A Struggle For Rome Volume Iii Part 52

If he could now succeed in throwing his Isaurians, under the command of the tribunes, into Rome, the Prefect would be in a much more favourable position, opposed to Na.r.s.es, than he had ever been opposed to Belisarius, with whom he had been obliged to share the possession of the city.

One of the messengers who had brought the news from Rome, at the same time gave to Aulus, the hostage, a letter from the two centurions, the brothers Macer, which ran thus: "The bride has recovered from her long sickness; if the bridegroom will come, there is nothing more to hinder the wedding. Come, Aulus."

These were the words fixed upon. Cethegus communicated them to his Roman knights.

"Excellent!" cried Lucius. "Now I shall be able to place a monument upon the spot where my brave brother fell for Rome and for Cethegus."

"Yes," said Salvius Julia.n.u.s, "imprescriptible is the Romans' right to Rome."

"But if we are to go secretly, see to it well, Prefect," said Piso, "that our departure is concealed so long from the greatest cripple of all times, that it will be impossible for him to overtake us."

"No," said Cethegus, "you shall not depart in secret. I have convinced myself that this most prudent of all heroes has placed outposts far beyond our position on the left wing. What we considered our outposts are hemmed round by _his_--occupied by his Longobardian wolves, whom he has placed in all directions. Without his consent, you cannot manage your departure either by force or deception. It will be far wiser to act openly. If he chooses, he can frustrate our plan, for, in any case, he is sure to hear of it. But he will have nothing to say against it--you will see! I shall tell him of my resolution, and, depend upon it, he will approve of it."

"General, that is very bold; it is great!"

"It is the only possible way."

"Yes, you are right," said Salvius Julia.n.u.s, after a few moments'

reflection. "Force and deception are equally impossible; and should Na.r.s.es consent, I will willingly confess that my fears----"

"Were founded upon an over-estimation of the _statesman_ Na.r.s.es.

Large numbers have intimidated you, and the certainly not to be over-estimated _general-ship_ of the sick man. I confess that before the battle of Taginae the whole horizon threatened thunderstorms; but, as I am still alive, those appearances must have been illusive. I will at once send you with my inquiry to Na.r.s.es. You are suspicious, you will therefore observe sharply. Go, tell him that the Romans have resolved to admit me, their Prefect, within their walls _now_, before the annihilation of Teja's army. And I wish to know if he will permit you to march to Rome with my Isaurians, or if he would consider such an act as a breach of our agreement. Against his will neither I nor the Isaurians will set forth."

The two tribunes took leave, and, as he stepped out of the Prefect's tent, Piso said with a laugh to the others:

"The crutch of Na.r.s.es rendered your wits useless, longer than the stick of the shepherd did my fingers!"

When they were well outside, Syphax hurried up to his master.

"O master," he said, "do not trust this sick man with his quiet and impenetrable looks! Last night I again questioned my snake oracle. I divided the skin of my idol into two pieces, and laid them upon live coals. The piece which I called 'Na.r.s.es' outlasted by far the piece which I called 'Cethegus.' Shall I not make the attempt? You know that a scratch with this dagger, and he is lost! What would it matter if they impaled Syphax, the son of Hiempsal? I cannot do it by stealth, for the Longobardian prince sleeps in the tent of Na.r.s.es, in a bed stretched across the entrance, and seven of his 'little wolves' lie upon the threshold. The Herulians stand outside the curtain. According to your hint, I have watched Na.r.s.es' tent at night ever since we left Helvillum. Even a gnat can scarcely escape the vigilance of the Herulians and Longobardians when it flies into the tent. But openly, by day, one spring into his litter--a scratch of the skin--and he is a dead man in a quarter of an hour!"

"And before that time has elapsed, not only is Syphax, the son of Hiempsal, a corpse, but also Cethegus. No. But listen; I have discovered where the commander is accustomed to hold his secret conversations with Basiliskos and Alboin. Not in his tent--a camp has a thousand ears--but in the bath. The physicians have ordered Na.r.s.es a morning bath in the bay at Stabiae, and he has had a bath-house built out into the sea, which can only be reached in a boat. When Alboin and Basiliskos accompany him thither, they are only as wise as--well, as Basiliskos and Alboin. But when they return, they are full of the wisdom of Na.r.s.es; they know what letters have come from Byzantium, and many other things. Round about the bath-house there is much seaweed.

Syphax, for how long a time can you dive?"

"As long," answered the slave, not without pride, "as the clumsy and suspicious crocodile in our streams takes to observe the gazelle which has been thrown into the reeds as a bait, and to make up his mind to swim to it--then a knife from below in his belly! This small-eyed Na.r.s.es has something of the crocodile--we will see if I cannot outdo him by patient diving."

"Excellent! my panther on sh.o.r.e, my diving duck in the water!"

"I would leap into fire for your sake, then you would call me your 'salamander.'"

"Well, you must manage to listen to the conversation of this sick man when he goes to bathe."

"The office will very well suit another game which I have on hand. For many days a fisherman, who throws his net every morning and evening, and never catches anything, has been signing and winking to me in a very innocent-sly manner. I believe he is watching for me, and not for sea mullets. But the long-bearded wolves of this Alboin are always at my heels. Perhaps, when I dive into the water, I shall be able to catch up what this fisherman wishes to confide to me."

CHAPTER VIII.

Very gravely, but no more in a melting mood, Adalgoth told his young wife of the resolve of the King, and of the last alternative between death and a shameful slavery.

He expected an outbreak of wild grief, such as it had been so difficult even for him to repress. But, to his astonishment, Gotho remained unshaken.

"I have foreseen this long ago, my Adalgoth! It is no misfortune; to lose what we love, and still live, that alone is a misfortune. I have attained to the highest earthly bliss, I am thy wife. Whether I shall have been so for ten years or for twenty, or for scarcely half a year, alters nothing. At least we shall die together on the same day, possibly at the same hour. For King Teja will not forbid thee--when thou hast done thy part in the last battle, and, perhaps wounded, canst fight no longer--he will not forbid thee to come and take me in thine arms--how often hast thou carried me on the Iffinger!--and leap with me into the abyss. Oh, Adalgoth!" she cried, pa.s.sionately embracing him, "how happy we have been! We will show that we were worthy of such bliss, by dying bravely, without cowardly lament. The scion of the Balthe," and she smiled, "shall not say that the shepherd's daughter could not keep pace with his n.o.bility. There arises in my soul a vision of the grandeur of our mountains! My grandfather, Iffa, admonished me, when I left him, to call to mind the fresh and free air of our mountains, and the strict and n.o.ble severity of the proud heights, should ever life in the narrow, small, gilded chambers here below seem too paltry for our souls. We have not been menaced with that, but now, when it is necessary to raise our minds from timid, tender sorrow--which almost crept over me--and to gain strength for a n.o.ble resolve, the remembrance of my native mountains has made me strong.

'Shame on thee,' I said to myself, 'shame on thee, daughter of the mountains! What would the Iffinger, and the Wolfshead, and all the stony giants say, if they saw the shepherdess despair? Be worthy of thy mountains and of thy hero husband.'"

Adalgoth pressed his young wife to his bosom, with mingled pride and joy.

Behind the tent of the Duke lay the low hut, made of dried branches, where dwelt Wachis and Liuta. Liuta, who had heard from Gotho what fate menaced them, had been obliged to use all her powers of persuasion upon her husband (who sat shaking his head and hammering and patching his shield, which had been sadly defaced, by Longobardian arrows in the last watch he had held at the mouth of the pa.s.s, and who now began to whistle to hide his suppressed sobs) before she could raise him to a like enthusiasm of renunciation.

"I do not think," said the honest man, "that the Lord of heaven can see it done. I am one of those who never like to say, 'All is over!' The proud ones, those who hold their heads high, like King Teja and Duke Adalgoth, certainly run constantly against the beams of fate. But we small people, who can stoop and bend, easily find a mouse-hole or a c.h.i.n.k in the wall by which to escape. It is too vile! miserable! cruel!

rascally!"--and each word was accompanied by a sounding stroke with his hammer. "I will not believe it! I cannot believe that hundreds of good women, pretty girls, lisping children, and stammering old men, must jump into the h.e.l.lish fire of this accursed mountain! As if it were but a merry bonfire! As if they would come out at the other side safe and sound! I might just as well have let thee burn in the house at Faesulae.

And not only thou must burn, but also our expected child, whom I have already named Witichis."

"Or Rauthgundis," said Liuta, blushing, as she bent over her husband's shoulder and stopped his hammering. "Let this name admonish thee, Wachis! Think of our beloved mistress. Was she not a thousand times better than Liuta, the poor maid-servant? And would she have hesitated or refused to die on the same day with all her people?"

"Thou art right, wife!" exclaimed Wachis, with a last furious stroke of his hammer. "Thou knowest I am a peasant, and peasants do not at all like to die. But if the heavens fall, they strike down peasants as well as others; and before it happens--ha-ha!--I will deal many a famous stroke! That would please Sir Witichis and Mistress Rauthgundis right well also. In honour of them--yes, thou art right, Liuta--we will live bravely--and, if it cannot be otherwise, bravely die!"

CHAPTER IX.

It was with most joyful surprise that the two tribunes, Licinius and Julia.n.u.s, entered the tent of the Prefect after their interview with Na.r.s.es.

"Once again you have conquered, O Cethegus!" cried Licinius.

"You have got the upper hand, Prefect of Rome," said Salvius Julia.n.u.s.

"I do not understand it, but Na.r.s.es really abandons Rome to you."

"Ha!" cried Piso, who had entered with the others, "that is your old Caesarian luck, Cethegus! Your star, which has seemed to wane since this famous cripple's arrival, shines anew. It seems to me that sometimes his _mind_ suffers from attacks of epilepsy. For, with a sound mind, how could he quietly let you enter Rome? No! Quem deus vult perdere dementat! Now will Quintus Piso again wander through the Forum, and look into the book-stalls to see if the Goths have a.s.siduously bought his 'Epistolas ad amabilissimum, carissimum pastorem Adalgothum et ejus pedum'--(Letters to the very amiable and greatly beloved shepherd-boy, Adalgoth, and his bludgeon)."

"So you have composed in exile, like Ovidius?" asked Cethegus, smiling.

"Yes," answered Piso. "The six-footed verses come more readily, since they no longer need to fear the Goths, who are a foot longer. And amid the noise of Gothic banquetings it would not be easy to compose, even in time of peace."

"He has composed some merry verses, intermixed with Gothic words, on that subject too," said Salvius Julia.n.u.s. "How does it begin, 'Inter hails Gothic.u.m skapja'----"

"Do not wrong my words! It is not permitted to quote falsely what is immortal."

"Well, how go the verses?" asked Cethegus.

"Thus," said Piso:

"De conviviis barbarorum.

Inter: 'Hails Gothic.u.m! skapja matjan jah drinkan!'

Non audet quisquam dignos educere versus: Calliope madido trepidat se jungere Baccho, Ne pedibus non stet ebria Musa suis."