LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

are sleeping off their liquor.”

      “We will rouse them,” said the Arvernian; “it will be better than startling poor Columba.”

      So on they moved, the wildly-clad, barefooted Gauls, with locks streaming in the wind, still keeping in the rear.  They reached the long, low farm-buildings belonging to Deodatus, a half-bred Roman Gaul, with a large vineyard and numerous herds of cattle.  The place was wonderfully quiet.  The Goths seemed to be indulging in very sound slumbers after their carouse, for nothing was to be seen but the slaves coming in with bowls of milk from the cattle.  Some of them must have given notice of the approach of the Senator, for Deodatus came to his door with the salutation, “Ave clarissime!” and then stood staring at Verronax, apparently petrified with wonder; and as the young chief demanded where was Meinhard, he broke forth—

      “Does his nobility ask me?  It is two hours since every Goth quitted the place, except the dead man in the house of the widow Dubhina, and we are breathing freely for once in our lives.  Up they went towards the Æmilian villa with clamour and threats enough to make one’s blood run cold, and they must be far on their way to Bordigala Gergovia by this time.”

      “His nobility must have passed through their midst unseen and unheard!” cried old Julitta, a hardworking, dried-up woman, clasping her sinewy, wrinkled hands; “a miracle, and no wonder, since our holy Bishop has returned.”

      The excitable household was on the point of breaking out into acclamation, but Verronax exclaimed: “Silence, children!  Miracles are not for the bloodguilty.  If it be, as I fear, they have met Lucius and seized him in my stead, we must push on at once to save him.”

      “Meinhard could not mistake your persons,” returned Æmilius; but while he was speaking, a messenger came up and put into his hand one of the waxen tablets on which notes were written—

      L. ÆM.  VIC. TO M. ÆM. VIC.  S. Q.,—Pardon and bless thy son.  Meinhard assures me that I shall be accepted as equal in birth and accessory to the deed.  Remember Columba and the value of Verronax’s life, and let me save him.  Consent and hold him back.  Greet all the dear ones.—Vale.

      The little tablet could hold no more than this—almost every word curtailed.  The Senator’s firm lip quivered at last as he exclaimed, “My brave son.  Thus does he redeem his father’s rash oath!”

      Verronax, whose Roman breeding had held his impulsive Keltic nature in check as long as it was only himself that was in danger, now broke into loud weeping—

      “My Lucius! my brother beloved! and didst thou deem Arvernian honour fallen so low that I could brook such a sacrifice?  Let us hasten on instantly, my father, while yet it is time!”

      It would have been impossible to withhold him, and Marcus returned with the strange tidings, while his father and Verronax set forth with a few servants, mounted like themselves on mules, to reach the broad Roman road that led from Gergovia to Bordigala.  Three wild, barefooted Gauls of Verronax’s clan shook their heads at all his attempts to send them home, and went running along after him with the same fidelity as poor Celer, whom he had left tied up at the villa as his parting gift to little Victorinus, but who had broken loose, and came bounding to his master, caressing him with nose and tongue at their first halt.

      There had been, as in all Roman roads, regular posting stations at intervals along the way, where horses and mules could be hired, but the troubles of the Empire, invasion, and scarcity had greatly disturbed the system.  Many of the stations were deserted, and at others either the whole of the animals, or all the fleeter ones, had been taken up by Meinhard and his convoy.  Indeed it almost seemed that not only Lucius was anxious not to be overtaken, but that Meinhard was forwarding his endeavours to consummate his sacrifice before the Arvernian could prevent it.

      Hotly did Verronax chafe at each hindrance.  He would have dashed onwards with feverish head-long speed, using his own fleet limbs when he could not obtain a horse, but Æmilius feared to trust him alone, lest, coming too late to rescue Lucius, he should bring on himself the fury of the Goths, strike perhaps in revenge, and not only lose his own life and render the sacrifice vain, but imperil many more.

      So, while making all possible speed, he bound the young Arvernian, by all the ties of paternal guardianship and authority, to give his word not to use his lighter weight and youthful vigour to outstrip the rest of the party.

      The Senator himself hardly knew what was his own wish, for if his fatherly affection yearned over his gentle, dutiful, studious Lucius, yet Columba’s desolation, and the importance of Verronax as a protector for his family, so weighed down the other scale, that he could only take refuge in ‘committing his way unto the Lord.’

      The last halting-place was at a villa belonging to a Roman, where they heard that an assembly was being held in the fields near Bordigala for judgment on the slaughter of a young Goth of high rank.  On learning how deeply they were concerned, their host lent them two horses, and rode with them himself, as they hastened on in speechless anxiety.

      These early Teutonic nations all had their solemn assemblies in the open air, and the Goths had not yet abandoned the custom, so that as the Senator and the chieftain turned the summit of the last low hill they could see the plain beneath swarming like an ant-hill with people, and as they pressed onward they could see a glittering tent, woven with cloth of gold, a throne erected in front, and around it a space cleared and guarded by a huge circle of warriors (lites), whose shields joined so as to form a wall.

      Near the throne stood the men of higher degree, all alike to join the King in his judgment, like the Homeric warriors of old, as indeed Sidonius had often said that there was no better comment on the Iliad than the meetings of the barbarians.

      By the time Æmilius and Verronax had reached the spot, and gained an entrance in virtue of their rank and concern in the matter, Euric sat enthroned in the midst of the assembly.  He was far removed from being a savage, though he had won his crown by the murder of his brother.  He and the counts (comrades) around him wore the Roman garb, and used by preference the Latin speech, learning, arms, and habits, just as European civilisation is adopted by the Egyptian or Japanese of the present day.  He understood Roman jurisprudence, and was the author of a code for the Goths, but in a case like this he was obliged to conform to national customs.

      There he sat, a small, light-complexioned man, of slighter make than those around him, holding in his hand a scroll.  It was a letter from Sidonius, sent beforehand by a swift-footed mountaineer, and containing a guarantee for 1200 soldi, twice the price for a Goth of ordinary rank.  On the one side stood, unbound and unguarded, the slender form of Lucius; on the other a gigantic old Visigoth, blind, and with long streaming snowy hair and beard, his face stern with grief and passion, and both his knotted hands crossed upon the handle of a mighty battle-axe.

      The King had evidently been explaining to him the terms of the Bishop’s letter, for the first words that met the ear of Æmilius were—

      “Nay, I say nay, King Euric.  Were I to receive treble the weight of gold, how should that enable me to face my son in the halls of Odin, with his blood unavenged?”

      There was a murmur, and the King exclaimed—

      “Now, now, Odo, we know no more of Odin.”

      “Odin knows us no more,” retorted the old man, “since we have washed ourselves in the Name of another than the mighty Thor, and taken up the weakly worship of the conquered.  So my son would have it!  He talked of a new Valhal of the Christian; but let him meet me where he will, he shall not reproach me that he only of all his brethren died unavenged.  Where is the slayer?  Set him before me that I may strike him dead with one blow!”

      Lucius crossed himself, looked upwards, and was stepping forwards, when Verronax with a shout of ‘Hold!’ leapt into the midst, full before the avenger’s uplifted weapon, crying—

      “Slay me, old man!  It was I who killed thy son, I, Fearnagh the Arvernian!”

      “Ho!” said Odo.  “Give me thine hand.  Let me feel thee.  Yea, these be sinews!  It is well.  I marvelled how my Odorik should have fallen by the soft Roman hand of yonder stripling; but

Скачать книгу