The Scarlet Banner - Felix Dahn

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well-kept hands, which possibly might gracefully wave an order to cut off my head--or some other useful portion of my anatomy to which I have been accustomed since my birth. But if I send these truths hence to the West, they will not be so easily seized by those dangerous little fingers which discover every secret in the capital, whenever they search in earnest. Whether you are living in your house at the foot of the Capitol, or with the Regent at Ravenna, I do not know; but I shall despatch this to Rome, for toward Rome my thoughts fly, seeking Cethegus.

      You may ask derisively why I write what is so dangerous. Because I must! I praise--constrained by fear--so many people and things with my lips that I condemn in my heart, that I must at least confess the truth secretly in writing. Well, I might write out my rage, read it, and then throw the pages into the sea, you say. But--and this is the other reason for this missive--I am vain, too. The cleverest man I know must read, must praise what I write, must be aware that I was not so foolish as to believe all I extolled to be praiseworthy. Later perhaps I can use the notes,--if they are not lost,--when at some future day I write the true history of the strange things I have experienced and shortly shall undergo.

      So keep these pages if they do reach you. They are not exactly letters; it is a sort of diary that I am sending to you. I shall expect no answer. Cethegus does not need me, at present. Why should Cethegus write to me, now? Yet perhaps I shall soon learn your opinion from your own lips. Do you marvel?

      True, we have not met since we studied together at Athens. But possibly I may soon seek you in your Italy. For I believe that the war declared to-day against the Vandals is but the prelude to the conflict with your tyrants, the Ostrogoths. Now I have written the great secret which at present is known to so few.

      It is a strange thing to see before one, in clear, sharp letters, a terrible fate, pregnant with blood and tears, which no one else suspects; at such times the statesman feels akin to the god who is forging the thunderbolt that will so soon strike happy human beings. Pitiable, weak, mortal god! Will your bolt hit the mark? Will it not recoil against you? The demi-god Justinian and the goddess Theodora have prepared this thunder-bolt; the eagle Belisarius will carry it; we are starting for Africa to make war upon the Vandals.

      Now you know much, O Cethegus. But you do not yet know all,--at least, not all about the Vandals. So learn it from me; I know. During the last few months I have been obliged to deliver lectures to the two gods--and the eagle--about these fair-haired fools. But whoever is compelled to deliver lectures has sense enough bestowed upon him to perform the task. Look at the professors at Athens. Since the reign of Justinian the lecture-rooms have been closed to them. Who still thinks them wise?

      So listen: The Vandals are cousins of your dear masters, the Ostrogoths. They came about a hundred years ago--men, women, and children, perhaps fifty thousand in number--from Spain to Africa. Their leader was a terrible king, Gizericus by name (commonly called Genseric); a worthy comrade of Attila, the Hun. He defeated the Romans in hard-fought battles, captured Carthage, plundered Rome. He was never vanquished. The crown passed to his heirs, the Asdings, who were said to be descended from the pagan gods of the Germans. The oldest male scion of the family always ascends the throne.

      But Genseric's posterity inherited only his sceptre, not his greatness. The Catholics in their kingdom (the Vandals are heretics, Arians) were most cruelly persecuted, which was more stupid than it was unjust. It really was not so very unjust; they merely applied to the Catholics, the Romans, in their kingdom the selfsame laws which the Emperor in the Roman Empire had previously issued against the Arians. But it was certainly extremely stupid. What harm can the few Arians do in the Roman Empire? But the numerous Catholics in the Vandal kingdom could overthrow it, if they should rebel. True; they will not rise voluntarily. But we are coming to rouse them.

      Shall we conquer? There is much probability of it. King Hilderic lived in Constantinople a long time, and is said to have secretly embraced the Catholic faith. He is Justinian's friend: this great-grandson of Genseric abhors war. He has dealt his own kingdom the severest blow by transforming its best prop, the friendship with the Ostrogoths in Italy, into mortal hatred. The wise King Theodoric at Ravenna made a treaty of friendship and brotherhood with Thrasamund, the predecessor of Hilderic, gave him his beautiful, clever sister, Amalafrida, for his wife, and bestowed upon the latter for her dowry, besides much treasure, the headland of Lilybæum in Sicily, directly opposite Carthage, which was of great importance to the Vandal kingdom. He also sent him as a permanent defence against the Moors--probably against us too--a band of one thousand chosen Gothic warriors, each of whom had five brave men under him. Hilderic was scarcely king when the royal widow Amalafrida was accused of high treason against him and threatened with death.

      If Justinian and Theodora did not invent this high treason, I have little knowledge of my adored rulers: I saw the smile with which they received the news from Carthage. It was the triumph of the bird-catcher who draws his snare over the fluttering prey.

      Amalafrida's Goths succeeded in rescuing her from imprisonment and accompanying her on her flight. She intended to seek refuge with friendly Moors, but on her way she was overtaken and attacked by the King's two nephews with a superior force. The faithful Goths fought and fell almost to a man; the Queen was captured and murdered in prison. Since that time fierce hate has existed between the two nations; the Goths took Lilybæum back and from it cast vengeful glances at Carthage. This is King Hilderic's sole act of government! Since that time he has seen clearly that it will be best for his people to be subject to us. But he is almost an old man, and his cousin--unfortunately the rightful heir to the throne--is our worst enemy. His name is Gelimer. He must never be permitted to reign in Carthage; for he is considered the stronghold and hero, nay, the soul of the Vandal power. He first defeated the natives, the Moors, those sons of the desert who had always proved superior to the weak descendants of Genseric.

      But this Gelimer--it is impossible for me to obtain from the contradictory reports a satisfactory idea of him. Or could a German really possess such contradictions of mind and character? They are all mere children, though six and a half feet tall; giants, with the souls of boys. Nearly all of them have a single trait,--the love of carousing. Yet this Gelimer--well, we shall see.

      Widely varying opinions of the entire Vandal nation are held here. According to some they are terrible foes in battle, like all Germans, and as Genseric's men undoubtedly were. But, from other reports, in the course of three generations under the burning sun of Africa, and especially from living among our provincials there--the most corrupt rabble who ever disgraced the Roman name--they have become effeminate, degenerate. The hero Belisarius of course despises this foe, like every other whom he knows and does not know.

      The gods have intrusted to me the secret correspondence which is to secure success. I am now expecting important news from numerous Moorish chiefs; from the Vandal Governor of Sardinia; from your Ostrogothic Count in Sicily; from the richest, most influential senator in Tripolis; nay, even from one of the highest ecclesiastics--it is hard to believe--of the heretical church itself. The latter was a masterpiece. Of course he is not a Vandal, but a Roman! No matter! An Arian priest in league with us. I attribute it to our rulers. You know how I condemn their government of our empire; but where the highest statecraft is at stake,--that is, to win traitors in the closest councils of other sovereigns and thus outwit the most cunning, there I bow the knee admiringly to these gods of intrigue. If only--

      A letter from Belisarius summons me to the Golden House: "Bad news from Africa! The war is again extremely doubtful. The apparent traitors there betrayed Justinian, not the Vandals. This comes from such false wiles. Help, counsel me! Belisarius."

      How? I thought the secret letters from Carthage were to come, by disguised messengers, only to me? And through me to the Emperor? That was his express order; I read it myself. Yet still more secret ones arrive, whose contents I learn only by chance? This is your work, O Demonodora!

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      The Carthage of the Vandals was still a stately, brilliant city, still the superb "Colonia Julia Carthago" which Augustus had erected according to the great Cæsar's

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