A Struggle For Rome Volume I Part 54

Quickly concealing the tablet in her dress, she hastened to her chamber, where she read as follows:

"In pain, but not in anger, I parted from you. I would not that you should be called away from this world in an impenitent state, and lose your immortal soul. Fly from the palace, from the city. You know how bitter is the hatred of Gothelindis. Your life is not safe for an hour.

Trust no one except my secretary, and at sunset go to the Temple of Venus in the garden. There you will find my litter, which will bring you safely to my villa at the Lake of Bolsena. Obey and trust."

Much moved, Amalaswintha pressed the letter to her heart. Faithful Ca.s.siodorus! He had not, then, quite forsaken her. He still feared and cared for her life. And that charming villa upon the lonely island in the blue Lake of Bolsena! There, many, many years ago, in the full bloom of youth and beauty, as the guest of Ca.s.siodorus, she had been wedded to Eutharic, the n.o.ble Amelung, and, surrounded by all the splendour of rank and power, had pa.s.sed the proudest days of her youth.

She was overcome with an intense longing to see once more the scene of her greatest happiness.

This feeling powerfully induced her to listen to the warning of Ca.s.siodorus. Still more the fear--not for her life, for she longed to die--but that her enemies would make it impossible for her to warn the nation and save the kingdom.

And, finally, she reflected that the way to Regeta, near Rome, where the great National a.s.sembly was shortly--as was usual every autumn--to take place, led past the Lake of Bolsena; and that it was therefore only a furthering of her plan, should she start at once in this direction.

But, in order to make sure in all cases, so that, even if she never arrived at the end of her journey, her warning voice might reach the ears of the nation, she decided to write a letter to Ca.s.siodorus--whom she could not be sure of meeting at his villa--in which she would entrust him with her confession, and expose to him all the plans of the Byzantines and Theodahad.

With closed doors she wrote the painful words. Hot tears of grat.i.tude and remorse fell upon the parchment; she carefully sealed it, and delivered it to the most faithful of her slaves, with the strict injunction to carry it speedily and safely to the monastery at Squillacium in Apulia, the monastical foundation and usual abode of Ca.s.siodorus.

Slowly, slowly pa.s.sed the dreary hours.

She had grasped the offered hand of her friend with all her heart.

Memory and hope vied with each other in painting the island in the lake as a much-loved asylum. There she hoped to find repose and peace.

She kept carefully within her apartment, in order to give no cause for suspicion to her spies, or any excuse to detain her.

At last the sun had set.

With light steps, Amalaswintha, forbidding the attendance of her women, and only hiding a few jewels and doc.u.ments in the folds of her mantle, hurried from her room into the wide colonnade which led to the garden.

She feared to meet here as usual some lurking spy, and to be stopped, and perhaps detained. She frequently looked back, and even glanced carefully into the niches of the statues--all was empty and quiet, no spy followed her footsteps. Thus, un.o.bserved, she reached the platform of the terrace which united the palace and the garden, and afforded an open view of the latter.

Amalaswintha examined the nearest path leading to the Temple of Venus.

The way was open. Only the faded leaves fell rustling from the tall pines on to the sandy path, where they were whirled about by the wind, which drove the mist and clouds before it in ghostly shapes; it was very dismal in the deserted garden, which looked grey and dim in the twilight.

The Princess shivered. The cold wind tore at her veil and mantle. She cast a shy glance at the heavy, gloomy ma.s.s of stone which she had left behind--the building in whose precincts she had ruled so proudly, and from which she was now escaping, lonely and fearfully as a criminal.

She thought of her son, who reposed in the vault of the palace. She thought of her daughter, whom she herself had banished from these walls.

For a moment her pain threatened to overpower the forsaken woman; she tottered, and with difficulty supported herself by the broad bal.u.s.trade of the steps which she was descending. A feverish shudder shook her frame, as the horror of despair shook her soul.

"But my people," she said to herself, "and my atonement---- I must and will accomplish it."

Strengthened by this thought, she again hurried down the steps, and entered an alley overhung by thick foliage, which led across the garden, and ended at the Temple of Venus.

She walked rapidly forward, trembling whenever the autumn leaves, with a sighing sound, were swept across her path from a side-walk.

Breathless she arrived at the little temple, and looked searchingly around her.

But no litter, no slaves were to be seen; all around was quiet; only the branches of the pines creaked in the wind.

All at once the neighing of a horse struck upon her ear.

She turned; around the corner of a wall a man approached with hasty steps.

It was Dolios. He looked sharply about him, and then beckoned to her to come.

The Princess hastened to follow him round the corner; there stood Ca.s.siodorus's well-known Gallic travelling carriage, the comfortable and elegant _carruca_, closed on all sides with movable latticed shutters of polished wood, and to which were harnessed three swift-footed Flemish horses.

"We must hasten, Princess," whispered Dolios, as he lifted her into the soft cushions. "The litter was too slow for the hatred of your enemies.

Quiet and speed; so that no one may notice us."

Amalaswintha looked back once more.

Dolios opened the garden-gate and led the horses out. Two men stepped out of the bushes near. One took the driver's seat on the carriage, the other mounted one of two saddle-horses which stood outside the gate.

Amalaswintha recognised the men as confidential slaves belonging to Ca.s.siodorus. Like Dolios, they were provided with weapons.

The latter carefully closed the garden-gate, and let down the shutters of the carriage. Then he mounted the remaining horse and drew his sword.

"Forward!" he cried.

And the little company galloped away as if Death himself were at their heels.

CHAPTER V.

Amalaswintha at first revelled in the feeling of grat.i.tude, freedom, and safety. She made happy plans of reconciliation. She saw her people saved from Byzantium by her warning voice--saved from the treachery of their own King.

She already heard the enthusiastic shouts of the valiant army, announcing death to the enemy, and pardon to herself.

Lost in such dreams, the hours, days, and nights pa.s.sed rapidly.

The party hurried on without pause. Three or four times a day the horses were changed, so that mile after mile was pa.s.sed with the utmost velocity.

Dolios carefully watched over the Princess. He stood at the door of the carriage with drawn sword, while his companions fetched meat and drink from the stations which they pa.s.sed.

The speed at which they went, and the faithful attention of Dolios, freed the Princess from an anxiety which she had not been able for some time to get rid of--it seemed to her that they were pursued.

Twice, at Perusia and Clusium, where the carriage stopped, she had thought she heard the rattle of wheels and the sound of horses' hoofs close behind.

And, at Clusium, she had even fancied, as she looked through the lattices, that she saw a second _carruca_, likewise accompanied by outriders, turn into the gate of that town.

But when she had spoken of this to Dolios, he had at once galloped back to the gate, and shortly returned with the a.s.surance that there was nothing to be seen.

From that time she had noticed nothing more; and the mad haste with which she was being carried to the wished-for island, encouraged the hope that her enemies, even if they had discovered her flight and had followed her for a time, had soon become tired and remained behind.

An accident, insignificant in itself, but fraught with dread because of accompanying circ.u.mstances, suddenly darkened the brightening hopes of the fugitive Princess.