Part 17 (2/2)
But at the end of a long and exhausting war it is often seen that victory rests with that power which has enough reserve force left to make one final effort, even though that effort in the earlier years of the war might not have been deemed a great one. So was it now with Justinian's conquest of Italy. Though he himself was utterly weary of the Sisyphean labour, he would not surrender a shred of his theoretical claims, nor would he even condescend to admit to an audience the amba.s.sadors of Totila, who came to plead for peace and alliance between the two hostile powers.
In his perplexity as to the further conduct of the war he offered the command to his Grand Chamberlain Na.r.s.es, who eagerly accepted it. The choice was indeed a strange one. Na.r.s.es, an Armenian by birth, brought as an eunuch to Constantinople, and dedicated to the service of the palace, had grown grey in that service, and was now seventy-four years of age. But he was of ”Ill.u.s.trious” rank, he shared the most secret counsels of the Emperor, he was able freely to unloose the purse-strings which had been so parsimoniously closed to Belisarius, and he had set his whole heart on succeeding where Belisarius had failed. Moreover, he was himself both wealthy and generous, and he brought with him a huge and motley host of barbarians, Huns, Lombards, Gepids, Herulians, all eager to serve under the free-handed Chamberlain, and to be enriched by him with the spoil of Italy.
In the spring of 552, the Eunuch-general, with this strange mult.i.tude calling itself a Roman army, marched round the head of the Adriatic Gulf and entered the impregnable seat of Empire, Ravenna. By adroit strategy he evaded the Gothic generals who had been ordered to arrest his progress in North-eastern Italy and--probably by about midsummer--he had reached the point a little south-west of Ancona, where the Flaminian Way, the great northern road from Rome, crosses the Apennines. Here on the crest of the mountains[157] Na.r.s.es encamped, and here Totila met him, eager for the fight which was to decide the future dominion of Italy.
[Footnote 157: There is some little difference of opinion as to the site of this battle. I place it near the Roman posting station of Ad Ensem, represented by the modern village of Scheggia, in lat.i.tude 43 25'
north.]
A s.p.a.ce of about twelve miles separated the hostile camps. Na.r.s.es sent some of his most trusted counsellors to warn Totila not to continue the struggle any longer against the irresistible might of the Empire; ”but if you will fight”, said the messengers, ”name the day”. Totila indignantly spurned the proposal of surrender and named the eighth day from thence as the day of battle. Na.r.s.es, however, suspecting some stratagem, bade his troops prepare for action, and it was well that he did so, for on the next day Totila with all his army was at hand.
A hill, which to some extent commanded the battle-field, was the first objective point of both generals. Na.r.s.es sent fifty of his bravest men over-night to take up their position on this hill, and the Gothic troops, chiefly cavalry, which were sent to dislodge them, failed to effect their purpose, the horses being frightened by the din which the Imperial soldiers made, clas.h.i.+ng with their spears upon their s.h.i.+elds.
Several lives were lost on this preliminary skirmish, the honours of which remained with the soldiers of Na.r.s.es.
At dawn of day the troops were drawn up in order of battle, but Na.r.s.es had made all his arrangements on a defensive rather than an offensive plan and Totila, who was expecting a reinforcement of two thousand Goths under his brave young lieutenant Teias, wished to postpone the attack. Both generals harangued their armies: Totila, in words of lordly scorn for the patch-work host of various nationalities which Justinian, weary of the war, had sent against him. It was the Emperor's last effort, he declared, and when this heterogeneous army was defeated, the brave Goths would be able to rest from their labours. Na.r.s.es, on the other hand, congratulated his soldiers on their evident superiority in numbers to the Gothic host. They fought too, as he reminded them, for the Roman Empire, which was in its nature, and by the will of Providence, eternal, while these little barbarian states, Vandal, Gothic, and the like, sprang up like mushrooms, lived their little day, and then vanished away, leaving no trace behind them. He had recourse also to less refined and philosophical arguments. Riding rapidly along the ranks, the Eunuch dangled before the eyes of his barbarian auxiliaries golden armlets, golden collars, golden bridles. ”These”, said he, ”and such other ornaments as these, shall be the reward of your valour, if you fight well to-day”.
The long morning of waiting was partly occupied by a duel between two chosen champions. A warrior, named Cocas, who had deserted from Emperor to King, rode up to the Imperial army, challenging their bravest to single combat. One of Na.r.s.es' lifeguards, an Armenian' like his master, Anzalas by name, accepted the challenge. Cocas couched his spear and rode fiercely at his foe, thinking to pierce him in the belly. Anzalas dexterously swerved aside at the critical moment and gave a thrust with his spear at the left side of his antagonist, who fell lifeless to the ground. A mighty shout rose from the Imperial ranks at this propitious omen of the coming battle. Not yet, however, was that battle to be gained. King Totila rode forth in the open s.p.a.ce between both armies, ”that he might show the enemy what manner of man he was”. His armour was lavishly adorned with gold: from the cheek-piece of his helmet, from his _pilum_ and his spear hung purple pennants; his whole equipment was magnificent and kingly. Bestriding a very tall war-horse he played the game of a military athlete with accomplished skill. He wheeled his horse first to the right, then to the left, in graceful curves; then he tossed his spear on high to the morning breezes and caught it in the middle as it descended with quivering fall; then he threw it deftly from one hand to another, he stooped low on his horse, he raised himself up again.
Everything was done as artistically as the dance of a well-trained performer. All this ”was beautiful to look at, but it was not war”. The ugly, wrinkled old Armenian in the other camp, who probably kept his seat on horseback with difficulty, knew, one may suspect, more of the deadly science of war than the brilliant and martial Totila.
At length the long-looked-for two thousand arrived, and Totila gave the signal to charge upon the foe. It was the hour of the noon-tide meal, and he hoped to catch the Imperial troops in the disorder of their repast; but for this also Na.r.s.es, the wary, had provided. Even the food necessary to support their strength was to be taken by the soldiers, all keeping their ranks, all armed, and all watching intently the movements of the enemy. Na.r.s.es had purposely somewhat weakened his centre in order to strengthen his wings, which, as the Gothic cavalry charged, closed round them and poured a deadly shower of arrows into their flanks.
Again, as in the campaigns of Belisarius, the _Hippo-toxotai_, the ”Mounted Rifles” of the Empire, decided the fate of the battle. Vain against their murderous volleys was the valour of the Gothic horseman, the thrust of the Gothic lance, the might of the tall Gothic steed.
Charge upon charge of the Goths was made in vain; the cavalry could never reach the weak but distant centre of the Imperialists. At length, when the sun was declining, the hors.e.m.e.n came staggering back, a disorganised and beaten band. Their panic communicated itself to the infantry, who were probably the weakest section of the army; the rout was complete, and the whole of the Gothic host was seen either flying, surrendering, or dying.
As evening fell Totila, with five of his friends hastened from the lost battle-field. A young Gepid chief, named Asbad, ignorant who he was couched his lance to strike Totila in the back. A young Gothic page incautiously cried out, ”Dog! would you strike your lord?” hereby revealing the rank of the fugitive and, of course, only nerving the arm of Asbad to strike a more deadly blow. Asbad was wounded in return and his companions intent on staunching his wound let the fugitives ride on, but the wound of Totila was mortal. His friends hurried him on, eight miles down the valley, to the little village of Capr, where they alighted and strove to tend his wound. But their labour was vain; the gallant king soon drew his last breath and was hastily buried by his comrades in that obscure hamlet.
The Romans knew not what had become of their great foe till several days after, when some soldiers were riding past the village, a Gothic woman told them of the death of Totila and pointed out to them his grave. They doubted the truth of her story, but opened the grave and gazed their fill on that which was, past all dispute, the corpse of Totila. The news brought joy to the heart of Na.r.s.es, who returned heartiest thanks to G.o.d and to the Virgin, his especial patroness, and then proceeded to disembarra.s.s himself as quickly as possible of the wild barbarians, especially the Lombards, by whose aid he had won the victory which destroyed the last hopes of the Ostrogothic monarchy in Italy.[158]
[Footnote 158: A gallant stand was made by Teias, who was elected king on the death of Totila, but his reign lasted only a few months. He was defeated and slain early in 553 at the battle of Mons Lactarius, not far from Pompeii, and the little remnant of his followers, the last of the Goths, marched northward out ot Italy and disappear from history.]
(568) Not thus easily, however, was the tide of barbarian invasion to be turned. The Lombards had found their way into Italy as auxiliaries. They returned thither sixteen years after as conquerors, conquerors the most ruthless and brutal that Italy had yet groaned under. From that day for thirteen centuries the unity of Italy was a dream. First the Lombard King and the Byzantine Emperor tore her in pieces. Then the Frank descended from the Alps to join in the fray. The German, the Saracen, the Norman made their appearance on the scene. Not all wished to ravage and despoil; some had high and n.o.ble purposes in their hearts, but, in fact, they all tended to divide her. The Popes even at their best, even while warring as Italian patriots against the foreign Emperor, still divided their country. Last of all came the Spaniard and the Austrian, by whom, down to our own day, Italy was looked upon as an estate, out of which kingdoms and duchies might be carved at pleasure as appanages for younger sons and compensations for lost provinces. Only at length, towards the close of the nineteenth century, has Italy regained that priceless boon of national unity, which might have been hers before it was attained by any other country in Europe, if only the ambition of emperors and the false sentiment of ”Roman” patriots would have spared the goodly tree which had been planted in Italian soil by Theodoric the Ostrogoth.
[Ill.u.s.tration: COIN OF TEIAS. (successor of Totila.)]
[Ill.u.s.tration:]
CHAPTER XIX.[159]
[Footnote 159: This chapter is based on Peringskiold's Latin translation of the ”Wilkina Saga”, and on the German translation contained in F.H.
von der Hagen's ”Alt-deutsche und Alt-nordische Helden-Sagen”. I am also much indebted to the spirited rendering of the Sagas contributed by Madame Dahn to her husband, Professor Dahn's, volume, ”Walhall”.]
THE THEODORIC OF SAGA.
The fame of Theodoric attested by the Saga dealing with his name, utterly devoid as they are of historic truth--The Wilkma Saga--Story of Theodoric's ancestors--His own boyhood--His companions, Master Hildebrand, Heime, and Witig--Death of his father and his succession to the throne--Herbart wooes King Arthur's daughter, first for Theodoric and then for himself--Hermanric, his uncle, attacks Theodoric--Flight and exile at the Court of Attila--Attempt to return--Attila's sons slain in battle--The tragedy of the Nibelungs--Theodoric returns to his kingdom--His mysterious end.
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