Thracians had hurried the
priest far away from the square, and disappeared in the street leading
to the harbor.

"Now summon Gelimer, the King of the Vandals," said the General,
loudly.

And from the gateway into the square came Gelimer, his hands fettered
with a chain of gold. One of the numerous pointed crowns found in the
royal treasure had been pressed upon his long tangled locks, and over
his ragged old purple mantle and penitent's girdle was flung a
magnificent new cloak of the same royal stuff. He had submitted to
everything unresistingly, motionless and silent, only at first he had
objected to the crown; then he said gently, "Be it so--my crown of
thorns." In the same unresisting, unmoved silence he now, like a
walking corpse, crossed with slow, slow steps the space,--possibly
three hundred feet,--which separated him from Belisarius. While, at the
mention of his name, a loud whisper, mingled with occasional
exclamations, had run through the ranks, all the many thousands were
silent now that they saw him: scorn, triumph, curiosity,
vindictiveness, pity no longer found any expression; they were silenced
by the majesty of this spectacle, the majesty of utter misery.

The captive King crossed the square entirely alone. No other prisoner,
not even a guard or warrior accompanied him. He kept his eyes,
shaded by long lashes, fixed upon the ground; they were sunk deep in
their sockets; his pale cheeks, too, were deeply sunken; the thin
fingers of his right hand were clenched around a small wooden cross.
Blood--visible when the mantle slipped back in walking--was trickling
from his girdle, down his naked limbs, in slow drops upon the white
sand of the square.

All were silent; a deathlike stillness pervaded the wide space; the
people held their breath until the hapless King stood before
Belisarius.

Deeply moved, the Roman General, too, found no words, but kindly
extended his right hand to the man before him. Gelimer now raised his
large eyes, saw Belisarius in all the glitter of gold and armor,
glanced quickly around the three sides of the square, beheld the
magnificence and pomp of warlike splendor, the victors' banners
fluttering high in the air, on the ground the standards and sparkling
royal treasure of the Vandals. Suddenly--we all started as this corpse
burst into such wild emotion--he flung both hands, with their long gold
chain, above his head, clasping them so that the metal clashed; the
cross slipped from his grasp; he uttered a shrill, terrible laugh.

"Vanity! _All_ is vanity!" he shrieked, and threw himself prone upon
the sand just at the feet of Belisarius.

"Is this illness?" whispered the General to me.

"Oh, no," I answered in the same tone. "It is despair--or piety. He
thinks that life is not worth living; everything human, everything
earthly, even his people and his kingdom are sinful, vain, empty. Is
this the last word of Christianity?"

"No, it is madness!" cried Belisarius the hero. "Up, my brave warriors!
Let the tubas blare again, the Roman tubas which echo through the
world! To the harbor! To the ships! And to the triumph--to
Constantinople!"







                           F E L I C I T A S

                             By FELIX DAHN
                   _Author of_ "_The Scarlet Banner_"

          Translated from the German by Mary J. Safford. $1.50

                           *   *   *   *   *

It tells of a lovely wife named Felicitas, of her husband's inscription
of her name upon the threshold of her home, and of the happiness that
came to them in spite of Roman wickedness and German invasion.--_Boston
Journal_.

A charming idyl of the period when the Germans were forcing themselves
and their ideals upon the Roman Empire.... Felix Dahn is perhaps the
greatest historical novelist of Germany.--_The Churchman_.

Care, elevated purity of tone, and just balance distinguish it from
many hastily thrown off and perfervid romances of the day.--_Boston
Transcript_.

The charm of it lies in this admirable picture of innocence and
happiness amid the chaos of a fallen civilization.--_The Independent_.

The book is made in a way that commends it to lovers of the
beautiful.--_Chicago Evening Post_.

The historical accuracy of Professor Dahn's novels is
unimpeachable.--_San Francisco Argonaut_.

The book is dramatic. The author has evidently found a new field for
historical romance.--_Worcester Spy_.

                           *   *   *   *   *

               A. C. McCLURG & CO., _Publishers_, Chicago






                     A CAPTIVE OF THE ROMAN EAGLES

                             By FELIX DAHN
                       _Author of_ "_Felicitas_"

          Translated from the German by Mary J. Safford. $1.50


The story deals with that early period when Roman power was feeling the
inroads of Christianity, and the Pagan Teutons were not yet converted.
It has, however, little to do with religion and much with conflict. A
beautiful German girl captured by the Romans is the heroine.--_The
Outlook_.

The book is of distinct value, as illuminating for us one of the many
dim paragraphs in the record of the mighty struggle that Rome waged for
centuries with the wild men of Europe.--_Chicago Evening Post_.

At the present day he is considered the successor of Ebers in
historical fiction.--_Minneapolis Times_.

A book not only worth translating, but worth translating well, and its
English version, by Mary J. Safford, must be well-nigh as satisfactory
as the original.--_Book News_.

It has the solid excellence one finds in the stories of Dahn's
compatriot, Ebers.--_New York Commercial Advertiser_.

A high place in the historical fiction of the year belongs to the
translation of Felix Dahn's "Bissula."--_The Churchman_.

Such fiction is of the highest literary value. It redeems
the appellation "historical novel" from execration and
oblivion.--_Louisville Courier-Journal_.

Miss Safford has done her work of translating well. The book is
published in attractive form, and it is a fine tale.--_Boston Times_.

                           *   *   *   *   *

               A. C. McCLURG & CO., _Publishers_, Chicago