Part 19 (1/2)
”This man is no coward,” replied Gelimer, sadly. ”He is wise. Well, then, we will fight alone.”
”And invite this wise King Theudis to be our guest at our banquet to celebrate the victory!” exclaimed Hilda.
”Do not challenge Heaven by idle boasting,” warned Gelimer. ”But be it so. The aid of the Visigoths in the war is of less value to us than to have the Ostrogoths at least remain neutral; to have Sicily--”
”Sicily,” interrupted Verus, ”if war should be declared, will be the bridge over which the enemy will march into Africa.”
The King's eyes opened wider in astonishment; Gibamund started up, but Hilda, turning pale, exclaimed,--
”What? My own people? The daughter of the Amalungi?”
”This letter from the Regent has just arrived; Ca.s.siodorus composed it.
I should know by the scholarly style if he had not affixed his signature. She writes that, too weak to avenge, by her own power, the blood of her father's sister and many thousand Goths, she will joyfully see the vengeance of Heaven executed by her imperial friend in Constantinople.”
”The vengeance of Heaven,--retribution,” Gelimer repeated in a hollow tone. ”All, all, unite in that!”
”What?” cried Gibamund, in an outburst of rage. ”Has the learned Ca.s.siodorus grown childish? Justinian, the wily intriguer, an avenging angel of G.o.d! And especially that she-devil, whose name I will not utter in my pure wife's presence! That pair the avengers of G.o.d!”
”That proves nothing,” Gelimer murmured, talking to himself as if lost in reverie. ”The Fathers of the Church teach that G.o.d often uses evil, sinful men for His deeds of vengeance.”
”A wise utterance,” said the priest, nodding his head gravely.
”I cannot believe it,” cried Gibamund. ”Where is the sentence?”
s.n.a.t.c.hing the letter from Verus's hand, he rapidly glanced through it.
”Sicily shall stand open to the Byzantines,--Justinian her only real friend, her protector and gracious defender.”
”Ah,” cried Hilda, sorrowfully, ”does the daughter of the great Theodoric write that?”
”But,” Gibamund went on in astonishment, ”the sentence about the vengeance of Heaven--it is not here at all--not one word of it.”
”Not in the mere wording, but the meaning is there,” said the priest, taking the letter again and concealing it in the folds of his robe.
The King had not noticed the incident. He was pacing up and down the s.p.a.cious hall with slow, hesitating steps, talking to himself. Now he again approached the table, saying wearily: ”Go on. I suppose this is not all? But the end is coming,” he added, unheard by the others.
”Your messenger. King Gelimer, sent to Tripolis to bring Pudentius here to be tried before your tribunal, has returned.”
”When did he arrive?”
”Within an hour.”
”Without Pudentius?”
”He refuses to obey.”
”What? I gave the messenger a hundred hors.e.m.e.n to bring the traitor by force if necessary.”
”They were received with a discharge of arrows from the walls.
Pudentius had locked the gates, armed the citizens; the city has forsworn its allegiance to you. The whole province of Tripolitana has also risen, probably relying upon aid from Constantinople. Pudentius called from the battlements to your messenger, 'Now Nemesis is overtaking the b.l.o.o.d.y Vandals.'”