A Struggle For Rome Volume I Part 55

A desolate, treeless waste extended on all sides, farther than the eye could reach. Only reeds and tall marsh-plants stood in the damp ditches on both sides of the Roman high-road, nodding and whispering mysteriously in the night wind.

The road was now and then bordered by walls grown over with vines; or, in old Roman style, by monuments, which, however, were often sadly ruined, and the scattered stones of which, fallen across the road, hindered the progress of the horses.

Suddenly the carriage stopped with a violent shock, and Dolios tore open the door.

"What has happened?" cried the Princess; "have we fallen into the hands of our enemies?"

"No," said Dolios, who, though known to her as gloomy and reserved, seemed, during the journey, almost alarmingly silent; "a wheel is broken. You must descend and wait until it is mended."

A violent gust of wind just then extinguished his torch, and chilly drops of rain lashed the face of the terrified Princess.

"Descend? here? whither shall I go? There is no house near, not even a tree which might afford a shelter from the rain and wind. I shall remain in the carriage."

"The wheel must be taken off. That monument will afford some shelter."

Shivering with fright, Amalaswintha obeyed, and walked over the scattered stones to the right side of the road, where, across the ditch, she saw a tall monument rise out of the darkness.

Dolios helped her over the ditch. All at once the neighing of a horse was heard on the road behind the carriage. Amalaswintha stopped short in alarm.

"It is our rear-guard," said Dolios quickly. "Come!" And he led her through the wet gra.s.s up the hill upon which stood the monument.

Arrived at the top, she seated herself upon the broad slab of a sarcophagus. Dolios all at once disappeared into the darkness; in vain she called him back. Presently she saw the light of his torch on the road below; it shone redly through the mist of the marsh, and the stormy wind rapidly bore away the sound of the hammer-strokes of the slaves who were working at the wheel.

Thus sat the daughter of the great Theodoric, lonely and in fear. The cold rain slowly penetrated her clothing. The wind tore at her dress and sighed dismally through the cypresses behind the monument; ragged clouds drove across the sky and at intervals permitted a gleam of moonlight to penetrate their folds, which only intensified the darkness that followed.

Amalaswintha's heart was sick with fear. Gradually her eyes became accustomed to the gloom, and, looking about her, she could distinguish the outlines of the nearest objects. There!--her heart stood still with horror--it seemed to her as if, close behind her on the raised corner of the back of the sarcophagus, there sat a second figure--it was not her own shadow--a shorter figure in a wide flowing garment, its arms resting on its knees, its head supported on its hands, and its eyes fixed upon her.

She could scarcely breathe; she thought she heard a whisper; she feverishly tried to see, to hear.

Again there came a whisper.

"No, no; not yet!" this was what she thought she heard.

She raised herself gently, and the figure, too, seemed to move; she distinctly heard the clang of steel upon stone. In mortal fear she screamed out:

"Dolios! lights! help! lights!"

She turned to descend the hill, but her knees trembled too much; she fell and hurt her cheek against the sharp stones.

All at once Dolios stood beside her, and silently lifted her up. He asked no questions.

"Dolios," she said, trying to compose herself, "give me the light! I must see what was there; what is there now."

She took the torch and walked with a firm step round the corner of the sarcophagus. There was nothing to be seen, but by the light of the torch she now perceived that the monument was not old like the others, but newly erected; so unsoiled was the white marble, so fresh the black letters of the inscription.

Irresistibly impelled by the strange curiosity which is inseparable from terror, she held the torch to the socle of the monument, and by its flickering light read these words:

"Eternal honour to the three Balthes, Thulun, Ibba, and Pitza. An eternal curse upon their murderers!"

With a scream Amalaswintha staggered back.

Dolios led her, half fainting, to the carriage. She pa.s.sed the remaining hours of her journey in an almost unconscious state. She felt ill in body and mind. The nearer she came to the island the more the feverish joy with which she had looked forward to reaching it was replaced by a mysterious fear. With apprehension she saw the shrubs and trees at the road-side fly past her faster and faster.

At last the smoking horses stopped. She let down the shutters and looked out. It was that cold and dreary hour in which the first grey of dawn struggles for the mastery with the still pervading night. They had arrived, it seemed, at the sh.o.r.e of the lake, but nothing was to be seen of its waters.

A dismal grey mist lay, impenetrable as the future, before Amalaswintha's eyes. Of the villa, even of the island, nothing could be seen.

On the right side of the road stood a low fisher-hut, half-buried in the tall, thick reeds, which bent their heads to the soughing of the morning wind. Singular! they seemed to warn and beckon her away from the hidden lake behind them.

Dolios had gone into the hut. He now returned and lifted the Princess out of the carriage. Silently he led her through the damp meadow to the reeds. Among them lay a small boat, which seemed rather to float on the mist than on the water.

At the rudder sat an old man in a grey and ragged mantle; his long white hair hung dishevelled about his face. He seemed to sit dreaming with closed eyes, which he did not even open when the Princess entered the rocking boat and placed herself in the middle upon a camp-stool.

Dolios entered the boat after her, and took the two oars; the slaves remained behind with the carriage.

"Dolios!" cried Amalaswintha anxiously, "it is very dark. Can the old man steer in this fog, and no light on either sh.o.r.e?"

"A light would be of no use, Queen. He is blind."

"Blind!" cried the terrified woman. "Let me land! Put back!"

"I have guided the boat for twenty years," said the aged ferryman; "no seeing man knows the way as well as I."

"Were you born blind then?"

"No. Theodoric the Amelung caused me to be blinded, believing that Alaric, the brother of Thulun, had hired me to murder him. I am a servant of the Balthes, and a follower of Alaric, but I was innocent; and so was my master, the banished Alaric. A curse upon the Amelungs!"

he cried with an angry pull at the rudder.

"Silence, old man!" said Dolios.

"Why should I not say to-day what I have said at every oar-stroke for twenty years? It is the way I beat time. A curse upon the Amelungs!"

The Princess looked with horror at the old man, who, in fact, steered the boat with complete security, and as straight as an arrow.

His wide mantle and dishevelled hair waved in the wind; all around was fog and silence; only the regular beat of the oars could be heard.

Empty air and grey mist enveloped the slight boat.

It seemed to Amalaswintha as if Charon was rowing her over the Styx to the grey realm of shades.

Shivering, she drew her mantle closely around her.

A few more strokes of the oar, and they landed.

Dolios lifted the trembling Queen on to the land; but the old man silently turned his boat, and rowed as quickly and unerringly back as he had come. With a sort of dismay Amalaswintha watched him disappear into the thick mist.

Suddenly it seemed to her as if she heard the sound of oar-strokes from a second boat, which approached nearer and nearer. She asked Dolios what was the cause of this noise.

"I hear nothing," he answered; "you are over-excited. Come into the house."