Читать книгу The Scarlet Banner - Felix Dahn - Страница 22

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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.