Читать книгу A Struggle for Rome, Vol. III - Felix Dahn - Страница 7

Table of Contents

Soon after the Prefect had left the Queen it became quite dark.

The sky was thickly covered with ragged clouds, which were driven across the moon by the fierce wind, so that brief and uncertain light alternated with a gloom rendered greater by contrast.

Dromon had completed his evening round of the cells, and returned to his dwelling tired and sad.

He found no light within. He could scarcely make out that Rauthgundis was still leaning against the half«door, the axe in her hand, her eyes fixed upon the door of the passage.

"Let me strike a light, mistress, and kindle the chips upon the hearth. Share the evening meal with me. Come, you wait here in vain."

"No, no light, no fire! I can see better what happens in the court without, for it is moonlight."

"Well, at least come in here and rest yourself. Here is bread and meat."

"Shall I eat while he hungers?"

"You will be exhausted! Of what are you thinking the whole evening?"

"Of what am I thinking?" repeated Rauthgundis, still looking out. "I am thinking how often we have sat in the colonnade before our beautiful house, when the fountain splashed in the garden and the cicalas chirped in the trees. The cool night-breeze fanned his beloved face, and I nestled against his shoulder, and we did not speak one word, and above us was the silent march of the stars. And we listened to the deep and peaceful breathing of our child, who had fallen asleep upon my lap, his little hands, like soft white fetters, clasping the arm of his father. Alas! his arm now wears other fetters! Iron fetters—that pain——"

And she pressed her forehead against the iron grating, until she, too, felt pain.

"Mistress, why do you torment yourself thus? We cannot help it!"

"'But we will help it! I must save him and——Dromon! look there! What is that?" she whispered, and pointed at something in the court.

The old man hastened noiselessly to her side.

In the court was a tall white figure, which seemed to glide stealthily along the wall.

At brief intervals, but sharp and clear, the moonlight fell upon it.

"It is a Lemure! The ghost of some one who has been murdered here!" said the old man, trembling. "God and all the saints protect us!"

He crossed himself and covered his head with his mantle.

"No," said Rauthgundis, "the dead do not return from the other world! Now it has disappeared—all is dark. Ha! the moon breaks through once—more there it is again! It moves towards the passage-door. What is that shining red in the white light? Ha! it is the Queen—that is her red hair? She stops at the door! She opens it! She is going to murder him in his sleep!"

"God knows, it is the Queen! But she murder him! How could she?"

"She could! But, as I live, she shall not! Follow her! A miracle opens the door to us. But softly, softly!"

And she went out on tiptoe into the court, the axe still in her hand, slowly and stealthily, seeking the shadow. Dromon followed her closely.

Meanwhile Mataswintha, for she it was, had opened the door and gone forward, down many steps and then through a small passage, feeling the way with her hands.

She now reached the door of the prison. She opened it very softly.

Through an aperture high up on the wall, where a stone had been taken out, a slanting strip of moonlight fell into the square and narrow dungeon.

The light revealed the prisoner. He sat motionless upon a block of stone, his back turned to the door, his head supported on his hands.

Mataswintha trembled and leaned against the doorpost. The air felt damp and icy-cold. She shivered. She could not say a word for very horror.

Witichis remarked the draught of air from the open door. He lifted his head, but did not look round.

"Witichis—King Witichis—" at last stammered Mataswintha; "it is I! Dost thou hear me?"

But the prisoner did not move.

"I come to save thee—fly! Thou art free!"

But the prisoner dropped his head again.

"Oh, speak!—oh, only look at me!"

She now went quite into the dungeon. Gladly would she have touched his arm, and taken his hand, but she did not yet dare.

"Cethegus will kill thee!" she said; "torture thee. He surely will if thou dost not fly!"

And now her desperation gave her courage. She drew nearer.

"But thou wilt fly! Thou shalt not die! I must save thee! I beseech thee, fly, fly! Oh, thou dost not hear me, and time presses! Sometime thou shalt know everything! but now fly—to life and liberty! I have the keys of the doors! fly, fly!" And now she grasped his arm and tried to drag him from his seat.

But she heard the rattling of chains—on his arms on his feet. He was chained to the block of stone.

"Oh! what is this?" she cried, and fell upon her knees.

"Stone and iron," he said, in a toneless voice. "Leave me, I am doomed. And even if these bonds did not hold me—I would not follow thee. Back to the world? The world is one great lie. Everything is a lie."

"Thou art right. It is better to die. Let me die with thee, but forgive me! For I, too, have lied to thee."

"It is very possible. It does not surprise me."

"But thou wilt forgive me before we die? I have hated thee—I have rejoiced in thy ruin—I have—oh, it is so hard to tell! I have not the strength to confess it! And yet I must have thy forgiveness. Oh, forgive me!—give me thy hand as a sign of thy pardon."

But Witichis had sunk back into his former stupor.

"Oh, I beseech thee—forgive me, whatever I may have done!"

"Go—why should I not forgive thee? thou art like the rest—not better and not worse."

"No, I am more wicked than all—and yet better. At least more miserable. It is true that I hated thee, but only because thou hast ever thrust me from thee. Thou wouldst not permit me to share thy life. Forgive me!—O God! I only wish to die with thee!—give me thy hand as a sign of pardon!"

Kneeling and beseeching, she stretched out both her hands.

The King again lifted his head. The kindness of his nature awoke within him, and overpowered his own dull pain.

"Mataswintha," he said, lifting his chained hand, "go. I am sorry for thee. Let me die alone. Whatever thou mayst have done—go—I forgive thee."

"O Witichis!" breathed Mataswintha, and would have clasped his hand, but she felt herself suddenly and violently dragged away.

"Incendiary! never shall he forgive thee! Come, Witichis!—my Witichis!—follow me; thou art free!"

The King sprang up, roused to life by this voice.

"Rauthgundis! My wife! Thou hast never lied! Thou art true! at last I have thee again!"

And, with a gasp of joy, he stretched out his arms. His wife flew to his bosom, and tear's of delight rushed from their eyes.

But Mataswintha, who had risen, tottered to the wall. She slowly stroked her loose red hair out of her eyes and looked at the pair, who were illuminated by the bright moonlight from the chink in the wall.

"How he loves her! Yes, he will follow her! But he shall not! He shall remain and die with me!"

"Delay no longer!" said the voice of Dromon at the door.

"Come, come quickly, my life!" cried Rauthgundis.

She drew a little key from her bosom and felt at the chains, seeking the small opening of the lock.

"What? Shall I really breathe once more the air of freedom?" asked the prisoner, half sinking back into his stupor.

"Yes; the free and open air!" cried Rauthgundis, and threw the loosened chains to the ground. "Here, Witichis, here is a weapon! an axe! Take it!"

Eagerly the Goth took the axe and weighed it in his hand.

"Ha! how the weapon strengthens my arm and soul!"

"I knew it, my brave Witichis," said Rauthgundis, kneeling down and unlocking the chain which bound his left foot to the block of stone. "Now step out, for thou art free!"

Witichis, raising the axe in his right hand, made a step toward the door.

"And she is permitted to loose his chains!" whispered Mataswintha.

"Yes, free!" cried Witichis, drawing a deep breath. "Come, Rauthgundis, let us go!"

"He goes with her!" screamed Mataswintha, and cast herself before the pair. "Witichis—farewell—but tell me once more—that thou hast forgiven me!"

"Forgiven thee!" cried Rauthgundis. "Never—never! She has destroyed our kingdom—she has betrayed thee! It was no lightning—it was her hand which kindled the granaries!"

"Ha—then be thou accursed!" cried Witichis. "Away, away from this serpent!" and, thrusting Mataswintha violently away, he crossed the threshold, followed by Rauthgundis.

"Witichis," screamed Mataswintha, dragging herself up—"stay—stay! Hear one word—Witichis!"

"Be silent," said Dromon, grasping her arm. "You will alarm the guard!"

But Mataswintha, now no more mistress of herself, ran up the steps into the passage. "Stay, Witichis—stay!" she screamed. "Thou canst not leave me thus!" and fell fainting to the earth.

Dromon hurried past her, and followed the fugitives.

But the shrill cries of Mataswintha had already reached the ear of one who ever slept lightly. Cethegus, his sword in his hand, and only half dressed, came out of his chamber into the gallery which looked over the square court of the palace.

"Guards!" he cried. "To arms!"

The soldiers were already astir.

Scarcely had Witichis, Rauthgundis, and Dromon left the passage and safely reached the dwelling of the latter, when six Isaurian mercenaries rushed noisily into the passage.

Quick as thought Rauthgundis ran out of the house to the heavy iron door, shut it, turned the key, and took it out.

"Now they can do no harm," she whispered.

The husband and wife presently hastened from Dromon's house to the great gate which led from the court into the street. The single sentinel who had remained behind stopped them and demanded the watchword. "Rome," he cried, "and——"

"Revenge!" cried Witichis, and struck him down with the axe.

The sentinel screamed and fell, hurling his spear at the fugitives. It pierced the last of the three—Dromon.

As Witichis and Rauthgundis rushed down the marble stairs of the palace into the street, they heard the imprisoned soldiers thundering at the strong iron door, and a loud voice calling: "Syphax, my horse!" Then they disappeared into the darkness.

A few minutes later the courtyard was bright with the lights of many torches, and several horsemen galloped off to the different gates of the city.

"Six thousand solidi to whoever takes him alive; three thousand if he be brought in dead!" cried Cethegus, swinging himself into the saddle. "Up, Sons of the Wind, Ellak and Mondzach, Huns and Massagetæ! Ride as you have never ridden before!"

"But whither?" asked Syphax, as he galloped out of the gate at his master's aide.

"That is difficult to say. But all the gates are closed and guarded. They can only escape by a breach."

"There are two large breaches."

"Look at Jupiter, which is just rising from behind the clouds in the east. It seems to sign to me. In that direction——"

"Lies the breach near the Tower of Ætius."

"Good! Then thither—I follow my star!"

Meantime the fugitives had happily reached the breach, where Paulus, the son of Dromon, let them pass. In the pine-grove of Diana they found their faithful Wachis and two horses.

The husband and wife mounted Wallada. The freedman took the other horse and rode off at a gallop towards the river, which at this point was very broad.

Witichis held Rauthgundis before him.

"My wife—losing thee I had lost all: life and courage. But now I will once more try for the kingdom. Oh, how could I ever let thee go, thou soul of my soul!"

"Thine arm is wounded with the chaffing of the chain. Lay it across my neck, my Witichis."

"Forward, Wallada—quick! It is for life or death!"

They now issued from the grove into the open country. They reached the shore of the river.

Wachis was trying to urge his rearing steed into the dark flood. The animal shyed and resisted.

The freedman sprang off.

"It is very deep, very rapid," he said. "For three days the river has been unusually full. The ford is useless. The horses will have to swim, and the current will drag us far to the left. There are rocks in the stream, and the moonlight is so inconstant and deceptive."

He looked doubtfully and searchingly up and down the river.

"Hark! what was that?" asked Rauthgundis. "It was not the wind in the trees."

"It is horses!" cried Witichis. "They approach rapidly. I hear the clatter of arms. There—torches! Now into the river for life or death—but softly!"

He urged his horse into the water.

"There is no footing. The horses must swim. Hold fast by the mane, Rauthgundis. Forward, Wallada!"

Snorting and trembling, the noble animal looked at the black water. His mane was blown wildly about his head—he held his fore-feet stretched out, his haunches drawn in.

"Forward, Wallada!" said Witichis, and called softly into the faithful animal's ear, "Theodoric!"

At this the charger sprang willingly into the water.

The pursuing horsemen had already galloped out of the wood, Cethegus foremost; at his side rode Syphax with a torch.

"Here the track disappears in the sand, master."

"They are in the river. Forward, Huns!"

But the horsemen drew rein and stood stock-still.

"Well, Ellak, why do you linger? At once into the flood!"

"Sir, we cannot. Before we ride into running water at night-time, we must ask forgiveness of Phug, the water-spirit. We must first pray to him."

"Pray when you are across as long as you like; but now——"

Just then a strong gust of wind blew from the river and extinguished all the torches.

The river rushed and roared.

"You see, sir, that Phug is angry."

"Be silent. Did you see nothing? There to the left."

The moon just then glanced between the driving clouds. It shone upon the light-coloured garments of Rauthgundis. She had lost her brown mantle.

"Aim quickly; there!"

"We cannot; we must first finish our worship!"

The clouds passed across the moon, and it was again quite dark.

With a curse, Cethegus snatched bow and quiver from the shoulder of the chief of the Huns.

"Come on!" cried Wachis in a low voice, when he had almost reached the opposite shore; "come quickly, before the moon issues from that narrow strip of cloud!"

"Halt, Wallada!" cried Witichis, as he dismounted in order to lighten the burden, and held fast by the horse's mane. "Here is a rock. Take care, Rauthgundis."

Horse, man, and woman were checked for a moment while balancing upon the top of the rock, past which the water rushed and gurgled in a deep whirl.

Suddenly the moon shone out clear and bright. It illuminated the surface of the stream and the group on the rock.

"It is they!" cried Cethegus, who held his bow and arrow ready.

He took a rapid aim, and pulled the string.

Whistling, the long black-feathered arrow flew from the string.

"Rauthgundis!" cried Witichis in terror; for his wife started convulsively and sank forward upon the horse's neck. But she did not utter a groan. "Rauthgundis, thou art hit?"

"I believe so. Leave me here and save thyself."

"Never! Let me support thee."

"For God's sake, sir, stoop! dive! They take aim again!"

The Huns had finished praying. They rode a short way into the water, fixing their arrows and taking aim.

"Leave me, Witichis. Fly! I will die here."

"No; I will never leave thee again!"

He lifted her out of the saddle, and tried to hide her on the rock. The group stood in the full light of the moon.

"Yield, Witichis!" cried Cethegus, spurring his horse up to its haunches in the water.

"A curse upon thee, thou traitor!" was the reply of Witichis.

Twelve arrows whizzed at once. The charger of Theodoric leaped wildly forward, and sank for ever into the flood.

But Witichis also was mortally wounded.

"With thee!" sighed Rauthgundis. She held him closely with both arms.

"With thee!"

And, locked in a fast embrace, husband and wife sank into the river.

In bitter grief, Wachis, on the farther shore, called their names. In vain. Three times he called, and then galloped away into the night.

"Get the bodies out," ordered Cethegus grimly, turning his horse to the bank.

And the Huns rode and swam to the rock, and sought for the bodies. But they sought in vain.

The rapid current had carried man and wife, united now for ever, into the free and open sea.

The same day Prince Germanus had returned from Ariminum to the harbour of Ravenna, ready to take Mataswintha to Byzantium.

The latter was only roused from the faint into which she had fallen when left by Witichis and Rauthgundis, by the noise of the hammers with which the work-people broke open the passage to liberate the soldiers.

The Princess was found crouching upon the steps of the prison. She was carried up to her chamber in a high fever. She lay for hours upon her purple cushions without moving or speaking, her eyes fixed in a wild stare.

Towards noon Cethegus asked for admission.

His look was dark and threatening; his expression cold as ice.

He went up to Mataswintha's couch.

"He is dead!" she quietly said.

"He would not have it otherwise. He—and you. It is useless to reproach you. But you see what ensues when you oppose me. The report of his death will inevitably rouse the barbarians to new fury. You have created a difficult task for me; for you only are the cause of his flight and death. The least that you can do to atone for this is to fulfil my second wish. Prince Germanus has landed. He comes to fetch you. You will follow him."

"Where is the corpse?"

"It has not been found. The current has carried it away; his body and—the woman's."

Mataswintha's lips twitched.

"Even in death! She died with him?"

"Think no more of the dead. In two hours I will return with the Prince. Will you then be prepared to welcome him?"

"I shall be ready."

"'Tis well. We will be punctual."

"I also. Aspa, call all my slaves; they shall adorn me richly to meet this Prince. Diadem, purple, and silk."

"She has lost her senses," Cethegus said to himself as he left the room. "But women are tough; she will recover them. These women can live, even when their hearts are broken."

He went to console the impatient Prince.

Before the expiration of the time appointed, a slave came to invite the two men to come to the Queen.

Germanus crossed the threshold of her room with a rapid step. But he stood still astonished. He had never seen the Gothic Princess looking so lovely, so queenly.

She had placed a high golden diadem upon her shining hair, which fell over her shoulders in two thick tresses. Her under-dress of heavy white silk, embroidered with golden flowers, was only visible below the knee, for the upper part of her body was covered by the royal purple. Her face was white and cold as marble: her eyes blazed with a strange and supernatural light.

"Prince Germanus," she said, as he entered, "you once spoke to me of love; but do you know of what you spoke? To love is to die."

Germanus looked inquiringly at the Prefect, who now came forward.

He was about to speak, but Mataswintha, in a clear loud voice, recommenced:

"Prince Germanus, you are famed as the most highly-cultivated man of a learned court, where it is a favourite pastime to practise the solving of finely-pointed riddles. I also will put to you a riddle; see to it that you solve it. Let the clever Prefect, who so well understands human nature, help you. What is this?—A wife, and yet a maid; a widow, and yet no wife? You cannot guess? You are right; death alone resolves all riddles!"

With a sudden movement, she cast off her purple robe.

There was a flash of steel! She had stabbed herself to the heart.

With a shriek, Germanus and Aspa (who had stood behind) sprang forward.

Cethegus silently caught the falling figure.

She died as soon as he drew the sword from her breast. He knew the sword. He himself had sent it to her.

It was the sword of King Witichis.